Work Text:
Brad stares at the display window, trying to quell the anxiety churning in his gut. His nervous reflection stares back at him, mockingly.
He's standing in the middle of a mall, which is frankly ridiculous. It’s the 23rd century, malls died out some two thousand years ago. But nooo, some touristy planet watched some old halo-film and thought do you know what would be a good idea? If we nostalgia-baited people for something that existed like a millennium ago. Great business idea, humans will be thrilled.
At least D’Vana thought it was cool. (And Sam, if his disappearing a few hours ago into something called a GameStop was to be taken into account.) Hands laden with shopping bags, she makes her way across the crowded indoor court-yard, to where he’s standing stiffly, hands balled in his pockets, staring at the display of dainty rings.
“Heeey, Brad. Whatcha looking at?” She drops about a third of her purchases on the ground around them with a loud thunk and leans toward the object of his attention. Brad resists the urge to start walking away.
“Oh my god.”
“This is archaic, right?” Brad shifts his weight from one foot to the other nervously. Bites his lip. Cracks his neck. “Like there’s no reason I should be the one asking. She’ll be offended, her mom will be offended.”
“Oh my god, Brad -”
“What if she doesn’t like the ring? I’m going to drop like 4k on a ring she won’t even like!”
“ Brad -”
“Not all cultures even do rings! What if she doesn’t want to do a ring? Or she wants me to do a ring too and then I have to drop another 4k I don’t have-”
“YOU’RE GONNA ASK BECK TO MARRY YOU ?” D’Vana shrills, spinning on her heel to gape up at him.
Brad presses his eyes into his hands and inhales deeply. “This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea.”
“Oh my god. Oh my god .” D’Vana drops the rest of her bags and throws herself into his arms. She’s so tiny her forehead knocks into his collarbone. Brad takes a couple of deep breaths, aware that he’s moments away from hyperventilating. Something about her warmth, however, soothes the thrum of anxiety currently vibrating under his skin.
You’re so fucking touch-starved , a snide voice that sounds kinda like Beckett mocks.
“Soooo.” Brad draws the word out. “I take it it’s a good idea?”
D’Vana bounces out of his arms. “Are you KIDDING me? I’m pretty sure there’s like eight different betting pools on you two.”
“And you know that how ?”
She smiles innocently up at him. “I might have a. Invested interest in it.”
“ D’Vana -”
“Don’t worry about it! Now. What are we looking for?” She grabs him by the elbow, dragging him into the shop, leaving her shopping bags littered outside the front window. Which frankly seems like a bad idea, but Brad’s too frazzled to do anything about it.
The atmosphere inside the shop reminds Brad of that antique store his sister worked at in high school. The air carries a similar strong floral scent, that has him wrinkling his nose. A red, leather-bound turntable, with the cracked, faded words Crosley, is playing scratchy record of a song he can’t quite place. And of course:
“Welcome to Pandora’s Ring Box ,” a monotone voice belonging to a green-haired teenager at the counter drawls without looking up from her datapad. Brad catches the name Janice on her name tag . “Can I help you find anything today?”
“Yes!” D’Vana practically skips up to the counter, vibrating with excitement. “Engagement rings!”
“Congratulations. Do you have a preference or-”
“ We aren’t together ,” D’Vana and Brad simultaneously say like they have a million times before.
Janice frowns, finally looking up from her padd. “Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. We get it all the time,” D’Vana waves it off. “We’re shopping for his soon-to-be fiance.”
“Oooh. Okay.” Janice nods a little awkwardly. Brad gets it. He was awkward as a teenager. (He’s awkward now .) “What does she like?”
Brad and D’Vana look at each other for a moment.
“She’s gonna flip,” D’Vana crows, tucking the little bag into Brad’s coat pocket. “I can’t believe they had that .”
Brad shakes his head. “I can’t believe we found that at a mall .”
D’Vana begins to pick up her many many shopping bags, handing the heavier one’s to Brad who agreeably took them. “Can I ask you something?”
“Just did,” Brad points out.
“Har, har.” D’Vana rolls her eyes. “We’re taking the elevator right?” She jerks her head in their direction.
Brad sighs, following her toward them. “I can’t believe this place has elevators. I mean, I get trying to stay retro and ‘accurate’, but they could have upgraded to turbolifts. I feel like I’m gonna die everytime I walk into one of those deathtraps.”
D’Vana presses the button with her elbow. “Yeah, I get that, but I’m not carrying all this down the stairs. That wasn’t what I wanted to ask you, though.”
The two walk into the elevator. Brad’s stomach drops as the doors shut. “Oh?”
“What made you decide to ask her? I mean, you’ve never shown an interest in marriage. Like ever.”
