Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hugh’s working at one of the consoles when the doors to the medbay open, and he looks up in time to see Tracy smile in greeting at whoever it is.

"Hi Adira, did you find a new friend?"

"Err.  Umm.  Hugh?”

"I thought Paul was wrapping up in Engineering, did he send you ahead to say he's going to be late?"

When he turns around, Adira’s wearing a vaguely guilty expression and awkwardly carrying a large tabby cat that most decidedly isn't Grudge.  

“Umm.  Well.  This…is Paul.”

Adira sets the cat down with a sigh and it immediately crosses to Hugh, winding its way between his boots. 

"You got a cat and named it after Paul?"

That's sweet, but I'm not sure what Paul is going to say about that.

He bends and picks it up - the cat is heavier than it looks - scratching it behind the ears and grinning as it butts its head against his chin.  Its fur is a shade that reminds him of the strawberry blond highlights in Paul's sun-kissed hair, with a milky white belly and striped tail.

"No," Adira shuffles their feet, "I mean, the cat is Paul."

"Sorry, what?"

The cat reaches out with one paw, and Hugh is ready to avoid being batted by an irate feline, but instead it settles gently on his cheek as the cat buries its face in the crook of his neck and lets out a mournful mewl.  It comes with a faceful of fur too, and a very, very familiar scent, woodsy and citrus. 

"The cat.  Is Paul," they repeat, "umm.  Yeah."

"What?"

"There was...well, I don’t know exactly, but you know those new spores we harvested on Gamma Regula Three?  Book brought Grudge by to say hi, but she tipped the canister over and I guess he's allergic, because Linus sneezed and the spores went everywhere, I mean like into the consoles and everything, and there was this weird purple light and then-"

"Breathe, Adira," Tracy advises.

"...and then Paul - like, human Paul - was gone and, there was a cat.  This cat."

Said feline’s claws are getting tangled in his uniform, and he gently detaches them, stroking the fluffy tail.

They must have bathed the poor thing in Paul’s soap and cologne.

"Hugh," Tracy is busy scanning the cat and sounds more alarmed than he's heard in a while, "I think they're telling the truth."

There's a few seconds of perfect silence where all he can hear is the faint whir of the plasma synthesizers working.  Hugh glances around, waiting for the punchline.  His partner doesn't have a tendency for practical jokes, but he’s been extra playful lately and it's completely possible he's finally getting back at Hugh for calling him an ‘overgrown cat’ for years.

"You almost had me there," he chuckles, "did Paul put you up to it?"

The cat lets out a brief yowl that makes his left ear ring.

Tracy tosses the results up to hover between them, a comparison of the cat's genetic structure with Paul's running alongside.  Separating out the majority of elements common between all Earth mammals, he narrows in on a few sections.  

What the hell?

He blinks, but the results don’t change.  Then he checks the algorithm, to see if Tracy switched out the sample.  

That’s not possible…

Hugh rubs his ear and looks at Adira, at Tracy, and then back at the bundle of fur in his arms.  Piercing blue eyes stare back at him.

"Fuck."

Chapter Text

Calling dinner with Tilly and Adira in their quarters odd would be an understatement. 

Paul literally turns up his pink nose at the sight of synthesized cat food sitting in a bowl on the table and lets out a very Paul-like huff that Hugh struggles not to smile at because, well, cat.  He gives Hugh's plate a pointed look and flicks his tail, nearly upsetting Adira's water glass.

"Babe," he tries not to feel ridiculous addressing what looks like a pet, "according to the scans you're physiologically a cat.  That means your system isn't going to digest regular food very well.  I'm sure it's not too bad."

Feline or not, the unimpressed Stamets look is identical.  Paul uses a paw to push the bowl at him, and the message is clear:

You  eat it, then.

"It's just temporary," Hugh offers in as placating a tone as he can manage, "and you do need to eat something."

Paul had already made his displeasure known at being forced to drink water from a dish, and Hugh isn't even going to think about what they'll do if it isn't actually temporary.  Beyond Discovery needing her spore drive operator, Hugh isn't ready to give up his partner's body again.  There's a certain charm to the thought of cuddles and petting, even carrying Paul around more easily, but there would be no more kissing and washing each other in the shower, no falling asleep in Paul's arms or hearing his name whispered, and certainly no more lovemaking.

Don't go there.

He makes eye contact with Adira, who's twirling their fork nervously against their napkin, then looks at Tilly.  She's somehow taken this into stride the best, talking to Paul without hesitation and walking him through theories of what might have caused the issue to begin with.  Granted, she's also the one who was kidnapped by an alien living on the mycelial plane, so that might be where her equanimity stems from.

"Well," Tilly surprises him by pulling the bowl towards her, "it doesn't look that bad, Commander.  Kind of like those emergency rations we had to eat in the survival course at the Academy.  I mean, those things were awful."

Before he can react, she digs her fork into the mass of synthesized protein and takes a big bite.  It's clearly not delicious, but as he watches, Tilly gamely chews and swallows.

"Actually, that's better."

Adira is regarding her with a wide-eyed look of horror usually reserved for accidentally walking in on Paul and Hugh making out (and that one time they let themself in and found Paul's hand down Hugh's pants).

"Wha- you just...ewwwww."

Tilly shrugs.

"It's not like it's poisonous or something.  I mean, Book feeds this stuff to Grudge, and if there's anyone who's going to make sure their cat has the best treatment, it's him."

Paul sits back on his haunches and licks his front paws a few times, then stops in apparent disgust.  He has zero problems licking and sucking Hugh's fingers and (very occasionally) his clean toes, but he's guessing it's the principle he objects to.

"Cat instincts, babe," he murmurs in what he hopes is a reassuring tone, "there's nothing you should have picked up from the decks that would make you sick."

The growl he receives in response isn't unexpected.  

"Umm, would it be okay if we ate though?"

He turns and stares at Tilly, and Hugh gets the distinct sense that Paul wants to roll his eyes.  Tilly looks nonplussed, wiping her fork on her napkin before taking a big bite of her macaroni casserole.  As she chews, she flicks an interface up from a PADD that Paul immediately starts poking at.  Sighing, Hugh slices a bit off his roast chicken and tries to pretend that his partner hasn't sprouted a tail.

"Eat, Adira," he urges.

They wrinkle their nose, but start in on a sandwich, stealing some of Tilly's pasta when she's too busy staring at what Paul's typing to notice  That makes Hugh smile at least, particularly Adira's expression of triumph.

I HATE THIS.

The message hovers in the air a foot off the surface of the table.

"It could be worse, sir," Tilly casually swipes a fry off Adira's plate, "at least your neural circuitry translated, so you can still understand us."

She does have a point.  As disturbing as this is, he can't imagine what it would be like the other way. 

"That would suck."

Paul's still typing away, tail swishing.  It's an image that Hugh's teased him about in the past, when restless fingers wandered and groped seemingly without attention when Paul was lost in thought.  He catches the fluffy appendage as it brushes past, stroking the striped fur.

Beep.

Frowning, Hugh swipes open his commbadge to see the 'Private Message' icon lit up. He wipes his fingers and turns away from the others to read it.

THIS IS RIDICULOUS.  THAT FOOD LOOKS DISGUSTING.  AND I REALLY NEED TO PEE.  AND IF YOU SAY ANYTHING ABOUT A LITTER BOX, YOU'RE GOING TO BE SLEEPING ON THE COUCH WHEN I GET MY HANDS BACK.

Ahh.  He hadn't thought of that yet, had he?

"Be right back," he sets his napkin on the table and rises, waiting for Paul to hop down, "just be a minute."

Hugh taps the control and the bathroom door slides shut behind them, reaching for the lid.  

"What?"

Paul keeps staring until Hugh turns his back, busying himself actually folding his damp bath towel. 

"It's not like I haven't seen everything before."

"Mrowwwwww."

"Look on the bright side," Hugh chuckles once Paul is done, "at least you don't have to unzip and wash your hands.  And technically, you're probably flexible enough now to lick your own ba- hey!"

The bite doesn't break skin, but he gets the message loud and clear.  Paul releases his big toe and, yes, he does actually look like an affronted cat for once.  

"Do I need to feed you to get you to eat?  Or is it just having Adira and Tilly here that bothers you about it."

Hugh drops down to a crouch in front of him, petting his ears.  His suspicions are confirmed when he gets what sounds like an affirmative meow.

"Okay.  After they leave though, promise me you'll eat something?"

Tail swishing, Paul looks very pointedly at the closed door.

"All right."

This is going to be a very long night.

Chapter Text

Paul had pointedly ignored any suggestions that he eat when they return to the table.  Instead, while the three humans work their way through dinner, Paul busies himself typing.  His whiskers twitch as he works, and Hugh can’t help but notice the way Adira is sneaking covert glances at him.  They’ve been subdued since bringing Paul to the medbay, and he’s not sure if it’s simply the shock of the situation that hasn’t worn off or if something else is at work.

You’re not exactly one hundred percent calm about it either.

In contrast, he hasn't seen any hesitation from Tilly in speaking to Paul as if he's still human, nothing on her face to suggest that she's bothered he's currently sporting two large pointed ears and four paws.  

And furry balls.

…don’t go there right now.

He suppresses a sigh and starts in on his salad.  The missive his partner has been working on turns out to be a multi-paragraph affair addressed to Tilly about the properties of the alien spores with an occasional aside to Hugh about genetics.  He spares a thought to marvel at the fact that the writing does sound exactly like Paul speaking; not everyone does that, and it’s comforting to read the words with Paul’s voice in his head.

The caps lock doesn’t return - he has the sneaking suspicion it wasn’t on by accident earlier - and by the time Adira sets down their fork and Hugh folds his napkin, there’s a three meter square narrative floating beside the table with Tilly’s diagrams sketched between lines and several cross-referenced files.  Tilly is frowning at it intently, but he can tell her concentration is starting to flag.

It’s been a long day for everyone.

Part of him wants to send Adira and Tilly home for the night, to be able to speak privately with Paul.  The other part is clamoring just as loudly that in the midst of upheaval, sticking to familiar routines can help preserve some sense of control.  It’s the latter that wins out, mostly because he doesn’t like seeing Adira so uncharacteristically quiet.  He suggests an action-packed holonovel that he knows Tilly and Adira won’t be able to resist picking apart, ushering them over to the couch.  

They settle on the floor next to the coffee table as the title sequence plays, and he lifts Paul up onto the cushions beside him.  Movie night is usually an opportunity to cuddle (not that they ever needed the excuse), Paul lounging between Hugh’s bent knees or with his head on Hugh’s shoulder.  His partner is much smaller now, sitting on Hugh’s lap with his tail draped over his knees, and neither of them are paying much attention to the holo.

He made sure to bring the PADD, stroking Paul’s tail while he types.

I thought I understood the evolutionary advantage of opposable thumbs before.  Apparently not.

The fact that he can perfectly hear the sardonic tone in Paul’s voice evokes a chuckle that makes both Adira and Tilly turn to look at him in askance.  He smiles and shakes his head, waiting for them to return their attention to the protagonist and her friend dangling precariously from a bridge they’re trying to scale.  Paul should have all of the enhanced feline senses, so he urges his head up onto his shoulder where he can murmur directly into a furry ear.

”I know, love.  But this is Discovery, if any crew in the universe can find a way to reverse it…”

Paul meows softly.  He feels so fragile like this, heart fluttering beneath Hugh’s fingers, and a surge of protectiveness rises up.

”Plus you’ve got me, Adira, Tilly, Tracy, and Reno even though she’ll never admit it.  We’ll figure it out.”

They share a look that doesn’t need words to communicate their mutual concern and unease, and Hugh hugs Paul as tightly as he dares in that little body. 

Chapter Text

As the holo moves into the second act, he can see Paul eyeing his unfinished plate of food from dinner that he 'forgot' to bring back to the replicator.  When there’s a lull in the action, Hugh gets up to use the bathroom and very casually picks up the plate on his way back, setting it on the side table at his elbow. 

“Hungry?”

One ear flicks back at Hugh’s whisper.  Paul looks over at Adira and Tilly who are enthralled with the elaborate plot point involving sleight of hand and transporter technology, then back at Hugh before climbing back onto his lap.  Hugh spreads the napkin over his thigh to catch any dropped bits, picking through the contents he’d already carefully cut up.  He waits for Paul to open his mouth, then feeds him a morsel of chicken, smiling as his fingers are licked clean.  

"More?"

Two blue eyes stare at him and he doesn’t need to give Paul the PADD to interpret ‘don’t ask stupid questions'.

”Okay.”

He selects a bit of polenta with stewed apple on top, offering it in combination with scratching a furry neck.  It’s delicately plucked from his grasp and chewed far more thoroughly than Paul usually bothered with his human teeth.  The holo moves into a dramatic revelation, Adira disagrees with the color of the trees, and Hugh steadily empties the small pile of food left on his plate, waiting for Paul to show signs of being full.  It's-

Owwww.

Hugh draws in a hissed breath at the prick of teeth on his fingertip when Paul tries to chase a wayward blueberry.  It’s barely a nick, although a tiny bead of blood wells bright red in its wake.  Paul mewls and immediately starts licking the tiny puncture.  

"It's okay, sweetheart," he murmurs, "I'm fine." 

Paul captures the injured finger between his front paws, posture radiating apology as he continues to lick the spot until Hugh gently pulls his hand away.

"Are you still hungry?"

A very human headshake, then Paul is crowding into Hugh's chest, pushing his head up under his chin.  He wonders if this is really about accidentally biting, or if the day's events are spilling over beyond even his partner's ability to control.  Asking him won't get anywhere though, so he just lets Paul rest in the crook of his arm and drops the occasional kiss on an ear.

Eventually, Paul must get thirsty, because he untangles himself from Hugh and heads towards the bowl sitting under the coffee table between Tilly and Adira.  He has to step over Tilly's legs to reach the table, and she absently pets his back as he brushes by.  The petting continues as he drinks and sits down beside her, and Hugh doesn't think she even realizes she's doing it as her eyes never leave the holo.  Over the next few minutes, Paul relaxes more and more, head dipping until he's sprawled on the deck.  His tail swishes slowly, brushing over Hugh's bare toes until Tilly's fingers scratching under his chin elicit a surprisingly loud purr and she freezes, inhaling hard.  

Adira turns to them, eyes flicking between Tilly's upraised hand, Hugh's raised eyebrows, and Paul's face.

"Tilly?"

Paul's eyes open just enough for a slice of blue to show through, although he doesn't raise his chin from his paws. 

What?

Her face suffuses with a dark pink flush, and she snatches her hand back as if scorched.  

"Oh my god.  I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't mean...it's weird," she winces, distressed for the first time since Hugh's seen her today, "I just forgot."

Eyes now fully open, Paul rises and moves over to the other PADD on the floor.

It's fine, Tilly.  

"But...I was just...petting- "

Tilly abruptly stands and, in a blur of red hair and face, nearly runs into the bathroom.

Adira blinks slowly.

"...what just happened?"

Chapter Text

"Tilly," Hugh leans on the wall next to the bathroom door, "it's okay, please come out?"

Silence.

He supposes that the one upside of Tilly's embarrassed departure is shaking Adira out of their funk as far as Paul is concerned.  His partner is sitting on Adira's knees, the PADD in their lap while they talk and he types.  

"I should have-"

"Mrowwww."

Paul taps away.

It wasn't your fault, you couldn't have done anything to stop it.   So quit that.

"What if you're stuck like this?"

This isn't permanent.  

That's a change from the annoyed tone he'd taken earlier, and as Hugh watches, Adira shakes their head.

"I don't..." their voice drops to a near-whisper, but Hugh can still hear it, "I need to fix you, for Hugh.  You're not supposed to be a...a cat."

I hadn't noticed.

Paul's sarcasm makes Adira's lips twitch, so Hugh counts it as a win.  His ears twitch when Hugh snorts, and he tugs the PADD closer, paws moving rapidly.

I hate this, but it's not anyone's fault.  We didn't have a chance to analyze those spores before Book brought Grudge, so tomorrow morning we should do that. 

HUGH?  I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS.

He leaves off trying to cajole Tilly out of the bathroom.

"Yes?"

Let me talk to Tilly.

Hugh shares a look with Adira.

"Umm.  Babe-"

"Mrrrrrrrgggglllll."

Paul actually knocks his forehead on the PADD, winces, then taps out another message.

I mean, I'll write something and you give it to her.

"Are you sure we shouldn't give her space?  I mean, this is like the weirdest day ever.  Like I woke up with a squid-" Adira pauses, lips twitching, "sorry, Tal thinks that's funny.  A symbiont, so I know weird."

A sigh, and Paul starts deleting text until Hugh crouches down and holds out a hand to stop.

"I think I know what you'd say.  Tilly is one of those people who take a problem, chew on it, and then get stuck on the chewing part.  Obsessively.  Paul does it too, in case you haven't noticed."

A paw bats at his ankle, not hard enough to sting.

"Anyway.  She's going to get stuck thinking about too many things, and it'll just get worse if we leave her alone with it."

Adira fusses with their empty mug, swirling the remains of their drink.

"Okay."

Hugh gets up and retrieves a fresh hot chocolate for Adira and, with only a little guilt, pours half a glass of wine for himself.  Paul's nose twitches when Hugh sits back down next to him, looking up in askance.

"It's not the good one we were saving.  But I needed something."

Something akin to a shrug rolls its way down from Paul's shoulder, and he goes back to typing.  It ought to be a bit comical to see his paws tapping on the projected keyboard, but he's mostly still relieved that his partner isn't stuck not being able to communicate with words.  Adira is obviously reading the text upside down - and Paul surely knows they can see everything, so it's not private - and Hugh busies himself with petting while he slowly drains the wine.

It takes a few minutes, including some teeth baring that seems to correspond to having to delete and re-write, but Paul finally stops and nudges the PADD in Hugh's direction.

"Ready?"

"Mrowwww."

He stands, groaning a little (more for show than any substantial discomfort from sitting on the floor), and picks up the PADD.

"Okay.  Do yo-"

Swish.

All three of them turn to face the bathroom door as Tilly emerges, hair down and hiding most of her face.  What Hugh can see of it is pinkened, but she otherwise seems composed.  Tilly moves to the couch and sits, chewing her lower lip.

"Tilly?"

"Sorry," she murmurs, "I just, well, freaked out."

"Pretty sure you're entitled to that," Hugh shakes his head, "it's been one hell of a day."

A meow, and Paul is climbing up onto the cushions beside her.  

"I mean, Commander...you're a cat.  But you're not a cat.  And like, you're you, but I forgot, and...yeah."

Hugh holds out the PADD.

"From Paul.  Come on Adira," he tips his head towards the immaculate dining area, "let's go clear the table." 

Chapter Text

The table is, of course, already clear and not his actual destination.  Adira opens their mouth to say something when Hugh instead gently steers them past it, giving Tilly and Paul the nominal privacy of the partition between them.  

“Hugh?”

Aida and Adira’s quilts are both folded on the end of the bed, and he shakes out his grandmother’s before wrapping it around his shoulders and extending his arm.

”Warmth is good for shock,” he tucks them against his side as they sit together on the edge of the mattress, “and I’d say we’ve all had one.”

Adira leans into his shoulder, spiky hair tickling his cheek.

"Hugs too?"

He turns enough to fold them into an embrace with both arms.

"Hugs too."

”What about Paul?  He seems so calm. Well, besides the caps at dinner.”

Hugh huffs a ghost of a laugh as they sit back.

”I promise, he’s not calm.  But he’s covering it by focusing on being annoyed and typing out dissertations for us to read.  And,” he sobers, “he and I are probably going to have a long talk later.”

They nod, thumb worrying at a hangnail on the other hand.  

“Do you think- I mean, you can fix him, right?”

”We,” Hugh is careful to emphasize the word, “will figure it out.  One step at a time, starting with how it happened.  Then we can start working on a way to reverse it.  But he doesn’t seem to be in any danger by staying a cat for a few days, if that’s what it takes.”

”He was there, then Linus sneezed, and then he just wasn't.  I didn't check that it was, you know, Paul, but he just gave me this look when he climbed out from under his uniform and it made too much sense.  We probably should have called you guys first.  But I thought maybe it could happen again, so I just sort of picked him up and ran out of Engineering.  Umm.  That sounds really weird.”

He rubs their shoulder reassuringly.  

“Well, he’s certainly more manageable at this size.  Whether he implodes from having to type everything he’d normally say out loud is another story.”

Adira raises their head and they share a smile.

“Grudge is the first real cat I ever saw.  You really thought I got a pet cat and named it Paul?"

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first.  You wouldn't know, but I've spent the last oh, fifteen years, calling him an overgrown cat.  You know how he's so finicky sometimes, especially about his research, and he hates being woken up, and that way he hums when he's happy..." Hugh's smile softens, "he's so cuddly with me."

