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Philippa stole away from the bridge of the garbage scow they had commandeered. She found herself in a small, dark bunk room with a view port of the vast emptiness of space. Standing by the window, she lifted her right wrist to her lips, intent on using her teeth to pull the glove off. The adrenaline had faded, leaving her body aching, her hands trembling, and the wound to her face screaming for attention. She started to open her mouth, but the laceration to her cheek protested. Philippa whimpered, touching the back of her fingers to the enflamed skin. The sword had been the same one she had used to scar his face so many years ago.
Alok had noticed when Georgiou left. Leaving Quasi and Garrett to their banter, he followed after her, grabbing the battlefield trauma kit that he had stashed. He’d taken some pretty damaging hits from Fuzz, but with his augmentations, his body would heal on its own. Alok found her, standing by the view port, gently probing the wound to her face. “Hey, let me help you with that,” he said, drawing attention to himself.
“Don’t bother. I’m fine,” Philippa responded, hiding behind her mask of indifference. Showing pain was weakness. Allowing help to be offered was an even greater weakness. She knew she was falling back into old habits to hide the true depth of the wounds she sustained – physically and emotionally.
Alok shook his head, closing the distance between them. “Woman, give me your damn hands,” he said with the right amount of hardness to his words. They were also colored with softness. He saw the little smirk that curved her lips.
“Do you think that works on me?” Philippa asked, very away that her tone of voice was flirtatious. It was an effort to hide the agony she was in. Physically. Emotionally. Philippa was beaten down. She had lost the man she had loved twice. This time, it was going to haunt her. There was no empire to rule, to scheming to attend to. Then, to surprise them both, she offered her hands to him, palms up.
“You’ve been hurt enough,” Alok confided softly. He removed the right glove, seeing the deep laceration to her palm, to her fingers. She didn’t so much as flinch when he examined the wound. Turning from her, he grabbed the dermal regenerator. He activated it and started to run it over the vicious slice.
Philippa scoffed at that. “Not nearly enough in your estimation of tyrants,” she responded sourly. It didn’t stop him from tending to her wounds. Alok wasn’t so easily dissuaded from the course he set himself on. He showed her kindness without thinking twice about it. That still confused her.
“I saw you with him at the end,” Alok whispered. He saw the regret, the sorrow, and the love she had for the man in her arms. “What I saw wasn’t tyrannical. It was despair. Heartbreak.”
Philippa looked away from Alok Sahar. “Tyrants aren’t born. They’re made. I wasn’t always this monster you revile. I was innocent once and then I was thrust into a competition where I had to do terrible things to survive. Of course, the longer you do them, the easier they become. San alone kept me grounded, kept me holding on to those things that were important to me. Or so I thought,” she said quietly. Somewhere along the way, a small part of her had started to want the throne, the vast army. She started to hunger for conquest. She had started to want to pit her intelligence against the galaxy.
Silence dragged on between them as Alok removed her left glove, tending to those cuts. When he had watched her with San, he reassessed everything he knew about her. In that moment where they were going to face death together, he didn’t see her as a monster. He saw her as someone who deeply regretted what she had done and wanted to make it right.
“When I had been chosen for the competition, the Empire was nearly ready to tear itself apart without a leader. Where I was from the state of the empire had very little impact on our day to day lives,” Philippa said, unsure of why she did so. There was something about Alok that let her open up. She had only felt that with only one other person.
“The competition went on for two years until there were only two out of eighteen children. San and myself. We were sent home to complete our final test, and without him grounding me, my darker nature won out. I couldn’t take the chance that San would triumph over me. The loser would have to serve at the heel of the new Terran Emperor. I ensured it was me,” Philippa stated, looking Alok in the eyes as she did so. He dropped her hand and then reached out to her, intent on taking her chin, but she stepped back. “Don’t bother. I should let it scar.”