Brad bends his knees slightly, leaning back against the wall, as the elevator begins to drop. “Do you remember Amina’s wedding?”
“Who could forget?” D’Vana cackles. “Personally, my favorite part was when her fiance freaked out over his sister ‘ruining his wedding by being gay’ and then Amina dumping his fucking ass for her. I didn’t know human weddings were that wild. What about it?”
Brad taps his fingers against his thigh nervously. “So, you know how Beck has a problem where she gets really, really drunk and loses complete control over her brain-to-mouth filter?”
“That’s literally how you two got together, but yes, go on.”
“She may have. Later that night. Said something about us being married.”
“Oh.”
Brad thunks his head back against the wall. How many floors were they up again? “It wasn’t really important,” he continues, eyes trained on the ceiling. “Just something about us making the best married couple because of our ‘combined queer energy’.” Brad puts air quotes around the words, punctuating them with a fond eye roll. “But. It got me thinking that maybe she. Wanted a wedding.”
“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t give a shit about a wedding, beyond the free alcohol. It sounds more like she just wants to be married to you.” D’Vana gives him a teasing grin. “And she’s right. You two are stupidly compatible. It’s grossed Sam and I out for years .”
“Wait, what?”
“Ugh and it took you both so long to figure it out, which was even worse . Like first you were all uptight-”
“Thanks.”
“-and she was keeping dumb secrets, and then you shipped your dumb ass off to other starships, which really pissed her off-”
“We literally do not have to be talking about this-”
“And then there was the whole thing where we all thought you were dead and she really was a fucking nightmare to deal with-”
“ D’Vana- wait. Really?”
“-and don’t get me started on when you came back and you both couldn’t be in the same room with each other without shouting or having the most awkward eye contact ever ,” D’Vana finishes, rolling her eyes. “Anyway. My point is, you two are the only people I’ve ever met who are actively annoyed by the fact that you’re basically soulmates.”
“Is this our floor? I think this is our floor.”
D’Vana laughs, but relents. “Stop worrying so much,” she tells him, hip checking him as they make their way toward the shuttle. “Everything’s going to work out just fine.”
“I can’t believe you lost the map.”
“I didn’t lose the map!”
“You had it last!”
“We think I had it last!”
Brad thunks his forehead into the cave wall. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die on an alien planet a million lightyears from home because a sexist goddamn cult decided to bury my girlfriend alive. This is fine. Every thing’s fine.”
“We’re not gonna die .” Beckett sits down next to him. “And stop that, you’re gonna give yourself brain damage.” She pulls at his jacket until he reluctantly turns around, leaning his back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with her.
The cave is silent, save for the occasional drip, drip .
Beckett frowns down at her lighter, the only source light they’ve had since the cave-in. “How much air do you think we have left?”
“Oh my god .”
“I mean, the lighter will go out when we really start running out of air-”
“Beck-” he whines.
“But it would be nice to— like— have a clear timeline of when that is, y’know?”
Brad buries his face in his hands. “If we get out of here alive, I’m retiring. I’m fucking retiring.”
“And give up your cute little nerd-boy dream of being a captain? I didn’t drag you along this far just for you to give up on me.”
He exhales into his fingers. “Like you aren’t like a promotion away from. That.”
“Yeah, but I’m not interested in being captain.” She rolls her eyes. “Too much paperwork,” she adds. “No, I’m perfectly content with my dream of being your first officer.” Beckett rubs his shoulder, absentmindedly. Brad leans into it, pleasantly surprised at her sudden display of physical affection.
“That is literally the worst idea ever . We would kill each other in about a week.”
Beckett cackles, voice echoing off the walls. “If D’Vana doesn’t get to us first .”
There’s another pause. The silence isn’t uncomfortable (he and Beckett have grown past awkward silences), but it is heavy with the implications of their current situation. Beckett stops her soothing ministrations on her shoulder, staring off into the middle distance. Brad presses his shoulder into hers, wracking his mind for a plan.
“It wouldn’t be so bad,” Beckett finally says, breaking the silence.
“Hmm?” Brad turns his head, examining her profile. Her eyes crinkle slightly in thought, mouth pursed.
“You and me.” She dares a glance in his direction.
Brad’s face feels warm. “Yeah,” he gets out, voice cracking embarrassingly. The small velvet box in his pocket burns a hole in his thigh. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.”
“Wow. Thanks.” Beckett grins at him, crossing his arms. “I feel so loved .”
“Just sharing what comes my way,” he retorts. “It wouldn’t, though,” he adds, avoiding her intense gaze. “It might be kinda nice, actually.” Brad slides a hand into his pocket, runs a finger over the seal of the box.
