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Something isn’t quite right. Chris can’t put a finger on it, though he really has tried to, but it’s as if the vibe of the Enterprise has shifted slightly. All day, he’s seen reports coming in of crewmembers lashing out at each other, and accidents that have caused an inconvenience but no real injury. And Chris swears - though not a single person he’s mentioned it to has believed him, not even Una - Spock had smiled at one of Erica’s jokes earlier that morning.
Something isn’t quite right.
It’s not until he’s off duty, relaxing in his quarters with a glass of scotch in one hand, and a book on the neuroscience of horsemanship in the other, when the ‘not quite right’ becomes really, very wrong.
The chime at his door so late in the evening isn’t too odd, neither is the appearance of Una, walking into his quarters as if they’re her own. She spends enough time here after all, helping him tidy away after a meal he’s prepared for the crew, or simply relaxing and unwinding after a busy day. But the strange vibe he’s experienced all day only grows when she takes her usual seat opposite him.
“Have you noticed anything…weird, today?” he ventures, hoping Una’s picked up on it too.
“Weird?”
“Yeah, weird.”
“Aside from you thinking Spock smiled at a joke this morning?”
“Yes, Number One. Aside from that.”
She pauses, tapping her gold painted fingernails against the arm of the chair for a moment.
“No more than usual aboard this ship,” comes her eventual reply.
Chris frowns. Half the reports he’s received throughout the day have been from his first officer - the other half coming from Joseph down in sickbay.
“The crew seems on edge,” he tries again, watching the slight indent in Una’s forehead appear - the one that’s usually a sign he’s said something stupid and she’s about to roll her eyes.
No eye roll happens, and instead Una stands, moving to pour herself a drink - just as she has on hundreds of occasions in the past. So he’s not quite sure why this occasion feels wrong.
“It’s been a long few weeks, I suppose they’re just tired. Fatigue can cause irritability in humans.”
“In humans,” he repeats slowly.
Una turns around to face him, tumbler of scotch gripped loosely in her left hand. This time the eye roll makes an appearance, and the sensation of wrongness eases off somewhat at the sight of it. Una sighs and takes her seat again, pinning him with a slightly pained stare.
“Chris. I’m not human.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Fatigue doesn’t affect me in the same way.”
“I’ve just never heard you talk like that before.”
“You’ve not known the truth before.”
That’s not entirely true , he doesn’t say aloud. He’s known her secret for months, and until tonight, the knowledge of that secret hasn’t been mentioned between them.
“I don’t like having to hide, Chris. I feel safe with you.”
He pauses, resting his book on the arm of his chair and taking a swig of his scotch. It burns pleasantly in his throat as he swallows, the heat a welcome sensation against the unease in his chest.
“I’m sorry, Number One. I think I’ve been out of sorts today.”
“Because you thought you saw Spock smile?”
She smiles at him - the gentle teasing twist of her lips that he so rarely gets to see since she became his XO. The unease lessens a tiny bit more.
“I guess so,” he laughs softly.
“Do you honestly think something is wrong?”
Chris sighs, and raises his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He briefly wonders whether he should get Joseph or Nurse Chapel to check him over for any neurological distress. Instead, he downs the last of his scotch in one gulp, deciding a good night’s sleep might be all he needs.
He’s about to voice the idea to Una when she stands again, reaching for his glass. Chris lets her take it without question, watching her this time as she returns to the decanter. The decanter in question is almost full, newly topped up with the bottle of whiskey Joseph had given him as an early birthday present from Starbase 12. Which is why - despite her Illyrian strength - Chris is surprised to see Una lift the decanter with her right hand.
He hesitates. In all the years he's known his Number One, even before she was his first officer, he's never seen her pour a drink right handed. Because whilst Una - ever the perfectionist - can use most things ambidextrously, at the end of the day she's still left handed. The wrongness returns, full force, and Chris feels his heart rate pick up.
"Pike to Doctor M'Benga."
Una's turned back to face him now, confused frown furrowing her forehead, and Pike forces back the slight rise of panic inside him. Because if Una isn't Una, who - or what - is she. And more importantly, is the real Una okay.
"M'Benga here, Captain."
"Are you busy right now, Doctor? It's not urgent but could I get you to check my vitals? I've been feeling off all day, even though Number One assures me I'm imagining it."
"Of course. I'll be there soon, Chris."
The computer beeps, signalling the end of the communication, and Chris sighs. Una raises an eyebrow, her question silent but no less obvious than if she'd voiced it aloud.
"If there's nothing wrong with the ship, or crew," he starts, rising to his feet. "Then maybe there's something wrong with me."
