Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After breakfast in the small quarters he claimed as his own on the Aeroshuttle, Captain Aaron Cavit came onto the Aeroshuttle’s sleek Bridge to find Ensign Brita Trumari and Lieutenant Scott Rollins mid-way through a conversation. The ensign, a pretty blond pilot who had a way of keeping her cool in a crisis, had a smile smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, but kept her attention fully on the conn in front of her. 

“Have you decided who gets Boots yet?” Ensign Trumari said. 

“No,” Rollins said, shaking his head. He glanced up at the sight of Cavit, and rose from the Ops station to let Cavit take his place there, but didn’t leave the Bridge, instead settling in at one of the two other stations set to either side of the Bridge, activating it and configuring it with a series of taps. “Morning, Captain.”

“Morning,” Cavit said, logging into the Operations console and then glancing at Rollins. “Boots is still Mr. Popular, is he?”

“He is pretty,” Trumari said, and Cavit was pleased to hear her sound so genuinely interested in the conversation. He knew, through Jeff, that Trumari struggled with feeling isolated on Voyager, most especially from her large family. 

“And has such stylish footwear,” Cavit said, referencing the kitten’s feet, which were the only black on his otherwise white fur, and the source of his name.

That earned another smile from Trumari. 

“Well, between him and Marble, it’s non-stop requests for kittens lately,” Rollins said, shaking his head. “I think everyone knows they’ll be ready to find homes soon, which isn’t helping.” The broad security officer lifted his chin, considering. “But if I count, I think Boots is in the lead, just.”

“I do not envy you your job, Mister Rollins,” Cavit said, giving him a smile to take the edge off the sentiment.

“Thanks, sir,” Rollins said, returning some sarcasm in kind.

The Bridge door opened again, and Ensign Erika Ryson entered, nodding to them all. “Good morning.” 

Cavit liked Ryson, he was finding. This was his first time working with her on a small team, and she had decades of experience behind her, as well as a calming way of delivering even unwelcome news. 

Also, the way she wore her light brown hair in a braided bun and always spoke with such a measured, careful tone reminded him of his favourite teacher at the Academy, Professor Warren, who’d taught him things about diplomatic interaction he still used today.

The four of them had found a decent groove over the last three days they’d been making their way to this particular system, and one planet in particular, which Voyager’s sensors had barely managed to reach a week earlier. 

“We’re almost at the fourth planet,” Trumari said, glancing at Ryson as Ryson took the Engineering station. “I don’t know if you can scan from here, though.” 

“I’ll make an attempt,” Ryson said. “Pergium has a fairly specific signature, even with all this muck in the way.” She started working on doing just that, and Cavit, for his part, tried to adjust the sensors from Ops to compensate for the “muck” in question: the gasses, particulates, and energy eddies they’d been fighting ever since they’d entered the Nekrit Expanse, though it wasn’t nearly as bad now they were inside a star system. The clouds of the huge nebula that was the Nekrit Expanse, held mostly at bay from the immediate vicinity by the system’s star’s gravitational effects, filtered weakly into the system, though, and littered the space between the planets with ionic interference that looked ready to kick up into a full-on storm around the planet itself. 

Speaking of which…

“I do not like the look of those eddies forming around the planet’s magnetosphere,” Cavit said, frowning at his console and then back up again through the viewscreen. 

The planet there was technically Class-M, though not ideally so, with a heavier-than-Earth gravity of 1.3 G, very little open water, and—most centrally of interest—one hell of an active magnetic core and a density to the upper crust layers that might—or might not—indicate the presence of pergium. 

“Another potential ion storm,” Lieutenant Scott Rollins confirmed from behind him. “The Nekrit Expanse seems to enjoy spinning those up for us, doesn’t it?” 

“You’re not wrong,” Cavit said. Voyager’s forward motion through the Expanse had only been possible through the use of the Aeroshuttle and two of their other shuttles ahead of Voyager’s path, forming a kind of triangular web of sensor information they fed back to Voyager to create a clear enough picture of their journey ahead. They’d been lucky enough to have traded for information on a series of systems that would—joined together—get them through the dense nebula, but they had to find those systems in the first place.

Cavit glanced at Ensign Trumari, who’d fallen quiet beside him. The pilot was focused, as always, but he could see the set in her shoulders and the way she was having to adjust the course in fractions on a moment-by-moment basis, even this far from the planet itself. These shuttle and Aeroshuttle missions weren’t exactly pleasant, thanks to the conditions of the Expanse, but the ionic reaction was dialling it up even more. 

“Anything, Erika?” Cavit said.

Ryson let out a breath. “From what I’ve scanned so far, I’d say there could be a few small deposits of pergium near the southern polar region, but that could be sensor ghosts, given the static we’re dealing with.”

“As much as I don’t want to turn down a shot at some pergium,” Cavit said, deciding it was time to throw in the towel, “I think we should just be on our way.”

“If it helps, sir,” Ensign Ryson said, “I don’t think I could have punched through that magnetosphere with the transporters anyway.” Honigsberg had suggested Ryson join them for this run because of her skill Impulse Systems and the possibility of needing to land the Aeroshuttle, but he didn’t doubt for a second the experienced engineer knew her way around a Transporter. 

And it did help, frankly. 

“I’m guessing you’re not suggesting we land instead, either,” Cavit said, with enough humour he hoped Ryson could tell he was kidding.

She gave him a wry smile in return. “Definitely not, sir.” 

Cavit chuckled. 

“All right,” Cavit said. “Trumari, set a course back to the outskirts of the system, and as soon as we can get a clear signal back, we’ll let Voyager know we won’t be spending any more time—”

A flare of light cut him off, and the Aeroshuttle seemed to drop away beneath them. Cavit gripped the edge of his console while he tried to make sense of the readings there. Behind him, a loud snap and pop and a flash of light denoted one of the secondary systems overloading near the rear of the Bridge.

“Electrical strike from the planet,” he said, stunned at the range of the discharge originating from the planet. “And there are more brewing.”

“It’s a full on ion storm, and it came on fast,” Trumari said. “I’m trying to keep attitude control to turn us around, but that hit…” She worked her panel, letting her voice trail off to concentrate.

“I’m re-routing auxiliary power to the RCS thrusters,” Cavit said. He was thankful they were in the Aeroshuttle. A hit like that on a shuttle would have done far, far more damage. Then he saw the external sensor readings. “We’ve got another strike forming, and we’re more-or-less a lightning rod.”

“Raising shields,” Rollins said, and while Cavit admired the man’s optimism, he knew it wouldn’t do much good against—

Another flare of light, and this time it was followed by pain. Burning agony leapt up Cavit’s arms and through his shoulders, snapping his teeth shut and filling his mouth with the taste of blood that made him choke even as he felt—finally, blissfully, mercifully—consciousness slip away. 

Chapter Text

Cavit couldn’t see. He tried to suck in a breath, panicking, but there was no sensation of breath either, no presence in his chest, no…

“…almost an opposing neural pattern in the cerebral cortex…” Jeff Fitzgerald. Doctor. Counselor. The man he loved.

Jeff? He tried to speak, but no sound resulted. He turned—he had no body, he couldn’t turn—but there was a sense of movement.

“…dislodge the presence, or we’ll lose him…”

Emmett. The emergency medical hologram. Jeff had given him that name.

“Neurological activity is falling.” Kes. That was Kes.

“The synaptic stimulator is no longer effective.” Nurse T’Prena.

“I’m worried about those residual ionic traces, but unless we can get that thing out… wait.” Jeff again.

Jeff. I can hear you. Can you hear me?

“What are you thinking?” Emmett.

“The opposing neural pattern, look. If we shunt—”

The rest of what Jeff said was lost when Aaron finally saw something. 

Light. A soft, white light that seemed to come from the middle somewhere, and in front of that light, a figure, beckoning to him in a way that made him feel welcomed and guarded and…

Am I dying?

He tried to see, tried to understand, but then something wrapped around him and he was tumbling, shifting and twisting, and the light was snatched away.

*

Cavit gasped awake, sitting up, and sucking in oxygen as though he’d been underwater too long. Dark spots covered his vision, but as he drew in lungfuls of air, they started to pass.

“Be calm, Aaron,” a voice—Nurse T’Prena, he realized—said, and he tried to do as she suggested, sucking in more air, closing his eyes, and…

Did she just call me Aaron? It was an odd thing for his brain to latch onto, but he’d take any port in a storm, and the thought finally got past the terror of what had felt like some sort of endless fall through nothingness. 

Heart still pounding, but his breathing a bit more under control, Cavit opened his eyes.

Where am I?

It wasn’t Sickbay. Or, rather, it was a Sickbay, but it wasn’t Voyager’s Sickbay. If anything, the odd brown-grey colouring and lower lighting made him think it was a Cardassian Sickbay, and…

And what? The thought didn’t connect to another thought, instead slipping through his mental fingers, leaving him with the sense of his head being too light and oddly empty.

He turned his head, and saw T’Prena. She stood beside Kes, but seeing the two of them together was the only thing that was remotely normal about their presence.

Everything else was wrong.

Kes. T’Prena. Emmett. Jeff. Faces and names, not much else, tripped through his mind like a stuttering holodeck program, but they didn’t match the T’Prena and Kes in front of him.

Why was it so hard to think?

T’Prena’s hair was long, down past her shoulders, and she wasn’t in uniform, instead wearing a long, belted grey tunic. Beside her, Kes wore the wrong clothes, too—a rust-coloured, sleeveless dress—and her hair was cut short, shorter than he’d ever seen her wear it. 

“Where—?” he started, but then a door opened and he turned and saw a third person enter, someone who was vaguely familiar. A Kolhari man in a white tunic and grey trousers, something about his light-brown eyes pulled at Cavit’s memory, or maybe it was the way he’d combed his hair back from his forehead to reveal the three large, rounded ridges that spread across his forehead, aiming down at his nose. Either way, Cavit finally placed the man.

Trabe. Kohl Settlement. The Kolhari. Viorsa. More pieces, more images, more memories.

“Cyalno,” he said. “You’re the physician, from the Kohl Settlement.” 

Cyalno’s kind face shifted into a smile. “That’s right.” He looked over to Kes and T’Prena. “Did he just wake up?”

“Yes,” T’Prena said. 

“Okay, let’s get a scan, shall we, Aaron?”

Again with his name. Why did that bother him? 

Ensign. Lieutenant, junior grade. Lieutenant. Lieutenant Commander. Commander. Captain.

“Where am I?” Cavit said, trying to fight off more panic, because none of this was right, but he also couldn’t latch onto most of the specifics of how it was wrong.

“You suffered some neurological trauma, Aaron,” Cyalno said, in a soft, placating voice. He picked up a medical scanner that—once again—Cavit thought looked like a Cardassian tool. “I need to scan you for—”

Cavit grabbed the physician’s wrist the moment he moved the scanner toward Cavit’s head.

“Where am I?” he said again.

Cyalno took a soft breath, not pressing against Cavit’s grip at all. He put a hand on Cavit’s shoulder. “You’re in Sickbay. On the Vetar.”

The Vetar?

Dreadnought. Rakosa. Vetar. 

“The Cardassian ship,” he said, and his breaths were coming faster again. They’d destroyed the Vetar, hadn’t they? They’d had to, to stop Dreadnought from impacting Rakosa. Lieutenant Sam… Something. He’d done that. He’d piloted the Vetar into the path of Dreadnought and…

Stiles. That was his name. Sam Stiles. 

Had there been Romulans? He couldn’t recall.

“That’s right,” Cyalno said, nodding. “May I scan you, Aaron?”

Cavit looked at Kes and T’Prena for a long moment. “Kes. T’Prena.” 

Kes nodded, smiling at him, her blue eyes bright with compassion. “That’s right.”

“His memory seems to be at least somewhat present,” T’Prena said, and even the way she said it seemed off to Cavit. Her borderline cold recitation wasn’t as pronounced, instead she almost sounded concerned. Not quite, but almost.

Cavit let go. His thoughts were foggy and sluggish and he felt weak all over. 

Cyalno moved the scanner around Cavit’s head. “There’s a lot of residual ionic traces still present,” Cyalno said. “That would account for the confusion.” He turned to look at Kes. “Did you call his husband?”

My what? Cavit’s mouth dropped open, but he didn’t voice the words. These people—who weren’t right, he was sure of it—didn’t need more reason to doubt him.

“I did,” Kes said. “He’s on his way.” 

Cavit took a breath. “I was on the Aeroshuttle.”

“Aeroshuttle?” T’Prena’s small frown gave away her confusion at the term, but she nodded at him. “You were on a shuttle, yes. A Trabe shuttle.”

Trabe?

“The Nekrit Expanse. We were scanning… Scanning the fourth planet. For pergium?” Cavit said. He hated how everything he said sounded like a question, but everything he remembered seemed one step removed from reality.

