Chapter Text
Lorca wakes up to the computer telling him it’s 0700 hours and contemplates his own human frailty. His shoes are still on. He digs out a hypospray from the bedside table—the hangover hypo, the cadets call it, analgesic and antiemetic and electrolytes all in one—and administers it to himself. As it takes effect, he comms Elan and says, “Take yourself to the brig.”
Elan laughs. “Humans definitely can’t hold our liquor,” she tells him.
“You’re demoted to armory floor-scrubber. Cadet.”
“I’ll see you on the bridge for alpha shift in thirty minutes, Captain.”
By the time thirty minutes and a shower have passed, he can walk onto the bridge with his usual measured stride. Rhys hasn’t fared as well. “Lieutenant Rhys!” he says loudly, because he can. “Tell me, who was the ensign with you and Cadet Tilly last night?”
Detmer laughs, quietly. Owosekun glances at Detmer, laughs too, and then immediately stares intently at her station when Lorca frowns at her.
“Sir,” Rhys says, and he doesn’t look like he’ll stay upright for much longer. “Ensign Chandavarkar, sir.”
“And where is he assigned?”
“Science division, sir.”
“And where is he now?”
Rhys hesitates. “He’s on beta shift, sir, so I expect he’s asleep.”
“I want to see him in my ready room in fifteen minutes,” Lorca says, with a certain amount of vicious pleasure. He won’t need to do anything but summon the kid there to make his point, but it’s good to remind everyone, once in a while, that he’s still the captain and they should be afraid of him. Then he undermines himself by saying, “And Rhys, get yourself to sickbay and get a hypo. You look like you’re about to collapse.”
When Lorca goes to leave the bridge, he glances at Burnham. She quirks an eyebrow. He suppresses his smile, nods at her, and walks into his ready room. Ensign Chandavarkar enters the room minutes later, pale and sweating and not entirely steady on his feet. Lorca has kept the lights low, but he tells the computer to increase them once Chandavarkar is standing at attention. “Ensign,” he says. “You know why you’re here.”
“Yes, Captain.” Chandavarkar looks like he’s about to vomit.
“You were disrespectful to Officer T’Lac, to Lieutenant Elan, and to myself. Your behavior reflects poorly on your training officers and on this ship.”
Chandavarkar nods and his mouth trembles. “Yes, Captain.”
Lorca is alarmed to find that he doesn’t feel like frightening the man further. When he was a junior officer, mocking a captain would have been punished immediately by an hour or two in the agonizer, at least. But he’d let them have the party to improve morale, and he had been drunk and sitting in the mess hall, as had Elan. “You’ll report to Lieutenant Elan for whatever task she sees fit to give you for the next two gamma shifts,” he says finally.
“Sir?” Chandavarkar seems stunned by his good fortune. “Is that all?”
“Would you like more, Ensign Chandavarkar?”
“No sir! Thank you!” He starts to flee and then scrambles back to attention.
Lorca lets him stand there for a moment and then says, “Dismissed, Ensign.” He follows Chandavarkar back out onto the bridge, and on his way past Elan, tells her, “You have him for the next two gamma shifts. Find something useful for him to do.”
“Only two shifts? Captain, you’re going soft,” she says, too quietly for anyone else to hear. Except Burnham, apparently, whose mouth twitches in a stunning lack of restraint.
“I know who’s to blame for this mess.” He tries to keep his voice even lower. “Why do you think you’re the one getting him?” He walks back to his chair, sits in it, finds himself restless, and walks to the front of the bridge to watch the stars part ways in front of them. At the brightness, he reaches for his eyedrops automatically and then realizes that his eyes don’t hurt.
Lorca starts to turn and ask Burnham if Culber ever saw anything in those scans of his eyes, and then the ship tilts and he’s flung away from the front and his head strikes—
* * *
He wakes up in sickbay with some kind of medical nodes stuck to his head. Culber is peering down at him and frowning. He feels like a small animal is trying to claw its way out of his skull. “Oh,” Culber says. “You’re awake.”
“Apparently.” His throat burns when he tries to speak. “What happened?” He wants to tear off the nodes but knows that he shouldn’t.
“We sideswiped an anomaly!” Stamets is perched on the bed next to him, scrolling rapidly through data on a PADD. “You should see the readings on these puppies.”
“Shouldn’t you be with your mushrooms and your new pet?” Talking feels terrible. “Since you’re feeling better, maybe you can help Mr. Saru with his algorithm to avoid them.”
“Oh, I am,” Stamets assures him. He hops down from the bed. “I just wanted to make sure you woke up.”
Lorca is surprised to hear that. “Lieutenant,” he says. “I didn’t know you cared.”
Stamets seems caught off-guard by that, but he shakes his head and whatever it was passes. “Captain.” He strolls toward the door—pauses to kiss Culber, who hisses “Paul!”—and out into the hallway. He’s humming something that Lorca doesn’t recognize.
“I’m sorry about that,” Culber says. “He’s been a little…different since he woke back up.” He brings a screen forward. “I wanted to talk to you about some of your scans.”
“Am I dying?” he rasps. His head is pounding.
“No, you’ll be fine. Just a bad concussion,” Culber tells him. “Though I would encourage you to avoid those. All of our technology doesn’t stop it taking a toll on your body.”
“Noted.” Lorca moves his arms, legs, tentatively, checking to see how it all feels. Everything seems like it’s working.
“I did see something unusual on your scans, and I was hoping you could help me understand it.” Culber’s tone is setting off alarms in Lorca’s brain. “I compared your full-body and brain scans to your earlier scans in the Starfleet medical database. There are…quite a few signs of old injuries on these scans that first appeared after you were rescued after the Buran. Healed fractures that look like they should be at least fifteen years old, but that didn’t show up until less than a year ago. A lot of scar tissue, especially on your back.”
