“What d’you think our lives will be like once we get away from here?”

Nicco’s question was one that Liam had spent much time thinking about ever since Nicco first floated the idea of running away and starting a new life far away from Pergamon V. Lying in bed together with Nicco’s head on Liam’s chest and their legs tangled together, basking in their shared afterglow, it was easy to imagine their future life together.

“I’ll own a horse ranch,” Liam replied as he gently ran his fingers through Nicco’s thick black hair. “I’d teach people how to ride. You’d have a study where you could write. We’d make dinner together, maybe invite friends over for dinner parties. On the weekends, we could go hiking and spend a night camping beneath the stars.”

The picture Liam painted was an idyllic one, and he knew achieving it would not be easy, but he was determined to make it happen for both of them. They’d both turned twenty-one within the past few months and decided that the lives planned out for them were not the ones they wanted to live.

“Where would we go?” Nicco asked.

“Bajor, Earth, Izar,” Liam told him. “We could go anywhere we want.”

The bedroom door flew open with such force that Liam expected it to come off its hinges. Nicco’s father, Francisco, stood in the open doorway, his face red and contorted with rage. 

“I knew it!” Francisco shouted. He pointed at Liam. “I should’ve had you killed when I found out the truth about you. Instead, you’ve corrupted my son right under my nose.”

Liam scrambled for his clothes as Francisco advanced on him. Francisco Bianchi was a dangerous man. When he threatened death, he always followed through. Liam knew getting involved with Nicco was a risk, but he was in love. Nicco was worth the risk.

A powerful hand wrapped itself around Liam’s neck and held him against the wall. Liam could see the hatred in Francisco’s eyes as the older man slowly squeezed the life out of him. He struggled against Francisco, but he was too strong. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Liam could see Nicco moving, but the darkness was closing in. Francisco suddenly let go, letting Liam fall to the floor and gasping for air. Next to him, Francisco lay unconscious. Liam looked up to find Nicco standing over his father with an old rugby trophy in his hand and a look of shock on his face.

“Baby,” Liam breathed as he scrambled to his feet. He placed his hands on Nicco’s face. “Are you okay?”

Nicco lowered the trophy as he nodded. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“I’m fine,” Liam assured him. “Thanks to you.”

“You need to go,” Nicco said. “Dad isn’t going to be out for very long.”

Liam nodded. “We need to go.”

“I can’t,” Nicco told him, his eyes filling with tears. “Not yet.”

It took half a second for Liam’s brain to register what Nicco had just said. “Baby, you can’t stay here. Not after what you’ve just done.”

“He’ll be pissed,” Nicco told him. “But he won’t hurt me.”

Liam knew Francisco Bianchi pretty well. He’d seen Frank order people close to him murdered before. “How can you be so sure?”

“I’m his only heir,” Nicco replied. “If he kills me, his legacy dies too. He won’t let that happen.”

Swallowing hard, Liam fought back tears of his own. “I hope you’re right.”

“I love you.”

Liam pushed his lips against Nicco’s. Their kiss said more than words ever could.

“I love you, too,” Liam said. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

Liam left the Bianchi mansion that night intending to return for his boyfriend as soon as he could arrange transport for them off the planet. That day would never come. Within a month, the authorities would declare Liam McCarthy dead, and he would start a new life with a new name and new career path: Gideon Hayes, Starfleet cadet.

The cold water felt good against Gideon’s skin, and he splashed several more handfuls of water against his face. Reaching for the nearby towel, he dried himself and regarded his reflection for a few moments. Every time Gideon looked in a mirror, he always found Liam looking right back at him. No matter how far Gideon travelled, no matter how many new identities he assumed, deep down he would always be Liam McCartney.

Padding back into the bedroom, the morning’s peace was shattered by a sound that could be described as nothing short of horrific. Like a choir of cats being strangled simultaneously. There were, however, no cats involved. Just Alexander Mitchell belting out the latest hit of his favourite Rigellian vocal harmony group. He looked at the clock on his bedside table; it was just past six in the morning.

Gideon let his head fall back as he let out a loud groan. He thought that not having to share a small cabin with Mitchell, he would no longer have to endure his ‘husband’s’ attempts at singing. As it happened, that had been awfully optimistic.

Deciding that a run would not just help him clear his head, but also get him far away from Mitchell’s woeful singing, Gideon quickly changed into his winter running gear as the song Mitchell was singing changed. 

His rendition of the new song was, incredibly, even worse than the last. Gideon slipped unnoticed out of the apartment and was greeted by the cold morning air. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly through his mouth. The vapour lingered like a small cloud on an overcast day.

After a quick warm-up, Gideon set off at a medium pace down the street. He wasn’t going for speed this morning, but to learn the streets around their new home. Despite having grown up in the city, Gideon had never spent time in the more upscale areas of the city. These streets were as alien to him as the surface of a newly discovered planet.

