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“So… you and M’Benga, huh?”
Hemmer grunted. “The doctor and I are the only ones that remember the storybook incident. It only makes sense that we would discuss it amongst ourselves. Pass me the hyperspanner, Cadet.”
“Uh-huh. Which is why you’re meeting him for a drink and a meal in the nice mess hall instead of scheduling a therapy session.” Uhura passed him the tool without taking her attention off of her own task.
Hemmer liked talking with the cadet, most of the time even anticipating her next shift in Engineering. The one downside to their chats, however, was that she tended to be extremely perceptive.
He had, in fact, planned on arriving early to their dinner and claiming a table near the doors– in case either of them happened to have a moment that couldn’t really go down in front of the lower ranks and they needed to beat a dignified retreat. M’Benga had also mentioned wearing civs instead of their uniforms, so perhaps he would pull out one of the outfits that had served him well during the Academy. Perhaps.
He was pulled out of his reverie by a clunk beside him. “Shit- Hemmer, do you have the lug wrench?”
Jabilo knew that if he had to talk to anyone about the events of the storybook incident, the person that had been there to witness it– all of it– was probably the one he should talk about it with.
He just wasn’t sure if he was ready. Rukiya’s… chances had changed so quickly, so suddenly, that all he could do was watch it happen. And Hemmer had been there with him. Maybe not present in the exact moment, seeing as he had unfortunately been little more than a telephone for Debra, but he remembered it all, and even before that, had stood by him in his desperate search for his daughter.
Talking to Hemmer would be good, he decided, because otherwise, he might just lose his mind.
And, well, if Christine waggled her eyebrows in a lovingly obnoxious way as he left Sickbay to prepare for their meeting, that was her own prerogative.
They made it fairly far into their meal before M’Benga (“Please, Hemmer, I think you can call me Jabilo at this point.”) began to show signs of his well-hidden distress.
He didn’t want to appear fast, that had never been his style, but–
“Do you want to head out of here, go back to my place?”
Even with his mental shields firmly in place, Hemmer could feel Jabilo grab desperately onto the chance for privacy like a lifeline. They rose hurriedly, making their escape to his quarters.
He was not a person that cried easily. And to clarify, it wasn’t some pathetic streak of masculinity or a bragging right, simply a fact of life. But right then and there, he needed to sob like there was no tomorrow.
He could feel Hemmer’s hand, resting lightly on the small of his back, as the Aenar guided him to his quarters. The distinctly different structure of his fingers combined with the slight chill of them that managed to seep through his clothes kept him sufficiently distracted and grounded in real time, lending him the strength to make it to closed quarters with all his wits about him.
Thankfully, they arrived before he broke down in the middle of a hallway.
Hemmer led the way in. The lights didn’t switch on at their arrival, so he simply followed Hemmer’s path through the space and settled in on the couch.
“You want a drink or should we do this sober?” The Aenar stood by a wall of shelving that held row after row of everything from Illyrian sakwat to a truly horrible variety of Terran boxed wine.
He chanced a brittle smile. “Sober, for now. How much of this was gifted by Boyce?”
Hemmer sat beside him on the couch. “Too much of it.”
They sat there for a moment, close but not touching. Jabilo couldn’t tell if that was what he wanted.
“You didn’t fail her.”
“She spent a year in that transporter,” he started. “And she only lived two days of it.” The resolve he had built up, that wall that kept him safe as long as he kept moving, came crashing down.
The guilt, which had really been there since the day of her diagnosis, weighed so heavily on his throat. It would be easy to let it take him, let himself wither away.
Except– Hemmer’s arms were around him, strong and secure, holding him to his chest, and Rukiya’s final message rang through him.
Hemmer held on until the tears dried, the breaths evened out, and the shakes stopped, running a steady hand along his spine the whole time.
“Thank you.”
He simply nods.
Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but someday soon, he hoped, those arms would still be willing to hold him, even without reason.
If anyone notices that he and Jabilo start eating meals together more often than not after that night, they know better than to say anything. Lunch and dinner become regular occurrences for them, and even breakfast slowly turns into a habit. There’s one occasion (after some particularly abusive flying courtesy of Lieutenant Ortegas) where the good doctor brings two trays down to main Engineering so they can still share their time, regardless of the periodic interruptions throughout the meal.
Hemmer finds himself wanting to tell him things that no one else knew, or would have even cared to know, and thinks that Jabilo feels similar urges.
Somehow, despite the natures of their jobs traditionally having very little overlap, they discover a unique ability to collaborate on a wide variety of challenges. Personal projects, walls of liquor, even certain intra-species compatibility exams.