Unfazed by her actions, Alok reached for her again. “It would be a shame to mar such a pretty face,” he whispered sweetly. This time, she didn’t try to pull away from him. He set the dermal regenerator above the wound, letting the device start the healing process. “I wish I didn’t know what it was to do terrible things to survive. The atrocities I’ve committed will haunt me for a lifetime,” he replied.
Philippa kept quiet. Not everything she had done made her ashamed. She had an empire to rule, territories to expand, and wealth to amass. While her army and her lords were distracted by new conquests, she had devised the plans for the Godsend. At the time, it had been perfectly reasonable – a failsafe should treachery grow to an unmanageable level. Once it was constructed, once San delivered it and called her a monster, she knew she had gone too far. Back then, she hadn’t allowed herself to cry for him when he died in front of her.
“What was the last task you had to do?” Alok asked, nearly finished healing her injuries.
“You don’t want to know,” Philippa responded, keeping her eyes closed. If she allowed it, her mind would torment her with the memory of her family taking their last breaths, the confusion and fear in their eyes as she sat there watching. She had only cried for them after they were dead. Then, she locked it away forever. Or so she thought.
“I asked, didn’t I?” Alok replied. He set the medical instrument aside, her cheek having been completely healed, giving her a soft stroke. Her head turned into the caress. There was a flash of agony across her face. The softest of touches was something she wasn’t accustomed to receiving from anyone.
Philippa repeated words she hadn’t said since the day she killed her family. “No ties to the old life are permitted. An Emperor can only be loyal to duty. Thus does the Empire remain strong. Thus does it grow.” A single tear slipped free, rolling down her left cheek. She wasn’t going to wipe it away.
Alok surprised them both by catching the tear, wiping it away. He could hear what she wasn’t saying and how much it still pained her for what she had to do. She looked at him, taken aback by his display of gentleness. Then, like he had on San’s ship, he took her hand. He could see the toll the day – or days – had taken on her. It was a wonder she was still on her feet at all.
Philippa followed Alok over to the bunk jutting out of the wall. She eyed him curiously as he stretched out on his back and then patted the space beside him. Stalling while she made up her mind, she went to the door, securing it, to keep the other two out. Philippa returned to the bunk, peering down at Alok. He had his eyes closed and a sly smirk on his lips. “Do you think I’m going to just jump into bed with you?” she asked in a saucy manner.
“I think it’s been a long day, we escaped death, and you need to lie down,” Alok replied, not bothering to open his eyes to look at her. His body needed a few hours of uninterrupted sleep to heal from the assault Fuzz had unleashed on him. Those bootleg conveyances packed quite the punch – even for an augment like him.
Philippa scoffed, rolling her eyes. “This isn’t even the first time I’ve escaped death. It’s not even the second,” she stated. If she had been a feline, she’d be dangerously close to using up her nine lives.
Alok felt his shoulders shake with light laughter. This time he looked at her and then patted the empty space next to him. “Lay down,” he said lightly.
Philippa eyed the space Alok had made for her. The desire to give in, to stretch out on the padded surface was undeniably strong. ‘You’re being weak,’ her Terran side whispered hatefully to her. As much as she longed for her empire, her universe, she knew she didn’t belong there anymore. Slowly, she sat down and then stretched out flat on her back. In a stunning display of vulnerability, she turned over on her side, curling in against him, resting her head on his chest.
Alok shifted, wrapping his arms around Philippa. “How did you expand your empire so quickly?” he inquired. The files on her, though extensive, had quite a few gaps. When he had called her a monster, she hadn’t even flinched. She knew exactly what she was. Philippa Georgiou was the monster that all monsters feared.
“Early in my reign, a ship from your universe crossed over via interphasic space. The crew went mad, killing each other. When I boarded the ship, the massacre was horrific, even for a Terran like me.” Philippa closed her eyes, recalling the brutalized bodies that had been shot, stabbed, and hacked up. Back then, she hadn’t fully killed off the innocent girl she had been. There was still an ounce of sympathy inside her for the lives that had been lost to the madness.