His feet pounded the pavement rhythmically, like a drummer keeping time. He used that rhythm to keep his breathing steady as his heart worked harder to supply blood to the rest of his body. The streets were busy, forcing Gideon to dodge other pedestrians. He passed Bolians, Andorians, other humans, even a Ferengi.

Halfway through the run, Gideon stopped at a small park to rest. It was an oasis of peace in the middle of a bustling city. But Gideon didn’t feel particularly peaceful. Maybe it was just his paranoia, but it felt like eyes were watching him from the shadows. He looked around, falling back on his Starfleet training to assess potential threats, but there was nothing. Just ordinary people going about their lives and paying him no mind.

Get a grip, He chided himself. There’s no way he could know you’re here.

Gideon was unaware that his past was already catching up with him.

Nicco Bianchi stood rooted to the spot. His brain tried to comprehend what he’d just seen, who he’d just seen. The auburn-haired man was supposed to be dead. His body had been fished from the river sixteen years ago, badly decomposed from the solvents dumped into the river by the planet’s heavy industries. 

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Nicco replayed those few seconds over and over in his mind. It definitely wasn’t a ghost. Ghosts didn’t age, and the auburn-haired man was certainly older now. Even from metres away, Nicco could see the lines in his face.

Why had the authorities declared him dead? The report Nicco read said his identity had been confirmed through DNA records. There was only one explanation. Someone had doctored the autopsy report.

When Nicco arrived home, he slipped through the staff entrance and took the back staircase to reach the first floor. He had almost reached his bedroom when the sound of someone clearing their throat stopped him in his tracks. His heart sank as he turned and came face-to-face with his father.

“Good morning, sir,” Nicco greeted his father timidly.

Francisco scowled. “Good morning, Nicco.” He moved closer. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” Nicco asked. His chest tightened in anticipation. Whatever his father had to say, Nicco knew it wasn’t anything good.

“It’s long past time that you should be married,” Francisco announced. “It’s time we get you settled.”

For a brief shining moment, Nicco thought his father might actually have come around. But that dream quickly died as he realised his father wasn’t talking about marriage to a man. He meant-

“There are several young women who would make a suitable match for you,” Francisco added.

Nicco’s stomach dropped. “You mean marrying me off to one of them would benefit the family.”

“What benefits the family also benefits you, Nicco.” His father shot back.

Ordinarily, he would have rolled over and complied with his father’s wishes. But not this time.

“I won’t do it,” Nicco told his father. “I’m not going to allow you to trap me in a loveless marriage.”

“You’ll do as you’re told.”

“No,” Nicco surprised himself by how firmly he was standing his ground. “I won’t. I’m no longer a child that you can order about. I’m thirty-seven years old, capable of living my own life. I will marry, but it’ll be to a man I love. Not a woman.”

Francisco’s eyes burned with anger, but as ever, he maintained a calm demeanour. “I can see now I’ve been too soft on you, Nicco. I should’ve dealt with this nonsense the day I found you in bed with Liam. No longer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nicco hated the way his voice quivered.

His father stepped closer. “It means I’m arranging for you to marry the daughter of one of my associates as soon as possible. You can choose them yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”

“You ca-”

“You’ll get to work on giving me a grandson,” Francisco continued. Every word drove the dagger deeper into Nicco’s heart. “It’s time you secured the family’s legacy. And you’ll remain faithful to your new wife. No more consorting with men.”

Nicco couldn’t help the hollow laugh that escaped. “You must be joking. You’re lecturing me on fidelity? When have you ever been faithful to Mom?”

A loud, sharp clap filled the upstairs hallway as Francisco’s hand connected with Nicco’s cheek. The searing pain of the slap spread across his cheek.

“My father wouldn’t tolerate such disrespect from me,” Francisco said. His low voice held back a barely contained rage. “And I won’t tolerate it from you. You will respect me or-”

Nicco met his father’s gaze, his hand cupping his sore cheek. “Or what?” Nicco challenged him. “You’ll kill me? Like you killed Liam?”

If Francisco found out that Liam was still alive and here on Pergamon V, he would tear the planet apart searching for him. Nicco would never share what he’d seen this morning and only hoped his father wouldn’t find out some other way.

“I’ve told you before, I had nothing to do with that,” Francisco said, repeating what he’d told Nicco countless times in the past sixteen years. He straightened up and smoothed out his jacket. “Go shower and get dressed. We have a meeting in an hour.”

Francisco walked away, leaving Nicco standing in the hall, cupping his face. He squeezed his eyes shut as the tears threatened to fall. Nicco had become accustomed to living in his gilded cage, aware that he would never be able to escape. He’d come to terms with that. But now that cage was growing smaller and smaller, and Nicco wished now more than ever that he could escape this life to live out the dream he and Liam had talked about.

Gideon returned to the apartment forty minutes later, breathing heavily. Stopping in the open living room door, he found Mitchell standing at one of the ceiling-to-floor windows looking out at the city. He was shirtless, wearing a pair of low-slung pyjama bottoms that hung off his waist. His broad shoulders were bronzed from time spent in the sun. Gideon’s eyes slowly drifted lower, gliding over the toned muscles of Mitchell’s back.

