Chapter Text
A mechanic and a test pilot. A nobody. A deserter.
Boros has escaped, once again.
—
Iryo is in the process of putting on his old black, sleeveless bodysuit when he feels Zael entering the room.
‘Your ship is ready, Iryo,’ Zael says, walking over to him.
‘Thank you, General,’ Iryo answers, and finishes pulling on his black, fingerless gloves. He feels a strong sense of déjà vu when Zael cups the side of his face. He leans into the touch, exhaling softly. He feels the plasma in this veins slowing down, his mind clearing from the whirlwind of emotions the news of Boros’ desertion brought him.
‘News of the desertion has already spread,’ Zael says. His tone is controlled, but Iryo can tell he is extremely agitated just from his aura alone. ‘I want that deserter back here alive, Iryo. Do what you must to subdue him.’
Iryo opens his eye, and looks up at Zael. He smiles. ‘Yes, General.’
Zael pulls away, satisfied. They walk to the hangar together. Before Iryo enters his scouting jet - he turns to Zael.
‘May I kiss you goodbye?’
Zael blinks once, then frowns. He senses something off, Iryo imagines. His tone, perhaps. Or his expression. It wasn’t the playful, slightly hopeful quality that was typical for questions such as these. Iryo couldn’t help it.
‘..fine,’ Zael says.
Iryo smiles once more. He rises to his toes. With his hands, he gently holds Zael’s face, and guides it down. He presses a soft kiss to Zael’s forehead.
‘I’ll see you again soon, my love.’
With that, Iryo leaves his future husband looking dumbfounded, and boards his ship.
—
Boros sits in the cockpit, staring out the window. The view was simply marvelous, but the stress and fear from everything that’s happened slowly catches up to him, making his eye droop shut.
He sees a bright, blue sky.
A distant moon, one he doesn’t recognize.
When he wakes, he hears the Voyager’s AI announcing they are approaching the Comet Shop. He watches as Captain Arkaus sets the landing sequence to the ship, and remembers something else.
He used to have a different dream; of red skies and crimson fields. It was a frequent one, one that filled him with unease. He’s had it ever since he can remember.. until it stopped. About two years ago. He wonders what that means. He wasn’t complaining though, it was never a pleasant dream.
This new one was much better, he thought.
Though short lived, Boros felt a resigned sense of calm wash over him, staring up at that blue sky.