Maybe-
“ Beckett! Brad! Come in, can you hear me?” Sam’s voice cracks over Beckett’s comm.
Beckett scrambles to her feet, comm already out in one hand. “Sam? Sam ? We’re in the palace catacombs. There was a cave-in. Can you-”
“ We’re on our way. Ransom is tracking your location literally as we speak. How deep are you? If we can get your exact location, we can beam you right out.”
Brad retracts his hand from his pocket. Another time, maybe.
2.
“Yahtzee,” D’Vana declares, throwing down her four aces. “My archers take out your scouts. Roll for counter-attack.”
Sam picks up all three of the 12-sided dice and throws them across the board. “Oooh, 27. My army doubles their defenses and takes out your eastern stronghold.”
“Damn. I send a messenger to the western front, requesting aid.” D’Vana moves her pawn diagonally on the board. “They send a flock of mer-dragons that incapacitate your army. Monopoly.”
“What the fuck am I listening to?” Beck asks, looking up from the novel she’s been trying to read for the past hour, with little to no success. It’s a delightfully dumb romance novel that Jen had recommended a week ago. Beckett was annotating it with as much shitpost energy as she could before she sent it to Sam. Or at least, she was trying to, before being interrupted by whatever the hell was going on with her two best friends. “I think I’m getting a migraine.”
Brad, who was draped in an uncoordinated pile of limbs across the couch, faceplanting firmly into her side, nods empathetically.
“You’re just jealous that you don’t know how to play Yahtzee Dragons Uno Poker Mario Kart Thumb War Monopoly 4-Dimensional Chess,” D’Vana says, hands on her hips.
“It’s like you’re just saying words ,” Beck sarcastically mocks. “Also, what the fuck.”
“Please don’t ask,” Brad says, voice muffled. “They tried to explain the rules to me once. I think I sustained brain damage.”
“You’re always sustaining brain damage,” Beckett replies, giving him a pat on the head. He makes an adorably disgruntled noise, batting her hand away. With a grin, Beckett turns back to their very, very strange friends. “How’d you two come up with this?”
“Through the power of our psychic mind connection,” Sam says.
“Mind connections are inherently psychic , so your phrasing is redundant,” Brad mutters.
“Whatever.” D’Vana turns back to their game. “Your loss. It’s your turn, Sammy.”
As Sam continues to do whatever the fuck they are doing, Beckett turns her attention back to her novel.
“Do you think we’re that weird to them ?” Brad asks apropos to nothing.
Beckett flicks his ear. “Gonna have to give me a bit more than that.”
Her boyfriend dramatically heaves himself off her legs, throwing himself onto the other side of the couch. Beckett’s touch-starved ass immediately protests at the loss of warmth at her side, but Brad doesn’t seem to notice. “I was talking to D’Vana the other day-”
“Rookie mistake.”
“-and she said we’re.” He pauses, wrinkling his nose. “‘Stupidly compatible.’ Whatever the fuck that means.”
“Don’t forget the lack of personal space!” D’Vana shouts from across the room.
“We’re dating !” Beckett shouts back, flipping the bird.
“You two were like that before you started dating,” Sam (un)helpfully supplies.
“Stop eavesdropping on our personal conversations!” Brad shouts back.
“Stop having personal conversations in public!” D’Vana throws a handful of marbles at them. They clunk loudly on the hard floor.
“My troops!” Sam dives after them.
“Would you four shut up ?” the voice of some random ensign shouts across the rec room.
D’Vana rolls her eyes and turns back to her ridiculous game. Sam winks at Beckett before returning his “troops” to the Monopoly/Chess board hybrid. Beckett frowns suspiciously at the two of them for another moment, before turning her attention back to her boyfriend. “I literally can’t with those two.”
“I know. How did we survive eight years of this again?”
“By annoying the shit out of them back,” Beckett replies sagely. Brad snort-laughs, shaking his head. “To another eight years, I guess.” She salutes the room with her data padd before turning back to her novel. There’s literally no point in annotating it now; whatever Sam and D’Vana have going on there has more crack energy than Beckett will ever hope to achieve. Groaning loudly, she closes the file on her data padd. Maybe she’ll just play solitaire instead.
It takes a moment for her to feel her boyfriend’s gaze on her.
“What?” she asks, feeling suddenly defensive. Brad just smiles sleepily at her, looking ridiculously fond. It makes her insides squeamish.
(For all that the two of them have grown in the past few years, pre and post being in a relationship, she still feels uneasy at open affection.)
(It’s something she’s working on with her therapist.)
Brad just shrugs with a nonchalance he wouldn’t have been able to pull off when they first met. “Nothing,” he replies easily. “Just you.”
“Sure.” She shakes her head. “You done being weird?”