Adira's looking at him with an expression that's both interested and vaguely perturbed.  It's such a familiar look, particularly when they come over to find them cuddling and kissing, and a relief to see them relaxed enough to make that face.

"That makes sense."

Leaning forward, he can just see a glimpse of Paul's tail resting on Tilly's knees and her red hair nodding.

"And even if he's stuck this way for a while, we'll manage, Adira.  That's what Discovery does."

Chapter Text

They see Tilly and Adira off for the night, and for once Adira doesn’t make a face when Hugh presses a kiss to the top of their head.  Whatever Paul and Tilly talked about must have worked too, because she carries him to the door and only passes him back to Hugh after he’s done hugging Adira.  

Swish.

Paul licks Hugh’s cheek, then waves a paw towards the coffee table.  He sets him down, then takes a few moments to carry his empty plate to the replicator and re-fold Aida’s quilt.  When he turns back, there’s a block of text waiting for him.

Thank you for letting me talk to Tilly.  I think I’ve convinced her that she’s not going to be kicked out of Starfleet for petting me.  That sounds really weird, don’t laugh.  Is Adira okay?

He smiles, dropping down onto the couch.

”Yeah.  I don’t think they really blame themselves necessarily, but they can’t really make sense of it.”

That makes two of us.

“Are you still hungry?  If not, I was going to get cleaned up and go to bed. Today’s been something else.”

In response, Paul hops off the table and pads towards the bathroom, looking back over his shoulder once he’s at the threshold.  He watches as Hugh stretches then sheds his undershirt and uniform pants, meowing once he’s fully naked.

”Like that?”

”Mrrowwwww.”

“Stupid question, right?  I’ll just take a quick sonic, and-“

Paul brushes past his ankles in a ginger blur, sitting in the middle of the shower cubicle and looking at him pointedly.

”Babe, I don’t think cats usually like water.  I know you’re not, but Tracy and I still aren’t sure how much of the cat part is actually in there.”

That earns him a very familiar unimpressed stare, tail thumping on the floor.

”All right,” he sighs, stepping in and closing the door, “don’t say I didn- what?”

He’s interrupted again by a paw tapping insistently on his knee.

”You want…oh,” Hugh bends to pick him up, “just watch the claws down there.”

There’s the distinct sense that Paul would be rolling his eyes.  He shifts him to the right side, then reaches for the controls.  

Instead of the usual rainstorm, he opts for steam first, letting his eyes fall shut as it wreathes them in mist.  Paul squirms a little, but otherwise seems comfortable so he switches to water at a cooler temperature than they usually prefer.  Fat droplets land on them, darkening Paul’s fur and slicking it back.  His partner is fairly large as a cat (and who ever thought he’d be thinking that so calmly?) but the shower erases the fluff.  Unlike other cats Hugh’s seen soaked to the skin, he relaxes into the downpour.  Hugh’s probably not going to get much of himself washed this way, but can’t bring himself to set Paul down once he snuggles into Hugh’s shoulder.

Eventually, Paul stirs and retreats behind Hugh’s calves once he reaches for the soap.  It’s a cursory job, and he just focuses on his underarms and groin before efficiently rinsing and ending the shower cycle. 

He lifts Paul off the floor again, wrapping him in a towel and setting him on the counter to rub dry less vigorously than he would in human form.  The thought makes him smile, and Paul tilts his head to the side and makes a questioning noise.

”Just thinking that you’re easier to dry off this way.”

Paul nudges his face against Hugh’s wrist, and he gives in to the temptation to scratch beneath his chin just to watch those eyes fall half-closed.  

“Babe?”

“Mrooowww?”

”I need to brush my teeth.”

One clumsy hop - apparently a cat body doesn’t come with a full instruction manual - and a stumble later, Hugh turns away again to let Paul relieve himself.

”You don’t have anything on you I haven’t seen before.” 

There’s no reply other than a growl, and Paul exits the bathroom with a flick of his tail.  Hugh dries himself quickly and puts on his pajamas, already missing Paul’s reflection in the mirror beside him.  That end of the day ritual is something he’s not sure he could explain to anyone else, the sense of rightness as their elbows bump and they make faces at each other around their toothbrushes.

No use dwelling on that.

When he leaves the bathroom, it’s to find Paul curled up on his pillow, slightly damp fur stained darker than the rest.

”You’re going to make my pillow wet.”

The PADD is on the nightstand, and Paul only takes a moment before the response appears.

Not the fun way :(

He snorts a little at that, shooing him off and stealing Paul’s pillow to stack on top instead.  It’s softer than he prefers, so he rolls onto his side, head propped up on a hand.  Paul settles down in the curve of his body, nuzzling into his throat.  His whiskers catch in his beard in a way that reminds him of swiping at the phantom tickle of nearly invisible blond hair.

”Hi sweetheart.”

Hugh smooths his fingers through the velvety fur on the top of his head, scratching the back of his neck and continuing downwards.  A content hum starts, vibrating against his palm.

"Some things don't change."

Sleepy blue eyes peer up at him.

"You definitely do purr."

That earns him a glare that he's all too familiar with, although the accompanying hiss is something new.  Laughing softly, he sets aside all of the concerns swirling in his mind and focuses on the soothing rumble.  It’s hypnotic in its own way, and he breathes Paul in, grateful to have his partner with him, claws and all.

Chapter Text

Hugh's eyes are starting to grow heavy.  It isn't until Paul nudges his hand with his nose that he realizes he's drifted off, and he comes to with an apologetic smile and a yawn.

"Guess it's time for lights out."

He reorganizes the pillows and climbs under the covers, and Paul follows, rubbing his cheek on Hugh's shoulder and cuddling into the crook of his right arm.

"Computer, lights.  Comfy?"

A content hum.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

He drops a kiss on top of Paul's head, then closes his eyes.  Sleep doesn't take long to find him despite the absence of Paul's arms around him, not when he has a warm little body curled into his side and Paul's scent in the quiet air beneath the sheets.

"...whuh-owww!"

He must have started to roll in his sleep, because he's awakened by a startled yowl and the feeling of paws pushing at his chest with the faintest prick of claws.  His shoulder is already twisted underneath, and he immediately sits up to pull back the covers in alarm.  The pounding of his heart starts to subside as a rumpled ball of fur emerges, crackling with static but otherwise seeming none the worse for wear.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, hands moving over Paul's cat body to check for harm, "are you okay?"

"Mrrowwwww."

"Sorry love, I don't think this is going to work like that."

Paul's ears and tail droop.  He might be a cat, but Hugh can read the disappointment radiating off of him.

"No, I didn't mean-" Hugh scoops Paul up before he can slink off, laying back down and depositing him on his chest instead, "here.  Unless you want to sleep on your pillow?  I'm afraid if you're next to me, I'll squash you again."

Paul gives it some thought, tail twitching, before shaking his head.  Sharp teeth latch onto his collar and tug.

"You want this off?"

A very human nod.

"All right.  You'll have to move though."

The fur on his bare chest is a novel sensation, even denser and more ticklish than the thick hair on Paul’s forearms and thighs.  A deft tongue darts out to lick his sternum just below the collarbone, the rasp of it making his own hair stand on end.  

"Quit that," he chuckles, "or I'm never going to sleep."

"Mmrrrrgllllrowwww."

"I'm going to take that as a 'fine, I promise not to keep my amazing partner awake by licking him all night'."

Paul bats him playfully on the nose, and he captures the retreating paw to kiss the little pink toes.  After a bit of squirming, Paul settles with his tail draped over Hugh's hips (and he's fairly sure that was a deliberate swipe over his groin), snuggled into the dip between his pectoral muscles and head up under Hugh's chin.  Hugh buries his fingers in the fur on Paul's back, letting the purring lull him back to sleep.

Chapter Text

He wakes before his alarm with a face full of fluff and something wrapped around his bicep.  It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up, and when it does, he quashes the disappointment that Paul didn’t miraculously lose the paws and tail overnight.

Hugh isn’t quite sure what to do with Paul sprawled over him like a living scarf, and does his best to roll slowly onto his side in the hopes he’ll slide off.  The bonelessness particular to cats seems to win out though, and all that happens is he ends up with his nose under a pair of very furry balls.  Groaning, he gives in and bodily pries Paul off his face.

”Babe?”

The tail tightens as Paul wakes up, yawning and stretching.  He makes a sleepy hum of greeting, baring his teeth and tongue.

”Morning love.”

Cat or not, some things don’t change.  Paul retrieves his tail and he burrows his way under the pillow, making noises of displeasure.

”All right,” Hugh mutters, “I get it.”

Paul’s still sound asleep when he leaves for his run, snoring when he gets back and goes to take a shower.  It’s a surprise then, to find him sitting on the floor when Hugh opens the door again, PADD at his feet.

Hungry.

The first disagreement of the morning is over coffee.  Specifically, Hugh refusing to let Paul have any, which is apparently cruel and unusual punishment.  He does try to make up for it by not offering cat food, instead replicating a breakfast big enough to share.  Paul’s still giving his cafe con leche longing looks when Hugh gets up again to recycle the dishes, flat on his belly in the middle of the table.

Hugh lets it be, and dresses quickly.  He kisses Paul’s ears and heads for the door, only to find that he’s being followed.

”Where are you going?”

”Mrrrowwwww.”

Paul drops the PADD from between his teeth.

The lab.  Need to run tests on those spores.

”I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

It’s not like they’ll turn me into a cat again.  What am I supposed to do, sit here all day?

”I thought you’d be glad to sleep,” Hugh sighs, “you never liked mornings.”

I’ll be fine, Hugh.

”What if we get Adira over here to keep you company?”

Paul makes a sound that’s surprisingly similar to an annoyed huff.

I need them in the lab with me to help figure this out.  Same with Tilly.

“You’re going to get stepped on.  I-“

Swish

Both of them turn when Adira lets themself in.

”Umm.  Hi?”

Tell Hugh he’s worrying too much.

”What?”

”Paul wants to go to the lab.”

”Oh,” Adira shrugs, “so did I, I was coming to get you.”

See?

”What if something happens?”

They shift their weight from one foot to the other.

”I mean, Tilly is gonna be there.  And probably Book, because we need Grudge to check the conditions.”

Hugh knows that stubborn look on his partner, and groans.

”Will you at least take your commbadge?”

Paul taps away again.

I don’t think my uniform is going to fit.

”What about an equipment belt?”

”Too big probably.  Actually, hang on…”

He retrieves Paul’s badge from the table on his way over.  It takes just a few seconds at the replicator, then he kneels down with the item in both hands, reaching out to buckle it on.

“Mrrroowwww!”

“It won’t hurt.”

I’M NOT WEARING A COLLAR.

He’s generally immune to the Stamets stare, but coming from a cat is almost too much.  

”Babe…it’s to keep you safe.”

Paul’s tail lashes back and forth and he glares up at Hugh.

NO.

The combination of a hiss and Paul batting the collar away lands square in the middle of the frayed nerves he’s been mostly successfully ignoring.

”Adira,” Hugh turns to the third party in the room who’s trying valiantly to pretend they’re looking out the viewport, “would you excuse us?”

Without waiting for a response, he hefts Paul and the PADD and marches into the bathroom.  

Chapter Text

Paul manages to look both surprised at the sudden location change and indignant when Hugh deposits him on the bathroom counter.  He glowers, fur fluffed nearly on end and a growl rumbling with each exhale, ears laid back.  Heaving a sigh, Hugh faces the wall and taps his commbadge.

"Culber to Pollard."

"Morning, Hugh.  Don't suppose you want to bring me a cup of coffee on your way in?"

"There's a replicator in the office, Trace," he feels some of the tension leaving him at the sound of her voice, "you can get it yourself."

"I figured since you were coming from breakfast, you might as well.  Oh well."

"I'm probably going to be late, something came up with Paul."

There's a pause, then-

"Please tell me you're cleaning up a hairball or something, not that you're telling me ahead of time that you two are...actually, never mind.  I don't want to know."

"He's a cat, Trace."

"Like that's going to stop you.  Wait-" her tone changes from long-suffering to concerned, "is something wrong?"

"Mrroowwww!"

"We just need to have a conversation."

Her sigh filters through clearly.

"Got it.  Come in when you're done, then.  I guess I'll have to get my own coffee.  Pollard out."

The raw edges of his nerves feel less like they've been rubbed with sandpaper when he turns back to the counter.  Paul still looks displeased, although he's now sitting on the edge of the sink, fur smoothed out.  His tail twitches restlessly, and Hugh sinks down until he’s sitting on the floor instead of looming overhead.

"First of all, I love you.  Second,” he braces his elbows on his bent knees, “would you please stop and think about this from my perspective?" 

Paws tap away.

You’re being overprotective.

“You’re a cat, babe, I think I’m entitled to a very valid concern about what you’d do if something happens. All of the things as humans we handle?  Even activating the turbolift when you don’t have hands or a voice, it’s not going to work.”

He doesn’t add ‘did you think of that?’, but it hangs unspoken between them.

”Plus, we don’t know if…whatever did this is stable, or anything.  I’ve half a mind to bring you to the medbay with me just in case.”

Paul visibly bristles - and isn’t it so much more obvious when his hackles rise? - letting out a meow that’s distinctly affronted.  

“Just…” Hugh drops his face into his hands, “I can’t imagine how frustrated you must be right now, and yes I’m being overly cautious.  I honestly don’t know what to do until we figure out what happened.  And I want to undo it just as much as you do.”

There’s silence in response.  He pinches the bridge of his nose hard between thumb and forefinger, trying to massage away the headache forming behind his eyes.

”Mrrowwww.”

A paw taps his hair gently, and he looks up again.

This is so messed up.   What if I’m stuck this way forever?

”I will still love you, no matter what you look like.”

Hugh doesn’t stop to examine that that’s his first thought rather than the dozen other sentiments he could have voiced.

I know.

“If,” he swallows hard, “that’s how it ends up being, then we’ll find a way to make it work.  As long as we’re together.”

No more sex, Hugh.

"Well," he tries for levity, "I figured at some point, probably when we're in our nineties, that would stop happening anyway when we can't get it up."

Paul’s ears and tail droop.

Cats don’t live that long.

“Don’t think that,” Hugh shakes his head, “please.”

He lifts his partner off the counter, hugging him close.  The soft fur catches on his beard as Paul rubs his face against his cheek, and Hugh closes his eyes, inhaling that familiar scent until the little body starts squirming.

”Babe?”

A paw flails in the direction of the counter, waving until he retrieves the PADD.

We have got to come up with a better way of communicating.

I want to kiss you.  And hold you.

”I know sweetheart,” he cradles Paul in his arms, “we’ll find a way to fix it, I promise.”

Chapter Text

Thankfully, Discovery doesn’t need her CMO for the ten minutes he spends in the bathroom talking to a cat.  

It sounds like a setup for a bad joke.

When they emerge from the bathroom, Adira is exchanging text messages on their tri-comm at what should be an alarmingly fast rate of typing at this hour.  

“Tilly and Book are already in the lab working.  Umm, should I let them know we’re on our way?”

They're drinking what smells like a sugared espresso concoction from an oversized mug, and Hugh resists the urge to remind them about the deleterious effects of too much caffeine.  As they set it down on the table, Hugh feels the paws braced on his arm tense and promptly gets a good grip on Paul’s tail.

”No.”

“No?”

”Sorry, I meant no caffeine for cats.  No matter how much the human inside it thinks he should be drinking it.”

Paul tries to squirm free, although Hugh suspects it's more for show than anything.  

”Ggggrrrrrmmmggglll.”

He gives up trying to get away a few attempts later, but Hugh doesn’t relax his hold until Adira recycles the mug.

"So..."

“I’m taking him to the medbay for a full scan, then we’ll both meet you in the lab.”

“Okay.”

Swish.

Hugh sets Paul and his PADD on the table long enough to retrieve his badge - and discarding the offending collar - turning it over in his palm.

"I know you don't want the collar, but we have to have a way to keep this with you.  There might be a way to get it to at least recognize you so you can use the PADD there, but I'm not sure."

Paul's ears flick forward, whiskers twitching.  

"I wonder though...hang on."

The drawers in their closet could use sorting, and Hugh mentally files it away on his list of Things to Bring Up When Paul Complains Hugh Doesn't Pay Enough Attention to Being Neat.  He considers and discards the phaser holster (too unwieldy), a medical scanner pocket (wrong shape), and a utility pouch (too large).  Paul winds his way between Hugh's ankles as he goes back through the contents of the drawer one more time, trying to imagine the familiar equipment in different configurations.

"Hmmm."

This could work.

"Mrrowww?"

He studies the phaser holster again, this one from the field kit meant to be secured to the thigh at two points.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he fiddles with the setup, detaching the holster itself and untangling the straps.  They're durable, adjustable, have a little bit of give to them, and most importantly, are already designed to allow a badge to be attached.  

Perfect.

"Let me try something?"

Hugh pats the sheets next to him, and Paul climbs up.

"Just stand there for a minute, babe."

Frowning, he opens all of the clasps, turns the collection of straps ninety degrees, then does up the buckles beneath each leg before snapping the connectors in place.  A bit of adjusting later, and Paul's wearing a slightly oversized but serviceable harness that doesn't seem likely to come off.  Lastly, he affixes Paul's badge to the strap running across his chest.

"Is it too loose?  Too tight?"

Paul tugs at the straps with his teeth, wiggles his shoulders, then rolls on the mattress.  When he stands up again, everything is still in place.

"Perfect."

Hugh forbears commenting on his partner grooming his ruffled fur back into place.

"Ready?"

"Mrrowww." 

No one seems the least bit surprised to see Hugh walking through the corridors with a cat.  He gets the usual nods in greeting and, much to his surprise, more than one nonchalant 'good morning, sir' clearly directed to the large ginger tabby in his arms.

Word spreads fast.  

The medbay is empty when he gets there, save for Tracy working at one of the consoles.

“Morning Hugh.  Paul.”

Tracy already has yesterday’s scan of Paul-as-a-cat up alongside the one on file and what turns out to be a sample from Grudge.

”Any luck?”

”Well,” she raises an eyebrow as Hugh absently brushes off a few ginger hairs clinging to his sleeve, “at least he doesn’t seem to have a genetic disposition towards any feline ailments.”

He sets Paul down on the console, balancing the PADD beside him.

Really not planning to be stuck like this long enough for that to be an issue.

Hugh squints at the schematic, zooming in on a few portions.

"Well, the base pairs have been swapped but the RNA primer is the same.  Huh."

He gets an absent nod in response.  Long experience tells him it's not that Tracy isn't listening, but that she's working something out in her head.

"You have a hypothesis."

"So far it's just a theory..."

Beside him, Paul eyes the stool that's been pushed back about two feet from the console.

"It's more than we had yesterday."

“Horizontal gene transfer.”

”…from the tardigrade DNA in Paul’s genetic structure?”

”My guess is that it's some sort of DNA virus for lack of a better term.  Except it must have picked up some of Grudge’s DNA first, enough to cause ‘cat’ when it affected Paul.”

Thump.

Paul misjudges the hop and misses the stool completely, landing on the floor in an indignant heap.  Hugh is very careful not to smile as he picks his partner up and sets him on the stool with his PADD before returning to the conversation.

"So much for cats always landing on their feet."

Tracy's comment earns her a hiss, and she shrugs.

"What's stopping it from continuing to exchange genetic material?"

"That's the question," she sighs, "I can't pinpoint what activates the virus, or the parameters it uses.  And I might be totally wrong."

"Paul?"

Doesn't sound impossible.

"Thanks for the ringing endorsement."

No, seriously.  The way you explained it isn't impossible, especially the tardigrade DNA.  I just don't know what was in those spores that made it happen.

"Do we have a sample?"

Hugh nods.

"Down in the lab.  Tilly and Adira and Book are working on it.  I want to get a full scan of Paul, then we'll head down too."

Turning to the nearest biobed, Tracy calls up the instrument panel and taps in a few commands.  As she works, Hugh can see a smirk forming.

"What?"

"You know, back in the twenty-first century when they used to use radiotracers and dyes to illuminate organ function?"

Lifting Paul off the stool, he sets him on the biobed.

"Yeah."

"The scanning modality was positron emission tomography.  PET."

Paul doesn't hesitate before tapping at the PADD.

I hate you.

Chapter Text

”Jett, he’s not actually a cat.”

Reno takes a bite of the licorice inhabiting one side of her mouth and flicks open her tri-comm, scanning.

”Mmm, tricorder says he is though.”

Book pulls a device out of his pocket that looks like it’s cobbled together from Starfleet, Emerald Chain, and some bits of tech that he can’t identify.  He passes it through the containment field into the workspace - because no one wants to risk the spores activating again - where it generates a vaguely purple glow, chittering as he scans.  Beside him, Tilly and Adira are busy staring at a molecular analysis of the spores, oblivious to everything and everyone else.