“That’s right,” Kes said, nodding and smiling wider. She exchanged a pleased look with Cyalno, and Cavit took another shaky breath. 

“And Voyager?” he said.

Kes’s smile slipped away. “Pardon?” 

Clearly she had no idea what Voyager was. 

The door to Sickbay opened again, and Cavit turned, hoping he’d see something to make any of this make sense. Jeff, maybe, or Ro, but it was neither.

The Trabe man in the door was stocky, with broad, muscled shoulders. He had a scar running through the ridges above his left eye, which was milky and white, and his other eye was a deep brown. Beyond the reddish burn scars, the rest of his skin was healthy, though, and his short dark hair was salt-and-peppered at his temples. 

“You’re awake,” the man said, and he crossed the space between the door and the biobed quickly for a man wearing a brace on his left leg. Before Cavit could so much as utter a word—not that he could have chosen one for the life of him, not with his brain so blurry and the onslaught of faces he shouldn’t be seeing—he was wrapped up in the man’s strong arms.

“Dimur,” Cavit said. 

Dimur’s grip squeezed once, and then he pulled back just enough to press his forehead to Cavit’s. Cavit saw pain and worry and fear in the man’s brown eye, and…

And love.

We’re married, Cavit thought, and his breath hitched. The thought was there and gone again, but it had been there. And it wasn’t just a thought. No, that had been the terrifying thing.

It had been a memory.

What was happening?

“You scared the hell out of me,” Dimur said, and kissed him.

*

The kiss was warm, and held real desire, and was familiar.

Cavit pulled back, shaking. No. He’d never kissed Dimur. Jeff and Dimur. It was Jeff and Dimur. Or it had been, until the Kohl Settlement, and then… now… he and Jeff…

“Aaron?” Dimur’s expression clouded into a mix of hurt and worry.

“I just… I need…” Cavit put a hand on Dimur’s chest, and he’d even anticipated the feel of the fabric of the man’s brown tunic. Was this what he’d been wearing when they’d met on Voyager? When they’d found the four Trabe ships hiding from the Kazon Alliance, before they’d formed a small fleet and…

He shook his head, as though the movement might make his thoughts stop skipping around at random.  

Dimur looked to Cyalno and T’Prena, and Cavit took the opportunity to close his eyes again, trying to recover some sense of normalcy. 

“He’s a little confused,” Cyalno said. “That’s expected, given the jolt he took.”

Cavit let out a laugh that walked right up to the edge of panic, but didn’t cross it thanks to a major effort on his part. “No, I’m a lot confused,” he said. “This is all…” He lifted one hand, waving it at the Sickbay, the biobed he was sitting on, them…

Dimur took his hand and squeezed. “It’s okay. We’re right here.”

Yeah, that’s part of what’s wrong, Cavit thought. He swallowed. “We’re on… the Vetar?” he said, deciding to start with the biggest, most obviously wrong thing that nevertheless appeared to be true.

“That’s right,” Dimur said. 

“But I…” Cavit said, pausing.

“Go ahead,” Cyalno said in that gentle voice he had. “I think it will help for you to ask questions.”

“I wasn’t going to ask a question,” Cavit said. “I was going to say I remember the Vetar being destroyed. At Rakosa.” 

The looks they all shared varied, but intersected the same emotional axes of concern and sadness at different points. 

“We took some damage from the Kazon-Relora at Rakosa,” Dimur said, after a moment. “But we weren’t destroyed.”

“Kazon-Relora. Not Dreadnought?” Cavit said.

That got headshakes from everyone. They didn’t know about Dreadnought. 

“I’m sorry,” Cavit said, lifting his hand. “I just need… I can’t seem to put my thoughts in the right order.”

“I’m not surprised,” Cyalno said. “Aaron, you were exposed to an extreme amount of ionic discharge, and it knocked you into a synaptic shock that quite literally killed you. We managed to resuscitate you, but there were also other neurological patterns, and it took some doing to displace what appeared to be some kind of alien presence.”

“An opposing neural pattern in the cerebral cortex,” Cavit said. He’d heard Jeff say that, hadn’t he?

“That’s right,” Cyalno nodded. “It seems to be gone, but I’m reading a lot of odd activity in your hippocampus. So it’s okay if you’re confused. Your neural pathways need a little time to remember how to talk to each other the way they used to.”

“Okay. And this is the Vetar,” Cavit said, trying to make the word make sense. As he spoke, the door to Sickbay opened again, but Dimur’s thick shoulders blocked his view, and frankly Cavit wasn’t ready for any more surprises anyway, so he was grateful. “The Cardassian ship.”

“Klingon-Cardassian Alliance. And yes, it was,” came a voice from the doorway, and Cavit’s breath caught as Jeff Fitzgerald came into view. He wore a short-sleeved grey shirt that set off his beautiful, steely-blue eyes, but that was the only familiar thing about his face. This Jeff Fitzgerald had a short, dark beard that covered his strong chin, and his hair was long and tied back with a simple knot of grey cloth. The bearded Jeff Fitzgerald crossed his arms. His left hand was covered in black glove lined with a neural rig. “At least until you and I liberated it for the Terran Resistance over two years ago now, before we got dragged half-way across the damn galaxy.”

Klingon-Cardassian Alliance? Terran Resistance? Cavit opened his mouth again, unable to look away from this stern, unsmiling man who was—and wasn’t—Jeff Fitzgerald. “I…” 

He needed to go. He needed to get out of here. He tried to get off the bio-bed, desperate to get out of this Sickbay, but it turned out to be a terrible idea.

The room spun, and he nearly collapsed. He was only spared a fall by Dimur’s quick grab, and he slumped into the man’s—his husband’s?—embrace. Sounds became watery and muted, and a darkness was pressing in around the edges of his vision.

Voices too garbled to make out rose in concern, and then Aaron Cavit gave up, and let himself pass out again.

Chapter Text

Aaron Cavit woke slowly, on his side, the room still dark, and the familiar feel of a particular woven blanket under his palm where it rested on top of the covers. Warmth radiated from the man beside him, and he shifted, odd fragments of a dream he barely remembered dissipating as he came fully to wakefulness, and then memories—

He jolted, sitting up. “Lights!” he called, and the room around him lit up around the edges, though not to what he’d consider full brightness. 

The walls weren’t the dove-grey and white of Starfleet, but the green-grey of a Cardassian design, and two windows—round, oblong things—showed what appeared to be an asteroid field, and off in the distance, the green-and-purple clouds that made up the majority of Nekrit Expanse, ionic discharges flickering faintly.

The blanket pooling in his lap, a woven, yellow thing that was comfortable and comforting to touch, grounded him somewhat out of his panic. He gripped it in both hands, feeling the rightness of it.

“Aaron?” Dimur said.

Cavit swallowed, looking at the man in bed with him, who sat up beside him slowly, almost warily. The Trabe man’s body, very much on display, was truly broad across his shoulders, and clearly strong. Dimur’s skin was marked on his left shoulder and upper arm with cross-hatches of faded burn scars that did nothing to diminish the man’s presence. 

If anything, they suited him, if that was a sensical thought to have.

“Bad dream?” Dimur said, and he placed one hand on Aaron’s back, so hesitantly Cavit couldn’t bring himself to react the way he wanted to, which was to shy away from this intimate contact. The awareness struck him he wore nothing beneath this blanket and sheet, and though he wasn’t going to look, he figured the same could be said of the man beside him.

“I… I don’t know, I think I just…” Cavit faced Dimur. “Did you bring me here?”

“Cyalno thought it was better for you to get back to familiar surroundings.” Dimur nodded. “You don’t remember?”

Cavit exhaled a shaky breath. “Barely.”

“Cyalno said it will be like that for a while.”

Cavit vaguely recalled a discussion, but he couldn’t nail down the specifics. He did remember walking down a corridor, though, one lined with vines between the bulkheads. But he didn’t remember getting undressed, or climbing into this bed. 

His mind still echoed oddly, his thoughts refusing to line up in a coherent order.

Voyager. Jeff. Aeroshuttle. Pergium. The words—and thoughts—didn’t connect properly. 

“Will you answer questions for me, even if they seem strange?” Cavit said.

Dimur’s lips rose in a small smile, and he nodded. “Of course I will. I love bedwarming.” 

Bedwarming. Cavit remembered the term. A Trabe custom of sharing a bed, talking through the night to get to know each other. It wasn’t necessarily intimate—at least not in the sexual sense—though given their state of undress…

Cavit managed a nod. Voyager. Pergium. Lightning. Jeff.

“Here,” Dimur said, shifting the pillows behind them against the wall and then spreading his arms. The man really did have an impressively muscled upper body, and it seemed to come with a physicality, too. Dimur seemed to default to being tactile. 

Tactile. Mining. Viruses. Kes.

“You’d have loved the Garan,” Cavit said, a memory of the touchy-feely miners Voyager had met before they got to the Nekrit Expanse floating up out of the mire of his brain. 

Dimur chuckled. “I did, yes.” He reached forward and pulled on Cavit’s shoulder, but very gently. “Come here,” he said. “There’s still a couple of hours left before morning. Ask me your questions.” 

Cavit leaned back against Dimur, and Dimur wrapped his arms across Cavit’s chest, holding him upright with one while he tugged the blanket and sheet a little higher with the other, though they didn’t really need it. The whole ship felt warm to Cavit, though he supposed that was typical for a Cardassian environmental system. 

And the Trabe liked it warm, too, didn’t they?

“Lights dim,” Dimur said, and the lights softened to the barest of illumination.

I’m being held by someone else’s man, who thinks he’s my man, on a ship that isn’t Voyager, and I can barely make myself think. Where do I even start?

Also, given he was leaning on said man, Cavit found it very much impossible to try and ignore the fact they were skin-to-skin.

“You’re in your own head,” Dimur said, and his breath stirred the hair by Cavit’s left ear. “I can’t hear the questions you think. I’m not Kes.” 

That made Aaron smile, in spite of everything. “Okay,” he said, trying to think of a way to begin, and then landing on the notion of beginnings itself. “How did we meet?” 

“We met about a year after you came to the Delta Quadrant.” Dimur’s voice remained soft in the telling. “Over a year ago, now. The Kazon had been attacking my people, and we were running out of places to run to. I was with one of four ships, recently injured, and crewed mostly by those of us who couldn’t man posts on any ship going into a fight, and we’d taken as many of the children and the injured and hidden.”

“In a planet’s magnetic pole?” Cavit said.

“That’s right,” Dimur said.

That was the same, then. 

“And we found you there?” Cavit said.

“Yes. You were having trouble with the cloaking device. It had been damaged by the Kazon-Relora, and your navigational deflector had taken a hit when you’d skirmished with the Mokra Order, I believe.”

“Cloaking device,” Cavit said, turning his head slightly, remembering. “Right. This ship has a cloak. But I bet not from the Romulans…” 

“It’s a Klingon device, I’m pretty sure,” Dimur said. “I don’t think I’ve heard of Romulans. Are they from your Alpha Quadrant?”

“They are. Sorry. Go on.”

“Don’t apologize, love,” Dimur said, and kissed the back of Cavit’s head. “I love your voice, remember?” 

He didn’t, and he was pretty sure he was starting to figure out what had happened—though his fuzzy, ionized brain wasn’t letting him hold onto it all even still—but he didn’t want to say so. “So we found you?”

“You’d stopped to hide in the magnetic field and repair your cloaking device and deflector, and found our four ships,” Dimur said. “We almost came to blows—you didn’t know yet that the ships the Kazon used used to be ours, and only Neelix had even heard of the Trabe—but once Fitz realized we weren’t Kazon and we were in such a bad state… Well. You took pity on us. Fed us, and helped us with our injured.”

“Fitz?” Cavit said, then, realizing and taking a guess, said, “Oh. Jeff Fitzgerald.”

“Right, Captain Fitz. Your leader.” Dimur rubbed his hand across Cavit’s chest. “Our leader, now, of course.”

Our leader. Cavit swallowed. Well, at least that explained why everyone called him Aaron instead of Captain. Also, the feel of Dimur’s palm rubbing against his chest was… nice. He swallowed, unsure whether or not to ask the man to stop.

“When you all found out about our past, how we’d had such a similar path as you Terrans, we realized we’d be stronger together.” Dimur paused. “The Kazon destroyed most what was left of the Trabe fleet before we could introduce you to our remaining leaders, and the survivors had scattered. It was just our four ships, about three hundred of us Trabe. Fitz invited us to join you on your journey back to your home, even though it would take decades. But once your cloak was repaired, when the Kazon did try to attack us, the Vetar would decloak and defend us, and with the advantage of surprise we made it out of Kazon-Nistrim territory, though we did have to strip the Arrow to repair the Warden and the Current after a battle with three carriers at their border. We moved most of the children onto the Vetar, given there was so much empty space here.” 