“Mmmhmm.” He flops back down into her side, contentedly. She flicks his ear again, but then starts playing with his hair again. Surprisingly, he doesn’t fuss about her messing it up. Nothing her ass.
“Are you sure -”
“Just glad we’re planning for at least eight more years of this.”
“UNO!” Sam shrieks, throwing monopoly money in the air.
“FUCK YOU, SAM!”
“...Maybe you do have brain damage”
3.
“How come you get two weddings?” Beckett teases, throwing a piece of popcorn at her ex-girlfriend.
“I don’t know, how come you get two boyfriends and a girlfriend?” Amina rolls her eyes.
“Wait what?” Beckett frowns. “Oh, you mean Sam and D’Vana.”
“Yeah, we’re not dating them,” Brad agrees, eyes still glued to his data padd. On leave and he still insists on working. Sometimes Amina really can’t see what Beckett sees in him. Her type usually was a bit more of the jock type. Like Ransom. (Or Amina.) “We’re just weirdly close,” Brad adds, making a note on whatever he’s reading.
“Disturbingly close,” Beckett agrees, reaching for another beer. “So it’s understandable that you think that. But no, we’re not actually dating. ”
“Hmm.” Amina takes a sip from her wine glass.
“Speaking of disturbing things, that’s your last one and then I’m cutting you off,” Brad says, still typing rapidly. “I really don’t want to deal with drunk-you tonight or hungover-you during the wedding tomorrow.”
“Laaaame. Amina won’t mind.”
“She’ll mind if you puke in the middle of her vowels.”
“I will,” Amina confirms. “Beckett, if you puke in the middle of my vowels I’m blocking you.”
“Like online or irl?”
For pretty much the first time since Amina crashed at their apartment, Brad looks up. “How the fuck do you block someone in real life ?”
“You take a promotion to another ship and refuse to take their calls.”
“Low blow.” Brad turns back to his data padd. “It’s been six years, get some new material.”
Beckett salutes him with her bottle. “But seriously.” She turns her attention back to Amina. “What is your life? I can’t believe you’re marrying your ex-fiance’s sister . That’s like. Soap-opera levels of insane.”
Amina groans. “ Tell me about it. You have no idea what I had to go through to convince my mom to come.”
Beckett barks out a sharp laugh. “Oh god, don’t even start. My mom is going to be a nightmare when it’s my turn.” She shudders. “And that’s before we factor my dad in.”
In her peripheral, Amina sees Brad freeze.
Interesting.
“You didn’t tell me you two were engaged,” Amina takes another sip of her drink.
Beckett laughs. “Oh, we’re not. I’m just saying hypothetically. My mom would be a nightmare and my dad would be my nightmare’s nightmare. So y’know. Whoever decides to put up with all this-” she gestures to herself with her bottle, “-is gonna have to like. Realize that my family’s a fucking dysfunctional cisspool.”
Brad’s eyes are still glued to his padd, but he’s clearly not reading from it anymore.
“Well,” Amina says at last. “Whoever you end up marrying better be cool enough to realize that you’re not your family.” She gives Brad the most passive-aggressive expression she can manage without tipping Beckett off.
Fortunately, Beckett is just slightly on the side of tipsy.
Brad takes the challenge, turning off his data padd and giving Amina his full attention for the first time since—since he’s met her probably. “Oh, tell me about it,” he says, breezily. “I still barely believe she’s Freeman’s daughter.” He puts his data padd on the counter and hops up beside it. “I seriously wouldn’t have believed it if Freeman hadn’t been the one to tip me off.”
Amina smiles. So he does have a backbone.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Beckett interjects, crosses her arms.
“You’re a Han Solo and she’s an Obi-Wan.”
“Brad, do you see my mother as a mentor figure.”
“No! I’m saying she’s super responsible and organized and you’re more ‘fuck around and find out’!”
Amina nods. “Yeah that checks out.”
“Both of you suck,” Beckett hops up next to Brad. “I don’t know why I’m still friends with you.”
“Me neither,” Brad agrees, swiping her beer bottle with an ease that only those naive to what Beckett does to people steal her food and takes a swig of it. “It’s almost like we’re both smart, competent adults that keep you out of trouble.”
“And look hot while doing it,” Amina adds. Brad salutes her with his stolen beer. Beckett squawks in protest, scrambling to steal the bottle back. After a brief scuffle, which ends with Brad in a headlock under her arm, Beckett and Brad settle again, side by side.
Maybe Amina does kinda see it.
“Well, here’s to us and our bad relationship decisions,” Amina says, raising her wine glass in toast.
Brad looks vaguely offended, but Beckett laughs, loud and bright, swinging her legs, heels bumping into the cabinets. “The worst relationship decisions,” she agrees, slipping her free hand into Brad’s almost unconsciously.