”Fancy that.”

Reno taps her wrist to activate a small laser pointer, waving it on the console in front of them.  

Paul glares.

”Well bobcat, looks like I’m prescient.  Actually scratch that, that word sounds so presumptuous.  Like something you’d say,” she ignores the hiss the comment evokes, “but I’m not wrong.”

Eyes narrowing, Paul arches his back and puffs his fur out.

”Oh, he doesn’t like that Reno,” Booker comments dryly, “might want to cut back now that he actually might bite you.”

From her perch on Tilly’s console, Grudge surveys the scene with an air of superior disinterest as Paul deflates a little and walks stiffly over to the PADD.

I wouldn’t bite her, she probably tastes terrible.

Instead of any offense, Reno chuckles.

”Oh man, this is good, Stamets.  You finally can’t talk back.  I bet the doc appreciates that now.”

Hugh decides to keep his mouth shut, even though he’d like to point out how much he misses that voice.

I still don’t like you.

”Feeling’s still mutual.  But I am willing to help fix that communication problem of yours, if you ask nicely.”

Baring his teeth, Paul abruptly stops typing and sits on the PADD.

“-still grumpy?  Got something that might fix that.”

Eyebrows raised, Hugh isn’t sure what to make of that tone of voice.  For his part, Paul watches Reno open her utility case, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

”Here.”

She takes out a small, brightly colored fabric bundle.  Hugh can’t pick up anything besides a faint minty aroma with a hint of cut grass, but as Reno bounces it in her palm a couple of times, Paul’s nose twitches.  

“Jett…”

”Don’t worry, it’s harmless.”

Reno waves it back and forth, and Paul stands, whiskers quivering and gaze fixed on the bundle.  His tail swishes back and forth languidly, and Hugh can see Paul’s pupils dilate from two meters away.  

“What are you…“

Reno sets the object down in front of him and takes a step back, arms crossed.  Paul sniffs at the bundle, then abruptly flattens himself on his belly, rubbing his face on it before rolling onto his back with it clutched between his paws.  A rolling purr fills the room, hind legs kicking as he licks it, body twisting in sinuous waves.  It reminds Hugh of Paul’s overstimulated post-orgasm squirming, which is actually fairly disturbing.

”Paul?”

He starts forward, intent on rescuing him, when Reno catches his sleeve.

“It won’t hurt him.”

”What,” he keeps one eye on Paul, now gnawing at the object, “exactly is ‘it’?” 

“Nepeta cataria.”

Booker looks up from his scanner.

“Catnip?”

“Mmhmm.  Looks like Crankypants - or is that Crankypaws now? - is enjoying it too.”

Adira tosses something from their model over to where Hugh is running simulations on genetic transfers, but he’s too distracted to see what it is.  Paul’s now sprawled over the console, PADD forgotten and blinking slowly, tail dangling from the edge.

”Paul?”

”Relax, doc.  He’s finally gotten that stick out of his-“

”Eww,” Adira calls over, not looking up as Tilly manipulates sections of code.

It’s against all of his instincts to leave Paul with something so obviously mood-altering, but no matter how much his partner and Reno went at it, he knows she’s probably not going to do anything actually dangerous.  

Hopefully.

She retrieves the PADD from under Paul’s boneless form, then plucks the badge off his harness.

”My wife loved cats.  Used to say they were the only animals more ornery than me.  Can’t say she was wrong.”

”Did you have any?”

”What, cats?”

”Yeah.”

”A few.”

 The quirk of the lips she gives him is supposed to be a smile, but there’s still a tinge of sadness.

”Sorry,” Hugh murmurs, “I didn’t mean to-“

“Hey Red,” she raises her voice and waves the PADD in the air, “share the scan of Stamets?”

Tilly sends it over, and Reno opens a palm-sized folder to reveal a set of microtools.

”Why aren’t you just programming it to cross reference?” Book asks when Reno selects a chip from her utility case and starts poking at it.  “Would be easier.”

”Nope.  See, if I do that-“ Reno calls up the interface and Hugh winces at the high frequency alarm, “it still expects him to be human.”

Genetic mutation detected, medical alert flashes over the display until Reno collapses it back in.

”Ahh,” Book shrugs, “hadn’t thought of that.”

“This,” she taps the chip, “should override any of the ship’s sensors so they recognize him now.”

Reno attaches the chip to Paul’s harness, then replaces the badge.  Paul lifts a paw, but there doesn’t seem to be any intent behind it as he drops it again a moment later.  He’s facing Hugh, eyes seemingly focused on the middle distance and catnip forgotten on the deck.  Hugh carefully picks Paul up, made more challenging by the way all four paws are waving in different directions.

”Thank you.”

”Yep.”

”Paul?”

He supports Paul’s lolling head with his free hand, unsure if he’s even being heard.

”Mmrrrooorrrruuummmmgggrrrrllll.”

”Still high,” Reno chuckles, “it’ll wear off soon.  I’m out.”

”Wait,” he sighs as Paul starts suckling on the tip of his thumb, “where are you going?”

”I’m thinking Jefferies tube eleven-gamma.  Should be far enough away when he sobers up.”

Chapter Text

Even thirty-second century computers, Hugh is mildly surprised to learn, still require processing time if the algorithm is sufficiently complicated.  He can just about follow the explanation of the analysis Tilly and Adira programmed in, comparing the structure and properties of the mysterious spores along with Paul's new genetic structure against a database of all known substances while simultaneously cross-referencing scientific publications (Hugh notes with some sadness that they've drastically decreased in frequency in the last century) and case studies from the Starfleet Medical archives, discarding correlations below a certain threshold that's recalculated with each iteration.  Adding in Booker's suggestion that they also incorporate Emerald Chain data quadruples the processing time needed, the system simultaneously extracting information and screening it for malicious components.

The genetics and medical science are all within his understanding, but the finer details are far beyond his proficiency. 

There's a reason you're a doctor, not an engineer, theoretical or otherwise.

In short, Hugh's left sitting with Paul cradled in his lap while the other three finish up.  His partner still appears to be coming down from the catnip, paws occasionally opening and closing and reaching for things in the empty air with his eyes half-closed.  The soft purring is a much more pleasant alternative to the distressed mewling that began a few minutes ago, Paul only quieting when Hugh gave him his thumb again.  He's slightly concerned about the possibility of being bitten, but thus far Paul's seems content to lap at his fingertip, making small satisfied noises as he suckles.  

Hugh may have also used his free hand to call up his tricomm interface and take a few holos.

He gives in to temptation and, after a few light touches to make sure Paul doesn't object, rubs his exposed belly.  It's something human Paul very much enjoys, even if he gets a little self-conscious at times, and it seems to have carried over to his feline form as well.  His new tummy is significantly more furry, and Hugh's fingers wander over the arch of his ribs, scratching beneath the straps of the harness and up under his chin.  Paul lets his thumb go, front paws kneading at the front of Hugh's jacket as he burrows his face into his white-clad underarm.   The rhythmic motion reminds him of Paul absently fondling his chest, fingers pressing into his pectoral muscles.  Paul's warm weight is comforting, and Hugh uses the time to carefully soothe the exposed edges of his own worries with his familiar scent, tucking them away from Dr. Culber's mind to be examined when he's at leisure to do so.  

One crisis at a time.

Chapter Text

The tip of Paul’s tail is twitching, back and forth, back and forth, in the same rhythm as he would normally rub thumb and forefinger together while concentrating.  It’s such a habit that Hugh doesn’t really notice anymore, but it’s harder to ignore when the fluffy metronome keeps brushing over his cheek.  He’s not sure if Paul’s even aware of where his tail is, raised but draped over Hugh’s shoulder while he’s seated on the console in front of him.

How does it even feel to have a fifth appendage?

Hugh turns an inappropriate chuckle into a cough.

A fifth prehensile limb.

As predicted, when the catnip finally wore off, Paul wasn’t terribly happy.  He’d gone from cuddling Hugh and making all sorts of soft purrs to stalking over to the PADD and demanding to know where Reno was.  Pointing out that she’d programmed his tricomm to recognize his cat form was only slightly mollifying, and Hugh had hidden his smile at the peevish message he typed out to send.

I take back what I told Book, I think I WILL bite you.  That stuff makes psilocybin look mild.  I was tasting colors, Reno.  When I get my hands back, you’re toast.

That was ten minutes ago.  A quick scan showed his vitals returning to normal, and he’d prowled - there was no other word to describe it - across the console to stare at the algorithms blinking across the display.  Grudge hadn’t lifted a paw as he passed, although she did sniff at the air in his wake before gracefully leaping off the surface and winding her way between Booker’s shins.

“Doctor?  What do you think?”

Tilly’s question brings him back to the present where four pairs of eyes were trained on him, waiting for a reply.  Hugh sighs, flicking the diagram over to her while pinching the bridge of his nose before briefly hiding his face in his hands.

“That communication interface works because there’s been centuries of mapping neural networks and we not only know how to tap into the language centers of the brain, but we also know how to translate it.  There’s extensive training needed for users too, to make sure their neural pathways connect with the synthetic nerves.  I wouldn’t even know where to start with a feline brain, and even if we found the right place to make connections, it would take weeks to program the output.”

Paul’s ears droop, and he lets out a very human sigh.

So I’m stuck doing this.

”For now,” Hugh shrugs, “I don’t know what might be possible besides that.”

Adira’s nose scrunches up, then they turn their head to have a muttered conversation with the air beside them. Consulting Gray doesn’t ease the frown, but it turns thoughtful in a way that Hugh hopes will end up in another of their brilliant leaps of innovation. 

Paul stands, turning and prodding Hugh with his nose.

”Mmm?”

A paw gestures at the deck.  He lifts Paul, crouching to carefully set him down.  Paul immediately starts heading across the lab, although there’s nothing that direction besides several crates holding specimens.

“Where are you going?”

Paul ignores him, disappearing around the stack.  A moment later, the door beside it swishes open and closed again.

Ahh.

At the very least, Paul should be grateful that Reno’s modification is saving him from having to ask Hugh to walk him to the bathroom.  When he turns back, it’s to see Book scooping up Grudge and nodding at Tilly and Adira.

”Someone’s hungry,” he pets Grudge’s side, “be back a bit later.”

Tilly gives a distracted hum, still staring at her display as he exits.  Since there’s nothing else he can do at the moment, Hugh calls up the medbay logs to review, scrolling through the routine checkups and notes.

Swish.

He looks up from Aisha’s evaluation of a patient’s mysterious kidney dysfunction long enough to see Michael enter and make a beeline for Tilly.  They start a conversation about their findings that Hugh eventually tunes out, adding his own recommendation for synthesizing a new organ if they can’t identify the source of the issue.

“Actually-“

Hugh starts at the loud hiss and sudden ginger blur in his peripheral vision right before something collides with his ankles.

”Uhh…”

Michael is frozen in the act of bending down, hands outstretched awkwardly towards the floor and a confused expression on her face.

”I guess he doesn’t like being picked up.”

He can feel Tilly’s side eye - she had carried Paul into the room from the larger biology lab - and does his best to pretend he doesn’t see her elbow Adira whose mouth snaps shut. 

“Not at the moment,” he manages with a neutral expression that even surprises himself, “don’t worry about it.”

A tail thumps against his shin, and he casually drops a hand under the console, letting it twine around his wrist.  Now’s not the time to talk about it, but he suspects they’ll need to have a conversation later.  At some point, if they don’t get Paul changed back soon, Michael’s going to notice someone else carrying him.  It might not even register for her, but she’s observant enough that he thinks it’s more likely that she’ll pick up on it.  

For now, he waits until Michael is busy talking to Adira before lifting Paul up onto the stool beside him and going back to his work.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly, Tilly's the one who calls a halt for the evening when Adira's slumped down so far that their forehead is touching the tabletop.

“Hugh?”

His brain stutters back to life.

”Mmm.”

”Are yo-“ she pauses to yawn, “I need to go pass out.”

Considering that Hugh has been blinking bleary-eyed at the same string of data for the last ten minutes, he’s probably right there with her.

”Yeah.”

In true cat form, Paul's fallen asleep sprawled over a stack of specimen cubes, chin resting on Adira's arm and tail wrapped around Hugh's right wrist.  While he secretly enjoys the possessiveness of the gesture, he untangles himself from the furry restraint and stands, wincing as his spine and elbow pop.

”Paul?"

There's no response other than one of Paul’s ears quivering.  

"We can't leave them here," she yawns again, setting the algorithm to continue overnight.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he shares a look with Tilly.  He's past the days of allowing his human partner to sleep in the lab, much less the (smaller, much more helpless) cat version.  Plus Adira is going to have another crick in their neck in the morning if they stay like that, youthful recovery or not.

"No.  Help me?"

Adira snores on and refuses to rouse to gentle shoulder shaking or the sound of their name.  He gives Tilly a grateful smile for picking Paul up as he does the same for Adira, who sighs into his shoulder but otherwise remains still.  Together they exit the lab, making their way to the nearest turbolift.  A few people look at them in bemusement as they pass, but Hugh's too tired to do more than offer a weary smile.  

Tilly follows him to Adira's quarters, waits as he takes off their boots and tucks them into bed.  She's absently petting Paul's back, and he wishes he dared take a holo of it - although he suspects he'd never be allowed to share it without embarrassing them both.

"I'll take him," Hugh holds out his arms once they're back in the turbolift, "you should get some sleep."

Paul stirs just a little as he's passed over, but settles again when Hugh kisses his forehead.  He catches Tilly's smile out of the corner of his eye, and winks at her.

"Goodnight, Tilly."

She waves and exits, stumbling slightly over the threshold.  Hugh leans heavily on the wall, glad that it's only a short journey home lest he fall asleep on his feet.  Once back in their quarters, he sets Paul down on the bed and slowly undresses, kicking his uniform halfway towards the laundry pile in a way that's sure to get a complaint later.

Oh well.

He should probably shower, but there's no harm in waiting until the morning when Paul's awake and can join him.  Pulling on his pajama bottoms, he visits the bathroom only long enough to brush his teeth and take care of other business, then is back to contemplating the bundle of fur on the bed a couple of minutes later.  It's exceedingly tempting to just pass out, but he needs to do a couple more things.

A quick trip to the replicator produces a bowl of water that he leaves on Paul's nightstand.  Hugh unclips the harness, easing it down over Paul’s front legs and setting it aside before climbing into bed.  Once the pillows are arranged comfortably, he lifts Paul onto his chest, scratching gently behind his ears while the other hand strokes his tail.

"What am I going to do with you?"

A wiggle, followed by a ripple in Paul's fur traveling from shoulder to hips.

"Sweetheart?"

Another movement, this one a bit more purposeful.

”...mrrrowww?”

It’s an adorably half-awake sound, and Hugh smiles, kissing his nose.

”Hello sleepy.”

Whiskers twitching, Paul’s eyes open just a fraction.

"We decided to call it a night," he explains, probably unnecessarily, "the algorithm will ping me and Tilly if it comes up with any significant matches overnight."

Paul yawns, showing off a set of sharp teeth, but nods.  Hugh expects him to fall back asleep almost immediately, and is surprised when he nudges the covers aside, nose wrinkling as he sniffs.  His whiskers tickle, and Hugh does his best not to squirm when Paul spends an inordinate amount of time at his underarm before snuffling into his sternum.

”Do I smell different now?”

”Mrrrowww.”

Huffing, Paul disengages from Hugh and looks around for...something.

"Wha- oh.  Sorry."

He retrieves the harness and tricomm, and Paul swipes open the interface with his paw before typing.

Same.  But stronger.

Hugh stifles a chuckle at the sight of the font Reno had programmed in, a fancy scrolling calligraphy so completely opposite his lover's unembellished style that Paul's frustrated yowl when he discovered it made everyone's ears ring.  

”Mmmm.  I see.”

He sniffs his own armpit, but all he picks up is soap and more than a hint of sweat.  Paul had always been oddly enamored with how Hugh smelled after coming back from the gym, and the increased sensitivity of a feline olfactory tract is probably to blame.  Instead of arguing, he merely raises his other arm and runs his fingers up Paul’s spine, ruffling the fur the wrong direction before smoothing it back down, over and over.

It shouldn’t be as adorable as it is when Paul flops onto his back on Hugh’s chest, paws splayed wide in a blatant invitation as he squirms.  Chuckling, Hugh scoots higher against the pillows and scratches the milky white belly with one hand, cradling Paul’s head with the other.  A content purring starts in counterpoint to the thrum of his heartbeat, eyes narrowing to slits as Hugh rubs the downy soft fur on his tummy.  Minutes pass, and he can feel his eyelids growing heavy.

"You know..."

Paul pauses in licking his thumb.

"I'm glad you're still snuggly like this."

He's a little disappointed when Paul rolls back over and reaches for the tricomm.

Hugs?

Ahh.

"Always.  Hang on..." Hugh moves until he's laying down again, "computer, lights."

"Mrrowww?"

"Come here, you."

He's still getting used to the feeling of Paul's paws as he makes himself comfortable on Hugh's chest, as well as the purring blanket complete with tail.  Hugh folds his arms around him, squeezing carefully.

"Goodnight, sweetheart.  I love you."

A rough tongue licks his chin, then his lips, and Hugh gives in to the pull of sleep.

Chapter Text

Movement - and the feeling of paws walking over him - wakes Hugh from a dreamless sleep.  It’s still night cycle, 0328 according to the chronometer on the nightstand, and he groans quietly.  

“…y’awake for, babe?” 

The fluffy shadow pauses, then the ethereal blue-grey of the tricomm interface illuminates the top half of the bed.

”Oww,” he grumbles, more out of habit than any actual complaint.  

(He’s lost track of the number of times he’s woken to the glow of Paul working away on his PADD, some idea unwilling to wait until morning.)

Sorry. 

Paul licks his cheek, then hops off the side of the bed more gracefully than yesterday’s blunder off the console.  

“What-“ he rolls onto his side, “oh.”

He gets a flick of Paul’s tail before he disappears into the bathroom.

”Don’t fall in,” Hugh yawns, tugging the covers up against the cat-less chill.

He’s almost asleep again when he hears a quiet mewl, followed by whiskers tickling his nose.  Paul swipes the interface closed, then climbs up onto the pillow, nestling against the side of Hugh’s face.  He smiles when Paul’s head comes to rest at his temple, offering a kiss in the vague direction of the paw on his chin before letting his eyes close the rest of the way.

The pillow is empty when Hugh surfaces to consciousness again, although the dim light tells him that it’s at least close to his usual alarm and not the middle of the night again.  He would wonder where Paul’s gone off to, but there’s a distinct motion under the covers as something furry works its way down his side, sniffing as it goes.  Hugh suppresses a laugh when that nose explores the arch of his foot, then prowls back up the inside of his leg.  It does feel nice in an odd way, particularly when a paw tentatively rubs at his knee and inner thigh.

“Having fun down there?”

He doesn’t need to speak loudly, and he gets a slightly muffled meow in response.  

What is he up to?

Paul abruptly thrusts his face into Hugh’s groin, sniffing at the crease where the ridge of his oblique meets his thigh.

Ahh.

Cat or not, his partner rubbing his face in Hugh’s crotch eventually makes something below the waist stir, giving a lazy twitch.  He tries to ignore it, slipping a hand beneath the covers to find a paw and stroke it with his thumb.

”Mrrrowww.”

The sheets rustle as Paul emerges, fur static-fluffed.  He picks up the harness between his teeth from where it’s migrated to the other side of the bed, dropping it onto Hugh’s chest before typing.

I can smell you.

He yawns.

”Pretty sure we’ve already established that.”

Paul manages to give him a look that feels a lot like him rolling his eyes.

You’re horny.

Hugh shrugs one shoulder, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“It’ll go away.  Unless,” a thought occurs to him that on objective inspection seems really weird, “you want to watch me jerk off?”

A sigh.

”Sweetheart?”

Not the same.

“Open offer for later.”

I’m a CAT, Hugh.

As if to emphasize the point, his tail winds itself around Hugh’s wrist, seemingly without its owner’s attention.  

“I’m serious.”

”Mrroww.”

Wait, does this turn you on or something?

”What?  No- hah, not what I meant.  It’s just that you’re still you, even if you look like this.”

Paul stares at him for a few seconds, blinking slowly.  He arches his back in a stretch, kneading at Hugh’s shoulder before sitting down again with another huff.

”It’s the cat part, love.  I don’t mind.”

Hugh leans in for a kiss and is surprised to find nothing but empty air.

”What?”

Can you brush your teeth?

“Seriously?”

Yes.

”See?  You really are still you,” Hugh mutters, sitting up, “idiosyncra- hey!”

The gentle swat from Paul’s tail barely brushes over his shoulder, but it gets the point across.