“Empty space?” Cavit said.

“The Vetar was designed to be crewed by three hundred. You had half that when you stole it for the rebellion, before you were brought here by the Caretaker.” Dimur squeezed him. “Stripping the Arrow down meant we could move all the children and young adults to deck eight of the Vetar, and spread out the Trabe crew among the three remaining ships, and between the four of us, we all gained crew, too.”

“Ah.”

“Part of me wonders if we should give up another one of the other three ships,” Dimur said. “Move more people onto the Vetar, since her cloak makes it possible to pass by species without them knowing we’re even here, but it’s also useful having the four of us—especially while we try and work our way through the Expanse.” 

“That makes sense,” Cavit said. So many parallels. Parallels. Abol. Taitt. Amundsen. 

Mirror. 

“Do you think Doctor Cyalno would be willing to scan my cellular RNA for a quantum resonance?” Cavit said, feeling tiny bits of half-remembered logs skittering just out of reach in his disorganized mind.

Dimur’s grip tightened on him for a moment. “If it will help, I’m sure he would. Even if I’m not sure what that means.” 

“We found him at the Kohl Settlement,” Cavit said, referring to his own memories of events, but knowing that much had a parallel here, too. “But he didn’t return to the Kolhari homeworld?” 

“No, the Kohl Settlement was so empty, the Kolhari homeworld was so far away, and there were only three of them. After Daggin and T’Prena freed them from that artificial environment, Cyalno, Viorsa, and Annosha were grateful for Fitz’s offer to join us. Just like the Ocampa, and Neelix, and us Trabe. It’s a growing family, husband.”

Cavit didn’t mean to flinch at the word, but Dimur’s hands, which had been slowly rubbing back and forth across his chest, stilled.

“I’m sorry,” Cavit said, turning his head even though he couldn’t see Dimur’s expression. “I don’t mean to react like that, but I don’t remember things this way, and if I’m right, and I don’t belong here, I…” He took a shaky breath. “I remember you with Cyalno. Or, at least, that’s what I was told.” 

To his surprise, Dimur offered a soft little laugh, and his hand began its movement again. “Me with Cyalno, eh?” 

“Back on the Kohl Settlement,” Cavit said. 

“I can’t imagine Xander would approve of me taking him, but I’ll admit the man is attractive.” Once again, Dimur kissed the top of Cavit’s head, rubbing his chest again. “Though I prefer you, and the way you feel under my hands.” 

“Xander,” Cavit said, though once again he made a leap of logic as soon as he’d spoken. “Oh. Alexander. Honigsberg?” 

“Yes,” Dimur said. “I’d never consider taking Cyalno away from Xander, not after how long it took Xander to accept someone’s touch in the first place.”

Cavit had no idea what that meant, but tucked it aside for later. “Alex—Xander, is our chief engineer?”

“No,” Dimur hesitated again, a pause in the stroke of his palm against Cavit’s chest. “You’re in charge of the engineers, though Xander does help from time to time. Mostly, Xander is Fitz’s second.”

Cavit took a long moment with that one. He wasn’t even the first officer here, then. Then again, he’d been a damned good Operations Officer in his time, hadn’t he? 

That’s right. You were an engineer once.

“That’s not what you thought, is it?” Dimur said.

“Very little is,” Cavit said, and this time, when he turned his head, he shifted his whole body so he could look at Dimur, though it meant his thigh shifted and gave him another very vivid reminder the two of them were naked under the bedsheet and blanket. “Thank you.” He swallowed. “Can I ask you more?”

Dimur lifted one palm to Cavit’s cheek, meeting his gaze with his one, lovely brown eye. “You can ask me anything, Aaron. I know you’re confused right now, and lost, but I’m here. I love you.”

Cavit swallowed, and managed the smallest of nods. “Thank you. Again.”

If it hurt Dimur at all that he hadn’t returned the declaration, it didn’t show. Cavit settled back against him again, and it was impossible not to notice how warm and strong and good the contact felt. He’d always loved this sort of intimacy, and despite so much of him being sure—or, almost sure—this wasn’t right, that it should be Jeff here, but not the Jeff everyone called Fitz, who had a beard and commanded the Vetar—there was comfort to be had, and his addled, slow mind clung to it. 

“Can you tell me about the Terrans?” Cavit said. That part of the story seemed familiar in a different way. Like he’d heard about it, or read about it…

Abol. Had Abol talked to him about it? He couldn’t quite place the memory, but he thought it might have had something to do with the dark-eyed Ocampa with the intuitive talent for understanding parts of the universe Cavit struggled to grasp.

“I only know what you’ve told me, really,” Dimur said. “But back where you came from, you used to have an Empire, a century ago. The Terran Empire. It was aggressive, and violent, and it ruled over many other species, treating them as lesser-than for a long time before it started to change.”

Cavit’s breath hitched. No. No, the Federation would never…

Not Federation. Empire.

Terran Empire. 

Mirror. He knew this. Didn’t he? But it flitted away again before he could hold onto it.

“It was a lot like our own history, like I said,” Dimur said. “And it ended similarly. Your slaves overthrew you, and you ended up as the slaves, for about a hundred years, I believe, though there were pockets that lasted some time longer. I think Tasha’s colony was the last to fall—you could ask her.”

He didn’t recognize the name, but he nodded, enough to make Dimur keep going.

“Your resistance wants freedom from slavery,” Dimur said. “And Fitz is one of their leaders, and our Captain. He made contact with you in the slave area of the shipyards where you were forced to work with many of the people on this ship, and you and he planned the theft of the Vetar. You’d intended to have it join the Terran Resistance, to be a powerful weapon in your fight to expand your movement out of an area of space I can’t remember the name of, where there were often plasma storms. A lot like the Nekrit Expanse, I’m told.”

“The Badlands,” Cavit said.

“Yes, that’s right. The Badlands.” He sounded pleased Cavit had “remembered” this, and Cavit didn’t clarify his memory still didn’t align the way Dimur was assuming. 

I was a slave. The thought felt alien in his mind, and he tried to imagine what this other Cavit’s life must have been, working in a Cardassian—or maybe Klingon—shipyard without his freedom. It seemed impossible. It seemed—

Garak.

The name appeared out of nothing, but it came with a chill that the warmth of the room couldn’t touch.

“You’re shaking,” Dimur said. “Aaron, are you okay?”

Cavit swallowed. “I…” He could hear a voice. See a Cardassian face. See the man’s eyes, gleeful and cruel in equal quantity. But he’d never seen the man before in his life.

And yet, he knew him somehow. 

“The shipyard?” Dimur took his shoulders, turning him. 

The word shifted the images in Cavit’s head from the Cardassian to rows of cells, and sounds he couldn’t immediately place, until he realized it was pain. People, in pain. Scents filled his nostrils. Sweat. Dirt. Grease. 

Blood.

He nodded, the fizzing, sparking sensation in his mind making words too hard to find, knowing Dimur was right with an instinct he couldn’t nail down. He remembered the shipyards, remembered the Cardassian, Garak, who oversaw the Terran slaves working on the Alliance ships and never missed an opportunity to punish—or choose a slave for “company“—and… 

“Hey,” Dimur said, taking his face in both hands. “Hey, you’re here. With me. You’re okay.” 

“Right,” Cavit said, putting his hands over Dimur’s. “Right.” The images of the Cardassian and the shipyards—wrong, but remembered—drifted to the back of his mind, but didn’t completely fade. 

“Aaron?” Dimur said again, and Cavit leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together.

“I remembered the shipyards,” Cavit said. “It still feels wrong, and I know who I am, I know my life on Voyager, and it’s all real, but if I remember the shipyards, then…” He didn’t finish the sentence out loud, just breathing and leaning his forehead to Dimur’s, feeling the heat and warmth and presence of the man, his rough hands still cupping Cavit’s face, his own palms holding them in place. 

“Let’s go back to sleep,” Dimur said. “Cyalno said the residual ionic traces should dissipate over time, and it’s better to sleep when you’re feeling off balance.”

Cavit managed a weak nod, and they slid back beneath the covers, side by side, and this time, when Dimur drew him close, Cavit didn’t flinch at all. He closed his eyes, but he didn’t sleep.

If I remember the shipyards, then this could really be my life.

Chapter Text

Cavit was still awake when the lights rose in Dimur’s quarters, and when Dimur got up, Cavit turned away, swallowing and trying not to get too much of an eyeful of the man he’d been beneath the blanket and sheet with for the last eight hours. When Dimur, walking with a cane he’d picked up from beside the bed, went through an interior door into what Cavit assumed was their ‘fresher, Cavit slid out from under the sheets and found the shorts he’d been wearing the day before, tugging them on and feeling simultaneously better and ridiculous. 

The view of Dimur leaving had revealed more scars on the man’s left leg, as well as very impressive thighs and broad back and…

There had to be a closet here somewhere. Cavit started looking.

When Dimur returned, he was still standing hunting, and still only wearing the shorts.  

“You’re supposed to get rest today,” Dimur said, and Cavit turned. The Trabe man was dressed again, in a short-sleeved brown tunic and dark grey trousers, his leg brace in place.

“I don’t know where my clothes are,” Cavit said, resisting the urge move out of view or cover himself. It was like being a teenager all over again.

“Through here,” Dimur said, pointing, and giving Cavit a slow smile and a lingering look of appreciation. “But don’t change on my account.” 

“I—uh…” Cavit couldn’t help the flush he knew was rising up his neck, and it didn’t help that it made Dimur chuckle. “I’ll get some rest. I promise. But I’d like to go to Sickbay.”

Dimur crossed the room, every other step landing with the soft muffled thud of his brace. He met Cavit’s gaze. “If you need me, just comm me. I’ll be in Engineering.” 

“Right,” Cavit said, then frowned, looking around the room. He pointed at a small panel on the wall near the entrance to their quarters. “The comm?”

“Yes, but also…” Dimur said, then picked up two slim, flat oval devices from the top of the desk opposite the bed. He slid one into his pocket and passed the other one to Cavit. “Here.”

“Ah.” Cavit looked at the communicator, which was lightweight and very close to the Cardassian design he’d become familiar with during the final years of the Cardassian War, usually clipped to the centre of the chest of Cardassian breastplates. “Thank you.” 

Dimur looked at him. “I could stay.”

“No, no,” Cavit said, though part of him wanted to agree. “I’ll be fine. Really. If I go anywhere, it will be to Sickbay. Otherwise, I’ll be here. I still feel…” He waved a hand beside his temples, trying to gesture in a way that said ‘I can’t figure out if my thoughts make sense, or are just a jumble of memories that aren’t even real.’ 

“I’ll be back in a few hours for a break,” Dimur said.

“Okay.”

Dimur smiled at him, then headed for the door, pausing once it opened, as though he wanted to say something—his smile slipped somewhat—but left, the door closing behind him. 

Cavit took a sonic shower, then picked out clothes—a blue tunic and what appeared to be the same sort of grey trousers Dimur had been wearing, though they were fitted for him—and then stepped out into the corridor. He looked left, then right, trying to recall the path he and Dimur had taken to get here the night before, but couldn’t.

He had no idea where Sickbay was. He chose a direction at random and started walking. Cardassian turbo lifts were voice activated, which should at least get him to the right deck, if nothing else. He just had to find a turbolift. As walked, he noticed the vines again, surprised to see them in a Cardassian ship, but also—

Daggin. Setok. Bronowski. Pergium.

The disjointed jumbles of thoughts weren’t happening as often after a good night’s sleep, and he did feel better than last night, but that light-headed unreality in his mind still put a haze of wrongness to everything he looked at. He paused in his walk, touching one of the leaves on the vine.

It felt real beneath his fingers. It was real. 

Mirror. He’d read about this. That was the nagging thought in his head. Why were the people, and the things about the other ship—Voyager—so clear, when things beyond it were fuzzy?

“Aaron,” someone said, and he turned.

1106. Cravic. Honigsberg. Emmett.

“Meyer,” he said, taking in the slim young man for a second, and placing him after another. Instead of a smoothly shaven head, he had short black hair, and there was a long scar marring the light brown skin on the left side of his neck, but there was no mistaking the man’s deep brown eyes, or his voice, even despite the tight black sleeveless shirt he was wearing. “Kimble Meyer.”

“Right,” Meyer said, those brown eyes of his crinkling with concern. “It’s me. Are you all right? Sahreen told us you’d be off your feet for a bit.”

“I’m supposed to be resting, but I wanted to stop by Sickbay first,” Cavit said. “I’m having trouble remembering the way. Ions.” He tapped his temple with one hand, and aiming for a smile that didn’t say ‘I have no idea what’s going on, and you look like a character from the holodeck to me.’

“How about I take you?” Meyer said.

“Thank you,” Cavit said. 