Brad deflates slightly, scowl melting into an almost smile. “As bad as Amina dating a homophobe?”
“Hey!”
“Eh.” Beckett makes a so-so expression with her hand. “Still on the fence.”
“I feel so loved ,” Brad says, voice affected slightly, like he’s imitating someone.
“Just sharing what comes my way,” Beckett retorts, flipping her hair.
Both of them fall into an easy silence. It reminds Amina of her own easy silences with Beckett, years and years ago. It’s been a while since she’d felt that relaxed with someone. But there’s also something else there. Something Amina can’t quite place her finger on. Something about the way Brad had looked when they brought up Beckett being married-
Oh.
Amina throws back the rest of her drink.
4.
“Well, that was disappointing,” D’Vana stares sadly down at her appletini.
“I told you not all weddings are that dramatic,” Sam groans, dropping his forehead onto the bar.
“I was hoping for at least a little bloodshed though. They just got all weepy up there. And then kissed! In front of everyone!”
“Lots of people kiss in front of everyone,” Brad sighs, rolling his eyes. He takes a sip of his own alcoholic beverage and frowns slightly. Sam can tell that he privately wishes it was stronger. Crowds weren’t really Brad’s thing, especially the kind of people Amina hangs out with. That being party jocks addicted to adrenaline. Which, in retrospect, was kind of hilarious considering that for all of the anxiety that Brad possesed, he was a bit of an adrenaline junkie himself.
You kind of had to be to be dating Beckett.
“Gross. Blocked. I do not See. Allo’s DNI.” D’Vana slumps in her chair. “Where’s Beckett?”
Brad jerks his head over his shoulder. “Trying to rein in Amina's cousins in for the family picture, I think. I don’t know, there was a lot of yelling.”
“Now that sounds interesting,” D’Vana says, eyes sparkling. “Save my spot!” She flounces out of her seat.
Sam shakes his head. He really, really loves D’Vana, but sometimes…
“She’s actually insane,” Brad says, completing Sam’s thought. “Like actually, certifiably insane. He grins. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Sam retorts, rolling his eyes. “Beck is a bit. High-strung.” Understatement of the fucking year.
Brad shrugs. “Well. I’m a bit high-strung. We make it work.”
“I’ll bet,” Sam mutters. “When are you gonna give Beck one of these ridiculously outdated things?” He asks, waving his glass around to generally indicate wedding.
Brad shifts uneasily in his chair. “What, a wedding?” He laughs, voice a pitch higher than usual. “You know, you’re not the first person to bring that up.” He tilts his glass, eyes glued to the sparkling blue liquid in it. “Do you think she actually wants one of these things?”
“I think she wouldn’t mind being married,” Sam replies with a shrug. “Don’t know about the swans and vegan rolls though.”
That coaxes a real smile out of his friend. “Yeah.”
“Whatcha talking about?” Beckett asks, appearing out of nowhere and attaching herself to Brad’s back like an oversized backpack. Sam chokes on his own spit while Brad shrieks, struggling for a second in Beckett’s stranglehold before giving up in exasperation.
“I thought you were with D’Vana?” Sam wheezes.
“Got bored. D’Vana is so much better at scaring children than I am.” She lets go of Brad and pulls up a chair next to him.
“I don’t even want to know,” Brad says, shaking his head.
“You really don’t,” Beckett agrees. “It was really hot. In a ‘I eat babies’ way.” She leans on the bar counter, propping her chin in the palm of her hand and smiling at her boyfriend coyly. “Gonna buy a girl a drink?”
“No,” he replies, flatly.
“Uncool. You’re supposed to roleplay with me here.”
“Gross,” Sam interjects. “TMI. I don’t want to hear about your disgusting sex lives.”
“Your loss!” Beckett sing-songs. “Brad. Hey, Brad.” She tugs on his arm. “Dance with me.”
“ Beck- ”
“ Dance with me .”
“You know I hate dancing.”
“But it’s a wedding!” She conjoles, pouting and widening her dark brown eyes pleadingly. “And D’Vana says she’d rather throw herself out an airlock again than slow dance with me.”
“I share that sentiment.”
“Please?”
As Brad lets himself get dragged out to the dance floor by an overly-enthusiastic Beckett Mariner, Sam counts his blessings that he and D’Vana don’t have whatever weird, exclusive, soulmate thing they have going. Like it’s fine for them, but it looks kind of intense.
Sam just hopes, whenever Brad finally musters up the courage to pop the question, that their wedding is a bit more lowkey.
Knowing the two of them, it’s going to be needlessly dramatic: fireworks, explosions and all.