”Fine, but only because I love you.”

Hurry up.

Yawning, he swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Were you this cranky as a human?”

”Mrrrowwwwwwwwww.”

”All right, I’m going.”

Chapter Text

Once he brushes his teeth (and dries Paul off after he accidentally slides into the sink), he carries his lover back to bed for proper snuggles.  Hugh takes his time, scratching under Paul’s chin and behind the ears as they nuzzle cheeks and foreheads.  Paul finally lets him kiss his nose, purring and licking Hugh’s lips in response.  It’s a different kind of satisfying than having human Paul in his arms and trading kisses while Hugh plays with his hair, and he admittedly misses being held in return.  They’ve gone weeks and months in the past without seeing each other in person of course, but it’s hard to tell his body that the familiar warm scent is currently attached to a cat.

He’s off duty today, but suspects it will be spent in the lab again once everyone else is awake enough to head down.  With that in mind, he orders up an extra strong cafe con leche and settles down at the table with breakfast and a cat in his lap.  Paul rubs his face on Hugh’s bare chest a few more times, then climbs up onto the table to examine the contents of his plate with interest.

“No,” Hugh puts his hand over the top of the mug just before a velvety nose reaches the rim.

A huff.

Can I at least smell it?

Hugh can’t deny him that, watching as Paul sniffs at the steam rising off his coffee and gives it a longing look.

I suppose caffeine withdrawal is psychosomatic right now?

”Well…” Hugh sets down his fork and calls up his tricorder, squinting at the results, “assuming the readings from before serve as a baseline, I don’t see any active neuromodulation effects.”

Paul’s tail twitches, moving restlessly back and forth.  

What about decaf?

”Sorry love, I checked that yesterday.  Theobromine causes serious digestive issues in cats.”

It’s the 32nd century.  They haven’t figured out how to replicate it?

Hugh wipes his mouth with his napkin long enough to school the smile of commiseration into something less likely to make Paul crankier.

”I don’t know that anyone ever tried to make cat-safe coffee.”

Tail thumping in frustration, Paul slumps down onto the table.

I hate this.

He doesn’t need to ask if it’s about more than the coffee, just sighs and gathers Paul up for a hug.  

“I know.”

Paws pat at his cheek and chin, claws sheathed, and he turns his head to kiss the little toes one at a time the same way he would Paul’s fingertips.  

One thing at a time.

As much as he’d be content to sit here and cuddle, his stomach reminds him that dinner last night consisted of a hastily-eaten sandwich hours before they went to bed.

“Hungry?”

”Mrroww.”

He sets Paul down on his lap again, smiling when he curls his tail around Hugh’s bicep.  Breakfast is mostly silent after that, save for the clink of silverware on the plate and the occasional murmur when offering bites of food.  

You know you don’t have to feed me.

“Should I stop?”

Paul plucks a piece of ham from between Hugh’s fingers carefully, then eyes him as he chews.

I didn’t say that.

“It’s nice,” Hugh uses the napkin to dab a stray bit of strawberry pulp off Paul’s chin, “I like doing it.”

Sharing food is familiar, and it brings to mind another instance of Paul perched on his thighs over breakfast.  Of course that had been him feeding Hugh from a decadent spread, refusing to let him handle the utensils on his own.  The thought is accompanied by a rush of affection, memories of a week spent spoiling each other with sensual delights rising to the surface.

“Remember Risa?”

Paul’s very pink tongue cleans a smear of egg off his own nose.

I loved that.

”Me too.”

He stands to recycle the plate, turning back to find the table and chairs empty.

”Babe?”

”Mrrowwwwwww.”

Hugh crosses to the couch, opening a few reports to read.  It’s still too early - 0700 - for Adira and Tilly given how late they were up last night, and he figures he might as well get some work done in the meantime.  Paul cuddles into his side, nudging Hugh with his nose until he starts petting him.

Sometime later, the furry body slips out from under his arm.  He looks up from Aisha’s analysis of a mutant viral strain to find Paul standing on the arm of the couch, almost eye-to-eye.

No run?

”Nah.”

You can leave me and go do things, Hugh.

”I know.  But,” he smiles, “since we’re not planning to let this last forever, I’m enjoying you like this while I can.”

That earns him a long stare, Paul’s head tilted to the side and what looks like a familiar frown.  In the end his response must suffice, because Paul climbs onto the back of the cushion to rest his head on Hugh’s shoulder.  He falls asleep sometime between the fifth report and fourth paper on DNA splicing, the paw occasionally playing with Hugh’s hair gone still.

Tilly and Adira checked in twenty minutes ago, promising to let him know immediately if anything comes up in reviewing the overnight data.  The tardigrade-induced horizontal gene transfer must have a very narrow set of circumstances for activation, but until they pinpoint it, working backwards is going to be slow.  Hugh isn’t sure if he can add anything at this point, not when they haven’t narrowed down the field much.  

Sighing, he kisses Paul’s paws.  It must tickle, because the paw abruptly stiffens and reflexively bats at him, succeeding in landing squarely on the bridge of his nose.

”Owww.”

”Mwwwroorrr?”

Paul blinks up at him, takes in Hugh rubbing his nose and the self-deprecating smile.

Sorry.

“My fault.  Did you want to come in the shower with me?”

Standing, Paul stretches, claws flexing and catching at the fabric of the cushion before he sheathes them again.  Then he hops off the couch, leaving Hugh to trail in his wake into the bathroom.

It starts off well enough, holding Paul while the steam settles on his skin.  Soap isn’t needed for cats, but he does enjoy the opportunity to scrub gently with his fingertips just for the contented noises they evoke.  Eventually though, shifting his burden to the other arm, he glances at the shampoo bottle and wonders if he can wash his hair one-handed.  There’s certainly a lot more room in the shower when sharing now, but there are also two less hands and Hugh doesn’t think he can juggle his partner and the soap at the same time without dropping one of them.  The solution should be simple, and he bends over to set Paul down.  

“Mrrowww!”

The way Paul wraps his sodden paws around Hugh’s forearm in protest is adorable even if it isn’t getting him any closer to being clean. 

”Babe, I just want to wash my hair.  Please?”

Tricomm and harness are waiting on the bathroom counter, but it’s not difficult to interpret the displeased yowl.

“Two minutes, then I’ll pick you back up again once we’re out of here.”

The stubborn Stamets glare is universal as Paul sits but doesn’t let go of Hugh’s arm.

”You might like the way they smell,” he tries a different tactic, “but I’d really like to wash my balls.”

Hugh gives Paul’s own furry pair a pointed look and is finally released with reluctance.  He makes quick work after that, rinsing thoroughly before turning off the shower.  Paul waits with palpable impatience while Hugh wraps a towel around his waist, then lifts him onto the counter and uses a hand towel to dry him off.  There are a few knots in the fine hairs, he notices, and starts in untangling.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Hugh smiles as Paul rubs his cheek against his chin, “but I thought cats took care of this themselves?”

“Mmrrrggglllmmmm.”

I’m not going to lick myself.

“Cat tongues are apparently designed for it though.”

Hair.  On my tongue.

”I’m sure-“

Did you know I’m supposed to SWALLOW it?  

Paul’s tongue darts out in disgust.

”Well, that’s why cats end up with hairballs.”

Exactly.   I’m not going to swallow it AND have to cough it back up.  Yuck.

”Not interested in that part of the cat experience?”

A growl, followed by pointy teeth on display.

Would you lick yourself?

”Depends where I suppose.”

Don’t tempt me.

Chapter Text

The quiet cuddles of the morning, followed by another four hours of research, feel about a hundred light years away at the moment.  Still…

“I’ll ask Tracy if she can look after you while we’re- what?”

Paul hops up onto the console, fur bristling.

I’m going with you.

”No, you-“

His annoyed growl cuts Hugh off a second time.

I’m not helpless either.  I’m not a pet someone has to watch.

”…okay,” Tilly mutters out of the side of her mouth, hooking her arm through Adira’s elbow, “lets just go uhhh, somewhere else.”

Hugh notices their departure to the farthest corner of the bay, but most of his attention is taken up realizing that the phrase ‘angry cat’ has nothing on the real thing.

”I didn’t mean that,” he tries, “just, you might not like it, but you are still stuck like this.  Say you do go with us, what happens if you get hurt?  It’s not safe, especially if we’re going to be in contact with those spores.”

Returning to the source of the mysterious spores hadn’t particularly crossed his mind, mostly in that he’d rather not expose anyone else to them until they know what caused it, much less Paul for a second time.  Tilly had pointed out that they needed a fresh sample to see if it was something to do with a particular part of their life cycle, and he had to admit it made scientific sense.  Beaming down in EV suits to retrieve them, however, is a far cry from bringing Paul with them to the surface.  The past couple of days have been challenging enough without adding another worry for his partner’s safety.

What’s it going to do, make me a cat again?  

“Why take the risk?  Tilly and Adira and I can handle it.”

Tilly might not know what to look for.

“Paul-“

A very human huff of frustration. 

I’m not stupid, Hugh, I’m not going to go running off into the forest and fall off a cliff.

”But…”

Paul stares at Hugh’s face for several seconds.  He sits down abruptly, fur smoothing but tail still twitching.

If you’re that worried, you can carry me.  

“Actually,” they both turn at the sound of Adira’s voice, “we can rig up a field generator for Paul so he doesn’t have to be inside one of ours.”

”There aren’t any native predators either,” Tilly chimes in, “nothing larger than a mouse.  Which, if you ask me, is kind of weird, but hey!  Evolution.”

Hugh’s starting to feel outnumbered, and it’s not a situation he likes.  Worry gnaws at his stomach, the sense of unease more than one too many cups of coffee while watching the data process.

”Can you give us a few, please?”

The look Tilly and Adira give each other is about as subtle as a solar flare, and he’s relieved when he and Paul are alone in front of the spore cube.

Here we go.

Chapter Text

“Why do you want to go so badly?”

On the console, Paul sighs.

Why shouldn’t I go?

”Because it could be dangerous.  And you’re not used to this body,” Hugh tries to keep his tone mild, “you keep missing when you try to jump.  If something happens, you might not be able to react like you normally would.”

Predictably, Paul doesn’t seem impressed.

I’m not planning to climb any trees.  It’s M-class and we didn’t even use enviro suits when we went down before.  

“Maybe that’s part of it.  We have no idea what a second exposure could do to you even in EV.”

”Mrrroowwwoooowwww-“

Paul huffs in obvious frustration, baring his teeth as he does.  Honestly, Hugh can’t imagine what it would be like trying to speak but without the proper vocal cords and palate to form words.  The message that hovers between them, however, is one hundred percent Paul’s voice.

How do you know YOU'LL be safe?  What happens if you all end up like me?  This is bad enough already.

To the uninformed, Hugh is sure the scene looks ridiculous - him and a large ginger tabby having a stare down, rising tension in the air.  

”You need to stay here.”

A hiss.

No.

He can’t quite forget Paul is a cat, but the eyes glaring at him are the same electric blue as ever. 

“I-“ Hugh closes his eyes, jaw clenching.  “If something goes wrong down there and you get hurt, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

A rippling motion that he’s coming to recognize as the feline version of a shrug rolls down Paul’s side.

You’re a doctor.  

“That doesn’t mean- there’s a lot less of you like this.  Things that would be dangerous for a human like a rockslide or falling branch could,” he swallows, wets suddenly dry lips, “could kill you.

Paul’s paws tap furiously.

I need to know YOU’LL be safe.

”Babe…”

He continues, ire clearly directed at and increasing every time his rapid typing makes a mistake on the wide-spaced interface.

If you go down there and need help, if Tilly gets hurt or you do, I can’t do anything from here.

Opening his mouth, Hugh hesitates when the typing continues.

I feel so damn helpless.  And I HATE that.  There’s nothing I can do like this, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.  

Paul’s tail whips back and forth, knocking a handheld scanner onto the deck with a clang that makes them both jump.  Hugh winces, because that had to sting given the force Paul’s tail made contact with it.  The pained yowl is followed by a sound that rises and falls, eerily close to crying.  Without hesitation, he scoops Paul up and cradles him against his chest.  It’s clearly more than just the scanner, as Paul hides his face, paws scrabbling as his body convulses with what Hugh can only imagine is pent-up emotion.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, kissing a laid-back ear, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.  We’ll figure this out and you’ll be back to stealing the covers and drinking coffee soon.”

The last sentence is meant as levity, but it falls flat.  Hugh tucks the shaking body under his chin and does his best to make calming noises, smoothing his free hand over Paul’s back the same way he would rub soothing circles as a human.  He’s so fragile feeling like this, five kilos completely engulfed in Hugh’s arms as the wailing increases.  Paul’s in no state to communicate with words, and it’s a horrible feeling to not be able to offer the comfort he needs. 

We could both use some comfort, actually. 

It’s not until the (unconsciously) unsheathed claws score his chest hard enough to sting even through the uniform that he switches tactics.

”Paul…”

The tear-less crying continues, heart-wrenching.  He grits his teeth as the claws dig in harder, concentrating on breaking through to Paul.

”Please, you’re hurting me.”

His body stiffens, then Paul withdraws his front paws and their claws all at once, spots of bright red slowly blooming on the white of Hugh’s uniform in their wake.  He tries to set him down on the console, but he clings to Hugh’s arm with all four paws.  A distressed mewl reaches his ears when he eases the zipper down one-handed, peeling back his uniform jacket.  The undershirt hasn’t offered much by way of protection, neck cut too low to serve as another layer where Paul’s paws were high on his chest.  

Paul noses past his hands, frantically licking the puncture wounds.  He winces, the rough tongue over lacerated skin like being rubbed with old-fashioned sandpaper.  He covers the area with his fingers, dabbing at it.  They’re deep, but not enough to be more than a sluggish bit of bleeding and a fiery sting where the lacerations cross.  Paul’s still staring at him, and Hugh can almost feel the guilt set in.

“I’m okay,” he tries to remember if there’s a regen handy, “it’s okay.”

I hurt you.  

“Just a few scratches, I wasn’t expecting them is all.”

I’m sorry. 

He shifts Paul until he’s in the crook of his elbow, raising him up so he can’t hide his face by looking down.  

“I know.  We’ll figure this out, all right?”

Chapter Text

Once Paul’s regained his composure, Hugh sits down on a stool with his four-legged lover on the console again.

”Can you see where I’m coming from?”

He’s careful not to sound cajoling or accusatory, just asks in as even a tone as possible.  For his part, Paul's fur rises before quickly smoothing back down.  The tip of his tail, previously curled around his legs, twitches but stays otherwise still. 

Hugh waits. 

At last, Paul swipes the interface open and starts typing.

Yes.  But I'm not wrong either.

Usually Paul's stubbornness is a good thing, in terms of tenacity in analyzing scientific questions.  It's also occasionally annoying when Paul's idiosyncratically requiring Hugh to not leave his wet towel on the bathroom floor and won't kiss him before brushing their teeth after waking up.  That being said, one of the things he loves most about his partner is his willingness to at least hear out other viewpoints and admit when he's wrong.

"No, but that doesn't mean I like it.  And," he sighs, "that doesn't mean you should go down there alone either."

"Mrrrrowwwwww."

Someone has to go.

"Could we send a DOT?  Something with visuals and you could guide it where it needs to go." 

Maybe.

"I-"

THUMP.

Hugh, even as he’s grabbing for the console to brace himself, can’t really blame Paul for the yowl he lets out when the ship rocks and his claws scrabble over the surface.  A second, larger, jolt happens before either of them can react.

"Mmrrahhhh!"

By some measure of luck, Paul slides off the console in the same direction as Hugh when the ship tilts.  The little body impacts his chest with disturbingly low force, arms moving on automatic to cradle him.  It's impossible to keep his footing, and Hugh gives in, ducking under the edge of the console and hooking leg around a support.

"Culber to bridge - what's going on?"

He's met with a burst of static and several voices speaking over each other.

"-multiple systems fluctuating, Captain!"

"Attitude control isn't working, trying to reroute..."

"The outer hull is buckling at subsection nine-alpha, forcefields in place."

"Bridge?"

"Unknown impact, Doctor," Michael's voice is strained, "everyone, hold on!"

Swish.

The doors open, and Adira and Tilly are tossed inside, sliding over the suddenly angled deck.  Paul's claws are digging into his chest again, but Hugh is more concerned with catching Tilly's ankle as she tumbles past, ducking the equipment thrown off the workstations.  She somehow manages to grab hold of Adira's arm, and they both scramble under the temporary shelter of the console.

"What's happening?"

"No idea," he pulls them both closer as a conduit pops overhead, "just hold on." 

Chapter Text

The ship continues to shake after the comm channel closes, an ominous rattling vibrating through the deck.

”This is so not good,” Tilly mutters, “I-“

Another thud, then the deck tilts the other direction. 

“-okay, I’m totally not panicking, right?”

Beneath the console, they’re a tangle of limbs.  Hugh’s legs are locked around a support, hunched over Paul in his lap and shielding him as best he can with his right arm.  His left is hooked with Tilly’s arm where she’s crouched closer to the margin of their shelter, and he can see her knuckles turning white where she’s clutching the edge of the console.  She in turn has a firm grip on Adira, who’s clinging to Hugh’s leg amidst the chaos.  

”Mrrraaahhhhh!”

”Sorry,” he murmurs, voice strained as Paul presses against his chest, “just keep holding on.”

“This shouldn’t happen,” Adira insists, freeing one hand to open their tricomm, “the stabilizers- owww!  They’re working.  Dampeners are up.”

A conduit overloads nearby, showering their side of the lab with sparks.  Tilly sticks her head out, then immediately retreats as a ceiling panel swings down. 

“I- shit.  We need to get out of here.”

As if to underscore her words, another conduit pops in the bulkhead beside the door.

”The corridor- is it any safer?”

This time, the ship doesn’t swing back on its X-axis of gravity, and the deck stays pitched at a steep angle.

”Better than being trapped in here,” she shakes her head, “less things to hit us out there.”

They’re closer to the door than not, but  the six meters of deck between them and the egress are littered with debris. He catches Tilly’s glance, nods his assent.

”Let’s do it.”

”I’ll go first.”

He waits for Adira to transfer their hold to the console support, then lets go of Tilly’s arm.  She checks the ceiling, releases the edge of the console, and slides downhill across the deck.  Once she’s safely at the door, her fingers fly over the controls, overriding the safety protocols and opening the door halfway.

”Come on!”

Hugh hesitates only a moment before catching Adira’s shoulder.

”Take Paul.”

”Mrrroooo-“

Paul’s eyes are wide, ears laid back and claws unsheathed.  They’re probably pricking Adira once he transfers the precious cargo, but they don’t even blink, just hold him to their chest with both arms while Hugh steadies them.  He’s about to let go when there’s a loud pop and the lights go out.

Could this day get any worse?

Emergency lighting glows blue along the seam between bulkheads and deck, wall panels dimming ominously as whatever the issue is interferes with the backup system.  In the doorway, Tilly’s a shadowy silhouette, bracing herself against the frame.

”Come on,” she calls again, holding out one hand, “I’ll catch you.”

Adira doesn’t reply, or if they do it’s not audible over the increasingly louder rattling.  Then they tuck their head down and follow Tilly, fetching up against the door with a cry of alarm but not pain.

”Hugh!”

The ship lurches again, and something crashes down onto the console above and behind him.  He unhooks his legs and rolls, trying to aim for a spot where he won’t collide with the others.

Almost there.

Tilly’s outstretched hand is close enough to grab when there’s a terrible wrenching sound followed by the concussion of something exploding.  Heat washes over his right shoulder, his face, and he instead grabs Tilly’s arm to propel her through the door.  

“Go!  Get out,” he shoves Adira after her, “we-“

What feels like a freight shuttle slams into him, the pressure wave knocking the breath from his lungs even as he tries to inhale.  

Keep moving.

He’s halfway through the door when the rest of the ceiling collapses.  The last thing he hears as blackness closes in on the edges of his vision is a terrified feline yowl.

Chapter Text

…the acrid scent of a blown relay inside a conduit…

…immense weight on his legs…

…red hair fanned out over the deck…

…someone’s low groan of pain or discomfort…

…a motionless heap of orange and white fur beside him.

Images and smells and sounds flash through the enveloping fog clouding his mind, discretely and disjointed such that he can’t fully make sense of things.  The darkness tugs at him, an anchor weighing him down in a sea of shadow.  Time is fractured, and he’s not sure how long he’s been out.  It could be few moments or an hour, his internal chronometer unable to find a reference.  Eventually, something small and furry and warm rubs against his neck, then tugs his earlobe with the barest hint of sharp teeth.  

Wake up.

Rough wetness laps over his lips, and under the odor of smoke and fused metal, he picks up hints of citrus and woodsy musk. 

Paul.

