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Hikaru is having the official worst day ever.
When he got into the lift, it wasn’t that bad yet. Sure, he’d spent almost all the daylight hours crammed into a briefing room for a mandatory pilot’s course that someone already manning the Federation’s flagship doesn’t need, but that was boring and frustrating, not unbearable. Forgetting to bring his packed lunch—one Pavel made just for him and left out on the counter and apparently remained there all day long after Hikaru forgot to grab it—made it worse. By the time Starfleet’s little reminder ended, Hikaru’s stomach was eating him alive, but the bakery he stopped into burnt his pizza, and now he’s starting to think that cheese was a little off.
But the thing that really tipped the scale was stepping into the lift, seeing his landlord, and discovering that he has to get rid of at least a quarter of his prized collection if he wants to stay in the building. A part of him vaguely understands—alien plants aren’t always easy tenants. But he’s still not getting rid of his overly fragrant Mrennenimian violets or the Klingon fig bush that tends to drop heavy fruits onto the delicate flooring.
And he’s certainly not getting rid of his new Rigelian inabisarus, which probably takes up a quarter of his collection size-wise. It’s currently sitting on a desk, proudly center-stage in the spare bedroom, its vines having covered the desk so completely it may as well be standing on its own. It makes the air thick and sometimes sucks in the light and might be slowly gnawing out the back wall, but it’s insanely rare and expensive and Hikaru’s not likely to ever see, let alone own, another one in his life.
When he reaches the right floor, his glaring landlord still hasn’t left, and Hikaru’s left to shuffle out, halfway between sheepish and irritated. There’s no relief when the doors shut behind him; the hard task is still ahead. After sitting on his ass listening to regulations he could already recite in his sleep, sleep is all he really wants. The day’s a wreck anyway. He’s emotionally exhausted. He fumbles in his pant pocket for his keycard when he reaches the door, but it slides open for him as soon as he’s close enough—another spark of irritation. Pavel left it on automatic. Hikaru hates that.
As soon as he’s inside, he fiddles with the wall panel to set it back. They’ve only got two weeks before they ship out again, and Hikaru’s not going to waste that getting robbed or having ‘friends’ pop in and linger too long.
He kicks off his shoes and hangs up the grey ground-uniform jacket, down to the black long-sleeve below. He briefly contemplates eating again, but then his stomach churns violently and he thinks he’d rather just collapse. A peripheral glance around the living area reveals no Pavel. He’s probably stuffed into the little desk in the bedroom, trying to get a multitude of work done in limited space. Hikaru’s stomach tightens again. If he got rid of that one Rigelian inabisarus, Pavel could have a proper study. But that’s not an option. Somehow, Hikaru’s feet take him to the spare. He’ll deal with this plant mess before he drags his boyfriend to sleep.
The door’s open—another unfortunate necessity. The thick perfume of his collection is wafting out, and Hikaru’s eyes almost water when he steps inside, but he’s used to it, and he adjusts. He does a general sweep of the room: most of his prized possessions are in perfect health. The Mrennenimian dandelorus even shows a good view of damp soil; Pavel must’ve watered them. Hikaru can’t help the grin it puts on his face. He knows he found the right man.
The Rigelian inabisarus he checks last, because he knows it’ll take up most of his attention. It takes up most of the room. Its thick vines clutch harder to the desk’s edge as he nears it, the twisted roots leading to a giant, bulbous flower head straining forward. The yellow-pink petals peel back, and Hikaru’s brow furrows—the powdery middle looks wet. A Rigelian inabisarus should not be wet.
He doesn’t realize in time to stop his step. He’s right in front of it when the flower head contracts violently, surging forward a split second later and exploding a blinding yellow haze. Hikaru doesn’t close his eyes or mouth in time—it hits him full force, and he stumbles backward, spluttering, while the infectious gas fills his lungs. It keeps wafting over him: a dense cloud of alien spores. Hikaru’s vision is swimming. His shoulder slams into something hard, and he slumps down—up against the wall? He lapses into a coughing fit and doubles over.