*

The Sickbay had at least the sense of familiarity from his previous visit to cement it down somewhat in his mind, but seeing Doctor Cyalno and the long-haired version of T’Prena working side-by-side, as well as Kes—and none of them in any sort of uniform—still jarred. 

They had, however, agreed to scan his cellular RNA for anything odd—he’d had to explain in his own, less-than-expert way, what quantum resonance might look like—and when he saw the results on the screen, he stared for a long moment, just looking at the notations.

“It looks fine to me,” Cyalno said, crossing his arms and standing beside Cavit. 

“There’s no resonance at all,” Cavit said. “Which means I belong to this timeline.” 

Cyalno took his elbow in one hand and squeezed. “The residual ions are fading. Are you still only able to access those false memories?” 

False memories. Everything in Cavit wanted to scream that they weren’t false, only—

The shipyards. Garak. 

“I remembered a couple of things last night,” Cavit said, glancing at the Kolhari doctor. “About the past. The other past, I mean, the one that makes sense for all of this.” He gestured at the Vetar Sickbay. “But I wouldn’t say they felt more real than everything that doesn’t fit.”

“From what I understand of human neurology,” Cyalno said. “Your brains have the ability to rewire themselves to a greater degree than a Kolhari brain does. I really do think you’ll see more and more improvement.”

“Neuroplasticity,” Cavit said.

Cyalno blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“That’s what Jeff—” Cavit saw the slight widening of Cyalno’s eyes. “I mean, Fitz, called it. In those other memories, I mean. And human brains had nothing on some species, like…” He blinked, turning, remembering something else. “Is Stadi here? Veronica Stadi?” 

Cyalno shook his head, glancing at Kes and T’Prena. “Do you know who he might mean?”

“I’m sorry, no,” Kes said.

“Veronica Stadi. Or Roni, her close friends call her.” Cavit took a breath when they continued to shake their heads. “All right. Are there any Betazoids on board?”

T’Prena’s expression shifted into a minute frown. “Betazed was conquered by the Terran Empire in 2254, Aaron. As telepaths, they were considered a major threat, and they fared little better when the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance overtook the Betazed territories. I don’t believe any slave or anyone in the Resistance has seen a Betazoid in at least fifty years.”

“Oh,” Cavit said, and something about her words brought another memory to the forefront.

Terran Empire. He’d read something about that, because of Abol, when Lan and Daggin were gone? Something about a quantum counterpoint. 

They were all still looking at him. “So I guess that means you don’t have someone working with you, on the Chorus?” Cavit said, turning to Kes, and when her head tilted in an unspoken question, he added, “Your telepathic powers, and how the Ocampa are stronger when they work together, I mean.”

“I aid them in that regard,” T’Prena said.

“Chorus is a nice way of putting it,” Kes said. “We’ve been calling it our Collective.”

Cavit shuddered at the word, forever tainted by Wolf 359. 

“What’s wrong?” Kes said.

“The Borg.” Cavit said, but only received more blank stares. “Well, that doesn’t matter…” His ionized, wandering mind had once again left the point he’d intended to make. “Do you think you could read my mind? See if this is just false memories of a brain that took a massive ionic jolt?”

“A mind-meld would be ill advised,” T’Prena said. “Given you are still recovering.”

“I can already sense you believe what you remember,” Kes said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s the truth.” She placed one gentle hand on his arm. “I think it would be better to wait, and rest. If this doesn’t pass, we could explore that option later, when the ionic resonance has faded completely, with all ten of us, if you still feel that way.”

“Ten?” He blinked.

“Yes, ten,” Kes said, with another tilt of her head and another unspoken question.

Did she mean Ocampa? “You, Daggin, Abol, Cir, Eru, Gara…” Cavit said, letting his voice trail off. 

“That’s right,” Kes said. “But also Tarrik, Nen, Jash, and Elan.” 

Cavit shook his head, so frustrated to have no idea who they were. 

“Aaron,” Kes said, taking his hand in both of hers and squeezing. “You need to be gentle with yourself and give yourself time—just like you told me after Tieran possessed me.”

“Possessed you,” Cavit said, glancing up. “Not Setok.” 

“I don’t know who that is,” Kes said. 

Cavit glanced at T’Prena. “You don’t have a son with Daggin?”

“I do.” T’Prena’s eyebrow rose. “His name is Arev. He is named for my forefather.” 

Cavit took a breath, realizing there couldn’t possibly be a lost Vulcan survey ship, given the Vulcans were all but slaves to the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance. Which meant they’d never found the T’Vran—because there was no T’Vran… 

So no Setok. No Velar. No Kaurit. No Yareth…

The scent of the shipyards came back again, and this time he remembered another face. A woman, and though the memory of the woman had short, nearly severely cut hair and was covered in grease and wore overalls emblazoned with a icon of the planet Earth, he could recognize her all too easily.

Dina Voyskunsky.

“It’s a terrible plan,” her voice shook with anger. “You’re going to get us all killed, Aaron. And for what? A chance to join a violent rebellion doomed to fail?”

“Aaron?” Kes said, and he snapped out of the memory.

And it was a memory. He was sure of it.

Just as he was sure Dina Voyskunsky was dead.

“I think…” Cavit cleared his throat. “I think I’ll go back to my quarters now.” 

*

In the quarters Cavit shared with Dimur, he lay down, unaccountably tired, and slept fitfully for an hour or so before getting up and finding a large bottle of water. He drank a mug’s worth, then finally worked up the nerve to explore the items on the shelf along the furthest wall of the space. A collection of books came first—most of them well-loved and in a language he didn’t know, but believed was Trabe—but aside from the books there were other things. 

A patch like the one he’d seen on Dina’s overalls in that sudden discordant memory—a stylized icon of Earth in a circle—that was rough to the touch. He picked it up, and turned it over, and saw a strip of metal on the other side, into which a series of numbers and letters had been pressed in Klingon writing, which he barely knew well enough to read, but knew enough phonetically to see the inclusion of his name. 

My ID number as a slave of theta rank. He traced it with one finger, feeling—for a breath—connected to the patch in a dim, distant way. In the shipyards.

He put the patch down. Next was a plain bowl of what appeared to be smooth rocks of a variety of colours, each smoothed to rounded edges. They didn’t invoke a memory, even when he touched them, and he shook his head. 

The thick, tear-shaped candles were the same, though for some reason he thought they might be Ocampan. 

The door opened behind him, and he turned to see Dimur there, with two covered bowls of something that smelled wonderful despite being lidded. His stomach growled, and Dimur laughed.

“I see your appetite is back,” he said, and nodded to the table-for-two, sitting after placing the bowls down. 

“Apparently.” Cavit joined him. He looked at the man across the table—his husband—and the faint flutter of something at the back of his mind made him pause.

“What is it?” Dimur said, regarding him, a line forming between the ridges of his forehead. 

“We try to do this every day,” Cavit said, putting words to the feeling he’d just had. “We try to have our lunches together, even when…” But the memory hadn’t formed, and was already leaving. “Something about… the Trabe children?” 

Dimur reached across the table and took his wrist in one hand, squeezing. “I look after the younger Trabe two days a week, and you and I have to spread ourselves across the needs of Engineering, so we’re often working different hours.” The man smiled, widely. “But no matter what, we try to eat the mid-day meal together, every day.” Both Dimur’s eyes, even the milky-white one, shone. “You remember.”

“Almost,” Cavit said, and he didn’t want to admit how frightening a sensation it had been. He took a shaky breath. “What’s this?”

“Eru’s mushroom and marob root soup,” Dimur said, pulling the lids off the bowls and unleashing steam from both. It smelled earthy and spicy and Cavit’s stomach growled again. Dimur handed him a spoon. “Here. Eat. I need to get back to the damn plasma distribution manifold.”

Cavit eyed him. He knew that was the Cardassian equivalent of a Starfleet Electro-Plasma Power System. “Trouble with your manifold?”

“Another compositor failure,” Dimur said, looking at Cavit a little warily, and Cavit realized that was something he should have already known. Again. “We’re trying to get it back up and running.”

“Cardassian manifolds use a beta-matrix compositor,” Cavit said, pausing to take a mouthful of the soup, which was fantastic. “Which can't be replicated.” 

Dimur’s smile returned. “That’s right.”

“And it’s not like you’re going to bump into Cardassian parts in the Delta Quadrant,” he said, then he turned to Dimur. “What about building an EPS system from scratch to replace it? It would take time, but it could be done in pieces, if you planned it right.”

“EPS?” Dimur said. 

For the first time since he’d woken up in the Vetar’s Sickbay, Cavit smiled. “Can you get me a PADD? I can draw up the designs easily enough. When I was a junior engineer on the Copernicus, I learned how to build them from the ground up.”

“The Copernicus?” Dimur shook his head, but he rose from the table to pull a PADD from the desk drawer before returning to the table and handing it to him. He went right back to his soup, though he nodded at Cavit to go on.

“Oberth-class starship,” Cavit said, then shook his head, because that wasn’t right, was it? Or, it was—and he remembered it—but it wasn’t right for this Cavit. “It doesn’t matter, though. What matters is I think I have a solution to our problem.”

Dimur wiped his lips with a napkin, and looked at him, and there was a lot of warmth coming off that man’s single brown eye, enough to border on flirtation. Or maybe foreplay. 

Cavit shifted in his seat. “What?”

“Our problem,” Dimur said. “I like that you called it our problem.”

Cavit nodded, and after another spoonful of the delicious soup, he picked up the PADD and started designing an EPS system he remembered from a fleet that didn’t even exist. When they were done their soup, and Dimur rose, Cavit got up with him.

“I’d like to come with you,” Cavit said. “Get a look at how things are set up, so I can make sure this will work.” He lifted the PADD. 

Dimur nodded. “Of course you can.” Dimur’s smile returned, with an edge of amused humour. “Aaron, you’re the boss.” 

*

The embedded nacelles of Cardassian designs made for a more compact main engineering centre than Cavit expected, even though the Vetar was itself larger then Voyager. He stepped into the space with Dimur, fighting the sense of wrongness all over again. Cavit spotted Nicoletti and Jetal right away, side-by-side in front of what appeared to be the main engineering display, and—like everyone else he recognized—not as he expected them. Nicoletti’s auburn hair had been reduced to a near buzz-cut, whereas Jetal’s hung loose between her shoulders. Like he and Dimur, they wore simple grey trousers, Nicoletti wore a russet-coloured blouse, and Jetal something closer to a blue tunic. 

“How are we doing, Sue?” Dimur said. 

The two women turned, and Cavit noticed the way they both glanced at him with a range of concern, pity, and worry before answering Dimur.

“We’re up to eighty-four percent,” Nicoletti said. “But I don’t know if I can do any better than that.” 

“Not with these compositors,” Jetal added, in a sardonic voice Cavit had never heard her use before. 

Except…

Except he had, maybe. Jetal’s sarcasm was her go-to defence, wasn’t it? How she faced down the world.

Since when? 

“How’s your brain?” Jetal said, with a smile suffused with even more of that tone, and Cavit found himself smiling back at her in spite of her bluntness.

“I feel like I’m walking through a dream,” Cavit said. “It’s jarring.”

“Glad to see you up and about, Aaron,” Nicoletti said, with a kinder tone.

“Good to be here,” he said, though that felt almost like a lie. 

“Aaron has an idea about the distribution manifold,” Dimur said.

“I’m all ears,” Jetal said. 

“I’m going to need some help from you about how the manifold operates,” Cavit said, lifting the PADD. “But I think we can replace it—piecemeal, if we have to—with a Starfleet EPS System.” When he saw them both blink, he held up one hand. “Electro-Plasma Power System. Here. Look.” He showed them the start of his drawings, and Nicoletti’s eyes widened.

“That’s a completely new design,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like that.” 

“Is that based on old Empire tech?” Jetal said, frowning at him. 

“I’m not sure I can explain where it came from,” Cavit said.

“Where what came from?” came another voice, and Cavit turned, nearly dropping the PADD when he saw the fit, handsome, dark-haired man approaching. 

“Aaron apparently has a whole new plasma distribution system he plucked out of thin air,” Jetal said, taking the PADD from Cavit and handing it to the man.

“Sendine,” Cavit said, still staring at the man who’d joined them. 

Michael Sendine’s lips turned in a smirk, one almost hidden by the short cropped beard he wore. “Cavit,” he said, with a trace of mockery in his tone. One eyebrow rose. “Feeling formal today, are we?”

“Mike,” Dimur said, crossing his arms.

Sendine raised his free hand. “Sorry.” He eyed Cavit. “Tell your husband I’m just kidding with you.”

“I just didn’t expect—” you to be alive. Cavit bit off the words. “Still a bit, y’know.” He tapped his temple. 

