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The reception hall was beautiful - all warm lighting, glasses clinking, and the quiet hum of conversation.
Una stood at the edge of it all, a glass of champagne in hand, watching La’an laugh at something Kirk said.
And La'an.... La'an looked happy. Or at least, Una told herself she did. And why wouldn’t she be? This was her wedding day.
James T. Kirk and La’an Noonien-Singh.
People had raised eyebrows at first, but when you looked at them - really looked - it made sense. Kirk had that easy charm, that undeniable charisma, and La’an… well. La’an deserved someone who could say it outright. Who could walk right up to her and say, ‘I love you,’ without hesitation, without waiting too long, without expecting her to read between the lines.
La’an deserved someone who wasn’t Una.
Still - Una watched. And it felt like something inside her was standing at the edge of an airlock, waiting to be let out into the vacuum.
They never really talked about it. Never acknowledged it. But it was there. In the way La’an always stood a little too close when they were alone. In the way Una’s eyes always found her first on the bridge. In the quiet, lingering moments after missions - when words almost, almost happened.
But they never did.
Because Una had let it sit too long, let the tension stretch too thin until it felt like nothing at all.
Because she was Una Chin-Riley.
Because La’an was La’an.
And because if they never said it out loud, it never had to be real.
A shadow moved beside her. Or maybe it had been there the whole time.
"You're staring," came a voice, low, familiar. Una didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
She smirked. "Am I?"
Pike bumped her shoulder, drink in hand, expression unreadable.
"You know you don't have to pretend, right?"
Una smirked faintly again. "Pretend what?"
Pike tilted his head slightly, unimpressed.
"That you’re not watching her like she’s a starship about to warp out of range."
Una huffed a quiet laugh. And then her eyes flicked back to La’an. Pike sighed, setting his drink down.
"You never told her, did you?"
Una exhaled. “There was nothing to tell, Chris.” Pike gave her a look. "The hell there wasn’t."
She swallowed. Tightened her grip on the glass. Didn’t answer. Because the official ceremony was over. The speeches had been made. They were celebrating now. La’an was Kirk’s. Not hers. Never hers. So she forced a smile. Lifted her glass. Took a sip.
And said "To the couple,"
Pike scoffed softly, shaking his head. "Una.." he trailed off but Una's mask was already on.
Just then- La’an turned.
And for the first time that night, their eyes met. The noise of the reception muffled into nothing. La’an. In white. Hair softer than Una had ever seen it. Shoulders tense, fingers gripping the fabric of her dress as if grounding herself. Eyes full of something that shouldn’t be there.
And Una- looking back at her like she always had. Like she always would.
Something flickered across La’an’s face - a hesitation, a falter, a moment too fragile to hold. Something Una recognized but had long stopped believing in. But even then - just for a second - Una let herself believe, just a second, just long enough for it to hurt. That maybe La’an would excuse herself. Walk over. Say something.
Anything.
But then La’an blinked. Swallowed. Straightened.
And smiled.
Slow. Knowing. Resigned.
Like she already knew. Like she had always known.
And Una... Una hated that she smiled back. Because that was all they were ever going to get.
Now, everyone was lost in the glow of it all - laughing, drinking, celebrating. La’an was dancing again. Not with Kirk this time - with someone else, a friend, maybe even a stranger. She looked… happy. Did she look happy?
It didn’t matter.
Una was done pretending she could do this. She set her drink down quietly, fingers lingering on the glass. It was warm now - useless. Just like standing here. Just like watching La'an. She slipped through the crowd, moving carefully, deliberately. Not too fast. Not like she was running away.
No one stopped her. She had played her part - stood where she was supposed to stand, said what she was supposed to say. Una drank and laughed at all the right moments. Played the perfect guest, the perfect friend, the perfect officer. No one would miss her now.
She stepped into the corridor, the sound of music fading as the doors slid shut behind her. And for the first time that night, she let herself breathe.
Her quarters were too big.
Too quiet.
Too still.
She sat on the edge of her bunk, fingers digging into the fabric of her uniform. The weight of it - her rank, her duty, her own goddamn restraint - pressed down on her, heavy as a bulkhead door slamming shut.
The weight of it finally settling in.
It was over. La’an was married.
No more what ifs.
No more second chances.
No more looking for something in La’an’s eyes and pretending she didn’t see it.
She had spent so long convincing herself that not knowing was easier. That silence was safer. That maybe, in some version of the universe, waiting had been the right choice.
But now she knew. And knowing was worse.
Her chest ached - a dull, suffocating thing that pressed down, down, down- a breath shuddered out of her. And before she could stop it, a single tear slid down her face. She wiped it away as if it had never happened.
The chime echoed through the room. Una didn’t move. For a second, she thought - hoped - But no. La’an wouldn’t come.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever. (Maybe she was being dramatic)
La'an was probably still at the reception - dancing, smiling, being happy in a way Una had never allowed herself to be.
The door chimed again. This time, Una exhaled. “Come in.” The doors slid open. Not La’an. Chapel. The doctor didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped inside, looking at Una like she already knew. Which, of course, she did.
Christine Chapel always knew.
Chapel didn’t ask if she was okay. She didn’t need to. Instead, she stepped forward carefully, like Una was something fragile. Like saying the wrong thing might break her. Maybe it would. She sat down beside her, dropping into the silence without hesitation, without expectation.
Comfortable. Easy. Like she was saying, I won’t make you talk. But I won’t leave you alone, either. For a while, neither of them spoke. Just sat there - Una staring at the wall, Chapel watching her, neither of them needing to fill the silence. Una swallowed. Let out a slow, steady breath. And finally - finally - let herself feel it.
Not all of it. Not yet. But enough. Just enough.