It takes a good several minutes of nearly choking to death before his lungs adjust, and he wipes at his leaking tear ducts and probably-red eyes. He feels nauseous. He looks up at his prized flower, now settling back against the desk and looking perfectly content.
But someone watered it. Or, at least, watered something close enough for it to reach and take in water. And that is not something that should ever, ever happen with a Rigelian inabisarus. Hikaru realizes belatedly that he’s on the floor, and he pushes up to his feet, swaying. He leans against the wall for support. Someone watered his plant. Pavel probably watered his plant. And could’ve ruined it. Could’ve set it off. Hikaru doesn’t feel any different, but that’s a blessing—the chemicals in the plant’s hefty roots spew out when it needs to defend itself, and their mood-altering properties could’ve sent Pavel into a coma, into an incurable fright, into an unstoppable rage, anything. He’s damn lucky nothing happened to Hikaru. Damn lucky.
Snarling at the sheer stupidity, Hikaru pushes off the wall. He staggers into the hall, finds the air too thin, closes his eyes against his pounding head and tries to straighten. Stupid Pavel. But that’s what Hikaru gets for leaving a child in charge of something important. Pavel might be legal, but he looks like a kid and he clearly is a kid—can’t even handle a simple task like watering plants. One hand on his throbbing skull, Hikaru trudges over to the bedroom and nearly walks into the door.
Oh, that he bothers to shut. Not the front the door where anyone could just walk in and tear their apartment up or kill them both. Hikaru slams his hand against the wall panel, and the door slides abruptly open, leaving him to stomp in and go, heading straight for the desk.
It’s a mess, of course. Full of Pavel’s papers and PADDs and styluses and data chips. He looks up on Hikaru’s approach, startled, and Hikaru doesn’t stop until he’s right at the chair, towering over his small boyfriend. A worried expression flickers over Pavel’s face, and before he even says so much as hello, he’s asking, “Hikaru? Are you feeling well? Did you hit your head...?”
“No, I just got a faceful of spores,” Hikaru seethes. He drops his hand just so he can grab the back of Pavel’s chair in one fist, the countertop in another, gaining leverage to lean in when he snarls, “Why the fuck did you water my plants?”
Pavel has to lean back to avoid his nose getting smashed by Hikaru’s face. Normally, this greeting would be a quick kiss, little pleasantries, and small stories over their respective days. Today, Pavel cowers back and mumbles, “Sorry, I... I just thought it might help?”
“Help what?” That’s the stupidest thing Hikaru’s ever heard. “You think I don’t know how to take care of my own collection? You think I need your useless help? You could’ve killed it!”
Pavel’s mouth falls open, eyebrows knitting together. He looks so apologetic that his cute tuft of curls might as well be wilting, but for once, it does nothing to appease Hikaru’s mood. “I-I’m sorry! I did not think there was any danger of that! It’s just that’s it has been a wery hot day, and I thought perhaps—” As Hikaru’s expression falls darker and his lips start to curl back, Pavel switches to, “I am so sorry, I won’t do it again.”
“You’re damn right, you won’t. Because you are going to remember this mistake for the rest of your life.” His fingers are now digging into the wood tight enough to hurt. His knuckles are white. Pavel looks at him in shock, but Hikaru shows no mercy; Pavel has to learn this lesson. Dark ideas of how to hammer it home flicker through Hikaru’s mind—he really should make it concrete, do something drastic, imprint the lesson in Pavel’s skin so it never happens again. For a moment, Hikaru considers starting right now with a quick backhand; Pavel breaks so easily; it wouldn’t take much to paint him black and blue. But something holds Hikaru still, and instead he just wrestles with himself. He wants to toss Pavel over the bed and tie him so he’ll never go near Hikaru’s precious plants again, maybe spank him for the indiscretion. Pick a particularly nasty set of alien vines and let them loose on Pavel’s pale skin, on his tight hole. Hikaru knows more than one carnivorous part of his collection that would love to sink sharp spindles into Pavel’s thighs and stuff him full of creeping roots. Hikaru doesn’t even realize how heavily he’s breathing until Pavel leans away from him again.