Hugh tries to hold on to consciousness, using Paul’s presence to will his mind to stay awake.  Descent into oblivion is tempting, if only temporary, but he resists it with an almost physical wrench that leaves him unable to draw enough breath. 

Everything hurts.

It’s slow going, but Hugh manages to peel one eye open partway.  

”Mrrrowww!”

More rubbing against his chin, then vague and hazy orange and grey spots grow in his vision.  He blinks several times and the blurred shapes resolve into a pair of very concerned blue eyes set amidst soot-streaked fur.  A paw taps at his cheek before Paul swipes open his tricomm, typing rapidly.  Trying to read the words makes his eyes throb, but he squints until they come into focus.  

Are you okay?

Inhaling to speak results in a fit of coughing, bouncing the body on his chest and evoking a mewl of alarm.

Hugh?

Another groan nearby.

”Adi- owww.  Shit.  Adira?  Hugh?”

Paul’s next meow is loud enough that Hugh winces, but it’s soon followed by Tilly shuffling into view.  

“Hugh?”

He swallows to wet his dry throat, forcing his eyes to stay open even as his head swims.

Must have hit it on the deck.

The emergency lights are still on, leaving them cloaked in a bluish glow.  Debris is everywhere, although there’s thankfully no smoke and gravity seems to be properly oriented with the deck again.  Tilly’s hand is scraped and her sleeve cuff has scorch marks, but her touch is firm and reassuring.  

“..Tilly.”

She nods, pushing a few more pieces of metal away from them. 

Where's Adira?

"Adira?  Wh-" Hugh pauses, wincing as something twinges in his right knee, "-dira?"

Tilly gives him a concerned look and keeps her hand on his shoulder as she checks her comm.  

"I can't...damn, not working.  I-“

Thump.

Thump thud thump.

“Tilly?  Hugh…anyone?”

It's coming from a couple of meters away, near a section of collapsed ceiling.  Paul climbs off Hugh's chest and brushes past Tilly, meowing and scrabbling at another pile of collapsed conduit.  Hugh misses the warm weight already, but waves her away towards Paul.

“Get Adira.”

Tilly flattens herself, cheek pressed to the deck plates to peer through a gap in the pile.

“Adira, we're here.  Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so…” a pause, followed by a sudden gasp, “what- Paul!  Oh my...I had him, where’s-“

“Mrrowww!”

”He’s okay, he's here.  Let's get you out."

Tilly uses her foot to help shove a broken panel aside, revealing Adira in the space beneath, and his stomach clenches in icy fear at the thought of one of those crashing down on a fragile cat body.  They’re scrunched up into a ball and do indeed appear to be mostly unharmed, stirring when Paul leaps over the metal and noses at their cheek.

”Wha- what happened?”

”Not sure,” Tilly checks her comm again, “looks like multiple system failures across the ship.  Emergency power seems stable, but the internal sensors aren’t right.”

"What?"

Adira lifts a shaky hand to pet Paul’s back.  He gives them a long stare and rubs his cheek against theirs briefly, seemingly satisfied, before returning to Hugh.  Behind him, Tilly pulls Adira to their feet, brushing debris off their arms and head.

“Tilly to Bridge.”

The buzzing failure to connect doesn’t bode well.

”Tilly to Engineering.  Hello?”

Still nothing.  

“Computer, please respond.”

Frowning, Hugh gets his elbows under himself and slowly sits up.  His stomach twists with a wave of nausea that has to do with more than the probable concussion, and he swallows down the anxiety rising in his throat.

"Mrrahhh?"

Rubbing his hand over his face, he feels Paul climb onto his lap and manages a hint of a smile when his partner presses himself to Hugh’s chest in the feline equivalent of a hug.  He wraps one arm around him to return the embrace, cradling Paul close while he breathes through the pain.

Hugh?

”Headache,” he murmurs, using his thumb to wipe some of the soot off Paul’s fur.

“Well, shit,” Tilly sighs, "that’s not working either.  Hugh?"

He raises his hand to acknowledge her but doesn't nod, unsure what moving might do to irritate the pounding behind his eyes.

”Culbe-“ he coughs again, “Culber to Medical.”

Two seconds becomes five and then ten.  

Transporters?

He taps his badge twice, disheartened but not surprised when the cool tingle of the transporter doesn’t deposit him back in their quarters.  Paul butts his head against Hugh’s chin, a quiet but distressed rumble accompanying it.

Comms blocked or system failure?

“It shouldn’t,” Adira digs into the mass of conduit beside them, “not like that.”

One more thing to try.

”Computer, emergency transport to the medbay, medical override, Priority Alpha.”

Looking past the status display, Tilly’s takes in his grimace with a sharp look.

“Are you okay?”

’Fine’ would be an obvious lie, unfortunately.

”Hit my head.  Probably a concussion.”

On his lap, Paul opens his tricomm and hisses in response.  

”What-“ he glances at the display, “oh.”

The confirmed concussion is probably why he didn’t think to scan himself before now, and isn’t Tracy going to have a field day with that?  It’s accompanied by a fractured right kneecap, assorted heavy contusions, and a strained hip flexor.  No spinal cord trauma means the numbness in his right foot is from restricted circulation, which he should also remember to do something about.

Impaired cognition.  

Just what you need.

His captor proves to be the twisted remains of the bulkhead, holding his legs down at the knees.  Pushing against the weight leaves him dizzy, and he gives up after a few tries.

”I’m stuck,” he tries to keep his voice calm, but it wavers, “I can’t move my legs.”

”Mrrrowwww!”

Paul’s velvety nose nudges his cheek even as his paws type.

Stuck?

“Down there,” he mumbles as the corridor spins around him, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

”Adira?”

They’re both kneeling at his side when he opens his eyes again.

”What’s wrong?”

“Let’s see if we can move this.”

Hunched over Paul, Hugh doesn’t even try to pretend that it’s about protecting him rather than stealing a few precious moments of comfort.  Unfortunately, the bulkhead is either too heavy or still attached to the corridor to shift, and the two of them straining at it makes him gasp in pain.  

“Hugh?”

”Think…my ankle is in the way.”

Adira immediately lets go, instead wiggling around a console base to peer beneath the pile.  They let out a frustrated groan, squinting into the mess.

”I can’t see.”

Tilly clears a couple more smashed sample containers from below Hugh’s knee.  Her careful tugging doesn’t avail any more than his own though, and it jostles his broken kneecap painfully.

”Well, I suppose we better hope the spores survived all that.”

”We’re not cats, so that means the containment field is still active in the lab, right?”

”Hope so,” Tilly contorts herself, trying to see through the collapsed doorway, “last thing we all need.  Can’t tell, ugh.”

I’ll look.

Before he can object, Paul climbs into the debris, out of sight.  

“Paul- that’s not safe,” he tries, “come out.”

“Mmmrraaahhh?”

Teeth latch onto his left boot, pulling, and he’s able to move his foot a few inches forward before stopping again.  He tries to repeat with the right side, but it doesn’t budge.

"Looks like it's stuck into your boot," Adira reports, "can't you feel that?"

"Foot's numb."

Paul nudges past his right shin, paws - probably claws - batting at something above it.  He hisses, emerging a few seconds later.

Need to cut it. 

Scratching her elbow, Tilly shakes her head.

”The duranium?”

His boot.

"Never thought I'd say I'm not happy the new uniforms are cut-resistant.  Adira, do you see a toolkit anywhere?"

They prod a few more piles, but nothing useful seems to have been tossed into the corridor with them.  Circulation is starting to return to his left foot, and it feels like being stabbed with a thousand tiny needles.

“No…what about a welder or something?”

"That works, do you see one?"

Would be stored in the cabinet on this wall.  

"No forcefield so it's technically safe to enter, right?"

Paul flicks his tail in response and Hugh keeps his mouth shut this time when he disappears back into the debris, recognizing the stubborn look in his eyes even on a cat face.  Through a space in the pile, he can just make out the white of Paul's paws as he picks his way between fallen objects.  When he returns, it's with a small plasma torch in his mouth, dropping it into Tilly's outstretched hand.

"Hmm."

"Mrrahhh?"

"Tilly?"

"Think you're going to have to do it," she offers the torch back to Paul, "I don't think Adira or I can get an arm in there."

I'm a cat.  How am I supposed to use it?

“We could turn it on out here-“

”Hang on,” Hugh interjects, “if you unzip my boot, I can…?”

Wrong side up.

“…right.”

”What if we set it to the lowest beam at a depth of three millimeters?  Your uniform will protect your leg, and we can help pull you out.”

It could work.  But I still don’t have opposable thumbs.

Paul flexes his front paws in demonstration.

“We could turn it on out here.”

Adira unzips their own boot, peeling off a sock and wrapping it snugly around the grip.

”Should help hold onto it.  It’s clean,” they mumble as Paul sniffs dubiously, “I showered this morning.”

All right.  

Setting it for a continuous beam done, Tilly props it on a piece of debris so Paul can get his mouth around it, teeth digging into Adira’s sock.  He tries a few different angles, then grips it firmly and makes his way back under the bulkhead.

Hugh can tell when Paul starts, because the heat against his shin is just this side of painful.  On the other hand, a minor burn should be easy to treat, so he grits his teeth and stays silent.  It’s slow going, both Tilly and Adira trying to keep an eye on the proceedings as Paul cuts inch by inch.  He tries not to consider the flammability of fur, instead focusing on Paul’s paw braced on his leg.

At last, the light of the torch appears again and Tilly shuts it off.  Paul’s fur is even dirtier, but he seems to be unharmed.

Think I got it.  Really hard to see in there.

“Can you get your foot out now?”

”Honestly?  Going to need some help.”

“Okay.”

Tilly and Adira position themselves to either side of him, hands just above his right knee.  No one comments on it being the broken side, but Paul climbs back onto his lap and nuzzles his chest.

”Ready?”

”Yeah.”

”Here goes…”

The first tug makes him nearly bite through his lip, white hot agony flashing up his leg.  He can’t stifle the pained cry, but waves his hand at them to keep going.  Paul’s distressed mewl is almost lost under the other noise.

”Can you-“ Tilly grimaces, “sorry, Hugh- can you push with your left foot?  Think it’s almost out.”

He finds something to brace his heel on, and strains against it as Adira and Tilly give his right leg one last hard pull.  With a scraping of skin, at last his foot comes free, and the mangled bulkhead groans ominously.  Hugh loses track of the next few seconds, coming back around to find himself flat on his back with three concerned faces peering down at him.

”Mrrrroowwwaaahhhoowww?”

”Hugh?”

Adira’s hand closes around his clenched fist, and they shake it gently.

”…fuck,” he manages at last, “that really hurt.”

Tilly’s comm interface is open, busy scanning his leg.  He looks down his body and isn’t terribly surprised to see scorched fabric and a badly scraped bare foot.  It’s discolored with bruising, but his toes respond when he wiggles them.  Tracy or Aisha can fix his knee, assuming they can get out of the section they’re trapped in soon.

He cries out when Tilly straightens his leg, her stream of apologies picking up every time something in his knee shifts.  Adira’s awkward hug and Paul licking his cheek are difficult to concentrate on instead of the pain, but he tries.  

Hugh’s had better days - his partner as a cat notwithstanding - but it could definitely be worse.

Chapter Text

“Hugh?  Are you- of course you’re not okay, stupid question,” Adira’s nerves are palpable even with his eyes closed, “I mean, what do we do?  To help.  Not like…”

They make a frustrated noise that Hugh would chuckle at if it didn’t seem likely to disturb the drumline in his head.  Paul’s weight shifts where he’s curled against Hugh’s neck and shoulder, fur brushing over his face.  His partner must have typed something, because Tilly responds a few moments later.

”I know.  Our tricomms are still working on their own systems, but we shouldn’t be shielded or anything from communications unless the whole system crashed.  And I don’t know what could have caused that either.”

Another pause.

”Hugh?”

He tries to sit up and regrets it almost instantly, nausea coiling in his stomach.  The back of his head would have hit the deck again, but Adira’s arm is there to catch him.  If he weren’t so focused on not losing the battle against keeping lunch down, he’d be able to actually enjoy the pride in their handling this unexpected situation.  

“…yeah.”

“I don’t think you should try that again.  Wait, is that supposed to be what you do with a concussion?”

”It’s fine.”

His head hurts too much to explain further, so he settles for petting Paul’s tail where it’s twitching restlessly over his arm.  Paul's paws are poised to keep typing when Tilly's comm beeps, static coming through followed by a familiar voice.

"-lly?"

"Tilly here," she swipes the interface open, trying to filter out some of the noise, "Reno, can you hear me?"  

"-of."

"We're stuck outside the lab when things exploded.  The corridor is all blocked, can you beam us out?  Or at least Hugh."

Silence, then another burst of distortion.

“…pattern buffer is damaged, ca-…offline until we can stabilize the…should…hour.”

"Reno?  Jett?  Hello?"

There's no response, and Adira's hopeful expression falls.

"Did she say they can fix the transporter in an hour?"

Tilly shakes her head, lips pressed together.

"Maybe.  I didn't catch enough of it, so I hope so.  But it looks like we’re stuck until then."

Can you reach the ceiling?  Jefferies Tube access should run parallel to this section.  

Hugh stares upwards dubiously.  Part of the ceiling had come down with the bulkhead - what had trapped his legs - and he wonders if there's an access point above them or just six inches of duranium.

"I don't know."

Tilly takes off her jacket, shaking the worst of the assorted mess off, before turning it inside out and offering it as a pillow.  He takes it gratefully, watching as she boosts Adira onto a broken console and they start to climb the twisted metal.

"I- shit!"

Adira hops down, just avoiding the shifting debris.  They try again, but the remainder is too unsteady to get them within even arm's reach of the top of the corridor.  Standing from the awkward crouch they landed in, Adira moves towards the tangled pile of conduit blocking the other side of the section and shoves at it to no effect.

"So much for that."

”Well.  We can either wait and hope someone comes to find us, or-“ Tilly bites her lip, “there’s no telling what’s happening with the rest of the ship.  And Hugh…”

”I’ve had worse,” he offers, “as long as nothing else explodes.”

Paul makes a noise that’s somewhere between a hiss and a growl.  Tilly swipes her forearm across her forehead, sighing.

"Adira and I can't get past all that," she flaps her hand to encompass the space around them, "but you might fit."

She's clearly addressing Paul, and his paws tap out a reply immediately.

Not leaving him.

"Paul..."

He trails off as Paul climbs onto his chest, settling down with an air of stubbornness that's all too familiar.  

The added warmth is nice, particularly as he comes to rest in the still-open front of Hugh's jacket, smearing ashy grey on the white fabric.  That being said, it doesn't help their overall situation.

Sensors aren't working right, we don't know the condition of the ship.

“Well…”

Still no hands if something happens.

He does have a point, probably one Hugh would have made in normal circumstances.

”We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs, more to himself although Paul’s ears swivel his direction, “right?”

Tilly's shoulders slump, and she sits down again with a groan.  

"This day is so not going well."

Chapter Text

“Paul, I’m fine.”

The disbelieving look coming from a cat ought to be jarring in its familiarity, but he takes comfort in that in the midst of the last few days.  In his lap, Paul’s tail twitches back and forth, the tip thudding against his side as his partner stares at the tricorder data hovering between them.  More specifically, at Hugh’s vital signs and the medical scan results.  He’s tempted to say staring at them won’t change his injuries, but there’s no point to adding any additional frustration.

You have a concussion and your knee is broken, that’s not fine.

“A minor concussion,” he catches Paul’s tail as it thumps his thigh, “and yeah, my knee really hurts like hell, but it’s not as bad as a broken ankle.”

So far, he’s refused the suggestions that he rejoin Adira and Tilly as they try yet again to clear the blockage, insisting that he needs to keep an eye on Hugh.  Not that he necessarily wants his partner in his fragile cat body to be climbing around precarious piles of twisted duranium, but the hyper focus on Hugh’s vitals isn’t helpful either.

Eventually though, she and Adira admit defeat for the time being, coming to sit beside him.  He gives them a tight smile, wrapping his right arm around Adira’s shoulders and tucking them against his side.  It strains his hip again and leans on his bruised ribs, but the added warmth for them both is nice.  The section’s grown chilly with malfunctioning environmental controls, Tilly wearing her jacket again at his insistence despite her claims of staying warm through activity.  Adira huffs as Paul climbs over Hugh’s knee and curls up in their lap instead, pressing himself to their stomach in what Hugh is certain Paul will deny is parental comfort.  

“Come on,” he holds his left arm up for Tilly to settle under, “no point in any of us freezing before they get this sorted out.”

He softens his tone with what could be harsh words, and she seems to take it in the dark humor intended.  Scooting the last few inches between them, Tilly sighs and folds her arms around her bent knees.

”What a day,” she mutters, “and this isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s ever happened.”

Adira snorts, wrapping their own arms around Paul even as he opens the tricomm interface to say something.  

Pretty sure being a cat counts as the weirdest thing ever. 

There’s the slightest sound of an inhale that abruptly stops, and Hugh notices Adira’s mouth half open as if they were about to say something.  They glance down at Paul again, who has his face in the crook of their elbow, and sigh. 

“Adira?”

Their cheeks flush slightly, a vaguely guilty expression in place.

”…what?”

“What we’re you going to say?”

”Mrrrrowww?”

”Umm.  I was- well, I was going to ask Paul what it’s like.  Being a cat.”

On his other side, Tilly perks up, her frustrated frown smoothing into a look of interest.

”Other than weird?”

Paul stares at them both, ears swiveling as the debris behind them creaks.  Then he squirms until Adira loosens their hold enough to free his paws and starts typing.

The lack of opposable thumbs is horrible.

The temperature drops even further over the next twenty minutes, and he mentally detaches just a little, focus turned inwards while the others discuss the merits of human hands.  Then it turns to the data they’d been able to glean before whatever mischance had struck, but the effects of the concussion mean he loses track multiple times before giving up.  He surfaces again when Paul fluffs his fur - and isn’t Hugh absolutely curious about how that feels for him - for the third time in two minutes.  They’ve fallen silent, and he debates whether leaving Paul to keep Adira warm is worth the worry.  In the end, he follows his instincts.

”Babe?”

Paul’s ear twitches, and he pulls his face out of the curve of his own front legs.  Hugh nods at his own lap, releasing Adira and Tilly to free his arms.  For once he’s grateful for the looser uniform cut as he zips Paul partway inside his jacket 

Paul squirms as if in protest.

”Too tight?”

A head shake.  Part of him worries about cutting off Paul’s means of talking with his badge pressed between them, but he and his partner don’t usually need words to communicate.  Case in point, the peevish look doesn’t need any interpretation.  

“Do you want to ask Tilly or Adira to keep you warm?”

It’s barely more than a whisper, and while Adira and Tilly side eye him curiously, he’s positive the furry ear he spoke into heard it clearly because Paul stops moving so much.  He butts his head up under Hugh’s chin in response, and he can feel the rapid thrum of Paul’s heartbeat against his stomach through the thin fabric of his undershirt.  Paws shift, one reaching up to pat at his collarbone before quickly retreating at the draft it lets in.

“Want to try comming again?”

Chapter Text

They do manage to patch back into the comm system, but everyone on the bridge still seems to be busy figuring out exactly what happened and making sure it doesn’t strike again.  The most popular theory is that Discovery came into contact with an intense gravitational outburst from a cosmic string collision, although it wouldn’t explain the EPS overload or knocking transporters offline. It does give them something to discuss at least, while they shiver and wait for someone to come dig them out.   

“-can’t have been manufactured, right?”

Tilly chews her lip and considers Adira’s question, prodding a mangled door plate with the toe of her boot.

”No, I don’t think so.  I hope not, because…well…how would you even control that?”

The conversation is a distraction from his throbbing knee and hip, although he’s less pleased that the gentle purring against his chest stops when Paul squirms around inside his jacket until his paws are free to join.

Unless they’re extra-dimensional and can manipulate the laws of physics.

”Still, the odds of a collision in any given point…”

Abstract one-dimensional looping is far beyond the knowledge born of two astrophysics courses decades ago at the Academy - or even what he’s picked up from years of Paul’s mycelial network theories - so he’s willing to accept that it’s nothing more nefarious than sheer odds-defying bad luck.

Your partner is a cat.

That’s plenty of statistical impossibility for the next six months.

Possessed of patience or not, two hours seems to be interminably long when waiting for rescue.  There isn’t much any of them can do from where they’re boxed in, though it’s a relief when Hugh finally gets through to the medbay and Tracy and Aisha reassure him that there’s no major injuries.  Plenty of concussions, broken bones, and a dislocated shoulder should keep them busy but not overloaded.  It’s one less thing for him to worry about, particularly when his own leg is now radiating icy-hot needles of pain from the knee.  

