When Cam was eight, he broke his arm. It was summer vacation in his hometown outside of Minneapolis—back on Earth—and his older brother, Daniel, showed him a shortcut to the neighbor’s yard. They had to squeeze in behind the fence and the shed containing pool equipment, climb an overhanging limb from the big maple tree, and jump down onto some lidded trash bins. Daniel landed smoothly atop his bin and bounced down to the ground and turned to Cam.
“Just jump down. Then you’re done.”
The drop seemed very high to Cam at the time, but he was still young and most everything seemed big back then. But if Daniel could do it—
Cam held his breath and jumped.
The trash bin he chose had a weaker, plastic lid, and it folded easily under Cam’s weight. Whump.
Cam’s arm caught the corner of the bin on the way down and he heard the snap more strongly than he felt it. But—he did feel it, even in shock. He didn’t scream. He tried to walk it off, but Daniel was in a full panic. He carried Cam—something he hadn’t done in years at that point—all the way back home, frantically pounding on their front door until their mom answered, and then he insisted they rush to the emergency room. All the while, Cam said: “It’s okay. It doesn’t really hurt. I’m okay.”
“You’re a brave boy,” said the ER nurse.
He managed a smile for her, though the pain began to pull at him, making it hard to talk, breathe, or think. Daniel was crying silently at his side, and kept whispering sorry, and Cam kept saying it was fine.
His arm had been broken in three places.
On T-446, Cam’s legs had been sliced into a dozen pieces.
Soter’s medical technology was fairly advanced, which meant he had to undergo an automated procedure to stitch his skin back into place and then wear a pair of fitted braces for six weeks. He would be good as new after that. The pain was minimal.
“The biggest inconvenience you’ll find is that your legs are gonna go weak, and you’ll have to sit. Or lie down.” Perriand looked from the digipad he held, over to Cam, and back again. “Avoid vigorous activity. Shear’s giving you two months paid leave, so I advise you lounge in bed and watch television for the whole recovery period.”
“I feel fine, though,” said Cam.
Perriand rolled his eyes. “Wear yourself out then.”
Cam couldn’t help the laugh that followed. When Perriand shot him a glare, he whispered, “Sorry.”
Perriand simply walked away and Cam muffled another laugh.
He was moved from a recovery pod onto one of the temporary beds in the middle of the medbay, prepared for discharge later that day. The medical staff wanted to make sure all the numbing drugs from the procedure were fully out of his system; drunken shenanigans were not part of his recovery plan. Luckily for everyone else, he was sober.
Unfortunately for Cam, sobriety meant his mind was free enough to continually pull at his memory of T-446. If it wasn’t recalling the shuttle tearing in half, it was witnessing the sight of Qhathiren’s slack face. If it wasn’t Qhat, it was the men approaching him, gun drawn. If it wasn’t the men, it was him sitting over Hermes, crying and begging that he wake up.
Cam shook his head. Jittery energy made him toss off the blanket on his lap and stand. He could walk a few laps around the medbay; work off some energy. Test the new leg braces. They were especially tight around the knee, but Perriand said they’d get loose over time. So he walked. Stiffly. Not fast. Not far. Just enough to keep himself from smelling fire.
He made it two laps around the nursing bot and was halfway back to his bed when he saw Hermes step out from the recovery pod. Cam’s breath caught and he froze in place. Hermes was finally awake. He’d been sedated—apparently a common medical practice on Soter—and Cam was certain he wouldn’t get to see Hermes again until much later. Perhaps not even until after all of the funeral services.
Hermes lifted his head and immediately pinned Cam with an unreadable look. Cam offered a small smile in return. He took a step forward and winced as the weakness Perriand warned him about racketed up one leg. He used the desk at his side to keep himself upright and laughed quietly.
Hermes rushed forward. Cam lifted his head, beaming, and said, “It’s alright; this is normal. I’m f—”
Hermes pulled Cam into his arms, one hand sliding into the small of his back, the other sliding into his very greasy hair, and kissed him.
Cam didn’t comprehend it, at first. He was dipped back, weight supported entirely by Hermes, and Hermes’ lips were pressed to his own. Soft, warm, and—
Hermes kissed him.
Cam’s hands wheeled in the air once before grabbing onto Hermes’ arms for support. He didn’t get a chance to tilt his head and kiss him back. Hermes pulled away, hands still holding him. “Oh,” Said Cam, dumbly.
“You saved my life,” Hermes said, eventually. His voice was rough with sleep. “Thank you.”