“What’s gotten into you?” Before Hikaru can snap an answer, Pavel’s eyes widen to saucers, and he squeaks, “Oh my God! The inabisarus spores—I completely forgot—Hikaru, I’m so sorry—”
In lieu of breaking Pavel in two, Hikaru jerks aside to the tabletop, sticks out his arm, and swipes the entire contents off. The mess of PADDs clatters to the floor, papers flying everywhere and data chips bouncing loudly off the drawers beside it and the bedframe across the way. Hikaru almost overturns the desk itself but remembers last minute that it’s built into the wall.
He turns back to glaring at Pavel, who’s gaping at him with big, terrified eyes that don’t know the half of it. It’s Pavel’s own fault. Or maybe it’s Hikaru’s; he shouldn’t have left the apartment without handcuffing Pavel to the bed where he belongs. Hikaru’s not going to make that mistake again.
Or maybe it’s a mistake to keep an incompetent boyfriend around at all. Pavel’s supposed to be a genius, and he doesn’t even know how to water plants. He gulps, cowering back from the mess and Hikaru’s overwhelming presence. “Hikaru...” he starts, voice gentle and quivering, like soothing a skittish horse instead of a very justifiably mad master. “It must’ve sprayed you. You’re under its influence. You shouldn’t do anything hasty right now.”
Hikaru shoves the chair over. If Pavel were better, if he had an athlete’s build or a fencer’s instincts, he could’ve gotten out in time, but he doesn’t. He hits the floor, scrambles to sit, stays on his hands and knees and opens his mouth to talk. Hikaru wants to gag him. “Stop making excuses.” Pavel flinches back; he’s so weak. Hikaru couldn’t really hit him; he’d collapse. Instead, Hikaru kicks the chair aside, storms in front of his shaking boyfriend, grabs a fistful of curls and wrenches Pavel’s head back. Pavel cries out, face wincing in pain, but he grabs at his own head instead of Hikaru’s hands, because he’s no good at fighting. Or anything. “You messed up,” Hikaru snarls. “The only thing that’s influencing me is your mistake.”
He jerks Pavel up by the hair, and Pavel, rising on shaking thighs, whimpers and nearly starts to cry. The corners of his eyes look watery. For a split second, Hikaru doesn’t want to punish him at all. Fuck him, yes, but not break something already so prone to submission. Pavel knows his place. Hikaru hisses, “How’re you going to make it up to me?”
“Tomorrow,” Pavel whines. He clutches at Hikaru’s hands, trying to loosen the grip to no avail. He’s wearing one of Hikaru’s old sweaters, and it’s too big for him and sliding off one shoulder. Finally, Pavel gives up and uses his hands to steady himself against Hikaru’s legs. He’s level with Hikaru’s crotch. He could lean forward and start his apology right now, but instead he insists, “Please. You’re not being you. We’ll talk about this when it wears off. Please.” That doesn’t mean much.
Hikaru wants to hurt him right now.
But when Hikaru draws his fist back, he can’t bring himself to drive it forward. He lets go of Pavel’s hair, and Pavel gasps in relief and slumps down, leaning forward a second later to curl up against Hikaru’s legs. He mumbles, “I’m sorry,” but Hikaru isn’t listening. He’s staring at the bed. He wanted to come home and sleep. But now he wants to fuck Pavel raw, and...
And he just can’t do that when Pavel’s crying. He’s angry. Furious. But he can’t. He bends down and grabs Pavel’s arm.
He tugs Pavel up, and Pavel stumbles to his feet, given no time to balance—Hikaru’s marching off. He drags Pavel back through their apartment, and Pavel sniffles and asks, “What—?”
“I can’t have you around,” Hikaru grunts, pissed at himself for the mercy. But Pavel hasn’t earned the right to sleep in Hikaru’s bed tonight, and he’ll be able to smell Pavel’s sweet pheromones from the couch. The more he looks at Pavel, the more he wants to shove Pavel through a glass wall and fuck him against the pieces.
Instead, Hikaru shoves Pavel out the front door, into the building hallway. Pavel stares at him in shock, and Hikaru slaps the panel to close the door, locking it properly. Another of Pavel’s failings. He lingers for half a minute, seething and panting and expecting to hear Pavel beg through the door to take him back.