“So maybe show some respect,” Dimur added, and Cavit looked at him. Okay, it was not entirely unpleasant to have Dimur backing him up this way. And who knew the big guy could do that imposing glower thing he was doing. 

He always looks out for me this way. He knows some of the rebels intimidate me.

He does? They did?

Sendine was looking at the PADD now. “This is completely different.”

“Like I said,” Jetal said.

“You think you can build this and have it work?” Sendine said, looking at Cavit. 

“It’ll take time, obviously, but most importantly everything can be replicated, once we program in the patterns.” Cavit was sure he could do this. “I’d estimate it will only deliver about ninety-five percent of what the Cardassian plasma distribution manifold did at its peak, but we’re never getting peak back out of those compositors.” 

“I’ll let Fitz and Xander know,” Sendine said, handing him back the PADD.

“What brought you down here, anyway?” Jetal said. 

“Oh,” Sendine said, snapping his fingers like he’d forgotten something. “Right. Xander wanted you all to know they might have found some pergium after all. The asteroid belt Neelix madamed Tommy out for seems to be paying out, now that we found the damned thing.”

“Mike,” Nicoletti shook her head. “Stop it. I mean it. Tom is going to beat the crap out of you if you don’t let that drop.” 

“Hey, I’m just jealous,” Sendine lifted both hands and aimed a cocky smile their way. “I would have happily taken on that particular trade mission.”

“Go back to the Bridge, Mike,” Dimur said, shaking his head. “Let Scott know when we need to get the shuttles ready to mine those asteroids.”

“Will do,” Sendine said, turning and leaving. 

“That man is such an ass,” Jetal said. “I really need to stop sleeping with him.”

Cavit coughed on his surprise, and everyone turned to look at him.

“What?” Jetal said. 

“Can you show me a full display of the manifold?” Cavit said, desperately wanting to change the subject. Everyone on the Vetar seemed so forward. “If I can get an idea of the worst of the compositors, we can see which parts to replace first.”

“This way, boss-man,” Jetal said, gesturing to the far side of the Vetar’s Main Engineering room. Cavit saw another person already working there, Ensign Lyndsay Ballard—no, not an ensign, just Lyndsay—and she looked almost entirely the same as he expected, he thought.

“Lynds, can you bring up the manifold for us?” Jetal said.

“Can do,” Ballard said, in a voice that was—again—exactly what Cavit expected.

At least some people were the same as he remembered them, he thought. 

The three of them looked over the display, and Cavit noted a few options for where they might begin with replacing the manifold with EPS equivalents. He showed them more detail on his PADD, working some of what he saw into the basics of his design with their input.

He glanced back while Ballard and Jetal debated a starting point, and caught Dimur glancing at him from where he was working with Nicoletti. Dimur winked at him, and Cavit couldn’t help the smile he aimed in return.

*

Back in their quarters, hours later, they ate a late dinner Dimur brought from wherever the Vetar’s Mess Hall was—this time a plate something like pasta, in a sauce a bit more spicy than Cavit would have liked, which Dimur put down to “Neelix’s turn,” and then, more tired than he wanted to admit, Cavit eyed their bed. 

“Long day,” Dimur said.

Cavit nodded. It was. In many ways. While speaking with Jetal, especially, he’d had more memories sneaking to the surface. She was very much his right-hand-woman, apparently, and they worked together more often than not. Flashes of other repairs had tripped along his mind in bursts, and when he’d mentioned anything from those flashes, everyone had seemed to relax just a little.

Like it offset the fact Aaron Cavit was pulling an entirely new way to route plasma power through their ship out of his ass if he also remembered that time they’d had to repair the lateral sensor array after the Kazon-Nistrim had given them a bloody nose. 

He couldn’t blame them, not really. He opened his mouth and said “Computer,” about to end his day the usual way he did on Voyager, then paused, realizing something.

The computer issued a single note, waiting.

“You okay?” Dimur said. He’d asked that question in so many ways, so many times today.

“Do I keep a log?” Cavit said.

“You mean your journal?” Dimur said, with a smile. “Sure. Most nights, though you usually wait until I’m in the shower.” 

Cavit went to the small desk and activated the Cardassian monitor there. Sure enough, there were files for a log. 

“I can read these,” Cavit said, turning to look at Dimur. Then he yawned so wide his eyes ran.

“Maybe tomorrow?” Dimur said, with a small chuckle. “I think you’re ready for bed now. I know I am.”

Cavit nodded. 

“Join me in the shower?” Dimur said, hooking one finger into the neck of Cavit’s shirt.

Cavit froze.

Dimur bit his bottom lip, letting go. “I’m sorry. I… well, I didn’t forget, but…” He lifted one shoulder. “I’m sorry. Today felt a lot more normal than yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” Cavit said. “It’s just still not what I think of as…” He didn’t have the right word. Normal? Reality? His life? 

Dimur shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Really.” He got up, crossing to the door to the fresher. “I mean it. It’s okay.” He paused at the door once it opened. “I can sleep on the couch, or in one of the other quarters on deck eight, if—”

“No,” Cavit said. “No, I…” He swallowed, because what he’d almost said had come from somewhere he wasn’t sure he’d had control over. 

No, I want you with me.

“I don’t mind,” Cavit said. “I mean, sleeping with you—in the same bed with you—is… fine.”

Dimur nodded, and that flirty smile made another return. “I’m glad.”

Then he was gone, and Cavit heard the sonic shower cycling up a moment later. 

He eyed the journal files on the computer, and decided Dimur was right. Tomorrow. He’d read them tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Cavit woke to a tone he didn’t recognize, and Dimur reached one arm over him to tap one the disc on the small table beside their bed. Unlike their first night together, when Cavit had slid under the sheets in a pair of shorts, Dimur had joined him there with what appeared to be a kind of short waist-wrap, and Cavit had appreciated the man’s concession to his discomfort.

Now, he realized he’d slept well beside the man, and had they’d ended up tucked against each other in their sleep.

“Hello?” Dimur said, in a low, gravelly voice still heavy with sleep.

“Morning, Dimur,” came a woman’s voice Cavit didn’t recognize. “Fitz wants a meeting and an update now we’re at the asteroids—is Aaron up for it, or do you or Ahni want to handle it?”

Dimur shifted in the bed, turning to face Cavit with an unspoken question. Cavit took a breath.

“I’m up for it,” he said. 

“Great,” the woman’s voice said. “See you in twenty.” 

The tone sounded again. 

“Where would the meeting be?” Cavit said. 

“Deck two,” Dimur said, rubbing his eyes with both hands. “I’ll show you the way.” 

Two showers and a cup of Trabe firenut coffee each, he and Dimur grabbed a lift up to deck two—they were joined part of the way by an Ocampa man who looked so much like Abol he could only be the man’s brother, who Dimur confirmed was indeed Abol’s brother Tarrik after Tarrik had gotten off at deck four—and then showed him to what was to be the meeting room. 

“Here you are. You okay to get back?” Dimur said. “I should get to the kids.”

Right. Dimur was looking after the younger Trabe today—who had most of deck eight to themselves. Cavit nodded, presenting more confidence than he felt, an old habit he’d given a lot of practice as a commanding officer, and Dimur left him there.

Cavit tapped on the panel beside the door, and stepped through when it opened. Three people sat around a triangular table that still had quite a few empty seats remaining, with oblong round windows behind them showing a field of asteroids and, beyond that, the murky clouds of the Nekrit Expanse at the edges of the system. 

Two of the three people he recognized. Jeff Fitzgerald—only, no, he was Fitz, with the beard and the long, tied back hair—had the chair at the point of the table opposite the entry. Beside him sat Alexander Honigsberg—Xander, he supposed he should think of him—but Cavit had never seen Honigsberg like this.

His dark hair was shaved close to the scalp, making Honigsberg’s widow’s peak all the more striking, and he didn’t have his beard, which made his sharply angled eyebrows more noticeable above his hazel eyes. He’d never been a large man, being lean, and not very tall, but this version of him—Xander—seemed more angular in every way, with tighter musculature and less softness to him. 

His grey turtleneck with long sleeves seemed out of place on the warm ship, but he didn’t look uncomfortable in it. If anything, Honigberg—no, Xander—seemed…

What?

Armored.

In another chair sat a blond woman Cavit didn’t recognize. She seemed tall, even seated in the chair, was athletically built beneath her sleeveless red shirt, and quite beautiful. 

“I’m afraid I don’t recall if we have usual seats,” Cavit said, hesitating at the threshold and not wanting to misstep. 

“Any is fine,” Fitz said, gesturing with his gloved hand. “Though Tasha always takes that one.”

Cavit sat, nodding at the woman. Tasha, apparently. Dimur had mentioned a Tasha, hadn’t he?

“How are you feeling?” Tasha asked him.

“I’m starting to remember more,” Cavit said. “It’s hard to explain, but I have a whole extra life up here,” he tapped his forehead. 

“Extra,” Fitz said. “So you’re remembering… you?” 

“In bits and pieces,” Cavit said, glancing at Tasha. “I didn’t recall you when I came in, but…” He tried to let his mind drift a trace, and then tilted his head as an odd image struck him: a wall of blades? “Something about knives, or swords?” 

Tasha nodded at him slowly, and for some reason the comment made Fitz finally smile—briefly—but that was all that came to Cavit.

“It doesn’t make sense, and it’s all disconnected. But to answer your question, yes. All of this, all of you, seem to be coming back to me, too,” he gestured at the table and the people around it. 

“That plan of yours for the manifold is just what we needed,” Fitz said. 

It was so strange to look at the man and see Jeff Fitzgerald’s face but not see the same man behind his eyes. This one seemed to like him well enough, but that was it. They were colleagues, though perhaps not particularly close ones. 

“I hope so,” Cavit said, banishing the thought. “I’m not sure there’s another way to fix it.”

“How did you come up with it?” Xander said. “We never dealt with anything like that in the shipyards, Aaron.” He paused, “Electro-plasma, was it?”

“Electro-plasma power system. EPS.” Cavit nodded. “I just remember it. I have a whole history with the Federation, with Starfleet, a career I remember where I was an operations officer before I…” He lifted his shoulders. “Got promoted, I think. I could even quote some regulations and rules to you I know don’t exist here, but the reason I know EPS systems is because I spent a good number of years working on them on the USS Copernicus and then the USS Monitor.” 

“USS?” Honigsberg shook his head, but then Fitz leaned forward.

“Federation,” Fitz said, and though Cavit didn’t know this man the way he knew Jeff Fitzgerald, they had a similar tell—his shoulders tightened, and a little line formed between his eyebrows.

I think I love him but I don’t even know him. 

“You’ve heard of it?” Cavit said. “You know of the Federation?”

“Fitz?” Tasha said.

“I have,” Fitz said, glancing at her for only a moment. “I’ve heard of the Federation before, from Smiley.”

“Smiley?” Cavit shook his head. Xander looked just as lost as he was. 

“Miles O’Brien. He’s in the rebellion,” Tasha said, then turned back to Fitz. “What did he say?” 

“Not much, and honestly if I hadn’t known him well enough I would have thought he was telling a joke, except, well, Smiley.” Fitz leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “The year before we got dragged here, when Smiley and Ben first joined the rebellion, they met with Kate and I. Smiley mentioned the only reason he thought we had a chance was he already knew what was possible, because of a Federation doctor who’d come from another dimension. A transporter accident.” 

Ion storm. Transporter. Kirk. Mirror.

“This is the mirror universe,” Cavit said, breathing out the word as the fragments that had been flitting just out of reach finally tumbled into place in his mind.

“Yes,” Fitz nodded, eyeing him warily. “That’s what he called it. He said they came from a mirror universe.”

“So you have knowledge from—what—a whole other universe in your head?” Xander didn’t sound particularly convinced, and it struck Cavit as strange to see the man so skeptical and cold. 

Garak nearly broke him. He’s come a long way since. Cavit shook off the unwelcome memory.

“Smiley said the Bajoran Intendant knew all about it. It’s possible there’s more information in the Vetar’s database,” Fitz said. 

“I’ll look, though most of the non-operations databases hadn’t been downloaded before we stole it.” Tasha said. The woman’s bright blue eyes shifted to Cavit. “But you weren’t in a transporter. You got hit by a planetary ionic discharge.” 

“I can’t explain it either,” Cavit said.  

“Well, Aaron, I’m not sure I care how it happened,” Fitz said, with a reckless shrug that looked so alien on Jeff Fitzgerald, beard and pony-tail or no. “I don’t know if you’re going to keep these other dimension’s memories forever, but frankly, while you do have them, I want you do use it as much as you can to get the Vetar back up to speed—and the Trabe ships, too, if there’s anything we can do for them, too. Upgrading our fleet gets us back to the Rebellion faster, so if you’ve got anything else up your sleeve along with this EPS system, hit me with it. Weapons. Shields. Anything that might give us an edge when we finally get home? I want it.” 