“If that’s how you thank people, everyone on the ship is going to start doing you some real favors,” Cam replied, mind filled with the fuzzy sound of static.
“No one else.” Hermes’ bold brows pulled close. “Only you.”
Cam’s mouth opened and closed. Like a fish. A very brainless fish.
Why was Hermes thanking him?
“I—I didn’t do anything. I just laid there for two days—” Cam’s hands tightened on Hermes’ arms, suddenly aware of how close they were standing—chest to chest, noses nearly touching. “Hermes, that was your first kiss.”
Hermes was still for a moment before nodding, once, in assent.
“Shit. Hermes, I didn’t mean to take your first kiss—”
“You took nothing.” Hermes didn’t leave much room to question it, hands tightening where they held Cam. “I wanted to kiss you. I want to kiss you again.”
Cam’s round, blue eyes searched Hermes’ inky black stare. Eventually, his kiss-stunned brain began to function again. “You don’t know what you’re saying. This is—what—trauma bonding. Or something. You don’t think of me that way. Remember? Before the mission?” Cameron swallowed hard, shaking Hermes a bit. “You aren’t into me like that.”
“I do think of you like that. You are very smart, very kind, and very beautiful. You may not agree, but this is how you are. And I would very much like to kiss you again.”
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Cam felt weak. He wasn’t sure he could blame his legs for that. He tapped Hermes’ arms until he stepped back, and once he was standing on his own again, Cam cleared his throat. Had Hermes imprinted on him like a duckling?
Is this what Qhat hoped he would help with—in an official capacity?
“You hesitate to accept me,” Hermes said, voice gone small.
Cam sighed. “No—it’s not—I mean, you’re perfect. Like, really perfect.” It was almost stupid how perfect. “I also think you’re—uh—what was it? Smart and beautiful.”
“Yes, I know.”
“So th…” Cam paused. “Wait, what?”
“I know that you think I am smart and beautiful.”
Cam’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t like Hermes to be…cocky. A creeping fear began to crawl into Cam’s belly. An unsettled feeling, like something terrible approached. “What do you mean?”
“While we were on T-446, undergoing severe tests of stress, I appear to have connected with an ability to read minds.”
Cam was a fish again. He couldn’t think of what to say, which was fine, because Hermes continued.
“I believe the brain damage I suffered during the fall would have killed me, or at least resulted in cerebral death, had I been there without you.”
“You were—brain dead?” Cam’s voice was tinny in fear.
“I would have been, yes. But because of my ability to read your thoughts and your willingness to hold me, I was able to recover my mental and physiological connections.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It was during this time that I gained an understanding that you find me attractive, on a physical and emotional scale.”
Cam said, “You can read my thoughts?”
“When we touch.”
“Did you tell Perriand about this?”
“I have not had the opportunity.”
This was delusion. Dangerous delusion. Cam hesitantly held out his hand to test. Hermes took it into his own and winced like he’d been pricked by a needle at their touch. Cam chewed his lip in thought. “What am I thinking?” he asked, finally.
Hermes looked into his face, considering. “You think I am gravely hurt and that my telepathy is a delusion that will result in a slow death of my brain.”
Cam’s fingers tightened around Hermes’. “Okay. Alright. What number am I thinking?”
“Twenty-two.”
“What color?”
“Blue.”
“What is the square root of 643?”
Hermes’ head tilted. “25.3574446662. That one was not in your mind.”
“No. Just making sure you can still do math, too.” Cam wasn’t sure what this meant. Every correct answer was, truthfully, terrifying. Hermes could do something unheard of—the implications of his ability were extraordinary and far-reaching, and yet, all he wanted—
Was to kiss Cam?
“Yes,” said Hermes, patiently. “I do.”
Once more, Cam thought, throat tight. They could kiss once more.
Hermes pulled Cam into his embrace and pressed their lips together. This time, Cam kissed back, bringing his hands to the side of Hermes’ face, fingers combing into the short curled hairs that framed his high, angular cheekbones, and he tried not to think of the many ways that this could go terribly, heartbreakingly wrong.
Dr. Perriand cleared his throat and the pair jumped apart. Cam flushed red, sweating, while Hermes looked like a sleepy disheveled mess.
“Good to see you’re both awake and moving. That means I can discharge you all the sooner.” Perriand sighed. “I’m requiring bed rest in your quarters for at least the first twenty-four hours.” He approached, studying the digipad he held. He glanced up from what he had written, eyes narrowed, and added, “In your separate quarters.”
