New Fic: Justifiable

[jackwabbit]

Justifiable

Fandom: Star Trek Discovery
Rated: PG
Category: Vignette. Culmets. Angst. Established Relationship. Previous Trauma.
Season: Post-Three, Pre-Four. (Probably? Future Fic/Speculation.)
Spoilers: General series knowledge only – through season three.
Summary: Michael’s actions regarding Paul have some long-lasting effects. And though Hugh mostly understands, that doesn’t mean he’s not angry.

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They hadn’t done this in decades.

After all, they were both middle-aged professionals – officers, even, who needed to set an example – not some teenagers in their first real relationship.

But with Hugh’s new body and Paul’s newfound appreciation of it thanks to having lost it once and then nearly lost it again far too soon, some things were bound to change.

So when Hugh manhandled Paul into the supply closet off the port side of sickbay, Paul grinned even as he continued the kiss he’d started. It was as good a place as any for some privacy, and that’s all Paul wanted – at least until the door slid shut behind Hugh and Hugh’s body pinned him against the shelves along the back wall of the tiny space.

That’s when his head jerked back, breaking the kiss.

“Sorry,” muttered Hugh, going back in for more and using his head to tilt Paul’s chin upward so he could trail kisses down his neck.

“S’okay,” answered Paul. His breathing quickened, and Hugh hummed against his throat.

“Mmmm,” Hugh said. Then he chuckled. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Doing what?” whispered Paul, sounding out of breath.

“Making out in a closet, like first-year cadets.”

“Oh,” said Paul, nodding, “yeah.”

Something in his voice – something broken in a different way – made Hugh pull back, concern wrinkling his forehead as he regarded his partner.

Paul’s head was still tipped back , and Hugh might have taken the posture as one of relaxed bliss if not for the fact that Paul’s eyes were open and darting around the closet erratically. And his breathing, seemingly aroused only a moment ago, now appeared frantic and panicked, rather than merely excited.

“Paul?”

Paul’s response was more of a breath than a word.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

Paul started to tremble, and Hugh’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Paul, talk to me.”

Paul finally looked at Hugh, but his eyes quickly skittered away again as he shook his head.

“Paul, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

Paul took a deep breath, but it was clearly an effort to do so, and Hugh was about to drag him to a biobed when Paul managed to find his voice.

“Too small,” he said, waving a flapping hand around the closet.

Then he gently pushed Hugh aside and triggered the door mechanism.

As he left the closet, he paused for a second.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

And then he was gone.

Hugh watched him go, then heaved a sigh.

He didn’t need several advanced degrees in medicine to understand what had just happened. Nor did he need his education to understand why his partner was newly claustrophobic.

And as much as he thought he understood, he was still angry.

Angry enough that a moment later, as he started to clean up the detritus of medical supplies that had previously been neatly arranged on the shelf next to him but now were justifiably all over the floor, he had only one thought.

Damn you, Michael Burnham.