"If Joseph doesn't find anything, there's nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."
Pike hums in agreement, and can’t help but let his gaze wander over his first officer. Nothing seems different: the way she holds herself, the fit of her uniform, the tiniest quirk to her lips that tells him she’s wondering if he’s lost his mind - all perfectly perfect Una. But then his eyes land on the whiskey tumbler still in her hand.
“You’re left handed,” he says, regretting it the instant he voices it, Una’s eyes snapping to his and turning cold.
He’s never seen that look on her face before, at least not directed at him, and all the unease and worry from the day comes flooding back.
“You’re not Una,” he continues, knowing if she was Una, his first officer would be reprimanding him for being so stupid as to confront an unknown entity without waiting for backup.
The fake Una smiles - though it has none of the warmth her smiles usually bring - and takes a calculating step towards him. Chris attempts to back away, his thighs brushing against the arm of his chair and impeding his retreat. There’s a thud, the book he’d left on his chair tumbling to the floor and falling open at his feet.
In that tiny, insignificant moment, his eyes flick to the floor.
Una, or rather, whatever has replaced her, capitalises on his attention shift and reaches out towards him. The last thing Chris remembers thinking before it all turns black is: the real Una’s going to have my head for this.
---
Una blinks.
Her head is fuzzy, as though she’s woken up from the middle of a dream: confused and uncertain. She blinks again, her blurry vision clearing, to find she’s stood in Chris’ quarters. There’s a tumbler of scotch in her hand, and Chris is standing in front of her, concern plastered across his face.
“Number One, are you okay?”
“I-”
“Perhaps you’ve had enough for the evening,” he jokes, nodding towards the scotch.
Una frowns. She doesn’t remember drinking, only flashes and sensations, static images she can’t quite place. But there’s nothing solid, nothing tangible, her memories an unnerving black hole. The last thing she remembers is La’an - an unfamiliar look on the security chief’s face - handing over a report, her fingers brushing Una’s hand.
“Sorry, I feel a bit out of sorts,” she says, turning slightly to put the glass down next to the decanter. “My head’s pretty unclear. I think I’ll retire to bed early.”
Una goes to move past him, but her foot doesn’t find a stable purchase against the floor, the pages of a non-digital book impeding her stability. She tumbles forward, and straight into Chris’ arms.
“Making you weak in the knees, am I?” he says, a smile on his face she’s never seen directed at her before.
Despite it, Una can feel the heat rising to her face, along with a distinct sense of mortification. She hurriedly extracts herself from Chris’ hold, her attempt at retreat hindered by the warm hand that closes around her wrist.
“Sir?”
Without a word, Chris leans closer, his free hand brushing a lock of hair away from her face, tucking it carefully behind her ear. Una swallows, hard, her cheeks now burning under the scrutiny of his gaze.
“Have I ever told you how much I love seeing your hair down like this?”
Una forgets how to breathe, heart beating double time in her chest. A sudden desire for a shipwide emergency - to free her from the awkwardness of the moment - overcomes her. But unfortunately, she’s not that lucky; and when no demand for the captain to return to the bridge appears, Una steels herself and forges on.
“Are you- are you feeling okay, Captain?” she tries, hoping she sounds less affected than she is.
“Are you?” he replies.
He pulls back slightly, though his hand remains wrapped around her wrist, his thumb pressed delicately against her pulsepoint.
“You’re not acting like yourself, sir.”
“Or maybe I’ve just finally decided to go for it, Number One. I remember what the Talosians said on Talos IV, about you. About me. How we'd be an ideal Adam and Eve.”
Una freezes, static roaring in her ears. In the half a decade since, they’ve never mentioned what happened on that away mission gone wrong. And Una has always naively hoped it would never be brought up again.
“Captain-”
“Chris,” he insists.
“Captain,” Una reiterates, tugging slightly against his hold on her wrist. He doesn’t release her, his fingers pressing tighter against her skin, and it sets off warning bells in her head.
This isn’t Chris.
Whilst Una’s memories of the last few hours are all but non-existent and fuzzy at best, she can remember the increased conflict plaguing the crew. And whatever it is seems to have affected the captain. Una’s half a second away from calling security when Chris moves, head dipping towards hers. She doesn’t hesitate, pulling him closer and using the momentum to flip him easily to the ground.
Before he has a chance to react, the doors to Chris’ quarters hiss open, and Una stares, wide eyed, at the equally confused doctor.
“Una?”
“Something’s wrong with the Captain,” she says instantly, hoping beyond hope that Joseph believes her. Or more importantly, that he isn’t infected by whatever has happened to Chris as well.
