Captain’s log, stardate 77461.06. In approximately eighteen hours, Commander Lotharn’s strike force will arrive at Agarath. For the past week we’ve helped the locals, built defensive platforms, repaired the ships of the Agarath Guard and prepared ground defence forces. So now we’re at the hardest part of all: Waiting.

‘I feel fine,’ Rhade insisted, and made sure he didn’t show an iota of discomfort as he sat up on the biobed.

But Doctor Sadek looked unconvinced. ‘There’s not much of fine after what you went through, Lieutenant. You need rest.’

‘Rest is a luxury. I can hardly nap in my quarters while there’s a battle going on.’

‘That was going to be what I prescribed, with nothing but a hot toddy and a blanket,’ Sadek drawled sardonically, then her gaze went sharp. ‘What you want, Lieutenant, is for me to say you can gear up in body armour and run around on the Husk with a rifle again. You’re not going to get that.’

He swung his legs over the side and sat up straight, aware that any show of weakness would be used against him. ‘I understand you have to do your job, Doctor. But battle is coming whether we like it or not, and many people fighting for their lives on the Husk will not be subject to Starfleet combat readiness regulations.’

‘Those regulations aren’t to satisfy pencil-pushers on Earth. They’re to make sure you’re physically up to the task,’ she reminded him. ‘If I ignore them and you take up arms, and then you collapse halfway through a fight – then your comrades have to look out for you. Then you’re a burden to them.’

‘I’m a burden to them if I get shot,’ he pointed out, then lifted his hands. ‘I understand. But I need to be down there. So I had something else in mind for which you might green-light me.’

Sadek was not happy. It was not easy. But in the end she agreed, signing the paperwork and sending him to his quarters to get as much rest as possible before he had to disembark.

She was barely gone and he had barely gotten to his feet before the doors slid open and in stepped Dathan, straight-backed and with the tension in her gaze he knew spoke of apprehension. She stopped short at the sight of him. ‘Lieutenant. I didn’t realise you were being discharged.’

‘Doctor Sadek does her work well,’ he said softly, and padded over.

‘I didn’t come to see you sooner.’ She clasped her hands behind her back, the admission an implied apology holding the faintest frown. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Much recovered. Back to duty tomorrow.’

A fresh frown. ‘So soon?’

‘As battle demands.’

Her eyes raked over him and he watched her, unable to not sense the tension radiating from her, that constant burning guilt he’d never understood. The guilt only worsened when she took a deep breath and said, ‘I’m glad you’re recovered.’

He inclined his head. ‘Thank you. But I was in no real danger. The team was there – Kowalski, Arys, Beckett…’

‘I trust one of them,’ she said flatly.

The corners of his lips curled. ‘It has all worked out.’

‘Until you go back and fight.’ But before he could answer, she shook her head and pressed on. ‘I stopped by to see how you were. If you’ve been discharged, you need rest.’

They had not spoken much in months. One moment he had been free of his commitment to Rosara Thawn, asking to spend more time with her, with nothing stated and too much in the unspoken. The next, his family had assured him the arrangement was not dissolved, and all it had taken was one short, simple message to Dathan.

That had been that. She’d taken a long step back and they had gone to being polite acquaintances. This was the first time she’d come to him since, and already she was turning away, heading for the door.

‘Tahla,’ he said, tongue feeling too big for his mouth. ‘Thank you for checking in.’

But all she did was glance back, give a curt nod, and leave anyway.

Even sitting down in his quarters was more relaxing than expected, and Rhade had just begun to suspect that Sadek was on to something with her recommendation he rest when the door-chime went. On opening, it was the last person he expected to see. ‘Rosara?’

Thawn wound her fingers together as she stepped in, her most obvious tell of nervousness. But that didn’t help illuminate him, as her aura of nervous guilt had been constant for months now, and all he could do was follow as she moved to the centre of his quarters and began to pace.

‘I’m glad you’re alright,’ she blurted at last, and then stopped to stare at him. ‘I didn’t visit. I’m sorry. I should have.’

He frowned. ‘You do not need to apologise. I understand you have been busy -’

‘I have.’ She flinched. ‘That’s not why. I mean, it’s partly, and I wanted relief and it took ages, but I didn’t…’ Thawn sucked her teeth. ‘I could have fought harder for relief. Under the circumstances. You’re my betrothed. And you were injured.’

‘And Doctor Sadek has discharged me – see, I am fine.’ He took a step forward, hands open, but in truth he was deeply confused by her anxiety at even this condition.

