Chapter Text
Beckett Mariner is a nerd.
She’s never been one for stereotypes. Nobody is just one thing, they’re a collection of memories and experiences and all of their past selves, and it’s naive - not to mention a little bit unethical - to think you can put any sentient being in a box.
But ‘nerd,’ she likes. Beckett wears the label the way she’ll someday wear a badge. ‘Nerd’ is the mark of Jim Kirk, and Jean-Luc Picard, and all the great captains of her time. It’s one of the reasons she didn’t take her parents’ name when she applied for the academy. Beckett Freeman may be the daughter of two decorated officers, but Beckett Mariner, like every legacy before her, is going to carve a name for herself out there, among the stars.
And it’s certainly not like being a nerd means she doesn’t have spunk. Beckett’s mom will tell you that. And her dad. And her professors.
It really isn’t Beckett’s fault. She’s seen so much of the universe already, and when you’re passionate about something, like, really passionate, you tend to be more than a little opinionated. Especially in matters of life-or-death like warp theory and ethics and exams.
Maybe that’s one of the reasons she and Amina fit together so easily. Amina might be a little bit older, a little bit cooler, a little more likely to bend the rules if it'll make for a good memory, with Beckett clinging on for dear life in the passenger seat. But, when it comes down to it, they’re not so different. They both study hard, they both speak their mind, and they both believe in Starfleet, more than anything.
And it’s why they fit together so well, now, lying in the cool grass in the middle of the quad, Beckett’s head resting in Amina’s lap, Amina’s fingers coiled gently through her hair. The remnants of their afternoon of studying – books and PADDs still open to convoluted diagrams and articles on xenobiology – are scattered around them, forgotten now that the world has darkened and the only lights are the fireflies flitting lazily through the night air.
“I’ve been to that one,” Beckett says, her finger pointing to a star. “And that one. That one was kind of lame. On the third planet around that one I almost got lost in a Terellian sand maze.”
Amina grins down at her. “What were you doing in Terellian sand maze?”
“I was six! I thought it was like a corn maze. Nobody told me about the giant humanoid-eating spider things.”
Amina snorts. “You’d think someone would have warned you."
“Yeah, well, six-year-olds don’t get invited to mission briefings.” Beckett pauses to take in the soft ripple of Amina’s laugh, then continues. “Anyway, some redshirt found me just in time. But my mom was so freaked out she wouldn’t let me leave the ship for weeks after that. I had to go above her head and write an appeal to the captain.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did!” Beckett says. “He said it was the best persuasive essay he’d ever read written in crayon.”
Amina draws her hand out from Beckett’s hair and prods her in the shoulder. “You’re such a show off.”
Beckett lifts her head out of Amina’s lap. “I am not a –”
But then Amina leans down and kisses her, and the words of indignation get lost in Beckett’s throat.
It’s a quick kiss, gentle, easy, tasting vaguely of the lemonade they’d been sipping on earlier to keep the heat at bay. When they separate, Beckett presses a finger lightly to Amina’s lips. “And I’ve been to this one,” she grins. “Multiple times.”
“Better than the Terrellian sand maze?”
“Much better,” Beckett says. “And no spiders, so far.”
Amina laughs again, generously, and then leans back on her elbows, turning her face up to the sky. Beckett follows her gaze, and they sit there for a minute, looking up. Beckett can’t see from this angle, but she knows that the stars are reflecting in Amina’s dark eyes, constellations of light sparkling like tiny tears.
“I can’t believe we’re really going to be up there soon,” Amina sighs, eventually.
Beckett cocks an eyebrow. “I’ll race you.”
“Nah,” says Amina, “We’ll be up there together. I’ll be captain, and you’ll be my XO.”
Beckett finds Amina’s ribs with her notoriously-sharp elbow. “Um, no, I’ll be captain and you’ll be my XO.”
Amina swats her away, and they scrabble for a minute, before Amina gives in and finally turns away from the open sky to look down again at Beckett. “You’re probably right, you know.”
Beckett tries to ignore the flutter in her chest. “Co-captains,” she says. “I’ll need someone rebellious and cool, to balance me out.”
Amina rolls her eyes. “Please, you’re Little Miss Starfleet, won’t need anyone. You’ll be flying circles around the rest of us.”
“Yeah,” Beckett says, drawing out the word like a Sunday afternoon in June and meeting Amina’s quiet gaze. “But I’ll still need you.”
“Good,” Amina says, leaning down and finding her lips between the words. “Because you’re not getting rid of me.”
There’s nothing more to say after that, so eventually they settle back down into the quiet of the evening, the books forgotten, the cool breeze rustling pages and tugging wisps of hair from Amina’s wilting ponytail. Beckett can’t help but think about how silent it is here, how silent it always is, in the absence of the thrum of a warp core or the incessant chirping of ship systems.
She’d used to wish, sometimes, that the noise pollution from the old days still existed, just so that this planet would feel a little more familiar. But, of course, when you’ve grown up on starships, walking on solid ground never feels familiar.