Eventually, there’s a grating sound overhead, followed by the groan of metal being pried apart.  The corridor is still on emergency backup lighting, and the headlamp shining down cuts through the twilight gloom immediately.  

”Hello?”

“Well,” Reno’s voice emerges from the gap in the ceiling panels, “so much for programmable matter.”

Adira shields their eyes against the glare.

”Can you get us out?”

”Clearly, I’m just here to stare at you like a fishbowl.”

One of Reno’s drones swoops down, circling once before hovering a meter or so off the debris-strewn deck to illuminate them all.  Paul makes a noise against Hugh’s chest that sounds suspiciously like a feline sigh, although he’s sure his partner will deny it later.

”Reno?”

A clang, assorted rattling, then her head and shoulders appear, arms outstretched.

”Pass him over, Doc.”

Hugh realizes she’s addressing him, ignoring the concerned looks from Adira and Tilly.

”Can’t really stand right now.”

”Mrroowwww.”

“Well,” a second drone dips down in front of him, “Crankypaws could hold on to the kids…”

No.  Absolutely not.

Hugh huffs out what might be a laugh, but stops halfway through when it makes his hip burn.  Thankfully, Paul’s too busy typing out whatever he plans to say next and doesn’t notice.  

“Here,” Tilly bends down as Hugh unzips his jacket, picking up Paul and standing again, “I’ve got him.”

Reno edges forward another couple of inches, gesturing impatiently.

”Sorry Commander,” Tilly mutters when her hands end up under Paul’s rump.

She lifts him as far overhead as possible, but there’s still a good half meter between Paul’s outstretched paws and Reno’s hands.

Of course we’re stuck at a junction with higher ceilings than the corridor.

”Can you get any closer?”

“Trying,” Tilly goes up on her toes, “now?”

“Nope.  Toss him?”

”Mrrrowwww!”

Paul’s indignant yowl only makes Reno chuckle.

“Kidding.”

Something about the situation nudges a memory of a different solution to the issue, and he smiles for the first time in what feels like hours.

”Tilly.”

”Doctor?”

”Put Adira on your shoulders.”

Adira, who’s been eyeing the piles of debris, turns to stare at him.

”Me?”

”You know, that’s actually not a completely terrible idea,” Reno calls down.

“Jett, can you pull Adira up with you after you get Paul?”

“Probably.  Still have to figure out a way to get you and Tilly out after.  Crankypaws, you good with that?”

Paul’s tail twitches against Tilly’s arm, but he nods.

“Adira?”

”Umm.  Sure?”

Beside him, Tilly cracks a smile.

”Dysfunctional teamwork, right?”

Chapter Text

"Are you-"

"Yeah...no!  Yes.  Hang on."

"Good?"

"...maybe?  Yes.  No.  Okay."

It’s a moment of much-needed levity as a distraction from his throbbing head when Tilly crouches and Adira only slightly awkwardly climbs onto her shoulders.  

"Oww.  Hair."

"Sorry!"

"Just- your leg is on my ponytail."

"Sorry."

They spend a few seconds navigating the wobbles of standing upright like a drunken stilt-walker before maneuvering into position beneath the open ceiling panel.

”…umm.  Err.  Paul?”

Paul, who had been pacing back and forth with tail twitching, looks up at them and makes a noise somewhere between clearing his throat and a whine.  

"Much as I love the free gymnastics show, let's get a move on it before my back decides to dislocate again?"

Cat-pupiled or not, Hugh recognizes the resignation in his eyes, and glances up at Reno, who’s watching the scene play out with amusement.

"Paul?" he reaches out, gently scooping him up. "Ready?"

A nod.

”You two can make googly-eyes at each other later.”

"Hssssskkksssss!"

Smiling, Hugh chuckles as Paul literally bares his fangs and hisses.    

"Tilly?"

Adira tips precariously forward as Tilly holds out her arms, hands seemingly looking for something to hold onto that isn’t her hair.  They elbow a bit of paneling that clangs to the deck, and Hugh winces.

"I- yikes!"

”Sorry,” Tilly mutters, "hmmm."

Paul's dangling tail swishes like a pendulum, but he's quiet in Hugh's arms.  Lifting his partner upwards strains his bruised ribs and hip, but thankfully Paul’s back is to him so he can’t see Hugh’s grimace.  Tilly bends at the knees this time, not even blinking as Paul’s claws hook into her sleeves when she straightens again, Adira's hand on the bulkhead for balance.  

“Here…” her voice is muffled by Paul’s tail brushing over her face, hind paws dangling, “got him?”

"Yep."

”Mrrowwwww.”

His partner’s feline form is on the larger side, and he stifles a laugh at the sight of him practically sitting on Tilly’s head like an orange-striped fur hat while Adira gets their arms and his paws sorted out. 

"Good?"

"Yeah."

It's still uncomfortably cold, and he zips his jacket back up, wishing he could do more to help.  Tipping his head back sets off a pounding in his right temple, but getting to his feet is out of the question.

Standing up and falling over would be bad. 

Really bad.

Above them, Reno scoots just a little further forward, leaning down.

”Pass ‘im up.”

Tilly clamps her arms over Adira's calves as they stretch upwards.

"I've got you."

For all their verbal sparring, Reno’s grip looks surprisingly careful, catching Paul beneath his front legs and immediately bringing his body to her shoulder while remaining half out of the ceiling.

"Mrrrowww?"

”Climb up, Crankypaws.”

He hesitates, but Hugh can hear the scratching sound of his claws and paws scrabbling over onto Reno's back, then disappearing in the darkness behind her.

"You good up ther-"

A low thud vibrates the deckplates, shaking loose a few smaller pieces of debris.  

"What was that?"

Adira's voice isn't quite panicked, but Hugh can't exactly blame them when another thump rattles the ship.

"No idea," Reno offers, "but if the conduit destabilizes, at least cats land on their feet."

"Mrraaawwowww!"

Paul’s head appears alongside Reno as the ship pitches a few degrees and back again.

"Let's hurry it up so we don't find out.  You're next, kid."

"Okay," Tilly shifts, backing up so Adira is under the open panel again, hands loosely clasped around their ankles, "good?"

"No."

Hugh can see the problem right away, as Adira stretches their arms towards Reno but can't quite make contact with her hands while sitting, unable to bridge the distance Paul was able to while standing on his hind legs.  

"You're not close enough," he exchanges a look with them, "can you stand?"

Adira's nose wrinkles in a frown, side-eyeing him.

"Ummm-"

Tilly shakes her head.

"I don't think-"

"...yeah.  No."

"I could stand on something?"

The dubious tone isn't lost on any of them.

"That's a worse idea."

"Hang on."

Reno disappears for a moment, then a second drone spirals down to join the first.  Handles extend from both of their bases with a clicking noise, and they rise to hover in front of Adira at chest height.

"Jett?"

"Grab on," she scoots back a bit, "the kids'll lift you."

"Ummm."

"Go on," Reno adds, PADD in hand, "one of them held me upside down ten meters off that asteroid of doom, two of 'em'll be better."

"Okay."

True to her word, the drones rise without any evidence of strain, pulling Adira upwards.  Tilly ducks out from beneath their legs as they float into the ceiling, rolling her shoulders.

"Good?"

Adira's upper half enters the conduit, and Hugh winces as their knee bangs into the edge of the open panel.

"Oww."

Once they deposit Adira, the drones whir their way back down.

"Go on," Hugh gestures at Tilly.

She shakes her head, holding out her hands to him.

"You first."

"Tilly-"

"You're hurt," she crouches, lifting his left arm over her shoulders, "you first."

Try as he might, he can't stifle the yelp of pain as standing ignites what feels like a plasma fire in his knee, sparks bursting behind his closed eyelids.  Hugh grits his teeth, breathing in shallow pants while Tilly helps steady him.  The world wobbles around him for a few agonizingly long moments, and he leans into her harder until the dizziness passes.

"Hugh?"

That's Adira, and he does his best to summon up some of Dr. Culber's calm.

"I'm okay."

"Mrroooo-"

"I call B.S.," Reno offers, "but hey, I'm just a gearhead."

Paul's typing, and Tilly waits for Hugh to grab the drones before gently untangling herself from him.

"Hold on Doc.  Kid- Stamets, move," Reno orders, sarcasm vanishing as Paul abandons his typing and she uses her forearm to nudge him back from the edge, "he'll be fine.  Adira, need you to get his legs."

"Okay."

Hugh flexes his fingers around the cool metal, loosening them a little before closing his hands again.

"Go ahead."

"Here we go."

His ribs are very much not happy with being stretched, but Hugh focuses on being glad that the antigravs are seemingly unaffected by whatever strange phenomenon rocked Discovery.

It's a little late now to worry about it anyway.  

As he reaches the ceiling, Reno moves to one side to make space alongside Adira for them to guide Hugh over the threshold.  It's a tight fit and more painful than he'd like to admit, but it's thankfully less then thirty seconds before he can let go of the drones.  He pushes with his good leg and pulls himself a little further into the conduit, feeling something brush along his side before a warm, furry body presses itself against his neck and shoulder.

"Mrrowww?"

Paul's quiet, but he winces anyway.

"M'okay."

He can't see Paul's face completely, but doesn't need to look to sense the skepticism radiating off of him.  A paw pats at his chin, followed by a rough tongue.  Sighing, Hugh rolls onto his back and swallows down the nausea, the sound of Reno giving Tilly instructions receding into the background as Paul's nose rubs against his cheek.

It's a fairly miserable twenty-minute crawl from the labs to the medbay, but Aisha's waiting on the other end with an antigrav platform to lower him from the ceiling and transfer him to a biobed.  The earlier rush of injuries seems to have slowed, and Tracy arrives from the back medical suites to give him a look that works on Captains and security teams.  It has less of an effect on him in his current state, but she also gives him a neural blocker that he's horribly grateful for, and lifts Paul out of Hugh's lap to set him on the floor without comment.

"Mrrgglllhrrrmmmphhh."

Aisha's busy scanning Tilly and Adira, the familiar hum a counterpoint to the osteoregen Tracy sets up over his knee.  She flips the scan results around, the throbbing in his head receding into blessed coolness so that he can actually read, zooming in on the cranial images.

"I'd ask you what year we're in, but I don't think you hit your head that hard."

It's delivered with sarcasm, a hint of concern lurking beneath Tracy's bland smile.

"Disoriented for a bit, no memory loss.  It's fine now."

Tracy gives his hip a completely unnecessary poke, reaching for another regen when he winces.

"Well, I'm officially putting you off-duty for the next eight hours, modern medicine or no."

She smirks as Paul climbs onto a stool and hops back onto the biobed.

"All of you."

Repairs.  And whatever happened, we need to find out why. 

"Captain's orders once Reno got you out of there," she probes Hugh's sore ribs, "can argue with her."

"It's not like we're on a ship full of scientific geniuses or something," Reno adds, lounging against a cart, "even if some of them have their heads-"

"Mrrrowwww!"

"-I'll tell you if something's wrong with your mushroom machine, Stamets."

Paul starts to type something, deletes it, types and deletes again, then sits with a huff. 

"Cat got your tongue?"

The answering hiss sounds like the exhaust manifolds powering down.  Adira and Tilly join them, and Hugh looks down at his own soot-smeared Medical whites and back up at their dirty faces with a wry smile.

"Hugh?"

Shower.

Adira's mouth opens, then closes again.

Go rest, both of you.

"We can help Reno-"

"Nope," she calls over, wiping her conspicuously clean drones down with an actual towel, "off-duty, means you're supposed to not be doing work.  Crankypaws could look it up for you."

I strongly dislike you.

Her back is to them, but Hugh catches the reflection of Reno's smile before it vanishes and she turns around with a shrug.

"Feeling's mutual.  Could also say thank you for rescuing you before you turned into ice pops."

Paul's eyes narrow, paws typing in exaggerated motions to convey his grudging response.

Thank you.

"Wasn't that hard, was it?"

"Mrrowwww."

Chapter Text

“Paul, I’m fine.”

I know that.

Hugh does his best to keep the testiness out of his voice and expression.  

”So…?”

The warm weight on his chest shifts, Paul’s front legs unfolding as he settles onto his hindquarters. 

I don’t like it when you get hurt.

”Well,” he strokes the fluffy tail resting on his thigh, “that makes two of us.”

I’m serious.

Hugh’s exhaled breath stirs Paul’s whiskers, and he makes a huffing noise suspiciously close to a sigh.  His nostrils flare and tiny fangs come into view, lip curling back as he does.  It would be - it is - all kinds of adorable, but pointing that out would be the opposite of constructive right now.  

“So am I.”

He’s been resting, per Tracy’s amused order - seemingly more for Paul’s benefit once the regens finished their work - and would really like to do something besides laying flat on his back with Paul literally standing guard on him.  

Sitting up would be a nice start.

Another sigh, then Paul’s paws are in motion again.

I hate it when you get hurt, and even more right now because I can’t DO anything about it, Hugh.  

The miserable look in Paul’s bright blue eyes (slit pupils and all) deflates Hugh’s own frustration rather suddenly.

”I know.  I’m sorry, I just…” he squeezes his own eyes shut for a few seconds, “can I please sit up?”

”Mrrrrrowwwww.”

The meow sounds contrite, and Paul nods, backing up until he’s sitting on Hugh’s hips instead.  Hugh levers himself upright slowly, pleased that the lingering headache seems to be gone for good.  Once he scoots up the bed enough to lean back on the headboard, he lifts Paul into his arms and settles him back against his chest.  

“Thank you.”

Paul pushes his head up under Hugh’s chin, rubbing his cheek over his collarbone as he does.  Hugh shifts Paul into the cradle of his right arm, thumbing over a furry cheek the same way he would caress Paul’s human face.  A rumbling purr starts when Hugh scratches his belly, paws holding onto his wrist to direct him back when his hand starts to stray.

Eventually, Paul pats his arm until he moves it, and calls up the interface again.

What if I’m stuck like this?

“Why would you say that?”

Until the DOTs clean up the lab, there’s no way to be sure the spore sample is still viable.  

“We’ll go back and get more then.  Also,” he rests his nose on Paul’s forehead for a moment, “I realize I’m being overprotective, but the thought of you down there when anything can happen, even in an EV suit, is, honestly, terrifying.”

Yes.  

Hugh was expecting more pushback, given how charged their earlier disagreement had been.  On the other hand, he’d always rather be having a conversation instead of an argument.

”Even if- and that’s a big if - one or more of the best scientific minds, including yours, can’t find a fix…” Hugh catches Paul’s eyes, “we keep looking until we do.  Okay?”

Paul squirms, and he sets him back down.  Instead of moving off anywhere though, he stands all the way up on Hugh’s thigh, front paws braced on his chest until they’re nose to nose.

“Mrrroowwwwoowwww.”

”I’m going to take that as a yes.”

A nod.

”Now that that’s settled, I think your doctor has prescribed something for the anxiety.”

Walking his paws back down, Paul rebalances and types.

Physician, heal thyself?

”Oh, it’s for both of us.”

Oh?

”We’ve got plenty of time till anyone is going to be looking for us-”

Paul’s side-eye is baleful.

You're not suggesting what you usually finish that sentence with.

It’s not a question.

Chuckling, Hugh stuffs another pillow behind himself, the laughter pulling some tension from his neck.

”Perfect excuse to spend an afternoon in bed, yes, but just the snuggling.  Besides, we’re not equipped for anything else.”

I absolutely do not want to consider how that would work.

“And you thought I did?”

No.  

I hope.

“Good.  Come here, sweetheart.”

Using his toes to retrieve the sheet, Hugh pulls it up to his waist, shedding his uniform undershirt and waiting for Paul to make himself comfortable cuddled into his bare chest.  Hugh misses kisses and especially Paul’s arms around him, but there’s something to be said for being essentially sent to bed to curl up with a cat.

Still together.

Chapter Text

Modern medicine may have taken care of his broken bones and bruises, made sure that his concussion was reduced to a slight headache, but today was more than exhausting on its own so it’s no surprise when they doze off.  

He wakes an hour or so later, skin crawling with the desire to be clean.  Hugh had peeled himself out of his uniform as soon as they’d returned to their quarters, nose wrinkling at the amount of soot and smell of sweat in the jacket and shaking his head at the shredded, scorched lower right leg of his pants.  Although he’d given them both a quick wipe with a towel before Paul demanded he lie down, he’s more than ready for a shower. 

Speaking of…

Paul’s currently curled up across his upper chest, head on his left shoulder and front paws under Hugh’s ear.  He sniffs, confirming that the snoring bundle of fur could use a good scrub as well, and gently shakes him awake.

”…mmmeeewwoow?”

”I need a shower.”

A yawn that shows off a very pink tongue, then a nod.  The luxurious feline stretch that follows makes him smile, and he scratches Paul under the chin before slowly sitting up and climbing off the bed.

Hugh makes a face at the grimy smudges they’ve left on the sheets, sending one of the cleaning DOTs to change the bed linens as they head into the bathroom.  Changing the sheets together is an end-of-the-week chore that he already misses despite the efficiency of the bots, and he makes a mental note to ask Paul about it when he gets his human hands back.  He stops to brush his teeth, setting Paul on the counter, and considers whether he can get his partner clean enough in the shower.  By the time he rinses his mouth, a much better idea has come to mind.

He makes a quick trip to the replicator for cat-friendly shampoo, then fills the sink with warm water while Paul’s busy with the facilities.  Hugh pours some shampoo in and swishes his hand back and forth, stirring up the water and making it foam.  Paul hops back up onto the counter, giving the sink a questioning look as Hugh unbuckles his harness.

“Easier than trying to scrub us both in the shower.”

He wiggles his fingers in the water invitingly, waiting as Paul dips a paw in before pulling it out again.

”Not hot enough?”

Paul shakes his head, reaching for the tricomm.

Are you going to shower now?

He’d thought that Paul would appreciate a soak, or at least stay in the sink long enough for Hugh to get himself clean.

Maybe not.

“Do you want me to wash you?”

Another head shake.

Can we take a bath?  

Together, in the tub.

Oh.

The programmable matter tub is an upgrade to Discovery that Hugh loves, and he’s going to blame overall fatigue for not thinking of that himself.  Paul seems to have misinterpreted his brain slowly catching up as trepidation because he sighs, typing with quick taps.

I’m not going to drown, Hugh.

“Sorry.  I know, just…tired.  It’s a good idea.”

Mollified, Paul rubs his cheek on Hugh’s wrist before jumping off the counter and waiting expectantly.  He gathers his wandering thoughts and opens the sink drain, picks up the shampoo, then turns and taps the control panel on the opposite wall.  The floor in front of them shimmers before reforming into a sunken tub that starts filling immediately.

It’s set to go only halfway so that Paul can still stand, and he doesn’t wait for it to finish before climbing in.  The warmth seeps into him as the water rises, and he leans his head back on the curved edge to try and exhale the day’s tension out, eyes closed.  Claws click against the tile, and he feels a rough tongue lap at his cheek. They've left the tricomm on the counter, but the concerned trill doesn’t need words to accompany it.  

”I’m fine,” he sighs, “today was something else.”

”Mrrrooww.”

The faucet shuts off, melting back into the wall.  Paul steps over the edge of the tub, paws on Hugh’s shoulder before sliding down his torso and into the water with a small splash.  He’s gone with regular water rather than their usual mineral soak, reasoning that it’s both better for cleaning and less likely to do anything strange to Paul’s fur.

And isn’t that a thought you never expected to have?

Bathing Paul in this body is different, but no less pleasant than his human form (although decidedly smaller).  He lathers up his hands with the shampoo, then works it through from the neck down, careful to untangle any knots along the way.  It rinses off slightly murky, and Paul makes a noise of distaste before dipping his head briefly under the water.

”I know,” Hugh murmurs, using his thumbs to scrub at Paul’s cheeks and pouring a careful palmful over his ears, “glad you’re not actually a cat.  I’d be worried about you licking this.”

That earns him a huff that Hugh chooses to interpret as agreement. He takes his time to give Paul a second wash, then uses the same shampoo and a washcloth to give himself a thorough scrub before ducking his own head under to rinse his hair.  The water is more than a little grey when he’s done, and he reaches for the wall panel again to drain and refill the tub.

Paul reclaims Hugh’s lap when the faucet stops again, half submerged and purring contentedly against his stomach. His whiskers tickle Hugh’s open palm, tail lazily swishing eddies into existence.  

“Watch the claws,” he cautions when a paw gently nudges his groin.

”Mrrowww.”

For a moment, he misses his partner’s human form so much that it makes his chest ache, misses him on the other side of the tub with his legs draped over Hugh’s own and the pale expanse of his chest flushed pink with heat.  Misses his voice saying Hugh’s name and sleepy goodnight kisses, and-

Don’t think about that now.