But that doesn’t happen, so Hikaru storms back to the bedroom to sleep.
In the morning, Hikaru feels like shit.
Well, it’s not exactly the morning. The light’s streaming in through curtains he forgot to close, but the clock tells him it’s no better than dawn, and he’d normally crawl back into bed and hide and relish the lack of constant shifts the Enterprise has him on.
Instead, he rolls away from the window, groaning over the earthquake in his head, spots the overturned chair and all of Pavel’s things on the floor. He remembers everything. He feels terrible. He’s an asshole. There are so many leftover fantasies that he has to sort through them to double check—he didn’t hit Pavel. Not physically. But he did push the chair over with Pavel in it, he did pull Pavel’s hair in a very-not-good way, he did yell and he did leave his angel of a partner outside overnight.
Hikaru feels like shit.
It takes a considerable amount of willpower to get out of bed. He wants to crumble. He’s groggy and sore with the mother of all headaches, but the memories are the worst. He forgoes brushing his teeth or grabbing water like he normally would. He trudges through the apartment and falls against the door, letting his forehead thunk into it. He’s not sure where Pavel would stay the night. He probably didn’t have his wallet with him, and a hotel would require ID. The regular crew is all spread out; they’d be unreliable. For a brief second, Hikaru is terrified that Pavel might’ve caught a transport back to Russia to stay with his parents instead of his undeserving asshole of a boyfriend.
Hikaru opens the door to check and isn’t sure if he’s more relieved or sick.
Pavel’s slumped against the wall, curled up into a little ball. He’s taken his sweater off and draped it over himself like a blanket. Hikaru’s sweater. He’s sleeping quietly, but he can’t be comfortable. Hikaru’s chest hurts.
He kneels down to Pavel’s level and hesitates before touching his shoulder. He could’ve at least gone to one of the neighbours. Apparently, none of them come out at night. Hikaru gently shakes Pavel and tries to figure out what to say.
He doesn’t have anything better than a lame, “Sorry,” by the time Pavel yawns to consciousness, eyes blinking cutely against the light streaming out of their apartment door. He groans and leans into Hikaru’s body, while Hikaru rubs his back and repeats, “God, Pavel, I’m so sorry.”
“S’okay,” Pavel yawns. He throws his arms around Hikaru’s shoulders, latches on and mumbles, “Carry me back inside?”
Hikaru scoops him up without a second thought. The sweater slides into Pavel’s lap, and Hikaru lifts him off the floor, carries him bride-style over the threshold and keeps going, even though he feels too sick to manage this much weight. He takes Pavel right into the bedroom and deposits him lovingly down in the sheets. Pavel just smiles sleepily and curls up in them, twisting into a proper nest of warmth. It’s no wonder. His skin is cold to the touch. Hikaru helps tuck him in, all guilt and regret. Pavel looks like he might fall back asleep.
Hikaru needs to do something. He locks the door again and starts to clean up the floor, but his head’s spinning too much to read and sort properly, so just stacks the papers and checks the PADDs aren’t broken. He collects all the data chips he can find, rights the chair, stares at the tiny little space Pavel has to work in and feels like a monster.
He turns back to the bed and sits on the edge, but he can’t bring himself to join Pavel in it, even though Pavel doesn’t look mad at him. He mutters again, “I’m sorry.”
Pavel sighs, squints up at him, turned away from the light, and mumbles, “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He smiles so cutely that Hikaru wonders how he ever could’ve been mad at that face, even drunk off plant spores. He knows now what happened. He should’ve known before. He’s the expert, and he shouldn’t be keeping things that need expert care with innocent civilians.
He shakes his head. “I feel awful.” He rakes a hand through his hair and repeats, all broken-record, “I’m sorry.”
“Stop that. S’not your fault. I... I’m sorry. I must’ve left the watering can too close...”
“It’s not your fault,” Hikaru cuts him off. “It’s mine. I was an asshole. I should’ve never spoken to you like that. Or touched you like that.”