Engineering doesnt know what to do with this new, happier side of him, and apparently Sickbay is struggling to adjust as well. “Their loss,” he tells Jabilo one day, antennae bending forward.
He may be the telepathic one, but the human knows him damn well by now. Jabilo flicks the antennae closest to him. “You know we don’t have time, Hemmer.”
“When has the Captain ever been offended by someone arriving fashionably late,” he asks, leaning forward to capture Jabilo’s lips.
The man reciprocates, wickely, and then breaks away to angle what he’s sure is a stern look at him. “When two arrive late together, my dear.” Jabilo kisses him again before speaking in a deliciously husky tone. “But he’s never minded if two leave early.”
-
After getting the Peregrine’s power back, Hemmer felt something unfamiliar approaching them at the edges of his consciousness. It made a noise, a clatter as it dropped down from who knows where, and he knew what Uhura would do.
The basic rotation training that La’an offered was notorious for two things: scaring away cadets that couldn’t take the heat, and revealing that those who stayed were the kind of people that were willing to get injured for the sake of curiosity. For those on the Security track, she trained that instinct out of them fairly quickly. For everyone else, that urge stayed strong.
Unfortunately, Uhura was a communications engineer and linguistic prodigy. La’an hardly had enough time to teach her the Rules, let alone show her how to quell her curious nature during times of crisis.
She creeped toward the thing, tool still in hand. It moved slowly, looking at them like it was sizing them up. And then it moved, fast as lightning, hissing and spitting. He pushed Uhura out of the way, taking the acid shower with as much grace as possible.
“Shit- Hemmer!” Nurse Chapel raced up to him. Oh, he realized distantly, the monster must have been neutralized. “We need to get you to Sickbay.”
Hearing Hemmer’s voice was like a balm on his nerves. Until he realized that his partner was limping along with the help of Cadet Uhura, green venom dripping onto the floor in a trail behind him.
He still felt well enough to crack jokes, which was a relief, but having just discovered the potential threat of the stuff, Jabilo couldn’t help but dote after him once the acid was wiped away and the burns were healed. Hemmer hissed at the sensation of the painkiller injection. Never a good sign, given his dedication to gentle, painless treatment with a hypospray.
After that, nothing more could be done this far from the Enterprise and her full medical arsenal, so he put down his tools and leaned into Hemmer. This mission had taken several turns for the worse. Any support the other man could provide, or any strength that he could lend to Hemmer, would be for both their benefit.
A hand snaked around his waist. It stayed there, a silent comfort, as the plan took form.
His body began to ache around the time that Spock had narrowly escaped becoming dinner for the two Gorn.
As La’an made her move, it got worse, and he noticed a thin webbing starting to grow on his face. He climbed into the mobile storage unit and prayed to Uzaveh that he’d be aware enough to push the button when she made the call.
He could tell that the Captain was in some state of shock. Jabilo was fighting through his own, trying to ignore the crushing pain that came with the realization in favor of a steady, analytical bedside manner. It wasn’t working.
Christine was fighting to get inside, to treat him in any way she could. He had locked everyone out, everyone but the person he knew wouldn’t fight him on the decision.
Jabilo tried to bargain, make him change his mind. Hemmer stood strong, sticking a knife into his heart in his attempt to save them all.
He hated hearing the desperation and the pain that bled into Jabilo’s words. He hated that he had been the one to cause that hurt.
The feeling of being torn apart from within had grown insistent, his ability to hold back his telepathy gone. He could feel everything. Spock’s stubborn attempts at control were failing. He lifted a shaky ta’al and projected his understanding to his fellow telepath. They had never been close, he and Spock, but he knew the isolation, the judgment, the unsubtle scrutinizing looks that the Fleet pretended weren’t there. The first of their kinds in Starfleet, having to prove themselves time and time again. He dared Spock to rise above it all, to represent all the firsts that the Fleet had welcomed, past, present, and future. “Live long and prosper.”
Spock, holding on to the weak mental connection, projected back a message of his own. “Your memory shall be a blessing.”
Uhura’s horror and guilt by then was a physical weight on his mind as she begged him to reconsider.
Hemmer wanted her to love, fiercely and without fear, to find the happiness that he had only so recently found. Perhaps, in another life, he would have been able to witness everything she would become.
Once Jabilo’s agony reached him through several decks, he knew it was time to draw things to a close. But he was selfish, and reached for the comfort of the other man’s mind in his final moments. “I want you to be happy, my love. My body is an object, but my spirit will be with you always.”
Crossing the forcefield and meeting the biting cold cemented his decision. He had accomplished his purpose and would die honorably. Maybe now, his family would be proud of him.
The chill of Andor was a comfort, one that he was glad he would have.