He forces the thoughts away, relieved that Paul doesn’t seem to have noticed.  It takes effort, but he deliberately focuses on petting him now, so much smaller with his fur slicked down.  The sight of it brings a genuine smile to his lips, and Paul raises his head with an inquisitive look.

”Sorry love, you just…” he chuckles, “look like a wet ca- hey!”

He splutters as Paul growls and gives himself a shake, water droplets flying everywhere.  Holding up his hands in surrender, Hugh wipes his face and concedes.  

”All right, all right.  Point taken.”

They linger until the water cools, then Hugh hauls them both out for a towel dry.  Paul looks much more his cat self once he’s done, leaving damp paw prints on the counter before Hugh buckles the harness back on and picks him up again.

“You’ve got four perfectly good feet, you know.”

You like carrying me.

”True.”

His stomach picks that moment to rumble, reminding him that it’s been hours since the sandwich he ate between staring at datasets.  

“Hungry?”

As long as it’s not cat food.  

Paul’s upper lip curls back.

That seriously looked disgusting.

“Sorry.”

”Mmrrroorrrrr.”

Hugh picks something simple from the replicator, settling them on the couch with a tray balanced on his knees.  He doesn’t pay much attention to the meal while eating it himself - other than the sense of not-empty in his stomach being a relief - but thoroughly enjoys Paul carefully picking flaked salmon from between his fingers and licking stray rice grains off his palm.  It reminds him of how much he loves feeding his partner when they’re both human, something equally intimate in sharing a mug of coffee and bites from the same slice of toast as in sucking melted chocolate from each other’s fingertips.

He steers his thoughts away before they spiral downwards, distracting himself with the face Paul makes when spinach gets stuck in his teeth.  Paul’s eyelids are drooping when he finally refuses the last few blueberries.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep here.”

He heaves a sigh, blinking sleepily as Hugh gently rubs his full tummy.

”Go on, let me get cleaned up.”

Grumbling, Paul hops off the couch.  

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Hugh goes to recycle the tray, stops to brush his teeth, and pulls on a pair of pajama pants.  With the lights off, he crawls under the crisp sheets and shoos Paul off his pillow before setting his harness on the nightstand.

He raises his right arm for Paul to burrow into his side, tail draped over Hugh’s stomach and chin on his shoulder.  Hugh lifts Paul’s paw off his chest, kissing the little toes one at a time and giving his head and ears the same gentle scratches as the last fifteen years.  In return, Paul nuzzles the underside of his jaw, whiskers catching in Hugh’s beard.  The throaty, satisfied noises are surprisingly close to a human Paul’s sleepy sighs, soothing and familiar.

”Love you,” he whispers against Paul’s forehead.

”Mroowwwowwaaahhh.”

Paul drifts off under Hugh’s petting hands, long sleepy blinks and content purrs turning into quiet feline snores.  With his nose pressed into Hugh’s armpit and expressive eyes closed, he looks like any other cat.  Hugh watches with a gentle smile, twisting at the hips to bring his bent knees to the side, body curved in a protective arc.  

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, kissing Paul’s forehead, “kitten.”

He pauses, waits for Paul’s eyes to open or a protesting yowl.  One ear quivers briefly and the very tip of Paul’s tail bounces once, but he receives no other response.  

The steady rise and fall of each breath beneath his palm is calming, even if it’s not Paul’s human heartbeat under his ear.  He pulls up Adira’s quilt, carefully standing up a pillow and draping the fabric over it to create a cat-friendly canopy.  Tucking another pillow between his knees to keep him from rolling over, he cuddles Paul a little closer and closes his eyes.

Chapter Text

"…Captain, while I understand Commander Stamets'..." Vance sighs, "dislike of Aurellio, I would have thought he could put that aside to work on a larger problem instead of replying that he’s indisposed."

"Admiral,” Michael leans on the desk, “that's not...the problem."

This is so not what he expected when he left Paul sleeping on his pillow to put on his uniform and meet Michael in her ready room for a call with ‘Fleet HQ at 0820.

"Then what is?"

"Commander Stamets isn't himself at the moment."

Vance's hologram eyes Hugh, brow creasing.

"Has he been injured?"

The genuine concern is touching.  He exchanges a look with Michael, who replies.

"No, he's in good health.  Umm.  I suppose- well, Admiral.  He's not exactly human at the moment."

“Say that again, Captain?”

”Sir?”

”I could have sworn you said Commander Stamets isn’t replying to Aurellio because he’s currently not human.”

“Yes, Admiral.  It’s…we’re still figuring out exactly what caused it, but…”

”Doctor,” the frown knitting Vance’s eyebrows together makes Hugh’s own forehead ache in sympathy, “believe me, I appreciate humor, but please tell me this is some sort of joke.”

”I wish it was,” he sighs, “transmitting the data now, including scans.  We can tell it’s horizontal gene transfer from his hybrid tardigrade DNA, but nothing we’ve found yet explains the speed at which it occurred, what triggered it, or, honestly, why it turned him into a c-”

"Captain Burnham to the Bridge."

Sighing, Michael squeezes his arm, giving him a sympathetic look, then faces Vance again.

"Admiral, I apologize.  Discovery is still undergoing repairs and-"

"Go on," he smiles, "your ship needs you."

Swish.

Hugh tucks his hands behind his back, squaring his shoulders.  The fact that Starfleet’s C-in-C looks like he’s suffering from extreme dyspepsia isn’t anything he can help, unfortunately.  

”Forgive me, Doctor Culber, but you seem quite calm for someone whose partner is now…” Vance glances to the side, likely reading the file Hugh sent, “a cat.”

His eyebrows raise, as if hoping Hugh will admit to an elaborate setup now that they’re alone.  Hugh exhales slowly through his nose.

”Believe me, Admiral, this isn't even the strangest thing that’s happened on this ship.”

”If it was any ship but Discovery- well.  I do believe you.  Are you certain that the conditions that caused this…transformation aren’t going to affect anyone else?”

Hugh shakes his head.

”As far as we can tell, everyone else on the ship is safe.  Pau- Commander Stamets’ unique physiology is what allowed it to happen in the first place.  Our run-in with that cosmic string yesterday destroyed our remaining sample of the spores though, so we’ll have to collect another.”

”I’m sure I don’t need to say, please be careful.”

”Yes, sir.”

Holding up a hand, Vance looks back over his shoulder and seems to be nodding at someone.

”I’ll have to cut this short.  Please keep me informed of your progress.    And Doctor,” his lips quirk in a half smile, “good luck.”

”Thank you, Admiral.”

Vance’s hologram vanishes, and Hugh drops down to sit on one of the chairs in front of the desk.  He hadn’t been aware that Aurellio was trying to reach Paul, but he can imagine his partner not wanting to discuss it.  That, or the fact that they’ve run themselves off their feet the last few days, probably accounts for it.

Has it really only been a few days?

Absently brushing a few ginger hairs off his sleeve, Hugh considers whether he has time to stop by the medbay for a chat with Tracy before heading back home.  It’s still early, and-

Beep.

He swipes his tricomm open to find a text message waiting.

[Stamets-Paul-CMDR/SCI-ENGR] Where did you go?

It’s a rhetorical question, and Paul’s probably already checked the computer for his location.  Some people complained about the impossibility of reading tone, but he can tell it’s not accusatory.

[Culber-Hugh-CMDR/MED] Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.  I’m on my way back.

[Culber-Hugh-CMDR/MED] Keep my pillow warm?

[Stamets-Paul-CMDR/SCI-ENGR] :x 

Chapter Text

"I don't suppose he can still..." Michael's voice trails off as she nods at Paul, "right?"

Hugh doesn't blame her for addressing Tilly and Adira necessarily, particularly when Paul is down two thumbs and resembles nothing so much as someone's pet perched on the edge of the console.  He does have to hide a smile when both of their heads swivel towards Paul in near-perfect unison, the same way they would were he human and being spoken about in the third person.  For his part, while the tip of Paul's tail flicks sharply in annoyance, his response is measured.

(Hugh admittedly read up on feline body language while Paul napped earlier, trying to glean information the same way he would from his partner's human face and expressive hands.)

I don't know if I can still jump when:

1) the spores may not recognize my genetic structure; and

2) I can't reach both of the quantum transducers

Michael makes a thoughtful noise, brow furrowing.

"We could move the transducers," Adira shrugs, "but..."

"Also," Tilly adds, "while we've got all of Commander Stamets' consciousness intact, his current brain structure might not even be compatible with communicating with the spores.  I think we'll have to just warp there."

Behind her, Detmer's fingers rapidly tap what Hugh assumes are the coordinates into her interface before swiveling her chair to face the center of the bridge, lips pressed together.

"It'll take about three days, Captain."

"We-"

Apologies for the interruption, Captain, Lieutenant Commander Detmer, Zora's mellow voice interjects, Commander Reno and I have agreed that Discovery should not exceed warp eight while repairs to the hull are still ongoing.  

Paul's tail thumps against the console, and Hugh resists the urge to run a reassuring hand down it for the same reason he'd set Paul down before the turbolift stopped to let him walk out and hop up onto a console on his own.

Wouldn't help reinforce the fact that he's not actually a cat.

"Five days at warp eight," Detmer adds.

They're right.

Adira and Tilly share a look that Hugh can't quite interpret.  

"Well," Michael raises her eyebrows, a half-smile in place, "I guess we'll go the old fashioned way.  Commander Detmer, set a course for Gamma Regula Three."

"Aye, Captain.  Course laid in."

"Let's fly."

Chapter Text

While the science lab is in dire need of repair, given all of the terrible luck they've been having, Hugh's pleasantly surprised that part of the sample of Gamma Regulan spores remained intact.  It's less than a quarter of the original amount, but sufficient to continue their work until they reach the planet.  They still haven’t come to consensus on exactly who and how they’ll retrieve more - courtesy of one cosmic string collision interrupting - but he figures that’s something to worry about at the end of the week.

They reconvene in the medbay, floating walls of calculations and models nearly spanning the bulkheads.  Hugh's walking around and through them carrying Paul, guided by a gesturing paw and more conscious than ever of how he would normally be pacing on his own.

“What if we try transduction with his normal DNA, would the horizontal gene transfer just…reset his genome?  Maybe?”

He pauses in the middle of a series of scans, turning to see Tilly’s eyebrows rise almost as much as her question.  Beside her, Adira gives him a blank look.  It punctuates the fact that the combined efforts of them all - Tilly, Adira, Paul, Hugh, Tracy, Book, Reno, and Michael - still can’t quite piece together what happened.  Hugh’s not 100% sure Paul really wanted Michael’s contributions, but she is a scientist in her own right.  

Even if we keep coming up with creative ways to hide the fact that Paul is avoiding her.   She’s going to catch on eventually, and won’t that be an interesting conversation.

Humming in thought, Tracy zooms in on a different piece of the spores' genome.

“We'd have to recreate the exact conditions it initially happened under.  What if it only works partway, though?

That would be bad.

"Yeah.  Unless the models can guarantee a high enough success rate?  Although,” Hugh smiles, “you’d look kind of cute with ears sticking out of your hai- pthah!”

He sputters as Paul’s tail fluffs over his face, hearing both the accompanying hiss and Tracy's patently fake cough that does a deliberately poor job of concealing a snicker.

"Sorry."

Hmph.  I’d rather not mutate…further.

He sobers quickly, stomach clenching at the thought of other potential consequences

"Or, we could cause catastrophic instability."

"Shit."

That's from Adira, who grimaces without a trace of side-eye or their usual apology for cursing, not that anyone in the room would mind.

Genetic instability could lead to carcinogenesis, but you can fix that. 

Replication defects and DNA breakage that his cells might not be able to repair-

Absolutely not.

Hugh?  Too tight.

Firm tapping with a paw on his wrist accompanies the message and he looks down, realizes he's been unconsciously squeezing Paul to his chest and quickly loosens his hold.  The apology dies on his lips as Paul rubs his cheek against his shoulder before gesturing to be set down on a console.  Once there, he hops to a stool, then onto the deck.

"Paul?"

”Mrrrowwahhhhoooo.”

Ears pricked forward, Paul seems to be examining the data from his new perspective. 

Maybe he'll see something from down there that we haven't.

Tilly goes back to muttering to herself, and Adira pulls their feet up out of the way as Paul prowls past.  Eventually, he sits and pulls a panel down to his own tricomm display with both paws, setting it spinning slowly in front of him.  His whiskers twitch, possibly from the current of displaced air when Tracy steps away to consult Aisha on a patient file.  Hugh notices he has his toes curled downwards as best as possible in their current form, using the first digit on each paw to write...something.  It’s nowhere near the recognizable handwriting from their years of notes, and impossible to read backwards from where he’s standing.

Sighing, Hugh opens up the data from Grudge's genome, shaking his head and closing his eyes.  

Just five more days.

Chapter Text

The more he thinks about it, his daily routine with Paul hasn’t changed that much.  He still receives an adorable grumbling glare when he rouses his sleeping partner, followed by him yawning himself awake in the bathroom.  They still enjoy breakfast together, have lunch and send messages to each other.  Dinner is much the same, Tilly and Adira joining them until it gets late and they say goodnight.  Paul still watches Hugh with obvious affection when he undresses for the shower, still cuddles into his wet arms and steals Hugh’s pillow when they finally get into bed.  And more importantly, they can still snuggle and nuzzle each other before falling asleep.

Granted, Paul’s sitting on the counter rather than standing beside him with his own toothbrush in hand in the morning.  He’s relegated to water at breakfast instead of coffee, and the lack of opposable thumbs makes picking up things more challenging.  Paul’s comments come via text, and Hugh misses hearing his voice the same way he's feeling deprived of Paul’s kisses and the warmth of his arms around him.  

Still.

Admit it, sometimes you like him this way.

Hugh does actually enjoy carrying him everywhere, not least because he’s so much more…portable in this form (he does like carrying human Paul too, but he can’t imagine doing that in Discovery’s corridors).  Not to mention that the crew is much less likely to look at him in askance for petting the cat curled up on his lap while on duty, especially when he’s scratching Paul behind the ears.  He’s taken to sleeping slightly propped up, the better to cradle his partner without worrying about squashing him.  And he loves Paul burrowing into his chest when they nap, waking to find his nose buried in Hugh’s armpit and purring loudly enough to make them both vibrate.

(He does wonder if all of the fur feels like the equivalent of being fully dressed - or if there’s enough cat in his unconscious mind that he doesn’t notice - but decides he’ll broach that topic after Paul is capable of wearing clothes again.)

Mostly, the longer it takes to find a solution, the more a part of Hugh worries about it being permanent. Hugh might be spending much more time with him while on shift, but it’s only because they’re still searching for a way to reverse the process that turned him into a cat.  Subspace instabilities have added two more days onto their trip to Gamma Regula III, and without further analysis of the spores it seems unlikely for even Discovery’s best minds to find a solution.

Speaking of problems…

Lifting the covers, he glances down towards the issue at hand.  It’s not that he needs to look, but it gives him something to frown at even if it’s part of his own body.

Ugh.

He’d woken half-hard with vague memories of a very pleasant dream, nothing terribly out of the ordinary in his current body.  Unlike other mornings, it refuses to subside on its own, and waking Paul up to see if he wants to play is so far out of the question that it almost succeeds in making things go back down. 

Almost.

Exact count of days aside, it’s been longer than they usually go without at least a lazy handjob, sucking each other off on the couch after dinner, or a round of comfortable lovemaking.  Barring that, even just releasing tension alone has never been something he’s reticent to mention in their relationship.  The normally delicious restlessness pulsing beneath his skin only gets worse the more he pretends it isn’t there.  It doesn’t help at all that he can still smell Paul strongly, his body responding to having his partner nearby when he closes his eyes and tries to think desperately unsexy thoughts.  

Not working.

Universe-ending threats or not, Hugh’s only human and Paul Stamets is ridiculously attractive.  Add to that the fact that Hugh loves him and Paul loves him back despite a decade and a half of tripping over his laundry and wet towel on the bathroom floor…

Sighing, he carefully slips from beneath the covers, doing his best not to disturb the bed’s other occupant.  He pads into the bathroom to brush his teeth, deliberately blanking his mind.  The issue is still annoyingly present after he rinses and uses the facilities, so after a quick peek to make sure Paul is still asleep, he sheds his pajama pants and steps into the shower.

He chooses a program at random, just something to cover any potential sound and clean things up afterwards.  Shoving down the vague sense of guilt, he tips his forehead against the cool tiles and wraps his hand around himself, squeezing gently and rubbing.  His touch is efficient, aimed at minimizing the time needed to get off because he’d left Paul snoring on his pillow and wants to get back to cuddling.  

Shouldn’t take long.

Hugh calls up one of his favorite memories, their tenth anniversary spent mostly naked in a sensual, hedonistic week of lovemaking and sex on every horizontal surface in their suite.  Biting his lip, he pictures the way their bodies moved together, trying out the new toys Paul surprised him with, blue eyes glazed over with pleasure.  His hand speeds up as he thinks about the adorably sexy look of excitement when he makes a new scientific conclusion, the light in his eyes while talking a light year a minute and gesturing animatedly, the sight of his stomach when his pajama top rides up, how there’s a fullness to Paul’s waist when Hugh puts his hands there.

Mmmmmm.

A quick soap up and rinse takes care of the aftermath, and he’s back out of the bathroom just a few minutes later.  Hugh’s as quiet as possible, but Paul’s already stirring.  A ripple of movement travels the length of his body as he stretches, hindquarters arched up, yawning and kneading his paws against the pillowcase.  It’s such a classically feline behavior that Hugh wishes he dared capture a holoimage for future enjoyment.  

“Morning sweetheart.”

”…mrrrahhhh?”

He retrieves the tricomm harness from the nightstand and climbs back under the covers, Paul cuddling against his shoulder and cheek.  Smiling, Hugh kisses his paws and nose, smoothing down static-rumpled fur.

”Sleep well?”

Paul sniffs, eyes narrowing.

”I brushed my teeth.”

Paws swipe the interface open and type.

You came.

Ahh.

The irrational guilt creeps back, heavy in his sinuses and ears even as he marvels at the enhanced sense of smell.  Honesty is a tenet of their relationship, so he doesn’t even consider lying.

”Woke up with it, and, well…took care of things in the shower.”

Paul’s ears and tail droop.

I’m sorry.

“For what?”

Being stuck like this.

It’s clearly more than just frustration at not being able to help with Hugh’s morning wood.  Thumbing over Paul’s cheek gently, he manages a half-smile.

”We’ve made progress.”

Not enough.  I just

Paul pauses to huff when one of his hind claws snags on the sheet.

I miss having hands.  I miss holding you and kissing you and drinking coffee and being taller than Adira, which is…not something I’d ever thought about before.  And I have no idea if I’m stuck like this longer, if it’s going to be harder to be human again.

It’s a valid concern, one Hugh’s been carefully not considering.  

“The cat instincts are there, but it’s all you in there.  You were an overgrown cat anyway,” he tries for a little wry humor, “but I don’t think it’s going to predispose you to anything once we restore your genome.”

A teeth-baring yawn.

I hate being tired so much.  Especially without coffee.

That draws a chuckle from him, and he nods.

”I know.”

I miss talking.

”I miss your voice.  But-“ he strokes Paul’s twitching tail, “we’ll figure it out.”

Chapter Text

He's just finished with a routine surgery (32nd century or not, humans still come with an appendix) and is sterilizing his hands when his comm chirps.  Perretta is working post-op, and nods at the question in Hugh's glance, tipping his chin towards the door of the surgical suite.

"I've got it."

"Thanks," he sighs, heading out into the short corridor.  

There's a text message waiting for him.

[Tal-Adira-ENS/SCI] Can you come to the ready room?  Soon, please, this is weird.

Raising his eyebrows, Hugh nonetheless complies.  Adira doesn't have a tendency to exaggerate when it comes to situations and wouldn't have bothered writing anything if it was an emergency, so he sends a reassuring reply and heads for the turbolift at a brisk walk.

[Culber-Hugh-CDR/MED] Be right there.

The pace he sets means crew passing in the corridors unconsciously move out of the way of a white uniform approaching at speed, although without the jerky reaction of seeing anyone from Medical at a run.  Two cadets who seem to be bickering in the turbolift vacate it with apologetic looks, and he tamps down his amusement in case it reads as condescension.

"Ready Room.  Direct, bypass Bridge."

Swish .

The scene that greets him as he steps inside is...interesting.

Michael doesn't have any of her desktop programs up, the ready room in its standard appearance, all sleek lines and calm colors.  He spots Adira first, back against the bulkhead and seemingly peering behind the couch.  Their expression is a mix of trepidation and frustration, rapidly replaced by relief when they spot him.

"Hugh!"

Thud.

"Oww..."

The exclamation comes from between the coffee table and couch.

"Sorry, Captain!"