Noninterference. Prime Directive. The thoughts drifted out of the Voyager part of his memories, but looking into the eyes of the man most of him still loved, even if it wasn’t truly him, the words held little power.

“I’ll take a good look around, and see what I remember,” Cavit said, and when Fitz nodded, it almost looked familiar. 

The door chimed, and Fitz glanced up. “Yes?” 

Cavit turned, but the man who came in wasn’t familiar to him. Built thick and strong, with thickly muscled shoulders, the man’s light brown hair was shorn almost to the scalp, and he wore a similar red sleeveless shirt to the one Tasha wore, which showed off just how thickly muscled his arms were. 

“Hey,” the man said, nodding to Cavit, Tasha, and Xander in a quick gesture of acknowledgement. “Scott says he’s got the shuttles ready to go. Can I give them the go ahead for launching? Neelix really wants to get the refining started as soon as possible.” 

“If it keeps Neelix from the kitchen,” Fitz said, “Go ahead. We were done here anyway.”

“Ah, then if you’ve got a second…” the man strode over, and to Cavit’s surprise—and discomfort—he straddled Fitz’s chair with one leg, lowering himself into Fitz’s lap and wrapping both of those arms around his shoulders. “I have some other things to talk about.”

“Do you?” Fitz said, with a wicked smile aimed only at the man.

Tasha shook her head, rising with an amused scoff.  “That’s our cue, gentlemen.” 

Cavit got to his feet, keeping his eyes anywhere but on the two men. He made it out the door just after Tasha, with Xander behind him.

“I swear he does that on purpose to clear the room,” Xander said. 

“He’s just making sure Fitz remembers to breathe,” Tasha said. “You know Kate asked Reese to keep him grounded.”

Cavit nearly tripped over his own feet, he turned so quickly to face the man who was—and wasn’t—Alexander Honigsberg. 

“That’s Reese?” he said. He knew the name from Jeff—his Jeff, or the Voyager Jeff, or… It was all getting so muddled—but that meant the man should be with Alex—no, Xander—no… hadn’t Dimur had said Xander was with Cyalno?

“Yeah,” Xander said, then frowned at him, and some of that skepticism finally seemed to be cracking. “You really don’t remember us, do you?”

“Not yet,” Cavit said. 

Xander regarded him, as though still trying to make up his mind if he believed him. “If I were you? I’d just be glad I couldn’t remember where we came from, and call it a win. That other universe sounds better to me.” He nodded at Tasha, and then strode off to the lift.

Garak. Xander. Screams.

Cavit watched him go, and the fragment settled in amongst the rest of the growing life in his mind. “He and I were in the shipyards together, weren’t we?” Cavit said.

“You were,” Tasha said. “It was bad. You two did your best to look out for the others. You and he led the revolt from the inside we needed to steal the Vetar.”

Cavit eyed her. “So you were a rebel from the start?”

She nodded. “My colony was one of the last of the Terran Empire to fall, almost fifty years ago. I grew up on stories of what we were.” Her eyes gained a far-away look. “The Empire began as a terrible thing, but we were changing under the last Emperor. We didn’t deserve the Alliance. Not for what our ancestors did.” Her gaze sharpened, and she turned back to him. “If any of those other universe ideas of yours can be used on our weapons, let me know. I’ll make sure I’ve got people to help you.”

They walked to the lift together.

“The swords,” Cavit said, raising one eyebrow.

“Trophies of war,” Tasha said, letting out a small laugh. “You once asked me how long it took to keep them all clean, like that was the most unusual thing about my wall full of bat'leths, d'k tahgs,  and mek'leths.” She shook her head, then glanced up. “Bridge.”

Cavit considered going back to his quarters to sleep some more, but changed his mind. He’d rather get back to work.

“Main Engineering,” he said. Then he eyed her. “How long does it take to keep them clean?”

“I had most of them sealed with a resin coating,” Tasha said. “But I keep one or two sharp and ready, mixed in the display, just in case I need to grab one.”

*

Over the next week, in between crawling around through access ducts, Cavit came to realize the Vetar might not run anything at all like a Starfleet ship, but her crew cared no less for her, and there was a similar hierarchy in play, though not one with official ranks and titles, beyond “Captain” Fitz, and his “Second” Xander. Cavit might be the “boss-man” in Engineering—a moniker frankly growing on him—but most of the crew didn’t really belong to what he’d consider departments so much as their expertise was applied to whatever was needed at the time.

As such, he had a lot of people crawling around putting his EPS system into place, and it was going faster than it had any right to. Partly due to staying out of warp while they mined asteroids for pergium and a few other compounds, the Vetar and the three Trabe ships being stationary seemed to turn everyone’s attention to repairs and maintenance. 

It helped to have something to do, and the longer he walked the ivy-covered corridors of the Vetar, the more those half-remembered fragments seemed to surface and coalesce, even bits and pieces about people he’d have sworn he’d never met face-to-face before.

His other life, though, the one he’d originally been sure was the one he was supposed to have lived—on Voyager, in Starfleet, as part of the Federation—didn’t fade away. If anything, it seemed to grow less confused and jumbled, even if whole parts of it still seemed to run away when he tried to focus on them. 

Cyalno monitored the ionic resonance every day, usually after breakfast and before Cavit went to Main Engineering, and the trace of the discharge continued to fade. Lunch he spent with Dimur, often talking over his work replacing the Cardassian manifold, and then he’d work again, often not coming back to their quarters until dinner time, where they’d eat and then they’d crawl into bed together and—more often than not—he’d fall asleep while Dimur told him stories of their past. 

He’d tried reading his journal, but the entries still felt like they belonged to a stranger, and the first weeks were so full of pain and self-recrimination over the death of Dina Voyskunsky during the initial revolt in the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance Shipyards he couldn’t bear more than a few entries at a time.

While he mostly stayed in Engineering or his quarters he and Dimur had returned to a habit Cavit had finally remembered: breakfast in the Mess Hall each morning. Those morning meals seemed to bring him an endless stream of surprises of looking at faces he knew, but didn’t. 

Other realizations had taken longer. For example, there were no Bajorans on board—he’d learned liberated Bajor had joined the Alliance once the Terran Empire had been defeated, and Bajor had some status in the Alliance, and Bajoran rebels were rare indeed—which meant no Ro Laren, who he’d only half realized he’d been looking for on the fourth day since he’d recovered, and had finally queried the computer in his quarters. 

It had no record of her, but Tasha had said the computer libraries hadn’t been complete on the Vetar when they’d stolen her.

Kes was dating the Talaxian miner, Neelix, who shared Mess Hall duties with Eru and Gara and was—almost universally—barely tolerated by the crew when he took his turn at the chef role, though they did so with good humour and the jovial Talaxian didn’t seem to mind their not infrequent barbs about his cooking.

Scott Rollins was here, though it was most often Tasha Yar who manned the tactical station on the Bridge of the Vetar, and Rollins seemed to be in charge of the shuttles and co-ordinating with the Trabe ships more than anything else. He looked more-or-less the same, though he, like so many of the rebels, seemed to prefer sleeveless shirts and had a much more devil-may-care attitude than the Rollins Cavit’s mind conjured up. 

He also seemed to be involved with one of the men who Cavit hadn’t recognized, a former Shipyard worker named Daniel Byrd. 

Sahreen Lan was there, too—and had been taken by the Caretaker alongside Xander, and with the the same results as the Sahreen he remembered, though on this ship, the Lan symbiont’s offspring had been split between Kes and Daggin, not Kes and Abol. Lan, who seemed to be a sometimes-medic, sometimes-soldier, sometimes-scientist, helped him quite a bit in Main Engineering, and mentioned her previous host, Dolay, had been a rebel before her before he’d been fatally wounded in a rebel attack on a Cardassian base. She struck him as quieter then he remembered, never bothered to tie her long dark curls away from her face, and seemed to draw much more on the memories of her previous hosts than from her own life. 

Cavit met Arev, who was in every way identical to Setok, and had to remind himself to use the right name.

He’d sought out Abol and Zandra Taitt, too—both were here, and they were as together here as his other, odd memories of the two of them, but Taitt’s sharp mind had been turned more to ways to fight the Alliance than science, and she wore silver beads in her long braided hair that he learned represented lost compatriots in the rebellion’s long fight. Abol was just as clever as Cavit remembered, and as devoted to Taitt, but he’d only had what was in the Vetar’s partial libraries to learn from, and he, too, struck Cavit as militaristic in a way that seemed all wrong to him.

When Cavit had tried his best to explain the quantum mechanics of parallel dimensions from his own imperfect understanding, both grasped what he was saying with more finesse than he was sure he’d explained in the first place, but neither had suggestions of a reason behind his memories, and even less to offer that resembled a solution.

So it continued as it had: no one felt right, but everyone was who they were except him, and by the end of that week, he found himself looking forward to those moments when the memories of Aaron Cavit, boss-man of the Engineers of the Vetar, would bubble up. With time, enough of them might arrive to give him a full impression of who he was supposed to be.

At least then he’d feel like he belonged here.

*

Cavit stopped by the Mess Hall to grab something for his dinner with Dimur, feeling gritty and sore from the latest batch of manifold work, but also satisfied with a day where—for the most part—he’d felt comfortable doing good work among good people. Dimur would be back with the latest shuttle runs spreading about the refined ore—most especially the pergium—among their four ships, and it was the least he could do to have something waiting for the man when he came back to their quarters to change. 

The Vetar’s Mess Hall was a semi-circle near the fore of the ship, the kitchen in the centre and the less-than-soft benches and booth-like tables arranged in a horse-shoe around it, with the Cardassian-typical oblong round windows spaced evenly between them. When he came around to the front of the kitchen, where he spotted Gara standing near a smiling version of Andreas Murphy behind the counter, he with his arms around her waist and she looking up at him with a playful smile of her own, he paused, not wanting to intrude.

“Aaron,” Gara said with a smile, giving Murphy a little shove with one hand in the centre of his chest to make him take a single step back, though he left one hand on her waist and his smile didn’t dim in the slightest. “Dinner to go?” 

“Please,” he said, and seeing Andreas Murphy’s attention had turned to him, he nodded to the man, who grinned back at him. He’d never seen Andreas Murphy grin before, and he must have stared a little too long while Gara was putting something in bowls, because the man raised one eyebrow, then moved his hands in front of him in a quick series of gestures. 

Sign language?

Cavit’s hands rose almost on their own account, and a single gesture floated to the surface, which he made—he was fairly certain the sign meant sorry—then frowned. “I don’t remember how to sign.” He shook his head. “Not yet.”

Murphy waved one hand, clearly not bothered, and Cavit noticed a scar on the brown-haired man that ran from below his left ear and down the side of his throat. 

Garak. Garak did that. Tired of how Andreas spoke to him, with all the right words but no real deference. 

He swallowed past the sudden memory of violence, and then Gara was back with a pair of the lidded Cardassian bowls they ate from most days. “Vegetable soup,” she said. “It’s thick, it’s hot, and it’s filling.” 

“Thank you,” he said, taking the bowls from her. 

Murphy touched her shoulder, and she glanced at him. He moved his hands again.

“Andreas says he hopes you’re doing better soon,” Gara said, interpreting. “And that he saw you had the new plasma system generating ninety percent as of yesterday.” 

Murphy gave him another big grin and a thumbs-up. 

“Thank you,” Cavit said. Then, with an odd notion that he and Andreas were often playfully teasing with each other, he added, “I’ll let you get back to doing whatever it was you were trying to do,” and winked.

Andreas laughed, a breathless sound, and wrapped both arms around Gara’s waist again. For her part, Gara’s warm brown skin flushed deeper, and she shook her head as though she wasn’t amused or charmed, though clearly she was both.

“Don’t encourage him,” she said. “The man doesn’t need any help on that front.” 

Murphy wagged his eyebrows, and Cavit lifted the bowls again in thanks before turning to go. He’d almost made it to the door when his gaze landed on Jeff Fitzgerald—no, Captain Fitz—sitting at one of the tables tucked furthest in the corner, reading something while he drank from a mug. He wasn’t alone, though. Fitz leaned on Reese, who had one arm around Fitz’s shoulder, the palm of his hand pressed almost possessively against Fitz’s chest in a way that looked like a long habit. Beside Reese, a version of Stephen Niles who sported a tidy, short beard was talking with Reese, but what caught Cavit’s attention was how Reese’s other hand was laced with Niles’s, their clasped hands resting on the back of the booth while they spoke about whatever it was that had their rapt attention. 

He stood there for a second, and then another, then forced himself to pick up his foot and start walking again. He didn’t think anyone noticed, least of all the apparently intimate trio of Fitz, Reese, or Niles, but he didn’t want to be caught staring, either. 

No Bajorans on the Vetar. No Atara Ram.