5.
“I seriously can’t believe you’re still pulling this shit on me,” are Beckett’s first words when he wakes up.
Brad blinks. The room is painfully bright—he continues to wonder why hospitals and medbays insist on having white rooms—which immediately turns his dull headache into an actual migraine. The only noise besides the background hum of hospital personnel, is the faint monitor beeping somewhere behind his left ear.
Beckett glares down at him, arms crossed.
“Oops,” he says, dazed.
“Oops,” she mocks back, throwing herself into a plastic chair by the bed. 23rd century and hospitals still couldn’t buy comfy chairs. What’s the point of anything? Brad’s going to write a strongly worded letter to...someone.
“In my defense.” He pauses. “Okay, I don’t have a defense, that was really stupid of me.”
“Yeah, no shit .” Beck rolls her eyes, but her shoulders untense marginally. Brad counts it as a win.
“You really fucking scared me,” Beckett says, at last. She’s staring disinterestedly at her nails. Brad knows he should offer some sort of apology or actual explanation, but feels entirely too drugged up to make the effort. He closes his eyes again, breathing deeply. The beep of the monitor starts to lull him back to sleep.
“I wouldn’t have died,” his mouth says without his permission.
“Sure.” A soft hand slips into his.
He opens his eyes again. “I wouldn’t ,” he presses. Yawns. Closes his eyes again. “I still have to like. Marry you first.”
A pause. Well, besides that quiet beeping. Something tells Brad that he should be worried about something, but whatever Dr. T’Ana has him on has completely canceled out all of his anxiety. It’s nice. Maybe Brad should consider getting on that medication his therapist keeps recommending. Might do wonders for that stomach ulcer that comes back every time Beckett says “so don’t freak out but-”
“Wait, what .” Beckett’s shocked voice derails his train of thought.
Oh yeah.
“I have. A whole plan.” Brad keeps his eyes closed, but squeezes her hand briefly. “Not supposed to tell you, though.”
“Oh.”
“Hmmm.” Brad yawns again. “This is nice. We should do this more often.”
“Uh, we should definitely not . Seriously, if you do that again I’m pulling your shore leave privileges.”
“Only the Captain can do that. I think. Wait, can you do that?” He opens his eyes.
“I can totally do that,” his girlfriend says. “I have ‘captain’s daughter’ rights.” She pats his shoulder. “Budge over, will ya?”
Brad obediently makes room for her slide in. She lets him drop his head onto her shoulder, wrapping an arm around him. She smells like the pricey shampoo she keeps stealing from his shower. It’s nice. “Oh.” He blinks up at her. “This is nice too.”
“You are so fucking drugged.” There’s a laugh in her voice. “Go back to sleep, Boims.”
He obliges, closing his eyes again.
1+
Carol really really does not want to know how or why Lieutenant Boimler and Beckett suddenly have katanas (and know how to use them??), but there they are. Her reckless, amazing daughter and her insane, neurotic boyfriend, fighting off the Zombie-Alien-Hybrids with ancient, Japanese weapons that are totally, definitely illegal.
Carol wonders if her day can get much worse.
“Mom! Catch!” Beckett throws her katana at her.
“Don’t throw sharp objects at your mom!” Boimler shouts, looking aghast. He ducks as one of the Hybrids takes a swipe at him, dropping into a roll and taking out it’s kneecaps. Beckett whoops, giving her boyfriend a thumbs up, and almost getting her hand taken off by one of their attackers for her trouble.
Carol fumbles with the thrown weapon for a moment, wondering if she could just start hacking at their enemies or if there was a method to it. Judging by Boimler’s stance, there was. Damnit. This might as well be happening. “What about you?” she asks her weaponless daughter.
Beckett grins, ducking behind Boimler to elbow the side of the hallway wall, revealing a secret panel. Of course. “I have like six of these hanging around for this very reason,” she says, pulling out a fucking bat’leth. “Alright, who wants to taste some Klingon metal?”
“ Technically it’s made from a metal alloy called baakonite. But yeah, what she said,” Boimler says, shifting his weight onto his back leg with the katana pointed down diagonally. When did he learn how to use one of those again? Carol adds martial arts to her list of Weirdly Specific Skills Lieutenant Boimler Has. It’s almost as extensive as the one she has for Beckett. Almost.
“Love it when you talk dirty to me babe,” Beckett presses a hand to heart and bats her eyelashes.
“ Mariner- ”
“Not in front of your mom-!”
Their assailants take this as their cue to attack. Beckett whoops again, decapitating the first guy within swiping distance of her weapon. Boimler covers her six, slashing the blade in front of his body slant-wise. Carol does her best to keep up, but barely keeps the Hybrids at bay. She’s losing her touch.