In class, they teach you that the internal dampeners simulate land perfectly, that study after study has shown no human can actually tell the difference. But Beckett had always known that was a lie, probably made up by engineers who had never actually been out there, never felt the rush of laying still in bed, watching the stars go by out the window as you hurtle through space faster than the speed of light. She’d tried explaining this to her professors, tried telling them that she knew better, but they hadn’t wanted to listen. ‘A bit of a smart aleck,’ they’d called her. As if that’s an insult.
In the end, it had taken her almost a month to get her land legs. She’d stumbled around campus for weeks until she’d bumped into Amina on the stairs and they’d tumbled down together, PADDs flying, like they were characters in some sort of romantic comedy holonovel. And Amina had wanted to hear all of Beckett’s stories about space, and Beckett had wanted to hear all about Amina, who’d grown up on Earth and was so cool and beautiful and confident that Beckett could barely keep her heart inside her chest.
When they’d first met, Beckett had told her how strange it feels to call somewhere your home planet when the longest time you’ll ever spend there is four years for the academy.
As a child, Beckett had always told people that the sky was her home. But when she got older, she’d decided she didn’t actually have a home at all. It’s hard to settle when your life is spent getting bumped around from starship to starship with parents who are never really there, who try their hardest but can’t hide the fact that you’re just something that gets in the way of their career.
But, now, in this moment, Beckett knows that she was wrong. She does have a home, and, whether she’s in San Francisco or the sky, that home is with Amina.
The peace of the evening and the endless drone of Beckett’s thoughts are interrupted by a gentle click as the lamps lining quad flick on, drowning out the sky and casting long shadows across the lawn. Blinking in the bright light, Beckett sits up, and swipes one of the PADDs out of its nest in the dark grass. “We should probably study some more.”
“There are some things that are more important than grades, you know,” Amina says.
Beckett feigns a scandalized expression. “What could possibly be more important than grades?
“Letting loose a little, maybe?”
“Letting loose is overrated.”
“That’s not what you said when we drove Professor Rubichik's car into the bay.”
Beckett grins. “That was the adrenaline talking. And I’m never doing that again. I’m still not convinced we’re not going to get expelled.”
[That’s a lie, of course. Beckett would do it several hundred more times if Amina wanted to, just to feel the thrill of the adventure and see the look of victory on Amina’s face.]
Amina waves her hand in a vague dramatic gesture. “They could never expel us. You’re the first person in decades who might actually ace Professor Ch'irall’s class.”
Beckett rolls her eyes. “I really don’t get why everyone’s having so much trouble with that. It’s just math.”
“Math that weeds out a quarter of the graduating class, maybe.”
“All the more reason to study, then,” Beckett says drolly. She glances back up to the black sky, to the storm clouds drifting in at the periphery, and clutches at the PADD a little tighter. There’s always more to learn, and never enough time. “Besides,” she says quietly, “we need to be prepared for what’s out there.”
The words weigh heavy in the summer air, and Amina’s smile falls. “You mean the war.”
Beckett’s silent for a moment as she tries to catch a firefly that’s been humming noisily around their ankles. She manages to clap her hands around it, but it soars out of her cupped palms, and circles her head once before disappearing back into the night.
“They’re not even calling it a war yet,” Beckett says after a moment, but she knows they both know better.
They’ve both heard the murmurs between professors in the hallway, watched as students from colonies near Bajor and Cardassia pull out PADDs in class to check the lists of the dead, felt the rush as professors try to get through as much material as possible for fear cadets would be shipped out before they graduate. ‘Imminent,’ is what people had been calling it. 'Inevitable.'
“You’ve been out there,” Amina says, nudging Beckett's shoulder again, gentler this time. “You’ve seen what we can do.”
Beckett mulls the thought over, a little distracted by the taste of lemonade still sticky on her tongue. “You don’t ever worry?”
Amina takes a second to unfurl her sleeves, which she’d rolled up in the heat of the afternoon. A uniform violation Beckett’s always admired, always been too cautious to try for herself. “We’ll win,” Amina says. “We’re Starfleet, we always win.” She catches Beckett’s look, and finds Beckett’s hand with hers. “And I’ll be with you. Whatever happens. No matter how much we rank up.”
Maybe now’s not the time. Maybe it’s too soon. They say you’re not supposed to get attached at the Academy, that you’ll never see each other again, never end up on the same ship. They says connections are a liability. With her history, Beckett should know that better than anyone.
But she’s never really believed it, not really. Maybe her mother’s right – she too idealistic, too sensitive, too sentimental.
Or maybe there’s just something about Amina that makes Beckett want to break the rules.
“I love you,” Beckett whispers.
Amina smiles, warm like the quiet evening breeze. “I love you too.”
Glowing, Beckett settles back into Amina’s lap and turns back up towards the stars. The worry is still gnawing lightly at her stomach, but it’s so easy to forget it in the peace of this moment, in the quiet of the night, in the softness of Amina’s fingers intertwined with hers.
How could anything bad happen in a sky as beautiful as this?