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It was a bittersweet thing, leaving Earth again.
The first time, it had been such a relief - finally, freedom! - but oh, what a relief- to never again have to stand inside those Academy walls; to never again look upon the disapproving gaze of a father-turned-architect.
But now?
The wooded hills spread out as far as the eye could see; the gentle trickle of the river struck a rhythm with the sparrow calling for his lover. The constant hum of the bees that flocked round the clover made a change from the buzz-whirr-beep of that alien lump of metal they'd all lived in for so many years. A small cabin that had been not-quite-home for two weeks stood sheltered from the elements, warm with the light of a fire. Endless blue had faded to yellow-grey, then a deep burnt-orange. It was time to go.
There were no tears, of course, but there were promises of holidays and holosuites and “don’t be a stranger”, and a chokehold of a hug from one grouchy professor. A slap on the back once he realised his sudden vulnerability; a lopsided smile and a wave off.
The transport ship, in comparison, was unnerving in its greyness. He should have been used to this; he’d lived it for years. Grey and black and warp-core blue. Uninspired, Garak had put it. He smiled and replayed the conversation in his head.
“How so?”
“My dear, the Federation has several strong points. Design is not one of them. There were so many options other than grey! Look at the Klingons, for example; their ships a brilliant emerald green. I’m surprised they’re not red, along with some legend about being painted with the blood of their enemies.”
“Maybe they are - maybe the enemies were Romulan.”
“Oh-” laughter, heavy and sweet on his ears like a fine vintage of kanar- “I must say, you’ve outsmarted me on that one, I never would have thought of that. Maybe, dear Julian, maybe.”
Starfleet grey had never seemed quite so lonesome before.
Time passed slowly; he ate in silence, slept alone, eyes kept open only by the ever-glaring backlit screen in front of him. Paragraphs flew past him, repetitive, dull. Something to take up in heated debate, perhaps? He tried to find some small detail, some significance, anything to pick apart over a meal and good company. Focus, focus, until his eyes stung, but nothing came. Heavy limbs shifted underneath him, dropped the book on the floor, uncaring, climbed into a sterile, impersonal bed. Sleep claimed him again; he drifted.
When he awoke, it was to a clatter of passengers - talking, excited to have arrived. He was thankful that he had packed light as he picked up discarded clothes from low-pile carpet, grey, all grey. Windowless, the cabin’s overhead lights had burned an image of the ceiling into the back of his eyes, and he staggered, colours he couldn’t quite describe flashing across his line of vision. My dear, you always get up so quickly. What’s the hurry? But he wanted to hurry, wanted to push the bustling crowd aside, sprint down space-grey corridors, uncaring, uninspired, hit his head on the door on his way out and fall, dizzy, into your arms, Elim, I’ve missed you so much-
But the Starfleet officer that remained inside him thought patience, he’s not going anywhere, and so he zipped up his bag slowly and opened the cabin door, breathed in, out, it’s okay, I’ll be out of here soon, and stepped out to join the fray.
It seemed like an eternity, shuffling through those too-tight corridors. How many people had they crushed into this ship? He looked around him - mostly Starfleet, some civilians. He was grateful to go unrecognised; his hair was longer now, and his face lined with the remnants of a war that he was never ready for. Therapy had helped, a bit, but in the end, he had just wanted to leave that God-awful station, escape the past. And so he had taken a leap - one he’d been thinking about for years - and now?
His home lay not on Earth, not in Starfleet, but with late-night conversation and morning breath and oh, that Cardassian sunrise, it never failed to take his breath away, and some mornings he’d be joined by a sleepy head resting on his shoulder, hands around his waist, and in those moments everything was alright for a while. The galaxy and all its problems, ignored, for one moment of tranquility.
Stepping forward into the dusty noon of Prime, he breathed, really breathed, and for some reason his eyes welled up - god, Julian, really? We’re crying in public now? - but he didn’t care, vision blurred, looking for-
“Julian!”
That voice he’d missed so much. He ran towards it, away from Starfleet and Earth and lifeless grey, away from his bombshelled past, into the arms of his beloved. The gentle scrape of filed-down claws in his hair, the strength of the arms that encompassed him, the loving face that greeted his in anshwar. A month without him had been a month too long.
“Elim, I- I missed you so much-”
A kiss, and there was nothing more to say.
I’ll never leave your side again.