In the quarters he shared with Dimur, he took care placing the bowls on the table, and was about to head to the sonic shower when the door opened and the Trabe man entered, looking at grimy and as tired as Cavit himself felt. He had a particularly thick smear of dirt of some kind across the temple above his scarred eye. 

“You got dinner,” Dimur said, and the look of deep gratitude he aimed Cavit’s way seemed to hook inside Cavit’s chest somewhere. 

“I did,” Cavit said, and he stepped up to Dimur, wiping off some of the dirt above Dimur’s eye and showing it to him.

“Pergium residue,” Dimur said, with a tired smile. “But we managed to refresh all the environmental filters on all three Trabe ships.”

“Well done,” Cavit said. “You must be beat.”

“All I want is a shower, a meal, and your company,” Dimur said smoothly. 

Cavit felt something rise up with the words—another fragment. He lifted his chin. “You said that to me before.” He closed his eyes, trying to let his mind relax, which seemed to aid in bringing those pieces into focus. And it did. 

Vividly. Those had been the words he’d used after they’d had a long, difficult shift together in Engineering, many weeks after the Trabe had first joined the Vetar on its journey home. They’d been the words Dimur had used to finally convince Cavit to set aside his guilt over Dina long enough to share a private meal. 

Which had led to talking.

Which had led to the Trabe tradition of bedwarming.

Which had led to…

Cavit opened his eyes, and his lip curled into a wry smile. 

Dimur lifted one shoulder a fraction, not a trace of guilt in his expression, and more than a trace of heat. And love. 

“I married you,” Cavit said. 

Dimur nodded slowly, as though he thought any movement might break something fragile. “You did.” 

“Because I love you,” Cavit said. And the words might not have conjured events and memories, but the swell of feeling was there. And had been for a few days now, if he’d been honest with himself, arriving with those fragments little by little. 

Dimur took in a tiny breath. “And I love you.” 

Cavit leaned forward. Dimur let him, not moving still, and Cavit thought it was just another example of how good the Trabe man was that he didn’t assume anything of him, waiting for confirmation, not demanding or taking anything without question. 

Cavit pressed his lips to Dimur and offered as much of that feeling as he could, and Dimur’s lips parted with the softest sound he’d heard the man utter, an almost pained sound, but one of relief. 

Cavit stepped into the man, and pulled him against him, strengthening the kiss and fitting their bodies together in a way that was simultaneously new and well remembered. Dimur’s motionlessness finally broke, and he wrapped both of his strong arms around Cavit, cupping the back of his head with one hand, and kissing him back with renewed vigour, and more and more of those pieces of the life Cavit would have sworn only a week ago wasn’t his floated up with every moment. 

“Join me in the shower?” Cavit said, when they finally pulled back, Dimur’s dark brown eye flicking back and forth, and his breathing as rapid as Cavit’s own.

Dimur’s answer was to start tugging at Cavit’s shirt, and Cavit laughed and returned the favour in full.

*

The soup turned out to be just fine cold, and Cavit rose on one elbow in their bed, regarding Dimur, who lay beside him and aimed a sleepy, satisfied, and rather smug smile back at him.

“There’s a human saying,” Cavit said. “About cats and canaries that would totally apply here but I don’t want to explain it right now.”

“You’ve told me that one before,” Dimur said. “And I am as satisfied as an avian-fed predator, yes.” 

“And a little too proud of yourself,” Cavit said, putting the palm of his free hand on Dimur’s warm chest and giving him a playful nudge.

Dimur took his hand and pulled it to his lips, kissing Cavit’s palm.

“Not many men are lucky enough to be able to have their husbands fall in love with them twice in one lifetime,” Dimur said.

Husband. The word held such weight in Dimur’s voice, and Cavit leaned over him and placed a gentle kiss on the man’s lips. “Thank you for being so patient with me.” 

“Well,” Dimur said, and that cocky, smug smile was back. “I wasn’t too worried. I happen to know you’ve never resisted me more than a week, not once I take my shirt off.” 

Cavit shoved him again, a little harder this time, and Dimur wrapped both arms around him and laughed, pulling him against the chest in question—which was indeed truly impressive, damn the man—and then rolled them both over until Cavit was pinned beneath him before Dimur let go, sliding his hands onto Cavit’s chest and rubbing his palms across Cavit’s chest hair.

That smug smile returned. 

“What?” Cavit said.

“I was just thinking, you tease me the same way,” Dimur said, glancing down at Cavit’s chest. “You know I like the way you feel.” 

“Teasing seems to be a theme on this ship,” Cavit said, though he wasn’t sure he meant teasing so much as bluntness or overtly sensual. Jetal and Sendine. Fitz and Reese and Niles. Taitt and Abol. Murphy and Gara. Nicoletti and a Trabe woman he hadn’t caught the name of. Coming across crew kissing over the last week had been a daily occurrence, and even more daring open displays of affection seemed commonplace in some areas of the Vetar, like the Mess Hall or the garden deck. 

More fragments were stirring as the Trabe man stroked his rough palms against Cavit’s chest, and building up like a long snowfall. Other nights like this one—and days, afternoons, and other stolen moments—spun by in his mind, even as he relished the weight against him.

“We both come from people who’ve known a lot of pain, Aaron,” Dimur said, his voice softening to something more serious. “Finding joy wherever we can is how we take some of our lives back.”

“That makes sense,” Cavit said. Firing a Klingon disruptor. Garak diving through a closing door. Dina, broken on the floor of the docking bridge. Killing the Cardassians in the Vetar’s engine room. Powering the ship up as transporters delivered rebel after rebel onto the ship. Escaping under cloak. The Badlands. The Array. The Caretaker. The Kazon. The Ocampa city. The fragments were a blizzard now, and Cavit closed his eyes against them.

“Aaron?” Dimur said.

“Sorry,” Cavit said, blinking. A Vidiian trap. Lan’s offspring. “More memories…” He gripped Dimur’s hands. Kohl Settlement. Fighting the Swarm. “I can’t… It won’t stop…” 

Dimur shifted on the bed, helping him sit up and Cavit could barely manage the movement. He winced as image after image seemed to burst behind his eyelids and then—

The memories stopped. A swirl of white light appeared in their quarters near the table where the soup bowls lay empty. Cavit rose from the bed, then frowned, because Dimur was gone, but the whirling, white vortex grew larger by the moment and he turned back to it, looking…

Was there something inside it?

Aaron Cavit took a single step toward the light, raising his hand over his eyes to get a better look through the glare. 

“Don’t!” 

He turned, and stared in disbelief at…

Himself.

“Whatever you do, don’t go near it,” the other Aaron Cavit said, and something about his voice, not to mention how short his hair was, or the blue tunic and grey trousers, made him realize who it was. This was the Cavit who belonged in the life he’d been living for the last week.

He looked down at himself, and saw the red shouldered uniform and combadge of a Starfleet Captain. 

Behind them both, the light flared painfully bright, and Aaron Cavit fell.

Chapter Text

Aaron Cavit stood near a swirling vortex of light that took up one entire end of the room. When he finally tore his eyes away from the bottomless brilliant well, he jolted at the realization of which room he found himself standing in.

Six Kona coffee trees arranged in a circle, with delta gooseberry bushes between. Seating areas around the edge of the large space, with more greenery between, including some of the newest addition of Mislenite blueberry plants.

This used to be the Crew Lounge, but now it was the Arboretum. And it was real. Voyager existed. That whole life was real.

“I first met Aaron Cavit when I was having lunch with Captain Janeway.” 

Cavit blinked, and, as though through a haze, people appeared around him, at first faded and indistinct, but becoming more solid by the moment. The man speaking bore a blue-shouldered uniform, and had dark hair, a strong chin, and steely-blue eyes…

Jeff.

“We were in a replimat, on Starbase 375,” Fitzgerald continued, and Cavit ached at the roughness in Jeff’s voice, the voice of a man on the edge of sorrow. “Captain Janeway and I had served together on the Al-Batani, and she asked me if I’d consider being her Chief Medical Officer, and that I had a few weeks to think if over. Before I could say anything, this Lieutenant Commander walked up with a PADD and told us it was more likely it was going to be at least a month, given the latest update from Utopia Planetia, and then introduced himself as Aaron Cavit, and said he’d be the executive officer on Voyager.” Fitzgerald shook his head. “I pointed out I hadn’t accepted the offer yet, and he just said, ‘You will,’ handed the PADD to the Captain, and left us there.” 

Around him, the gathered group shared soft laughter, and Lieutenant Veronica Stadi put one hand on Fitzgerald’s shoulder, squeezing it. To the other side, Lieutenant Alexander Honigsberg, in uniform, with his usual facial hair and styled hair, rubbed his goatee with one hand while taking a shaky breath.

“He never lacked for confidence,” Fitzgerald said. 

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Cavit said, realizing dully what it was he was seeing.

A memorial. He could see the little memorial plaque in Lieutenant Commander Ro Laren’s hand. When they were done sharing memories, she’d attach it to one of the surface of one of the tables, and…

“It’s time to go, Aaron.”

Behind him, Ro had started to speak about their first weeks together, but this new voice drew his attention like a spray of cold water against the back of his neck.

Dina Voyskunsky, with her long hair done up in her usual knot for when she was in uniform, regarded him with a simple, sorrowful smile. She’d always been beautiful, but it had been her strong personality and wilful ability to bend the universe to her desire that had kept them in their years-long cycle of on-again, off-again.

“Dina?” he said.

“You died,” she said. “And they’re saying goodbye. And it’s time for you to come with me into what comes next.” 

Her uniform was exactly as he remembered: she, too, had been a Lieutenant Commander, and the executive officer on the USS Hood, serving under Captain Robert DeSoto. 

Only… Wait.

“How are you here?” he said, frowning. Why was Dina in the Delta Quadrant?

“I died,” she said. “I’m here to help you make the same transition. I promise it will all become so clear once you step into the light, Aaron.” 

Behind him, Daggin was speaking now, something about the garden in his Ready Room, and how much he appreciated their conversations when he was there to tend the various herbs and teas.  

“I liked them, too, Daggin,” he said, turning to look at the Ocampa man, who stood with Nurse T’Prena to one side of him, and his son, Setok—not Arev, Setok—on his other side. Cavit was glad to see them together. Setok had been struggling since his experience with Tiernan, and many of the conversations Daggin and he had had recently had been on the subject of how to help his son realize he was not to blame.

“Aaron,” Dina said, but Cavit held up one hand to her, wanting another moment.

He crossed to stand in front of Setok. “You did nothing wrong,” Cavit said. “I hope you’ll realize that.”

Setok frowned. “Captain?” His gaze flicked toward Cavit, and his expression grew confused.

Cavit turned, looking at Dina. “Dina?”

The woman just shook her head. “He’s not real. None of this is. This is your mind’s way of letting go gently, but you’ve constructed a—”

Captain? Cavit took a step away from Dina. This time, the voice hadn’t been Setok’s at all. It was Kes’s. 

“I think you’re telling me some truth,” Cavit said, remembering the other Cavit, and his warning about the vortex. “I don’t think any of this is real.”

“Aaron, I promise you, once you come into the light—”

“How did you die?” Cavit said. “When? What was the stardate?”

Dina frowned. “48306,” she said.

That was just before they were taken to the Delta Quadrant by the Caretaker, Cavit thought. And, a thought occurred to him. “In the Alliance Shipyards?” he said.

She started to nod, then stopped, her eyes widening as she realized her mistake, and he held up one hand. 

“Who are you?” Cavit said, angry now. “Because you’re sure as hell not Dina Voyskunsky.”

She shook her head sadly. “You must enter the light.” The vortex behind her grew brighter still, but now it was shifting in tint—becoming reddish.

“Like hell,” he said, backing away.

“Aaron!”

He turned, and the other Aaron Cavit was back, the one with the shorter hair and the Terran clothes. The Arboretum was suddenly empty, other than the other version of himself. Cavit joined him, glancing back at “Dina” before facing him again. 

“Is this your ship?” the other Cavit said, looking around. His lips curled in a faint smile. “The Arboretum, right? I can remember, even though I’ve never been here.”

“It is. Voyager.” He bit his lip. “But I don’t think it’s real.”

“You don’t understand. Neither of you do,” the thing that appeared as Dina said. “This is what my species does. At the moment just before death one of us comes to help you understand what's happening, to make the crossing over an occasion of joy.”

“That doesn’t look like joy to me,” the other Aaron said, pointing. The vortex had darkened even more.

“You’re running out of time, aren’t you?” Cavit said, looking at the alien wearing Dina’s face and seeing something in its expression. “You’re on a clock here.”

“I can only hold on to your minds for so long,” she said, and her voice held warning and pleading both. “This Matrix, where your consciousness will live, is a place of wonder. It will be whatever you want it to be.”