Lorca’s mind races. He doesn’t know what Culber is building toward or what the accusation will be. Culber hasn’t said anything about his eyes. He tries, “Those old scans are from a long time ago. A lot’s happened since then.”
Culber frowns. He goes to apply a hyprospray to Lorca’s neck and he can’t possibly miss the full-body flinch as he approaches. “I understand you’re not a fan of doctors, either.”
“You’re an excellent doctor,” Lorca tells him.
“Captain…” Culber steps back and sets down the hypo. “Injuries can appear older than they actually were if they’ve been repeatedly inflicted, healed, and inflicted again.” He’s not wrong. Some of Lorca’s scars look older than they are. “As you know, we’ve been working with Lieutenant Tyler on coping with some of his own post-traumatic symptoms. If you ever want to investigate that kind of treatment, we can limit the number of people who would know about it.”
Oh. Culber’s worried that he’s been tortured more than they all knew and is trying to be helpful. Of course he’s not going to accuse him of being an alternate Lorca. “Thank you, doctor, but I don’t think that’s necessary.” He peels the nodes off his head one by one and deposits them on the little tray by the bed. Culber’s hypo did help his headache, and he stands up without pain. “Let me know if you become concerned about Stamets.”
“Yes, sir.” Culber lets him leave without pressing the issue.
Burnham is lurking just outside the doors to sickbay, and asks, “Captain, how are you feeling?” as soon as the doors shut behind him.
“Fine.” He’s surprised to see her there. “Just passing by?”
She lifts one shoulder in a very faint shrug. “You always seem to be passing by sickbay when I end up here. I thought you didn’t like doctors.”
“You’re not a doctor,” he says nonsensically.
“No.” Burnham reaches up toward his face slowly, and when he doesn’t recoil, touches her hand to the hair just about his forehead. “Doctor Culber missed a little blood,” she tells him.
That seems unlikely. “Burnham, I don’t mind you being the first person I see when I wake up—from a head injury,” he adds. “Third, I suppose. Stamets was here too,” he explains, and she looks mildly confused. “But it seems like you have something to say.”
She walks a short way away, just across the hall, and he follows. “Captain. Permission to speak freely?”
The last time she asked that, it had ended in her asking if he’d loved the Emperor’s daughter and he’d told her to get out. “Granted.”
Burnham looks away, down the hallway. “It seems like you’ve…changed, since we left Pahvo. Since our last jump. Especially in the last two weeks.”
“What do you mean?”
“You allow away teams to transport down to planets for no strategic purpose. You permitted Cadet Tilly to throw another party. You eat in the mess hall for no clear purpose. You appear to be friends with Lieutenant Elan. You disciplined Ensign Chandavarkar less severely than warranted for his insubordinate conduct and failed to discipline me at all for mine. You…seem happy, sometimes.” She glances at him sidelong and then resumes looking down the hallway. It mostly feels like she’s just looking away from him.
“Tilly assured me that there weren’t any more madmen waiting to board my ship. You asked me to allow the away missions, which could eventually serve a strategic purpose, and I’ve never been foolish enough to try to discipline you for anything.” Her eyes flick to his when he says it and then away again. “Your other charges are that I’ve…made friends and am socializing with the crew?”
He’s gratified when she heaves a sigh of frustration. “You disagree with my assessment that your behavior has changed recently?” She always returns to that Vulcan charade when she's annoyed with him
“Maybe I’m trying to be the better version of myself. Be a better Starfleet captain.” Belatedly, he adds, “I tried to convince you to let me kill the Klingon. That’s me right there.”
Burnham stares at him. “You appear to be…less driven.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s…unsettling,” she says. “Behavioral changes make it more difficult to predict the way a person will behave or react in the future, which is what facilitates logical decision-making.”
“You make your decisions based on how you think I’ll react?” He lets himself smile slowly at her. “All of your decisions?”
She looks actively uncomfortable. It’s adorable. “When the outcome is obvious,” she says stiffly.
“What was the obvious outcome of accompanying me back to my quarters last night?”
Burnham inhales sharply. “Your behavior is less predictable recently. That’s the point.”
“When it comes to you, Burnham, I think I’m pretty easy to predict.” He itches to step closer to her. “I’ve been told that I’m obvious.”
She raises an eyebrow and he wants to kiss it. “The point remains, Captain. This ship depends on you.”
“I would never abandon Discovery.” Lorca takes a deep breath, exhales. “One mission ended. We won the war, or we gave Starfleet what they needed to win the war. That was the mission.” A half-truth. “The mission is different now.”
“Send everyone home, safe and happy?” she says. She’s watching him closely.
"Yes.” Except him, of course. “But it’s going to take a long time to do that, and I need the crew to keep functioning effectively. I’ll use every available tool to do that. If that means allowing parties and scheduling planetary missions and…fraternizing”—he meets her eyes—“then that’s what I’ll do.”
“You don’t think we’re going to get home.” It’s somewhere between a question and an accusation.
“We have a broken spore drive and we’re in the middle of a damn minefield.” It’s crossed his mind. “I think this ship will get there. The question is whether it’ll be us or our grandchildren.”
“There is a historical record of a ship being manned by the descendants of the original crew to complete a mission—” Burnham catches herself. “Saru and Lieutenant Stamets are working on an algorithm to predict the anomalies so that we can navigate around them.”
“So I’ve been told.” He notices that she didn’t say anything about Stamets ever jumping again. “Until I know it’s working, we continue on as we have.”
“Yes,” Burnham says. She lets the silence last as she watches him. “But you have changed, Captain.” Then she turns and walks away.
One of these days, one of these encounters, she’s going to say, “Tell me your secret,” and he won’t be able to say no.