“Actually, you were very good to me, considering.” Pavel grins broadly, and his hand reaches out of the blankets, coming to stroke Hikaru’s thigh, while Hikaru looks down at it and feels like a monster. “...After what I’ve read about your plant’s behaviors, I honestly expected you to... well, beat me... or...” He trails off, cheeks turning pink and hand stilling. Hikaru drops his overtop of it and squeezes. He very easily could’ve. He even remembers wanting to. Pavel gives him too much credit and sighs, “It’s good to know that even when you’re not sober, you don’t have that in you.”
He might. He says coldly, “I made you sleep in the hall.”
“Only for a few hours.” Pavel’s smiling like it’s no big deal. “And you took me back.” He squeezes Hikaru’s thigh, has the nerve to look sheepish and guilty, and mumbles, “Honestly, I... I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore. I was worried that even when it wore off, you’d be.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Then why aren’t you under the blankets with me?”
Hikaru has every intention of saying why, but he’s too tired and sore and Pavel’s too irresistible. He gives in with a heavy sigh, turning and slipping under the blankets Pavel holds up for him. They’re both still dressed, and as Hikaru shuffles up close, he can smell Pavel’s morning breath. But it’s too early to get up. He means to tell the central computer to close the blinds, but instead he says, “I’m sorry. ...Can you forgive me?”
The window backlights Pavel and puts a halo around all his edges. He closes his eyes and murmurs, “Nothing to forgive.”
“Pavel...”
“But if you need me to, I forgive you.”
Hikaru finally smiles, even though it’s weak. There’s still a layer of cocooned sheets around Pavel’s body, but Hikaru hugs him through it, holds him close, and Pavel mutters about body heat and starts to push the sheets away. Down to the two of them, Hikaru holds Pavel in his arms, and he knows what he has to do.
He sighs anyway, because it’s still hard. But it has to be done, and he can’t risk this ever happening again. Can’t risk anything worse happening. “I’ll get rid of it.” He can feel Pavel stiffening in his arms, though he thought Pavel would be happy.
Pavel pushes back and says, all surprise and concern, “The Rigelian inabiserus? But you love that thing! You were so excited when Meester Spock first presented it to you!”
“Yes, but I doubt he would’ve if he knew I didn’t have a proper place to put it and I didn’t live alone.” Because it looks like Pavel’s going to protest, Hikaru lifts a silencing hand and barrels on. “Look, it’s dangerous. It was one thing when I could keep it in the botany labs on the Enterprise, but an apartment is no place for things like that. Besides, if we get rid of it, we can have the spare bedroom back, and you could use it for your study. With all the extra lessons you cram in and the Engineering training to boot, you need it. All my other plants are more harmless and take up more reasonable room.” After a second, while Pavel’s left digesting the information and looking thunderstruck, Hikaru remembers, “Besides, the neighbours were complaining. I saw the landlord in the lift; he wanted me to get rid of part of my collection anyway.”
“But...” Pavel trails off, bites his lip, and tries again. “But your collection... you lowe those silly plants...”
Hikaru ignores the ‘silly’ part in favour of shrugging. “Maybe someone else on the Enterprise can take it. Just because Commander Spock finished studying it doesn’t mean another scientist wouldn’t like a go.” The more he talks about it, the easier it gets. It would’ve been an incredibly hard decision yesterday, but today...
He doesn’t know if he wants to look at the inabisarus again, knowing what it made him into. What it might’ve made him do. At least giving Pavel the space could be a part of the apology, however small. Hikaru nods mostly to himself, convinced, still a little sick, but oddly relieved with the landlord situation solved and Pavel next to him again.
Pavel snuggles up impossibly close to him, buries into his neck and murmurs, “I lowe you, Hikaru.”
“I love you, too,” Hikaru says. It’s automatic—he doesn’t have to think about it, but he does anyway, because he’s always thinking about Pavel, and Pavel’s worth all the rare plant species in Russia.
Pavel asks coyly into the crook of his neck, “Even if I don’t hawe a wery good green thumb?”
Hikaru laughs and orders the blinds down. While Pavel nuzzles into him and drifts off to sleep, Hikaru rests and thinks of all the things he’ll do later to make up for all this mess and what small, rare, exotic plant Hikaru can get for the corner of Pavel’s new desk.