Indeed, she winced again. ‘I’m glad,’ she said, which didn’t enlighten him at all. But she sensed that, and winced further. ‘I mean – I really am. Beckett told me, he said what had happened, and when he did, before I knew how you’d be, I…’ Her voice trailed off, and she took an awkward step towards him. ‘I was worried.’

He could not help but give an indulgent smile. ‘I would be concerned if you were not.’

‘I mean really worried.’ She kept twisting her fingers together. ‘I didn’t – we haven’t talked about this. I’ve lost people before.’

He sobered. ‘Lieutenant Drake.’

‘I… sort of. Maybe. But Noah Pierce before him, and he… and we…’ Apprehension entered her eyes, and they widened. ‘Nothing happened between us! That’s not what I’m saying…’

‘Rosara.’ He closed the distance and, after a moment’s hesitation, lifted a hand to cover both of hers. It didn’t stop her fidgeting, but made her hand turn and grab his in an iron grip. ‘I have never expected or asked or wanted you to keep your life on-hold until we were united. You do not have to apologise or even explain -’

‘But I do,’ she pressed, even if she had relaxed an iota. ‘Not – not justify Noah. But I… he was important to me, and I lost him. He died right next to me. And I never did anything about it, and yes, it was because of you, and I don’t know if that was right or wrong but it ate at me, and then you’re…’ She had been staring at their entwined hands, but now her eyes snapped up to meet his. ‘Then you were hurt. And all along I’ve been keeping you at bay, not… daring? Not trying? As if no matter what I’ll do, you’ll be there at the end. And I was cowardly about Noah, and this is just a different kind of cowardice to…’ Her voice trailed off, and he wasn’t sure he understood.

Then she stepped up and kissed him, and he did understand. Perhaps.

Perhaps she’d been hurt by death and his brush with it had shown her what she really wanted, really needed, and urged her to act at last, commit at last. Or it had made her afraid and blind, afraid enough to cling to him with all her might for once because the alternative was an unknown she didn’t dare face.

In the uncertainty he hesitated. Then she slid her arms around his neck, and her closeness made him think of Dathan, turning and leaving even as he reached out.

So he kissed her back.

* *

The Safe House was quieter than normal, because normally officers weren’t scattered across the system and facing one last night before battle. So Beckett thought he’d be able to drink alone, and was grimly disappointed by Tar’lek Arys pulling up the bar-stool next to him.

‘That had best be synthahol,’ the Andorian chided.

‘Hullo to you, too,’ Beckett grumbled, swigging his drink. ‘Of course it is; you think this place serves anything else right now?’

‘You could have smuggled something in.’

‘That does sound like me.’ He set the glass on the bar. ‘Did you just come to lecture me?’

Arys hesitated. Then looked up at the holographic bartender, pointed to Beckett’s empty glass, and held up two fingers. ‘Believe it or not, I came to check up on you.’

‘Will wonders never cease? Careful, Arys, people might think you care.’

The Andorian rolled his eyes as the glasses were set in front of them. ‘You can be very tiresome, Beckett.’

‘Thank you. I practice.’

‘So you’d best be back on the Husk tomorrow.’ Arys watched him hesitate. ‘That’s why you’re in here. You don’t know if you should go down there again.’

Beckett pursed his lips and swirled the liquid in the glass. ‘Is this a pick-me-up to soothe my wounded confidence?’

‘Please,’ Arys scoffed. ‘Like you listen to me.’

‘That’s true.’ But Beckett glared at the bar, then he sighed. ‘I’m not as good a fighter as you.’

‘That’s also true,’ Arys said without pride.

‘But I spent the last week down there with those people. Listening to them. And it’s not just that I don’t want to turn my back on them. I want to do more than listen.’

Arys frowned. ‘So what’s stopping you?’

He pursed his lips again. Then had another swig of synthehol. ‘I guess,’ Beckett started at length. ‘I guess I was expecting someone to. Stop me, I mean.’

Arys gave a short, simple laugh. ‘You won a medal for valour. You’re a member of the Hazard Team. And you’re expecting someone to take you off the ground defence forces on the Husk tomorrow, because you weren’t pitch-perfect in the complete mess of the substation fight?’

‘When you put it like that…’ He swallowed and shook his head. ‘Yes. Yes, I was expecting that.’

Arys sobered. ‘I kind of want to be down there. Not on the bridge.’

Beckett looked over at last. ‘You’re our helmsman.’

‘I know. But I’m happier being hands-on.’ Arys shrugged. ‘It is, I think… okay… to feel like we should be somewhere else when there are a dozen different battles and challenges. Who ever really knows they’re where they should be?’

‘Ugh.’ Beckett swigged his drink. ‘Stop being clever. Or I’ll have to stay being the pretty one and, really, can I get any prettier?’