“Need a hand?” a smooth voice asks, somewhere to her left. Carol shrieks, slashing at the voice.
Ransom shrieks back, ducking away from her blade. “Sorry!” He squawks. “Sorry! Please don’t kill me!”
“Ransom, where the hell have you been,” she snaps, dodging another slash from her attacker.
“Medbay,” he says, easily. “Dr. T’Ana is attacking Hybrids with hypos. It’s kind of hot. Do you happen to have a spare one of those?” He asks, nodding at her katana.
“Here, switch with me,” she sighs, tossing him the blade and reaching for his phaser. “What I wouldn’t give for a blaster right now.”
“What I wouldn’t give to see you with a blaster!” Beckett shouts, rolling underneath an attacker, slicing him in the crotch. Ouch. “I’ll see if I can hook you up with one later!”
“Babe, please stop talking about contraband in front of the Captain. ”
Beckett cackles.
“We need to get to the Bridge,” Carol mutters.
Ransom nods, hacking at an Hybrid with the illegal weapon. Huh. Okay, maybe you could just hit people with it. “We need to send out a distress signal,” her first officer says; first bright idea she’s had out of him all day.
“And we can’t do that from here?” Boimler croaks, panting. A Hybrid has him pinned to the wall by his throat. He kicks at it for a moment before flipping his katana backwards in his hands and slashing at it’s forearm. It drops him. He stabs upwards. The Hybrid falls to the ground. Dead. Boimler dusts himself off before jumping back into the fray.
“We could but according to Billups we’re about to lose power in the lower decks right about—”
The lights go out.
“—Now.” Ransom grimances.
“Well, fuck,” Beckett says, eloquently. “Guess we better get to the Bridge.”
Easier. Said. Than done.
Forty minutes later, Carol finds herself on the Bridge, bleeding profusely from an inconvenient stab wound in her side. Ransom is over by the comm station, frantically trying to send out a distress signal. It’s honestly a job that Boimler should be doing—he’s a bit more comfortable with the technical end of things rather than whatever the hell he and Beckett are doing with the Hybrids by the turbolift doors—but Carol isn’t really in any position to complain.
Ransom meets her eyes across the room. Shakes his head.
Well shit.
“This might be it,” she says, out loud. Bright lights swim in her eyes. Blood pounds in her ears. Her grip tightens on her phaser.
Boimler and Beckett exchange a look.
“Mom-”
“We really weren’t even equipped to handle this in the first place,” Carol continues, staring off into the middle distance.
“I don’t think the Enterprise is equipped to handle this,” Boimler says, stabbing another Hybrid. Blood goes everywhere, on Boimler, on the walls, on the floor. It’s really disgusting , Carol thinks, distantly. Beckett looks vaguely turned on, because of course she does.
I’m going to die here, Carol thinks. I’m going to die, eaten by bootleg zombies, with my certifiably insane daughter, her weird, twink boyfriend, and the dumbest hunk in the galaxy.
It seems like the kind of thing that would happen to her which is why she kinda accepts it pretty quickly. That or the blood loss is getting to her. At least they’ll probably die heroes or something, which is always how Carol wanted to go out: with a bang. Fading into obscurity, into oblivion, was never the plan. This is optimal. Not pleasant, but. Optimal.
“So this might be bad timing,” Boimler says, turning to Beckett. “But will you marry me?”
Ransom chokes.
Beckett doesn’t look surprised in the slightest. She spins around, slicing open the neck of the Hybrid sneaking up behind her. “Brad,” she says, shoving the dying Hybrid away. “I love you. But yeah this really might not be the best time. ”
“Uhhh,” Boimler— fuck it he’s about to become her son in law isn’t he? She can call him Brad— says as three more Hybrids break through the turbolift doors. Fuuuck. “This might be the only time?”
The two of them start backing away from the Hybrids. There’s around twelve of them now. Not bad odds, considering, but they’ve been going at this for at least an hour. Something’s gotta give, and Carol knows it’s them, not the medically enhanced monsters. Ransom brandishes the katana once again, moving from the comm station back to where Carol is leaning heavily against her chair. Brad and Beckett are still backing away from the slowly approaching creatures, but Beckett’s attention isn’t on them.
“Hey Mom.”
“Yeah, kiddo?” She clutches her phaser tightly, pointing it at the Hybrid closest to her daughter.
“You can like. Legally marry people, right?”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Ransom groans, pinching his brow between two fingers. “I’m going to die as the side-character in someone else’s love story. What did I do to deserve this?”
“It’s very on-brand for us,” Carol grimances.
Brad’s hand slips into Beckett’s “I did buy you a ring, by the way,” he says.