“It’s no fun when you know. I think it’s time for me to leave,” Chris says, though his voice is different, almost ethereal.
A golden light spills from his eyes, cascading down over his body, and Una winces against the brightness of it. The entity hovers before them for a moment, flickering in and out of place, and Una has to wonder if it's trying to communicate without a body and voice box to use. But then it’s gone, incorporeal, flying through the bulkhead of the Enterprise as if the fifteen feet of composite polycarbonate isn’t there.
Una watches it go, until it’s nothing but another star in the inky darkness of space.
Chris groans. And Joseph is on him in an instant, tricorder already scanning his vitals. The preliminary data Una can see on the tricorder’s readouts shows everything as normal, and all the tension she’s be holding vanishes. She half collapses against the worktop behind her, the whiskey decanter rattling on its tray. She holds back a laugh, picking up the still-full tumbler of scotch, and downing in it one overexaggerated gulp.
---
It’s hours later when they finally find themselves able to rest. Chris had ordered a full scan of the ship, ordering anyone with missing time to report to sickbay for a checkup. Nothing much had come from it, and the lack of resolution has left him feeling unsure and unsatisfied.
Una’s sitting with him now, a cup of chai tea cradled in her hands, watching him as he paces restlessly back and forth across his quarters.
“How’d you know I wasn’t me?” she asks.
He pauses, brow furrowing slightly at the question. He hasn’t told her, yet, what had happened between them before the entity overtook him.
“I’m assuming from the reports I’ve read from the crew, that the entity passed from person to person via touch. When I regained consciousness, I was with you. Your book was on the floor, meaning something had happened to knock it there and had also prevented you from picking it back up. And knowing you, I can only assume you confronted the entity when you realised it was impersonating me.”
Chris looks at her incredulously for a moment, a slightly bewildered smile appearing on his face. He shouldn’t be surprised at how easily she can read a room, how easily she can read him , but it never ceases to amaze him.
“You never cease to amaze me, Una,” he voices aloud.
Una presses her lips together, and raises an eyebrow that tells him she’s still awaiting an answer.
“You’re left handed,” he says with a shrug. ”The entity seemed to forget that.”
“Really? That was all it took?”
“I do pay attention, you know. But that was just the final nail in the coffin - so to speak. It was an amalgamation of little things, phrases that sounded off coming from you. You brought up being Illyrian so easily, when we’ve never discussed it since the incident at Hetemit IX.”
Una winces, and Chris’ heart goes out to her. He moves back across the room, sitting in the chair opposite hers and sending her what he hopes is a reassuring look.
“Why don’t you talk about it?”
“I’ve spent my entire life hiding it, Chris. Ever since I was sixteen and accepted into the academy. It feels…”
“Wrong?” he supplies.
Una smiles. It’s only small, but the sight of it - with the memory of the fake Una’s chilling gaze still fresh in his mind - comes as a comfort.
“I suppose so. There are four people on this ship, in the whole of the Federation, who know what I am, but I don’t feel as though I can talk to any of you about it without risking everything.”
“Who.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You said ‘what I am’. You may not be human, Una. But you’re still a person. And there is nothing wrong with being Illyrian.”
Chris doesn’t expect the sudden sheen across her eyes, and no small amount of panic rises up inside him. He’s rarely seen Una cry, and on the small handful of occasions he has, he’s never known how to help.
“How’d you know I wasn’t myself?” he asks, switching topics in a hope to distract her from whatever emotions he’s brought to the surface. “The doctor said he found you throwing me to the floor when he got here.”
“I- uh.” She clears her throat, suddenly and seemingly no longer able to look at him.
“Una.”
“You came onto me.”
He almost chokes on his own saliva at the admission, a different type of panic now flushing through him, heat flaming across his face.
“I…what?” he asks, voice strained.
“You told me you like my hair like this,” she explains, twisting a lock of hair around her finger and looking almost pained as she does so.
“Was that all it took? Me commenting on your hairstyle of all things?”
“Well, yes,” she says, her confusion evident. “Though the fact you could string a complete sentence together was also a pretty big give away.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve seen you around women you’re romantically interested in, Chris,” she says, barely able to restrain her laugh, and Chris is eternally grateful she doesn’t mention Alora by name.
“Well you’re no better,” he replies before his brain has a chance to kick in and stop him.
“Around women?”
Her eyebrow is raised, in what he hopes is amusement and not a concern for his sanity - because, with how often Una thinks he’s completely lost it, sometimes it’s hard to tell.
In for a penny, in for a pound , he thinks before diving headfirst into danger.