“I seized the opportunity and mined the data banks of the ship, finding new territory, new riches to dangle in front of my army. It was only a stop gap measure,” Philippa said sourly. The Gaudian of Forever had sent her back to her Terra. She had done things differently, thinking she knew how to alter the course of events. It had been a delusion. She had been destined to lose her empire by the traitorous acts of her own daughter. In the end, there was no going home for her. Her armor had felt stifling, the crown a little heavier than before, and the robe too cumbersome. That life didn’t fit her anymore.
“If you had known about the passageway before today, would you have considered going home?” Alok asked, thinking it was an innocent question. The way she tensed beside him told him it was anything but innocent.
“There was nothing left for me… even before I was brought to this universe,” Philippa snarled, more to herself than him. The sensible part of her said to pull away from him. Then, there was the wounded woman who sought comfort from the arms of a man she had come to trust. Not that she would let him know that. She closed her eyes for a moment, and that was all it took for the exhaustion of the day to send her off into sleep.
Alok focused on her, on the way she relaxed at his side once more. He angled his head, catching a glance of her face. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was shallow. Philippa looked almost peaceful as she dozed. He let his mind drift, replaying them on the deck of San’s ship, ready to face death together. In that moment, he would have gladly died to balance out the cosmic scales, hoping to wipe away the evil he’d done in the past. They had been prepared to die on their feet as only people like them know how to do. Yet, here they were. Alive. Bloodied. Still captives of the cosmos that needed them and their lethal skills.
A FEW HOURS LATER:
Philippa groaned, rolling over onto her back as she opened her eyes, finding herself in the same dingy bunk room where she had fallen asleep. Only, she was alone now. She turned her head, searching the dimly lit room for Alok. He was sitting in a seat, watching her. “This is becoming a habit,” she muttered flippantly, the sleep clinging to her words.
“Not a bad one, I hope,” Alok responded, giving her a little smirk. Watching her sleep this time was different. When he moved away from her, she had scooted over to where he’d been laying, curling up with her face hidden.
“We’ll see,” Philippa replied, rubbing at her eyes. “Where are we?” she asked, staying down, tying to draw out this little moment of peace and calm between them.
“We’ve docked at a Section 31 base,” Alok answered, rising from his chair, crossing the short distance to the bunk.
Philippa groaned. “Wonderful,” she growled, rolling her eyes.
“Are you always this grumpy when you wake up? Do you need a raktijino? Tarkalean tea?” Alok offered, knowing full well she would want neither of those options.
“Whiskey,” Philippa stated flatly.
“A bit early, don’t you think?” Alok teased.
“It’s happy hour somewhere,” Philippa shot back.
“I’ll get you one as soon as we’re on the station,” Alok promised.
“Asshole,” Philippa remarked without malice, using the same tone she had used when Alok pulled out the asymptote coil to fix this rusted scow.
“Up and at em, Your Majesty,” Alok said, offering his hand, seeing the way her eyes lit up when he called her that.
Philippa took Alok’s hand, letting him pull her up. Once she was standing in front of him, she draped her arms over his shoulders hugging him. “Thank you for standing with me to face death,” she whispered.
“It didn’t seem right to let you do it alone,” Alok whispered back, wrapping his arms around her waist.
Philippa nodded, continuing to hold onto him. They both stayed like that, waiting for the other to back away. Neither did. Michael had wanted her to try and form new relationships with people. She hadn’t wanted her to end up alone without anyone to watch her back. Philippa hadn’t thought she would find anyone to trust at her back – not like she had Michael.
Alok hadn’t been looking for someone like Philippa. They had only crossed paths when Control had sent him to make contact. She had surprised him right off the bat with her coy nature and her reluctance to be alone with him. But once they were, she immediately let him know that she had complete control of the situation. Philippa kept him on his toes, and he liked it. He liked her, even when he tried not to.
“Hey, Cap, they’re ready for us.”
Alok pulled back, smirking. “If we don’t head over, I won’t be able to get you that whiskey you have your heart set on,” he joked.
“Let’s get on with it then,” Philippa said with a laugh, following him out of the room.
THE END