New Fic: Contraband

[jackwabbit]

Contraband

Fandom: Star Trek Discovery
Rated: PG
Category: Vignette. Angst, Hugh Culber Focus.
Word Count: 536.
Season: Post-Two, Pre-Three
Spoilers: General Series Knowledge, “Will You Take My Hand?”.
Summary: Hugh finds something he suspects he wasn’t supposed to.
Note: The timestamp isn’t random. I met Taj and Debra in 2009, and I’m better for it. That’s all.

Also, this is part of the "I Rang The Bell With My Heart In My Mouth" series, and stories in this series are presented as inspiration strikes, not chronologically. See notes above for timeframe/related stories.

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He hasn’t moved back in.

Not yet.

But he can feel himself smiling more, and he can feel other things, too. Things he thought long gone, slowly re-emerging. Paul will touch him now, if still carefully, and they eat together more evenings than not. They’re also talking a whole lot more.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, Paul fell asleep on the other end of the couch, PADD still in hand.

It’s telling that Hugh didn’t notice at first. Full from dinner and tired after long shifts, they’d both settled on the couch after their meal. They’d talked for a bit, but when Paul’s PADD chimed with an alert, Hugh waved for him to take it, then pulled out his own PADD and occupied himself with a medical journal.

It wasn’t until he finished the second article that Hugh realized Paul had been awfully quiet for far longer than needed to deal with whatever had interrupted their evening.

Hugh looked up, then chuckled.

Some things never changed.

Like the fact that Paul could sleep anywhere. And that he looked damn near angelic in sleep. And that seeing that angel filled Hugh with feelings Tilly would probably describe as “warm and fuzzy”.

Paul murmured something in his sleep, then licked his lips, and a sliver of something far hotter than “warm” and definitely not “fuzzy” shot through Hugh.

Before he could dwell on that thought, he looked away and cleared his throat. Paul stirred again, but did not wake, as Hugh fired off a quick message, then slipped his PADD into his bag and carefully stood. He should get going. There was a reason he hadn’t moved back in, after all.

But he could at least make sure Paul was comfortable before heading out. As a doctor, he couldn’t leave him with his neck all crooked like that.

At least that’s what Hugh told himself as he padded to the still-off-limits bedroom to grab a pillow. But once he lifted the one on the near side of the bed, all rationalization left him as he saw what was under it.

Though he’d never seen the object, he recognized it immediately.

It was his medal.

He’d read about it, of course. But it hadn’t really meant anything. It was as if it were a postscript on a story about someone else. Awarded Starfleet Medal of Honor, Posthumous.

Six measly words. He hadn’t thought about what they actually meant. And he’d never considered that Paul had accepted it.

Hugh let the pillow fall to the floor as he turned and slowly sank down onto the edge of the bed. He picked up the medal and turned it over, confirming what he already knew.

Lieutenant Commander Hugh Culber, Posthumous.

There was that word again, engraved for all to see.

Hugh’s gaze drifted through the open doorway to the man still asleep on the couch.

And though the timestamp on Hugh’s message to Paul telling him he was heading out and didn’t have the heart to wake him read 20:09, if Paul had checked the security footage when he woke with a serious crick in the neck at nearly 01:00, he’d have known it was a long time later when Hugh actually left.