“Good run?” Mitchell turned to face him.

Gideon’s eyes snapped up to meet Mitchell’s eyes. There was a knowing smirk on his lips that Gideon tried to ignore. “Yeah.”

“We should head to the bar soon,” Mitchell told him before taking a long sip from a mug in his hand. “See what your friend Tolas bought for us.”

Gideon nodded in agreement. “Let me grab a shower and some breakfast first.”

He peeled his running gear off when he entered his bedroom and threw it into the laundry. Grabbing a few towels, he padded into the bathroom and ordered the sonic shower to activate. A low hum filled the room. Gideon stepped into the shower and allowed the sound waves to scrub the sweat and grime from Pergamon V’s polluted air from his skin. He didn’t linger too long.

Fifteen minutes later, he emerged from his bedroom fully dressed. Mitchell was in the kitchen, fully dressed and placing a bowl of porridge and a cup of orange juice on the table. The porridge was topped with fruit and a drizzle of honey.

“You’re only eating breakfast now?” Gideon asked.

“I ate earlier,” Mitchell told him. “This is yours.”

“You made me breakfast?” Gideon asked, the pitch of his voice rising.

Mitchell nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?” Gideon’s eyes narrowed.

“Because that’s what husbands do, sweetheart.”

Gideon didn’t know how to respond. It was a thoughtful gesture from a man he believed was incapable of such things. Even his use of that ridiculous term of endearment didn’t grate on Gideon the way it usually did.

“Thanks,” Was all he finally managed as he pulled out the chair.

There was no time to enjoy his porridge, because Tolas chose that moment to appear, startling Mitchell, who let out a loud yelp.

“We need to put a bell on you,” Mitchell told him grumpily.

Gideon set his spoon in the bowl. “I thought we were seeing you later?”

“This couldn’t wait,” Tolas replied.

Mitchell frowned. “What couldn’t?”

“We’ve broken the encryption on Gintak’s communications,” Tolas explained. “We monitored a disturbing conversation between him and Syral last night.”

“What did they say?” Gideon asked.

“Syral asked if Gintak could supply him with trilithium.”

Gideon sat back in his chair as if pushed back by the force of an explosive that Tolas had just set off in the kitchen. Mitchell looked equally stunned, and neither of them said anything right away. Trilithium was a dangerous compound that, in the wrong hands, could be used to devastating effect.

“Syral’s trying to obtain trilithium for Oreth,” Gideon said. “What the hell does Oreth need trilithium for?”

“Nothing good,” Mitchell replied. It was clear this new development worried him as much as it did Gideon.

Tolas took the seat opposite Gideon. “They could render several planets uninhabitable. Even destroy an entire star system.”

“We can’t allow them to get their hands on trilithium,” Gideon announced firmly. 

Mitchell nodded in agreement, but Tolas leaned forward and laced his fingers together. “Actually, we think this could be our way in.”

“Excuse me?” Gideon asked, unable to believe what he’d just heard.

At the same time, Mitchell narrowed his eyes and asked, “What d’you mean?”

“Trilithium’s a tightly controlled substance,” Tolas pointed out. “Gintak won’t be able to get his hands on it.”

Mitchell folded his arms. “But we can.”

“That’s right,” Tolas nodded. “We can use this to get you close to Syral.”

Gideon watched Tolas speaking with wide eyes. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re actually suggesting we give Oreth trilithium?”

“Not much,” Tolas replied. “A sample to start. When they’re satisfied with that, we can provide a larger batch. We can hide a tracking device on the canister.”

“This is insane,” Gideon said. “We’re talking about giving an incredibly dangerous compound to a madman. Even a small amount would allow him to create bombs that he could deploy against Federation civilians. He could kill hundreds, if not thousands.”

Mitchell, who had remained largely silent, finally spoke. “This is the best chance we have of finding out where Oreth is holding Tom Forrester. It may be our only chance. We have to take it.”

“I know you’re close to Forrester,” Gideon said softly. 

“He’s my best friend,” Mitchell said. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

“I understand that,” Gideon continued. “But you’re talking about putting innocent lives at risk for one man. How can we, in good conscience, countenance that?”

Tolas jumped in. “Oreth won’t have time to do anything with the trilithium. Our assessment indicates the risks are minimal.”

“So the decision’s made?” Gideon already knew he was beaten.

“I don’t like it either, but this is our best shot,” Tolas replied. “I’ll put the bait out there. I’ll be in touch when we get a bite.”

Tolas left as silently as he’d arrived. With him gone, Gideon looked at Mitchell. His stomach churned at the thought of their plan. He was grateful he hadn’t been able to finish his breakfast because he was certain it wouldn’t have stayed down long.

“We’re about to hand a Romulan terrorist the means to build bombs that could kill thousands,” Gideon said grimly. “I hope we can live with the consequences of that.”