“I meant, Number One, that you wouldn’t notice flirting if it beamed directly on top of you.”
Her mouth drops open indignantly, and no small part of him feels triumphant at rendering Una Chin-Riley completely speechless. Though he’d be lying if he didn’t hope to end the conversation there.
But Una has never been one to let a topic drop, not when a joke has been told at her expense.
“Explain. Now.”
Any other captain would scream insubordination at such a demand, but Chris has always been more lax when it comes to his captaincy, when it comes to Una. And so he sighs, wishing he’d had the foresight to pour himself a drink first.
“When we first met,” he ventures, hoping beyond hope that Una isn’t going to put him through a bulkhead for this. Though when no understanding lights up her eyes, he winces, continuing on with a rising sense of embarrassment, “Una, I tried to get you into bed at least three times before realising you weren’t interested.”
Una stares blankly at him, and for a far too long a moment, Chris is actually worried he’s broken his first officer.
“Oh my stars,” she says eventually, so softly he barely hears her. “Chris, we’re idiots.”
Chris blinks at the unexpected response. He watches as she places her tea carefully on the side table before she stands, everything about her taut and tense as she begins to pace.
“I had no idea that’s what you were doing. I thought you were joking, showing off. I never-” she hesitates, halting in her steps, an unsureness to her that has his interest piqued. Because Una always appears confident, even when she isn’t. “It- it doesn’t matter. Maybe we should put this whole debacle behind us.”
There’s something she’s not telling him, something deep and terrifying. He can read it in the slight curl of her shoulders, the way her eyes refuse to focus on him. Chris doesn’t allow the tiny, almost forgotten spark of hope to ignite in his chest, but he does decide to risk it all and push her further.
“Tell me, Una.”
She sighs, a sign of defeat.
“Do you not remember what the Talosians said?”
Chris wishes he did. He remembers them, the aliens, with their large heads, and terrible personalities. He remembers the fury he forced to the surface as they talked to him, at him, about him, about Una, and the Yeoman. But their words are a vague memory, unimportant at the time.
“I was too busy being angry to pay much attention, if I’m honest,” he admits sheepishly.
Una smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks sad where she stands, and Chris finds himself standing to join her. He rarely touches her - a personal boundary they’d somehow established too many years ago to count - but he reaches for her hand now, thumb brushing carefully over her knuckles as he holds her fingers with his own.
“Una, what did they say?”
“I have feelings for you, Chris. Romantic feelings. They read my mind, saw my-” she stumbles, her fingers twitching awkwardly against his hand. “My fantasies. About you. About…us.”
“Oh.”
It’s not the most intellectual response he’s ever given, but her words echo in his head in a building cacophony of confusion and missed chances. He’s not quite sure how he’d missed it all these years, not when he can usually read his first officer so well. But maybe he never wanted to assume, never wanted to give light to that tiny spark still living deep within him.
“So you see,” Una continues, her words rushed, almost panicked. “We’ve been idiots all this time. That is…if you still feel the same. It’s been a while since we first met after all.”
He can hear his heart pulsing against his eardrums, Una’s own pulse a steady beat against his fingertips as they rest carefully against her wrist. He speaks without thinking, the words falling from his mouth in a confused, idiotic rush.
“What? No! Of course I don’t.”
He finds himself holding nothing but air as Una jerks awkwardly out of his grasp, the look on her face one he hopes to never see again. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears, but then she blinks, her professionalism falling into place, and shrouding her from view. Una is gone, Number One firmly taking her place.
He’s an idiot.
“Shit, I’m making a pig’s ear out of this.”
Una barely reacts to his usage of the old Earth phrase - no fond smile, no eye roll, no raised eyebrow. And Chris realises he may have to concede Una’s earlier point; he really is useless when it comes to women.
“Una, I wanted to get you into bed when we were ensigns because I was full of myself and you were- are a very attractive woman. But when I realised - believed - you weren’t interested, I was quite happy to be your friend instead. You’re an amazing, brilliant woman. But I’ve not sat here pining for you. Neither of us deserve that.” Una nods, a soft smile of resigned understanding tugging at the corners of her mouth. Chris swallows, reaching for her hand once again, pleased to find she doesn’t pull away. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want- If you did want to- I mean, I would…I’m not opposed to the idea of-”
A disbelieving smile makes its way across Una's face as he continues to fail to complete a sentence. She squeezes his hand with a tiny laugh and a fond shake of her head.
“Chris?” she says, her voice quiet but determined. “Shut up.”
And then she’s tugging him closer, her free hand curling up behind his neck as she presses her lips to his.