Arys frowned. ‘I didn’t know we were a duo to be the smart one or the pretty one, and anyway, I don’t work out as much as I do to not be -’

‘When did she get here?’ He’d not been looking around much. He’d come to the bar and ordered drinks and slumped into his self-pity, as was his wont, and only glanced about the Safe House now Arys was pulling him back. Arys must have been unusually focused on him, too, because normally he had a laser-sharp focus for noticing Elsa Lindgren, who was sat in a corner of the bar with a glass that looked long-empty.

Arys straightened and blinked. ‘I didn’t see her come in.’

Beckett grabbed his glass and slid out of his chair, and both men headed across the bar towards Endeavour’s Chief Communications Officer. He was trying to gauge her expression, her stance – figure out what could possibly be wrong – so he was quiet as they approached.

And so it was Arys who walked right up to the table and, with all the earnestness of a Labrador, blurted, ‘Are you alright?’

Lindgren had been lost in her own thoughts and looked up with a start. From behind Arys, Beckett rolled his eyes, met her gaze, and gave her an apologetic grimace. ‘Oh! Tar’lek, Nate… I didn’t see you there.’

‘You seemed distracted,’ Arys observed astutely, and Beckett thought he was a lot better at dealing with people when he viewed them with contempt. ‘We thought we might help.’

We can go, Beckett mouthed to her, but she gave the faintest shake of the head. ‘There’s a lot coming up,’ she said instead. ‘In less than a day we’ll be… I don’t know.’

Beckett didn’t believe her. But he also knew better than to pry when it came to Elsa Lindgren, and better than to pry with Arys there. So instead he bounced past Arys and pulled up the nearest chair. ‘That’s why we’re down here,’ he said. ‘Drinking truly mediocre synthehol and trying to not think about tomorrow. Fancy some company?’

‘Exactly,’ Arys added, also sitting down. ‘We’re company.’

Her smile for Arys was polite, her smile for Beckett a little more grateful, but she did sit back in her chair and seem to relax, at least an iota. Sometimes, Beckett knew, acting like life was easy could make life feel easy for a little while. ‘Company,’ she said at length, ‘sounds great.’

* *

‘Go.’

Valance looked up from the command chair and gave Rourke a confused look. ‘I’m on-shift for the next two hours, sir.’

‘Let Stevens take over. He can use the time in the big chair. I need you at your best tomorrow.’ The captain kept his voice low as he leaned against the XO’s seat beside her.

‘I’ve plenty of time to sleep -’

‘Cortez has just clocked off. Go see her. Do more with this night than pass out. Tomorrow’s going to be hard.’

He didn’t say, and this might be the last night you get. It wasn’t all that he meant, but it was some of what he meant, and his XO accepted his point without further argument. Lieutenant Stevens took to the central chair with eagerness, and Rourke left him to it, ignoring his own advice to head for his ready room.

The ship had settled into only a low hum of tension, like even the hull itself was catching as much shut-eye as it could ahead of the violence that felt inevitable. Officers knew they were either holding down the fort now for those who would be on the front-lines later and crackled with guilty dedication, or were reluctantly taking care of themselves so they could be ready for the chaos to come.

And here he was, on his own, behind his desk, pouring out one single glass of Islay. He had barely touched it over the next half-hour before the door-chime went.

His eyebrow raised as Kharth came in. ‘What’re you doing up and about at this hour, Lieutenant?’

‘I could say the same to you,’ she pointed out. ‘I was going to ask permission to disembark. Get to the Talon tonight, get started with work.’

Rourke’s lips twisted. ‘No,’ he said at length, and stood at her indignant expression. ‘No, have one drink with me first.’

Kharth sat down, expression not really shifting as he went to his drinks cabinet to pour her a glass. ‘If you say so, sir.’

‘You’ve been doing a good job here, you know,’ he said as he sank back onto his chair, sliding her drink to her. ‘The Agarath Guard’s in a good state.’

‘We’ll see, won’t we?’

He tapped his fingers on the edge of his glass, the drink still untouched, and they sat in silence for a moment until he quietly said, ‘No.’ At her glance, he shrugged. ‘We’ll do it. We’ll pull it off.’ There was more he’d wanted to say; questions for her, reassurances, to tease out the apprehensions he could feel radiating off her, and that was why he’d sat her down with a drink in the first place. But now he was here, it didn’t feel right.

Instead of contemplating the whys and the hows and the future, they could take ten minutes to sit.

Kharth did, at last, drink. But then she said, ‘I don’t know how you can be sure.’

Another shrug. ‘We have to win. So we will.’

‘Simple as that?’

He sipped his whisky. ‘Simple as that.’