As he approaches, he can see Michael kneeling on the floor, head and shoulders squeezing beneath its low frame.  His eyebrows climb higher than before as she spares him an oddly guilty look before ducking back underneath.

"Paul?" her voice is muffled by the upholstery, "Come back out."

There's an answering hiss.

Oh.

Great.

Stopping beside Adira, he draws them gently aside, leaving Michael and - he assumes - Paul hiding behind or under the furniture.

"What happened?  I thought it was just a report."

As far as he knew, Adira was briefing Michael on a separate project.  In normal circumstances, Paul would likely have accompanied them under the pretense of a superior officer, but Hugh knows it's more parental pride than anything.  

Still.

"Yeah.  I mean, it was.  Going fine, I was showing- well.  Paul had an idea and got on the table to point and it happened so fast, I didn't...couldn't.  Sorry," Adira mutters, "she started umm.  Petting him."

Hugh winces.  He can’t exactly blame Paul, but at the same time, darting off the table and leaving a trail of overturned cups in his wake seems a bit…excessive.

“When he backed up, she tried to pick him up.”

Ahh.

"I uhh, don't think she really thought about it," Adira adds, hands rubbing together.

He can't hear the exact words, but it's easy to pick up on Michael's coaxing tone.  

"Damage control," he murmurs, squeezing Adira's shoulder, "hang on."

Although the decks are designed to reduce vibration, he makes sure his boots scuff noisily as he gets closer and crouches on the floor beside Michael.

"Captain?"

She sighs, pushing herself upright. 

"Hugh.  I don't know-" 

“Sorry, he doesn’t really like to be…touched.”

It’s only partially true, because Hugh leaves off ‘by certain people’.

“The cat instincts aren’t getting stronger, are they?”

Michael looks genuinely distressed, and he spares a momentary surge of annoyance that she still doesn’t completely understand her own actions.

“Not that we’ve seen,” he hedges, “but you must have startled him.”

"Can't you..." she gestures vaguely at the couch.

"I could," Hugh keeps his voice neutral.

“He won't come out.  Except-“ Michael frowns, resting her hands on her knees, “okay, I’ve seen you both carrying him before.  And Tilly.”

Hesitating before he replies, Hugh pokes his own head beneath the couch.  He can see the tip of Paul’s tail just inside the shadow cast by the couch leg.  It’s tempting to simply reach under the piece of furniture to retrieve him, but he suppresses the urge and straightens again, calling up Dr. Culber's best patient tone.

"Did you ask him first?"

Her face undergoes a transformation from confused to annoyed and settles on abashed.

"I- oh."

Adira's retreated a bit, and he can see them typing on their tricomm again, biting their lip.  From the direction of the tiny chirp he hears, he suspects they're in the middle of their own exchange with Paul.  

"Yeah.  I don't think anyone on the crew would react well to suddenly being picked up."

To her credit, Michael doesn't argue, although he can see the gears turning in her head.  Instead, she leans down again.

"Paul?  I'm sorry.  I wasn't thinking, I shouldn't have."

A feline grumble reverberates, almost too low to be heard.  It's followed a few moments later by the sound of fur brushing against fabric, then a very rumpled Paul emerges from behind the couch.  From the position of his ears and twitching tail, Hugh can tell he isn't pleased, but he also isn't completely agitated.

Peeved.

One paw swipes open the tricomm, and he fixes Michael with a look, slit-pupiled blue eyes intent.

Don't do that again. 

He side-eyes Hugh, huffs, and adds a belated:

Please.  

Hugh's not sure whether to laugh or facepalm, but that's been par for the course lately.

Chapter Text

For the fourth time in as many minutes, Adira mumbles an apology for accidentally elbowing Hugh.  Regardless of the circumstances, the short corridor - more a cramped vestibule than anything - with access to the ready room and bridge from the turbolift is really only comfortable for one average human-proportioned being at a time, and so he gently waves off the words and offers his best reassuring smile.  There's not really room to pace, so he discreetly shifts a little further away, though not close enough to trigger the turbolift door sensors.

"...do you think?"

Adira's more audible question rouses him from thought a minute or so later.

"Hmm?"

"What do you think- I mean, is the captain going to be mad?"

They're staring at the ready room door as if expecting it to sprout fangs, a little wary and with palpable trepidation.  It's the same expression they've been wearing since Michael politely asked for 'a few minutes to speak with Commander Stamets', and he can't particularly blame them.

"I doubt it," he replies.

Adira gives him a look that's five parts skepticism, two parts trepidation, and one part annoyance.

"You're still not going to tell me, are you?"

Hugh sighs.

He and Paul have tried to keep The Issue (he can't help the mental capitals) between Paul and Michael separate from any interaction they have with Adira, for their sake as well as Paul's, although his partner would never admit it.  Hugh's initial reluctance turned to resignation when Paul wouldn't budge on it, resisting the urge to point out that while he was quite defensive that their quasi-offspring was not a child, he most defiitely went out of his way to protect them.  Adira's too intelligent and perceptive to buy the occasional excuse and deflection, but true to his word, Hugh hasn't said any more than he has to.  Not that it's been easy, particularly when Adira and Tilly overheard a very tense encounter between Michael and Paul and came to him for answers.

Still.

Hugh's rescued from having to think up an appropriate reply by the ready room doors swishing open.  The doorway appears empty before he reminds himself to look downwards, watching Paul exit with a flick of the end of his tail that would probably translate to stiff-legged discomfort in his human body.  Beyond him, Michael seems to be staring out at the stars again, though her shoulders aren't slumped with defeat or high with tension.

"Paul?"

His partner shakes his head, striding further down the corridor until the doors swish shut again.  Paul turns, sitting back on his hind legs and raising the front part of his body up in a clear request that Hugh's happy to oblige, bending down to pick him up.  He's mildly surprised when his hands are carefully batted away, Paul turning an expectant look to Adira.

"I thought you..." they gesture vaguely with their hands before pointing back over their shoulder, "you know."

Paul sighs, calling up the tricomm interface.

That's different.  

Adira frowns for a few moments, but seems to accept the explanation.  They lean down, lifting Paul off the deck and settling him into their arms before following Hugh into the turbolift.

"Medbay."

"Should I-?"

We're off duty, Hugh's not.

"...right."

Shaking his head, Hugh squeezes Adira's elbow.  

"Come on, we can talk in my office."

Chapter Text

Interestingly, Adira’s much less twitchy while carrying Paul, letting him sit on their folded arms at a comfortable height.  His tail is wrapped around their wrist, and Hugh gives it an affectionate pat as the medbay doors swish closed behind them.  He exchanges a look with Aisha, then gestures towards the desk on the left side of the room, activating the privacy barrier as soon as they’re within its margins.

Sighing for the umpteenth time since his partner sprouted a tail and ears, he sits on the edge of the desk and waits for Adira to pick one of the chairs.  They look up at him expectantly once seated, a booted toe tapping on the deck.  Paul’s eyes are half closed as they absently smooth down his ruffled fur, and Hugh decides that pointing out the fact would probably embarrass them both.  

Which means a holo is out of the question too, unfortunately.

”So…” he trails off, not completely sure what he should be saying.

That’s a lie, you know what you should say.

“Hugh?”

He closes his eyes for the space of a few breaths, then chooses the same option he always does: honesty.

”It’s not really my story to tell.”

They frown before looking down at the cat on their lap.

”Paul?”

”Mrrrowwww.”

A paw swipes open the tricomm.

It’s complicated.

“I mean, obviously, right?” Adira makes a vague gesture with their left hand, “I just…are you mad at her?”

His partner gives him an indecipherable look.  Feline body language apparently has its limits translating human emotions, although he suspects Paul would be side-eyeing him with frustrated indecision.  He’s respected Paul’s request to not involve anyone else, even if he doesn’t totally agree.  Still, it’s Adira asking.  While Paul isn’t as easily swayed by them - or Tilly - as he would have been with Hugh’s niece, they occupy a special place of immunity to the Stamets annoyance that he knows they’ll never take advantage of.  

Eventually, Paul shakes his head as if to clear it.  He gently taps the back of Adira’s wrist, waiting for them to move their arms before climbing onto the desk to sit beside Hugh.  Both of them watch in silence as he snaps up a seldom-used opacity, paws typing in a way that suggests multiple deletions and re-writes.  When he flips the floating message around to face them, Adira’s expression undergoes what would otherwise be a fascinating evolution of emotions as they read.

I’m not mad.  It would be easier if I was.

Michael said and did something extremely hurtful.  She apologized, and I believe her.  It’s not fair to tell people, because I don’t want them to be mad at her or tell me she was right, or anything.

Captains have to make decisions.  Her being the Captain means I don’t have my friend Michael now.

She came with me when Tilly was taken into the network.  When we found Hugh and brought him back.  And I thought she understood what my family means to me.  

Paul sits perfectly still, front paws flat on the desk as they both read.  He blinks slowly, only the very tip of his tail quivering.  Eventually, Adira leans back in their seat, a thoughtful frown on their face.  Their eyes unfocus, and Hugh can practically see the connections being made in their (brilliant) mind.  They open and close their mouth twice as if to start saying something before changing their mind, then nod once.

”Okay.”

Of all the reactions he’d anticipated, this one surprises Hugh, although it really shouldn’t.

”Okay?”

”I think I get it.  Umm.  This has to do with-“ they glance between Paul and Hugh, “after the dilithium planet.  When…that time you wouldn’t tell me what you were talking about.  And what the Captain was trying to apologize for when- oh.  Shit.”

Paul makes a rumbling noise.

When what?

Adira’s eyes are wide and slightly panicked, and Hugh winces.  He decides stepping in is probably a good idea.

”Tilly and Adira overheard Michael apologizing to you in Engineering.”

“We weren’t eavesdropping!” Adira adds as Paul’s fur starts to rise, “I promise.  Just…we couldn’t leave.  You were, well, standing in the way and we didn’t want to interrupt, but…”

They both jump when Paul gives a brief yowl, and Hugh catches their shoulder in a reassuring grip as they bounce to their feet.

”I asked them not to say anything, Paul.”

Not mad.  

He waves his paw in a clear gesture for Adira to sit down again, tail thumping twice.

I overreacted earlier.  

Thank you for getting Hugh.  

Hugh smiles briefly but doesn’t interrupt.

“This is so…” Adira mumbles, “weird.”

Huffing out a noise that seems to be agreement, Paul types out another comment.

I really don’t mind you or Tilly picking me up as long as I’m stuck like this.

Weird is right.

Chapter Text

Hugh spends almost all of the next 36 or so hours during which he's awake worrying what else the universe will throw in their way.  Not that he seriously ascribes ill-will to any higher powers, but having one's partner transformed into another species and the sheer number of complications in their quest to fix it are...well.  Discovery is rather prone to odd things happening, so maybe he's got nothing to worry about at all.

When has that ever been the case? 

He's jumpy in a way that Tracy first teases him for, then drags him by the elbow into the corridor leading to the surgical suites.  She lets go and leans back on the bulkhead, frowning.

"So."

"What?"

Tracy sighs, shaking her head.

"You're really worried."

"The love of my life is currently a cat," he points out, "I think I'm entitled."

"Hugh."

Her voice is soft, the single syllable of his name laden with compassion and concern.

"I just-" he closes his eyes, scrubbing a palm over his face, "what if he's stuck like this?  Forever?"

"You've been through worse."

"I'm not sure being dead is really a great basis for comparison."

The doors to the main medbay swish open, Zarrin passing them with a stack of diagnostic equipment.  Tracy nudges Hugh into one of the empty suites, expression momentarily unreadable.  He squeezes the bridge of his nose, trying to decide if the ache behind his eyes is physiological or psychosomatic and trying harder not to think about how he'd normally plan on snuggling with Paul in addition to whatever medical intervention might be necessary.  It's not that Paul isn't still as physically affectionate as ever, but it won't be with those large, warm hands kneading the muscles of his shoulders and back, working out knots of tension at the base of his neck.

"I meant," Tracy breaks the silence, "somehow, you two have always found a way to make things work.  And with this ship, I sincerely doubt we won't find a solution somewhere."

Tell her.

"Trace, he's a cat.  He might be Paul, but his body thinks it's a cat, and you know, they don't...live as long as humans.  What if-" he swallows past the sudden tightness of his throat, "I miss him.  And he's still here, and at the end of everything, it doesn't matter if he can talk or- or hold my hand or have sex or any of that.  I can't lose him."

Tracy's hand appears in his field of vision - and when did he start looking at the deck? - taking his own and squeezing.

"Did you two talk about it?"

He puts his free hand out to steady himself, resting on the biobed at his back.

"I told him not to, because it wasn't going to happen."

A pause, then Tracy pulls him into a hug.  He holds on, lets her hold him up for a few breaths.  His lips and nose feel hot, blood rushing to his face in reaction to what he's feeling, and he does his best to force it back down.   

"We'll figure it out, Hugh," she murmurs, quiet but firm.  "We always do.  And since the universe always brings the two of you back together again..."

"Since when do you believe in that kind of thing?"

It's half-serious.  Tracy, for all of her invocation of saints and angels, is a scientist like he is.  Her medical knowledge might well outshine his own, his surgical skill and their combined intuition making them the formidable pair that they've been for over two decades.  She's fully grounded in pragmatic reality even while investigating mysteries, so he's not sure what to make of that statement.

Tracy loosens her hold, taking a step back.

"Since science and love and Paul Stamets brought my best friend back from being dead."

There's nothing he can say to that, not really, but Tracy doesn't let it linger long enough to be uncomfortable.  Instead, she gives him a wry smile, straightening her jacket and shaking her head as if to clear it.

"Okay?"

He thinks about it before answering, the deflated remains of the ball of worry and tension in his stomach crumpling into something smaller and more manageable.

"Mostly?"

She huffs out a breath of almost-laughter.

"Works for me."

Chapter Text

The thing is, he’s used to him and Hugh being mostly the same size.  There’s usually less than an inch of difference in height (or hairstyle) between them when they’re not wearing boots, no adjustment needed to make easy eye contact or lean on a shoulder.  They share clothes, no one has to stand on their toes or bend down for a kiss, and the vertical dimensions translate well to their horizontal practices.

Very well.

He’s always enjoyed being swept up and carried by Hugh, his partner’s strength and powerful upper body in studied contrast to Paul’s typical relaxed posture and torso headed decidedly towards middle-aged.  It feels good, trusting that he won’t be dropped and for Hugh to move him as he will.  Now though, he’s enveloped by Hugh with no effort at all, lifted into his arms or onto his lap for snuggles.  He feels protected, safe in a completely new way.  The urge to rub himself all over Hugh’s skin as he does so is hardly a recent development, but it’s far more socially acceptable as a cat.  Since the entire expanse of Hugh’s body has grown in proportion to his own, he admittedly spends a little extra time butting his head up against the firm mass of muscle on his chest while enthusiastically purring.  His partner usually indulges him by flexing whatever muscle Paul’s human hands are currently fondling, thankfully unchanged.  (The instinct to knead his paws on them though?  That’s entirely unexpected.)

Despite the heavy coat of fur - which he absolutely refuses to use his tongue on, thank you very much - it’s still easy to feel touch, amplified even more than the thick hair on his human arms and legs. Every pleasing touch makes him purr too, which he’s still self-conscious about because that includes Tilly petting his head and Adira scratching him behind the ears.  He’s always been tactile with Hugh, but the growing comfort with Tilly and Adira before this has suddenly been fast-tracked.  It’s clear they both know he’s still himself, so there’s probably some cognitive dissonance fallout they’re going to have to face afterwards.  For now though, he’s enjoying the guileless physical affection for what it is.  

Being able to see so clearly in the darkness of their quarters with only starlight is surprising, although he does notice that colors seem to have less richness.  Any hint of movement catches his attention, and he’s starting to get annoyed with the fact that it’s an effort to control what’s proving to be the cat instinct to immediately swivel his head to follow unexpected motion.  Add that to the dimensions of everything being vastly larger and the angle completely off when viewed from half a meter above the deck…well.  Disconcerting would be an understatement.

His new hearing is so acute, picking up sounds his human ears would never notice, and he’s still getting used to the feeling of his ears swiveling of their own accord to catch sounds.  The background hum of Discovery is louder but not unwelcome, the sound of boots on the deck a less pleasant assault on his eardrums.  He loves curling up on Hugh’s chest, cheek resting over his heart as he listens to the strong, steady beat, feeling it prickle along his whiskers.  The quiet, intimate whispers from the man he loves carry easily without having to strain for it.  Paul finds there’s nuance and depth to Hugh’s already familiar voice that he’s only picking up now, and he does his best to file it away for when he gets his human senses back.

And the smells.  Oh, the smells.  Not just the ability to quickly identify who’s nearby, either.  Paul’s always found Hugh’s scent appealing, and the feline olfactory system takes it to another level.  He finds the nooks and crannies on his body, the warm spots where he can breathe in lungfuls of Hugh.  Paul buries his nose in the crook of neck and shoulder or armpit; behind Hugh’s ears too, underneath his pectoral muscles, and especially sniffing along the ridge arrowing down to his groin is its own heaven. 

On the other hand, enhanced hearing has him startling awake at previously unheard or more amplified noises, never mind the sound of Hugh snoring now resembling the volume of an antique combustion engine.  The acute night vision means it’s perceptibly brighter even with the lights off, more frustrating than being distracted by movement.  He's drowsy during the day, human-wired brain and feline body in opposition, fighting instinct to stay awake lest he be found napping like an actual cat.  And while the increased agility and balance is quite helpful in jumping onto chairs and consoles, the fact that he needs to climb furniture now is equally annoying.  

The ever-present awareness of what he takes for granted as a human is hard to let go of.  He misses having opposable thumbs, being able to speak, and definitely the coffee.  Kissing Hugh now is impossible, although the nuzzles and licks make up for it somewhat (to be fair, if Hugh smells good, he tastes even better).  Still, Paul has to believe they’ll find a way to reverse his second and thoroughly unintended genetic hybridization before too long.

Right?

Chapter Text

Paul looks up from the molecular scan results when the doors swish open.  They’re not expecting anyone, and Tilly had put up the orange “do not disturb” status on the door panel.  There’s three people who could bypass it without notification, and he’s surprised by which one steps into the lab: rather than Hugh or Michael, it’s Tracy who crosses the threshold, stride unhurried but somehow less than casual.

Adira turns as well, the portion of his genome still floating placidly three inches above their cupped palm.

"Doctor Pollard?"

"Hi Adira," Tracy nods at them, "can I borrow him for a bit?”

There's only one 'him' in the room, and all three other pairs of eyes are suddenly focused in his direction.  He's vaguely grateful that no one's tried to answer for him.

"Mrrllpp?"

"Are you in the middle of something?"

He gestures with a paw before typing.

Yes?

"Can you take fifteen minutes?"

Is it important?

It's a rhetorical question, and he considers whether he ought to have some common phrases available to pick from instead of having to type it out.

To her credit, Tracy hasn't been treating him any differently than usual, except for having to make eye contact a lot closer to the deck when he's on the ground.  (He's perched on top of a console right now, just half a meter or so below his human height.) 

“I do know you when you’ve got a science project,” Tracy raises an eyebrow in reminder, her deliberate downplay of the seriousness enough of a message in itself, "yes."

Adira and Tilly are watching them like spectators at a Velocity match, and it's vaguely reminiscent of when Hugh would wander into Engineering in the early days after Discovery's launch, dropping unsubtle hints about him taking a break.  He checks the chrono display, but it's not like he's missed a meal and there aren't any urgent message notifications.  It's not like anything about his current condition can't be discussed in front of others, either.  Still, there's no point in being stubborn just for the sake of it today, so he nods and swipes the display closed before hopping down from the console.

He follows Tracy out of the lab and into the corridor, heading for the nearest turbolift.  Once inside, he raises a paw and taps her boot.

“Medbay- hmm?"

Paul straightens, leaning upwards, but she doesn't seem to get the message.  He sighs, sitting back on his hind feet and raising the front half of his body off the deck.  It’s an awkward angle that he’s still not used to, paws outstretched, but understanding dawns on her face.

“Oh.  You’re sure you want me carrying you?”

"Mraahhh."

Rolling his eyes doesn’t have the same effect, not that Tracy was ever susceptible to it.  She lifts him carefully off the deck plating and lets him settle more or less seated in the crook of her right forearm.  The doors swish open a few moments later, and she heads straight back to the Medbay without comment.

Inside, it seems to be quiet.  There aren't any data or models floating, and Tracy carries him back into the corridor leading to the surgical suites and offices.  He can't help the bemused huff when Tracy deposits him on the CMO's desk, and Hugh seems equally surprised, stylus poised over a chart.

"Trace?"

She gives them both a pointed look before turning back to the door and tossing a comment that's really a command over her shoulder.

"You two need to talk.”