Chapter Text
Stamets checks over his tactical suit, cataloguing the veritable arsenal Starfleet sends along with its officers on away missions. He’d be lying if said that he knows what all of it is meant for.
Paul’s been on the science track since his first year in Starfleet; aside from some cursory protocol training, he knows nothing about the proper way to lead a regulation landing party.
Lorca can tell them that they’re warriors now as many times as he likes, but it won’t change the fact that the Discovery is a ship full of wide-eyed explorers and green scientists. They were never meant to see battle; all of these yeomen and ensigns thought they would be tucked away in a science vessel for the duration of the fighting--half of their crew is the academy’s most recent graduating class.
“Lieutenant Stamets.” Landry falls into step next to him, already decked out in her tac suit. If he didn’t want her to lose all respect for him he would ask her how she managed to get ready so quickly. “Our shuttle is waiting for you in the hangar. The Captain wants us in the air and on the Glenn as quickly as possible.”
“Tell him we’ll leave when we’re ready and not a second before. I’m not risking the lives of this team just to satiate his lack of patience,” he says, voice tight.
Landry’s firm grip on his arm halts him before he can walk away. Her expression is like ice. “You may be heading this mission, Lieutenant, but don’t make the mistake of forgetting who’s in charge here.”
“Like you people could ever let me forget.” He wrenches his arm out of her grip.
“Careful, Lieutenant Stamets,” she calls to his retreating back.
The hangar is bustling with activity when he arrives, the rest of the away team already assembled in front of their shuttle. Emergency medkits are being loaded by two harried-looking nurses. One of them nods to him as he takes his place with the rest of the party.
Paul attempts another perfunctory check of his tac suit, his hands fumbling across the armoured plating and weapons holsters.
He watches the mutineer do a check of her own, securing her phaser, testing her respirator, double-checking her comms unit. Burnham does all of this without fanfare, her movements almost mechanic in nature.
Her eyes meet his for a fraction of a second. Stamets could almost believe that she didn’t notice him watching her, if not for the fact that she slows down almost imperceptibly.
“Stupid non-Vulcan,” he mutters to himself, turning away from her pointed demonstration. Stamets may not know much about Starfleet regulation, but he’s a good scientist, dammit. He should be able to figure out pre-mission checks without being silently condescended to by his inferiors.
And the mutineer no less. Paul doesn’t need her fucking up this away mission, with Lorca on the warpath there’s too much at stake.
Taking a breath, Paul starts his check again. There’s this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that has him convinced that he’s forgetting something. He can’t put his finger on what it is until-
“Paul!”
Ah. Right. “It's Lieutenant Stamets when we’re on duty, Lieutenant-Commander. Why are you here, anyway?”
Hugh isn’t fazed by his apparent antipathy. He holds up a medkit. “Delivering supplies.”
Paul inclines an eyebrow, locking his hands behind his back. “Well, you were misinformed. We already have the necessary medical supplies for the mission.”
Hugh fixes him with an unimpressed look and hands the medkit off to one of the nurses. “I’m well aware. I just needed an excuse so I come and in on check on you before the mission.”
“Your concern is unnecessary, Hugh.”
A light pressure on his back leads him away from the rest of the group. “You can stop with the posturing. I heard about Straal.” Hugh’s voice goes soft. “I’m sorry; I know how close you two were.”
Paul shakes his head, brushing off Hugh’s hand. “We were research partners, nothing-”
“Don’t--just, don’t.” Hugh’s hand finds Paul’s, coaxing apart the stiff digits. “I can respect when you distance yourself from your colleagues--if that’s what you want to do then that’s your prerogative--but the one thing I can’t understand is why you’re starting with me now.”
“Hugh, I’m not…” He trails off as the doctor lays a warm hand on his cheek. Paul presses his face into the contact without really thinking about it.
“No one will begrudge you for acting a little human once and a while. Least of all me.”
“I--I apologize,” he says after a moment.
Hugh's mouth turns up into a dim smile. “See, how difficult was that?”
“Shut up for once, will you?” Paul grumbles, but there’s no heat to his voice.
Hugh pulls him in, into an embrace Paul is more familiar with than the back of his own hand. He feels the tension drain out of his body, bit by bit, inch by inch.
Nothing seems real yet. Straal’s death, the loss of the Glenn, the Klingon war, none of it. Paul is struck by the sheer unfairness of it all.
He winds his arms around Hugh’s broad shoulders and clings to the one thing that seems to make sense in this whole mess. “This mission could be dangerous,” he says into his partner’s neck. “A whole crew dead and no obvious explanation. Things have gone worse in better circumstances.”
“Well, hopefully it won’t come to that.” His voice rumbles through Paul’s chest. “Be careful. I don’t want to see you until I get off shift tonight, you hear me? So no trips to medbay.”
Paul carefully pulls away. “You have my word, dear doctor.”
Hugh’s eyes are shining with emotion. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Yes.” Paul can’t help the smile that blooms across his face. Home. Before he can come to his senses, Paul leans in to press a chaste kiss to his partner’s cheek.
Hugh blinks, eyes wide.
Paul can feel heat rush into his face. He barely resists the urge to turn and make sure that no one is watching them.
“I need to go now,” he mutters, almost unwilling to leave now that he’s had a chance to see Hugh.
“Wait.” Hugh reaches out and for a moment Paul is afraid that he’s about to pull him back in. Instead, his hand goes to Paul’s waist.
There’s a mechanic click and something whirs to life on his belt.
Hugh’s got a sly grin on his face. “You didn’t activate your phaser. You see, this is why I worry.”
“I might not be a stickler for regulation like you are, but contrary to popular belief, I am not actually an idiot.” The words sound false even to his ears.
“Be safe,” Hugh says one more time, his mirth fading. He takes a step back. “Lieutenant.”
He nods. “Lieutenant-Commander.”
“Stamets! Are we ready to leave now or what?” Lorca’s voice rings through Paul’s commlink. “The sooner we get those components aboard the Discovery the sooner your team can begin work on it.”
“Yes, Captain. Landing party boarding now.”
Paul catches Hugh’s eyes one more time before takeoff, his hand raised in farewell.
He turns towards his team and the faint shape of the Glenn visible ahead. They have a mission to complete.