Cam wanted to crawl beneath the nearest desk, but Hermes was visibly confused, brows pinched. “Why would we share quarters?” he asked. “Has something happened?”
A silence followed. And then Perriand snorted, dropping his hands to his side. “I guess nothing has happened yet, no. I’ll get the paperwork for your discharge.” He stalked away, but not before shooting Cam a very pointed ‘this is all your fault and if you hurt the medical personnel’s baby we will hunt you down and poke you unendingly with a syringe’ sort of look.
Cam simply rubbed at his face with both hands.
----------------------------------------
Even without his newfound ability, Hermes could tell that Cam was terrified. It was written in the way his pulse fluttered as he looked at Hermes’ hands and in his hesitation to stand nearby. Even on the simple walk back to the staff deck of the ship, Cam was jumpy, and every sound made him freeze like prey in the clutches of a predator.
When they reached the divergent hallway that led to their respective sleeping quarters, Cam stared down at his feet, chewing his bottom lip. The white overhead light of Soter made his fair hair glow and the silence surrounding them was framed by the gentle hum of engines a few decks below.
Hermes wasn’t sure what to say.
He just wanted to kiss Cam again. He kept looking at Cam’s lips. He was inexperienced—not good at it, truthfully—but he wanted to learn. The second kiss, the one where Cam kissed back, was the sort of experience that made Hermes feel truly alive. He wanted to feel alive like that again and again.
Finally, Cam looked up, his pale face flushed a bit, and Hermes realized he was staring inappropriately at Cam’s mouth.
Cam cleared his throat. “Hermes, about the—” he lifted his hands and wiggled his fingers. “—this whole thing.”
Hermes took a moment to interpret the wiggly fingers. Hands. Touch. Ah. “My telepathic ability.”
“Yes.” Cam leaned forward, voice quiet. “I don’t think you should tell anyone yet.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t know what it means—in the bigger picture, within the Hermes Program. No one knew you could do that and—I think—I think maybe we should wait until—” Cam sighed. “At least until after this all passes.”
Hermes tilted his head. “Do you believe my ability is…dangerous?”
“Dangerous? No. You are in danger. Those guys—the people who—” Cameron swallowed hard. “The people who attacked us on T-446. They mentioned turning you in for some reward, right?” Hermes’ memory was fract//ured. He remembered seeing Cam standing there, bleeding, and beautiful. He blinked as Cam continued, “I don’t want people to take advantage of you.”
“I see.” It made sense; Hermes was already treated like a tool by some people. If he was able to display this new, unique power to the greater public, it’s possible he would be exploited. Or hurt.
“We can—no, we should figure it out after the dust settles.” Cam’s hands wrung at the front of his shirt, little pale flashes of his belly visible when he twisted this way or that. Hermes, aware of his previous pointed stare, tried not to look too closely.
“Alright,” said Hermes. “We will keep it between us.”
Cam sighed in relief. “Okay.” He took a step backward, to start his way home, and Hermes stepped towards him, magnetized. Cam blinked at him. “We have to—” He chewed his lip for a second again and shook his head. “Dr. Perriand said we have to go to our different quarters.”
“Yes. I know.” Hermes forced himself to step back. “I—”
Cam stepped forward and before Hermes knew what was happening, Cam stood up on the tips of his toes and pressed a kiss upon Hermes’ cheek. “Goodnight, Hermes.” He took off before Hermes could reply. He thought, in the brief moment his lips were upon Hermes’ skin, that Hermes was devastatingly earnest and that he’d be terrible at lying.
Hermes couldn’t disagree.
He placed a hand upon the cheek that was kissed and walked back to his quarters alone. Once safely inside, he saw his piano, and his dream from the medbay came back unbidden.
Keep playing.
Though he was tired, confused, and alone, he still sat at his smooth black piano, and he started the composition again. This time, his heart hurt as he hit each note. The ivory keys felt icy cold beneath his touch. Every sound wrought a twinge of pain, like he was pressing upon a bruise. When he reached the end of his still unfinished song, he wasn’t sure what to do next.
He tapped a key. Tap, tap, ting. Composing music was meant to teach him how to express feelings, but his feelings were raw. Hurt. Impossible to express. He closed his eyes and saw . / .
Dr. Wha’s smile; the shuddering of her death. He couldn’t separate the two //
It made it hard to // .
It made it hard to compose the sounds
This song was famili//ar
Wasn’t it?