What the fuck, Carol thinks. What the fuck. Who the fuck cleared any of this with her? Shouldn’t he have asked her or something first? If they survived this—pretty big if, but it’s the only thing keeping her sanity together at this point—she’s going to be having a long talk with Brad Boimler.
“Yeah?” Beckett breathes, eyes glued to the side of Brad’s face. He’s still staring at the Hybrid’s in horror.
“Yep.” His voice is tight. “D’Vana helped. It’s made out of Tallonian crystals.”
Beckett looks like she’s going to jump Brad right there, on the Bridge, in front of her mom, her mom’s glorified PA, and a pack of zombie-like creatures. “ Duuuude. That stuff is massively illegal. Oh my god, how am I supposed to find you a ring as cool?”
“My standards are pretty low,” he replies. “The only thing I really want is you.”
“That's beautiful. Oh my god. Carol, you have to marry them.”
“Ransom, shut up,” Beckett and Brad say in unison, staring deeply into each other's eyes.
Fuck it, if Carol’s going out, she's gonna go out officiating her daughter's dumbass, insane wedding while simultaneously slaying zombies with her hot first officer.
“Ransom, give me your other phaser.”
Ransom tosses it at her. The Hybrids lunge.
Carol clears her throat, brandishing her twin phasers. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here-” she shoots the Hybrid stalking Beckett from the side, “-in the sign of God-” Ransom dodges a Hybrid running at him on all fours, taking out it’s shoulder with the katana, “-wait do any of us even believe in God?”
“Just marry us!” Beckett shouts from her precarious position on a Hybrid’s shoulders. Brad makes what Carol assumes is a sound of agreement, but can’t really tell around all of the shrieking and snarling going on.
“ Fine. We are gathered here to join together this man-” Brad throws his katana to Beckett, diving underneath the Hybrid she’s trying to take out, “-and this woman-” Beckett catches the katana in her free hand, stabs it between the Hybrid’s ribs, and tosses it back to Brad, who pops up on the other side of the Hybrid just in time to catch it, “-in holy matrimony.”
Beckett brandishes her bat’leth in both hands, standing back to back with Brad, who’s gripping his katana in a similar stance.
“Beckett Mariner do you-”
“Yes!” Beckett shouts, stabbing a Hybrid with the tip of her katana. “Skip the sickness and health part, I’ve been lugging his suicidal ass for years now!”
“Bradward-”
“Do you have to use my actual name- ”
“-Boimler do you take-”
“Yes and yes!” Brad shouts. Beckett throws a Hybrid at him, which he immediately impales on his blade.
“In the power invested in me as-” Carol blinks, shoots at another Hybrid. “As your mother , I now pronounce you man and wife!”
“Idiot and idiot,” Ransom supplies, decapitating a Hybrid somewhere behind Carol.
“You may now-”
Beckett shoves Brad into the nearest wall and begins to aggressively make out with the man.
“-kiss,” Carol finishes.
“Hot damn,” Ransom whistles, sliding to a stop beside Carol. There’s blood everywhere: the floor, the walls, the consoles, on them . Carol wrinkles her nose.
“Wait, was that the last of them?” She stares down at the bodies littering her Bridge floor. “Oh my god, Ransom, was that the last of them? ”
The lights abruptly turn back on.
Beckett pulls away from a dazed Brad. “Fuck yeah, Sammy came through!” She begins to mess with her disheveled hair. “That was awesome.”
“We smell like blood and cat piss,” Brad replies.
“Like I said. Awesome. ”
The turbolift doors open again. Lieutenant Tendi and Dr. T’Ana poke their heads out cautiously. T’Ana—true to Ransom’s word—is brandishing a hypo like a weapon. Tendi has a bottle of vodka in one hand and a fucking javalin in the other. Where were her crewmembers getting these?
“Oh,” Tendi says, blinking owlishly at the massacre. “What’d we miss?”
“ Retirement ,” Brad stresses to Beckett.
Beckett throws an arm over his shoulder, dragging him in. “We said at least eight more years, dude.” She pauses, surveying the damage. “Oh shit , Sam’s gonna be so mad he missed the wedding!”
“WHAT WEDDING?” Tendi shrieks.
“Side-characters,” Ransom mutters. “We’re fucking side-characters.”
“OH MY GOD SAMMY OWES ME LIKE A MILLION CREDITS AND HIS KNIFE COLLECTION.”
Beckett grins and Brad and Brad grins back. They’re both covered in zombie-hybrid intestines, a couple gallons of blood, and that weird water that T’Ana was spraying everyone with that made them immune to the virus. None of that seems to matter to them, though, Carol notes.
Both certifiably insane, she thinks. But goddamn if they don’t make it work.