“Well that’s just bullshit,” the other Aaron said. “If that was true you could have just said so. Instead you’ve been chasing me around this other ship for a week now, while he lives my life.” 

Cavit glanced at the other Aaron, who lifted one shoulder. “I got shoved out, or aside, or something. I’m not sure how. But I’ve been able to watch you, sometimes, and I’ve been here, remembering parts of your life like you were remembering parts of mine. But always she was there, trying to get me to go into that goddamned light.” He shook his head, and Cavit didn’t think he’d ever seen himself so openly afraid before, so transparently wounded. “She didn’t mention joy before. So I don’t believe her now.”

“I have to agree,” Cavit said, turning back to the alien.

She shook her head sadly. “Usually people find comfort in seeing their loved ones. It makes the crossing over a much less fearful occasion. I've done this many times, but I've never encountered someone so resistant.”

Captain, hold on. Please. We’re trying to bring you back. Kes’s voice again, and he glanced at the other Aaron, who gave him a tiny nod. He’d heard it, too. 

“Dina” flinched.

“You know what?” Cavit said. “You’re right. You’ve never encountered someone like us. And you know why?” He crossed his arms, not even fighting the smile he could feel forming. 

“Why?” she said, and now her voice was no longer the soft, pleading tones of Dina Voyskunsky, but something colder, more arrogant and cruel.

“Because we have Ocampa,” Cavit said. 

Beside him, the other Aaron laughed, a short, nervous sound but at least it was laughter. 

“You must go with me,” she said. The vortex snapped and crackled, now a near-crimson red.

“Pass,” the other Aaron said, taking a physical step back.

“Yeah, what he said,” Cavit nodded, then he realized something, looking at his other self. “She’s been trying to get you to go through that for a week?” 

“Yeah,” Aaron nodded.

Cavit turned back to the alien. “You need us to want to go with you, don’t you? You can’t make us do it. We have to choose to.”

“And if you don’t?” she said. “You’ll stay like this. Forever.” 

“Why not? Seems like a nice ship,” the other Aaron said. “Also? This guy is handsome. I like him.” 

Cavit laughed. 

The being shook her head. “You both face death every day. There'll be another time, and I'll be waiting. Eventually you'll come into my Matrix and you will nourish me for a long, long time.”

Hold on, Kes’s voice again. Just a little longer.

“Fuck you,” the other Aaron said. 

Cavit opened his mouth to echo the sentiment, but then the floor seemed to drop out from beneath him, and he fell into nothingness.

*

“Aaron?” 

Cavit opened his eyes, and found the relieved face of Doctor Jeff Fitzgerald, the man he loved, above him. He was in the surgical biobed in Sickbay. He tried to move, but his whole body felt weak and rubbery.

“No, stay put. You haven’t moved in a week,” Fitzgerald said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “How are you?”

“I—” Cavit let out a small scoffing sound. For the first time in over a week, he remembered who he was, where he belonged, and everything felt correct, but he remembered everything else, too. “I have no idea how to answer that.”

“There’s no sign of the other entity now,” Emmett’s voice came from somewhere near Cavit’s feet, and he managed to turn his head enough to see the hologram standing there, medical tricorder in hand, with Kes and Nurse T’Prena to either side of him.

All in uniform.

“I don’t sense it any more,” Kes said. “I think it’s gone for good this time.” 

“Vitals are returning to normal,” T’Prena added.

Cavit took a breath, clearing his thoughts. “What happened?” 

“You were on the Aeroshuttle,” Fitzgerald said. “Scott said you took a major ionic discharge, but when he got you back to Voyager, there was an alien presence alongside your own neural pattern. It seemed to be attacking you in some way, and we couldn’t treat you while it was there.”

“Doctor Fitzgerald came up with the idea to use the residual ionization to buy us time,” Emmett said. “Shunting your consciousness to a different level of resonance in order to buy time to deal with the alien presence.”

“It was supposed to put you out of reach of the alien, but instead, your neural patterns mostly vanished,” Fitzgerald said. “I thought I’d killed you.” His voice shook.

“But I could sense you,” Kes said. “Only you were out of reach.”

“We theorized that as the lingering resonance faded, we’d be able to restore your neural pattern, and we did,” Emmett said.

“But the alien presence came back, too. As did a lot of other neural activity I can’t explain.” Fitzgerald shook his head. “While you were unconscious, the memory centres of your brain were sometimes nearly double their usual level of activity.”

“I think I took a trip through the looking glass,” Cavit said. “The extra memories belonged to the other me.”

“Pardon?” Fitzgerald said.

“Did anyone ever call you Fitz?” Cavit said.

Fitzgerald blinked in surprise at the non-sequitur, then smiled ruefully. “My father. When I was young. But only when I’d done something he considered a particularly Fitzgerald thing to do.”

Cavit considered that. “And what was a particularly Fitzgerald thing to do?”

“Anything that involved risk but not much forethought,” Fitzgerald said, laughing softly. 

Cavit regarded the man he loved. “Like stealing a ship from Cardassians and Klingons?”

“What?”

“It’s… going to take some time to explain,” Cavit said.

*

Captain's log, stardate 50518.6. Kes and Doctor Hall have examined me thoroughly and cleared me to return to my quarters, but I’m still wrapping my head around what I think was a very real trip to my counterpart’s body in the Mirror Universe. I explained what I could to Taitt and Abol, and they think the ionic resonance plus the shunting procedure performed in Sickbay acted very much like the transporter did in the Enterprise crossover event, but only affected my consciousness, suppressing the Mirror Cavit’s own mind—and I think it left that other version of myself as the one being courted by the alien presence. 

Or at least, that’s their—and my—best guesses.

Oddly enough, while I was unconscious, Voyager came to the same asteroid field the Vetar was in, mining the same asteroids for Pergium and other ores. On the plus side, it’s giving me time to recover. Commander Ro and the rest of the senior staff are more than capable of handling it. 

Cavit looked up as the door opened, and smiled at Fitzgerald’s arrival—and the man’s immediate frown at finding Cavit at his desk in their quarters.

“Please tell me you haven’t been doing paperwork,” Fitzgerald said. 

Cavit shook his head, rising from the chair on legs still a bit unsteady. They’d done what they could to offset him not using his muscles for more than a week, but it would take him a day or two more to finish recovering. “I was just finished making a log entry. And I ate the steamed chadre’kab, which was by no means an interesting meal. Are we sure it was a Talaxian dish?”

“We got it from the last Talaxian trade group, and I asked Eru to make sure it had what you needed and not much else. I’d apologize, but we need to be gentle with your gut biome after a week of injected nutrition.” Fitzgerald crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Cavit, putting their foreheads together. “Thank you for following doctor’s orders.”

“I always do.”

Fitzgerald scoffed. “Uh huh.”

Cavit lifted one shoulder, grinning.

“Don’t try that boyscout smile on me, Aaron,” Fitzgerald said. “I’m immune.”

“Are you?” Cavit continued the smile in question, and let one of his eyebrows rise.

“No, I’m not,” Fitzgerald grumbled, and kissed him.

Cavit held onto the man, drawing warmth and strength from the kiss, then pulled back and took a steadying breath.

“Uh-oh,” Fitzgerald said. “What is it?”

“Am I that transparent?” Cavit said.

“Maybe to me,” Fitzgerald said. Then he tugged Cavit’s waist. “Come on. Whatever you’re about to tell me, I’d rather you sit down first.”

They took the couch together, side-by-side, and Cavit didn’t let go of Fitzgerald’s good hand once they’d sat. 

“Over the last week, while I was in that other life,” Cavit said, trying not to let his voice shake. “Everything about Voyager started to feel...” He took a moment, trying to find the right word. “Illusory. Like, this was the fever dream, and that other life, on the Vetar, was real.”

“I know,” Fitzgerald said, nodding.  

“Right,” Cavit said. He’d already explained that much, in Sickbay, though he’d skipped a lot of the specifics to paint a more general picture of his mind’s time in the other universe. “I feel like I need to tell you some of the details, though.”

“Okay,” Fitzgerald said.

He took a breath, and despite wanting to just get it done, found himself deflecting. “For one, you were the Captain.”

Fitzgerald laughed. “Really? Me?”

“Everyone called you Captain Fitz,” Cavit said. 

“Huh,” Fitzgerald said, and he glanced up at the ceiling. “Captain Fitz of the Vetar.” He looked back at Cavit. “Sounds like a holonovel.” Then his expression softened. “But that’s not what you wanted to tell me, is it?”

“No,” Cavit said. 

“What else was different?” Jeff’s steely-grey eyes were flashing with amused curiosity, and a playfulness Cavit hoped he wasn’t about to shatter completely. 

“I was married,” Cavit said. 

“Really?” Fitzgerald squeezed his hand, then tilted his chin. “Given how much this is making you uncomfortable, I’m guessing not to me?”

“I can’t decide if your perceptiveness is helping, or making me feel worse.” Cavit said, but he let out a breath. “No. Not to you.”

“So who was the lucky man?” Fitzgerald said, and though the playful tone had faded somewhat, it was still there. “Or woman?” 

“Man,” Cavit said, and then just forced himself to say it. “Dimur.”

“You’re kidding.” Fitzgerald’s reaction—and his wide grin—took Cavit completely aback. He seemed amused. Or maybe even delighted?

“I’m not,” Cavit said. He hadn’t known what he’d expected, but this wasn’t it at all. 

“Huh,” Fitzgerald chuckled. “Lucky Dimur.” Then his smile grew all the more wicked. “So, I’m guessing that means you and he…?”

“Jeff,” Aaron said, the discomfort already in his stomach twisting into a knot.

“I mean, he’s a great kisser, no? And very…” Fitzgerald used his free hand, the one in the neural rig, to trace a line up and down Cavit’s chest, stroking the material of his uniform. “Physical.”

“Please stop,” Cavit said, and he knew full well he was blushing. 

“Ah,” Fitzgerald said, clearly delighted. “So that’s a yes, then.”

Cavit shook his head. “I, uh… don’t know what to say right now.”

“It’s fine, Aaron,” Fitzgerald said. “You were in a whole other universe, with two lives worth of memories.” He paused, thoughtful. “I guess we have more in common now.”

Cavit felt his skin burning. “Jeff…”

Fitzgerald regarded him, then burst out laughing. “I didn’t mean Dimur, Aaron. I meant remembering another timeline.”

“Oh. Right.” Had he ever been this uncomfortable in his life? He didn’t think so.

“Come here.” Fitzgerald tugged him in for a quick kiss, but Cavit returned it with a deep, passionate, grounding kiss that loosened Cavit’s knots and dispelled most of the mix of embarrassment and worry fighting in his stomach. 

Fitzgerald wrapped both arms around Cavit, shifting them to lie together on the couch, and one kiss became multiple, each more languid in nature.

“I love you,” Cavit said, when they came up for air.

Fitzgerald traced his face with his good hand. “I love you, too. And for the record, the thought of you and Dimur sits just fine with me. In fact, I’m picturing it now, and quite enjoying it.” That wicked little grin was back, and Cavit shook his head.

“Okay, you’re the more… urbane of the two of us,” Cavit said, shaking his head. “I get it. It’s well noted. Please stop teasing me. I can’t help it if I’m…”

“Traditional?” Fitzgerald laughed and kissed him again. “Sorry. I’ll stop.” His lips twitched. “But I can’t promise I won’t bring it up again every now and then.”

“Uh-huh,” Cavit said, rubbing the dent in Fitzgerald’s chin with his thumb. “Hey, have you ever considered a beard?”

“A beard?” Fitzgerald laughed. “No. Never. Why?”

“I happen to know it’s quite striking on you,” Cavit said.

“I’m struggling to believe that,” Fitzgerald said.

“Well, both of Captain Fitz’s men seemed to like it.”

“Well, I—” Fitzgerald blinked. “Wait. Both..? What?” 

“Anyway, I should get some sleep,” Cavit said, sliding out from under Fitzgerald and standing, and feigning a yawn. “Doctor’s orders.” He headed for their bedroom.

“Both men?” Fitzgerald slid off the couch and followed him, leaning in the doorway. “Aaron?”

Cavit pulled off his jacket, and aimed a quick little smile Fitzgerald’s way.

“This is for teasing you,” Fitzgerald said, crossing his arms. “This is revenge.”

Cavit sat on the bed, tugged off his boots, then rose again to strip off his trousers and undershirt. Finally, he lay back on the bed, pulling the yellow Trabe blanket over himself, putting one arm behind his head, closing his eyes, and exhaling. “Sorry. I’d explain, but I’m supposed to be resting.” 

Fitzgerald made a noise somewhere between a growl and a groan of frustration.

Cavit cracked one eye. “Tell you what,” he said. “Join me, and if you can help me get over my traditional self, I’ll tell you all about it.” 

Fitzgerald shook his head, then started undoing his jacket.