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It didn’t mean ‘no.’
I know you know that. But I wanted to say it clearly. I know Captain Burnham wouldn’t have given you the order without some signal from you. What was it, Keyla? A nod? A wink? Whatever it was, you told her it was okay to order you onto a suicide mission. Not that she actually had to make it an order. She just said we needed a pilot, and you were there. Ready to go. Just like I knew you would. Just like anyone who knows you would expect.
You looked at me first. I shook my head. I told you no, don’t go, I don’t want you to risk your life like this.
We’re Starfleet officers. We don’t turn down orders, and we don’t stand idly by when we can help. Earth and Ni’Var were facing absolute destruction. Billions of lives hung in the balance. We needed a pilot. You’re the best I’ve ever seen. There was no universe where you didn’t stand up and offer to do what needed to be done. To put your life at risk in order to save billions.
I wasn’t telling you to stop.
I was letting you know that even with those odds, even knowing how devastating a loss would be at that moment, I didn’t care. Let the DMA destroy Earth and everyone on it. Let it devastate the entire galaxy as long as it left you and this ship alone. Your life is worth so much more to me than everything hanging in the balance in that moment.
But that’s the job. We sacrifice everything we care about for people we’ll never meet, on worlds we may never visit. That’s what we signed up for. And if you hadn’t stepped forward, you would be a stranger to me. I don’t know a version of you that selfish, that cowardly. You wouldn’t be the woman I love if you waited for an order to take that shuttle and do what needed to be done.
I just had to let you know. And I didn’t want to wait until now to say it, after we know you would have survived. I wanted to let you know, in that moment, I was selfish. I was cowardly. The thought of losing you for any reason was too much.
You are precious to me, Keyla. You are planets, solar systems, nebulae, everything glorious that could have been destroyed by the DMA. Admitting I loved you was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. It scares me to think I got everything I wanted just to have it torn away from me. I’m trying. I’m trying to be grateful for the time we do have. To not take a second of it for granted.
Because one day another suicide mission will arrive, and one of us will step forward, and we may not come back. We can’t focus on that. And starting today, I won’t. That’s why I’m writing this down for you, Keyla. I want you to use it as a reminder the next time one of us panics or starts to get afraid. I want you to remember this day, when I wrote this promise to you.
We’re on a beach on Kauai. It’s a few hours after sunset, and you spent the entire day trying to learn how to snorkel. You’re the first to admit you’re terrible at it - “it’s like drowning but with more equipment” - but you are determined. Right now you’re lying next to me in bed, on your stomach. You smell like saltwater and sand and that cream you slathered on so you wouldn’t burst into flames. “Nine hundred years and this goo is still our best option. We can breach the galactic barrier, but technology is baffled if a redhead wants to spend five minutes in the sun.”
In the morning, we’ll head back to the beach and you’ll try snorkeling again. I’ll read my book and cheer you on. Maybe we’ll go parasailing. You said it looked fun. We’ll see. Soon enough we’ll go back to the ship, we’ll head out on another mission, and who knows where this one will take us. All I know is that I’ll be there by your side. And no matter what happens or what is asked for us, remember these quiet days we shared together before all hell broke loose and we were forced to put our lives on the line once again.
Always remember that I don’t want you to go, Keyla. Always know that I will be so proud when you do.