Recovery

By elveloy

1. Asra

Captain Hari Esteban hadn't intended to stand and wait his turn for a view at the holoscreen like the newest of space virgins eager for a glimpse of their destination, but there he was—in the line—waiting impatiently for the family ahead of him to finish oohing and aahing and get a move on.

Finally. His turn to stare at Asra, or its image, to be exact. Asra, "Night Traveller," the smallest planet in the Aurigan system. In solo orbit around the binary star system of Menkalinan, it would take 348 years to complete one elliptical journey. Consisting of rock, covered by frozen nitrogen and altogether too cold to interest anyone, it had been ignored for centuries. Until the nitrogen ice began to melt as the tiny planet approached the nearest of its two suns, forming a thin atmosphere. Then humanity sat up and took notice; there were minerals to be mined.

Mining companies built a dome and established a small settlement. Many of the buildings had their first storey carved down into the rock for protection, then, as the dome proved secure and mining commenced, new buildings sprung up on the surface. A temporary settlement, expected to last for only fifty years—until Asra's orbit took it back out into space and the thin atmosphere froze again.

Asra. An iceball of a planet, with maybe a thousand inhabitants and no future. When he'd left ten years ago, he had expected never to see the place again. So why, when he needed somewhere to recuperate from his part in the latest Patrol operation, had he chosen to return to Asra? Why did he feel as if he was coming home?

An hour later, Hari disembarked into the small Arrivals room and endured the mandatory bio screening with enforced patience, watching as the scanner examined the plasrod grafts in his right leg, and itemised his recent weight loss and present exhaustion in rather depressing detail before spitting out—somewhat to Hari's relief—an approval for temporary residence.

Hari placed his wristcom in the slot provided to enable exit from the room and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shiny surface. He flinched—no wonder the bio scanner had hesitated. Tired grey eyes stared back above thin lips drawn tight in a grimace of anger or pain. His chin was bristled except for the long scar on his right jaw and his brown hair—usually cut neatly close to his scalp—was frankly shaggy, streaked with grey at the temples and long enough to brush his collar. And when had that happened? Evidently he needed this recovery time more than he'd thought.

He shrugged, right now he needed a shower and a shave and at least two weeks sleep. Preferably more.

He emerged from the Arrivals room and halted briefly, looking up with the other passengers at the underside of the pale blue dome which covered the whole town. Most people didn't like looking out at constant storms so the dome had been lined with opaque blue, representing an open sky many had never seen in person. Hari shifted his weight awkwardly, favouring his injured leg, and hoisted his backpack over a shoulder.

Despite himself, his eyes scanned the small crowd which had gathered to meet friends and colleagues, searching for a familiar face. Not surprisingly, he recognised no-one. A young lad approached him with a polite smile of enquiry. He wore a bright yellow singlesuit, with soft soled boots of a slightly darker shade. There was a small hologram of a rising sun on his left shoulder.

"Captain Esteban? I'm Tomas, from the Rising Sun Hotel. You have a booking with us for the next three weeks?"

"That's right."

The lad smiled again. "If you'd like to follow me, Captain, I'll show you the way."

Hari was pretty sure he could remember where the Rising Sun was located, but he fell in beside the boy, unobtrusively trying to shake the stiffness from his right leg as he walked.

"Would you like me to carry your bag, Captain?"

"No," Hari answered, shortly. "Thank you."

The boy fell silent and Hari gazed around. Nothing much had changed since his last visit. Grey box-like buildings lined the streets, housing for those people staying longer than a few weeks. As he remembered, about half the population at any one time was transient; working out three, six, or twelve month placements.

"Is this your first visit to Asra, Ser?" Evidently Tomas felt obliged to make polite conversation.

"No. I've been here before, though it was a few years ago now," Hari answered, making an effort. "Does Serra Yoshida still own the hotel?"

"Yes, Ser. And her mother before her," Tomas announced proudly. "The Yoshida family is one of the oldest on Asra. First Settlers."

Hari couldn't help smiling to himself. That would be all of twenty five years, he guessed.

A minute later, Tomas halted in front of a largely open space with a small hut in the centre. Four slender poles held up a roof resembling a mesh of plant fronds. Tables and chairs giving the appearance of liquid metal, were dotted around, complete with waist high refreshment units.

"Our Roof Garden," announced Tomas, with a smile. He waved his wristcom and a bright yellow circle, just over a metre in diameter, appeared in the ground in front of him. "Welcome to the Rising Sun, Captain."

Tomas stepped onto the circle and gestured for Hari to join him. The circle descended slowly beneath the surface. "Most of the hotel is underground," Tomas explained. "It's one of our special features. It was one of the first buildings constructed on Asra."

The disc descended gradually to the floor below, and they found themselves in a large reception room. A young woman wearing the same bright yellow uniform came forward with a professional smile to welcome Hari and escort him to his room.

"I think I may have met your mother," ventured Hari. "I stayed here for a couple of months, about ten years ago."

The young woman smiled more warmly, "Indeed, Captain. My mother still owns the hotel, but allows me to run it—most of the time."

Hari felt for a moment as if he had stepped back in time. He was on Asra, in the very hotel he had occupied ten years ago, the owner a mirror image of the woman who'd run the place back then. Was he the only one who'd changed?

Hari hesitated for a moment, then asked as casually as he could. "Is AISS still operating? Asra Interstellar Security Services," he explained. "I used to know some of the people there." One in particular.

"Oh yes, Captain. It's still going. We have a small Patrol presence here—although you probably know that," she added quickly, glancing at his dark blue uniform. "But there's still a lot of work for a private company, what with all the mining and trading."

Hari stopped short of asking any more questions and Serra Yoshida showed him to his room and left him to settle in. He looked longingly at the bed, but made himself have a quick shower and at least remove the hair on his face, if not his head. He was on leave, perhaps a longer cut would be acceptable for a while, though a long buried—and hitherto unsuspected—vanity was prodding him to remove the grey.

Feeling at least clean, if not refreshed, Hari fell on the bed and was sound asleep in a matter of seconds.

2. Oliver

It was a full twelve hours before he emerged, in search of something to eat and some gentle exercise. Chewing on a bar from an energy dispenser, he strolled around the streets, pretending to himself that he wasn't walking in the direction of the AISS offices. He stopped at the corner of the side-street where they had been located all those years ago, and hesitated, no longer able to deceive himself. Would AISS still be in the same location? Or had it moved since he had last been here?

He would just have a quick check and then go back to the hotel. He wasn't going to go inside the building, of course, not today at any rate. With forced casualness, he strolled down the empty street and stopped in front of the familiar sign, the silver logo exactly as he remembered it.

His feet seemed stuck to the pavement. It had been ten years for god's sake. What were the chances Oliver was still on Asra, let alone employed with the same company? And even if by some miracle Oliver was here, it was hardly likely he'd be either single or interested in Hari.

In ten years, of course there had been other men—but no-one had quite measured up to Oliver. Oliver had been different. Young, handsome, and perfectly filling his crisp grey pilot's uniform, Oliver had taken his breath away with one look from bright blue eyes, matching the exact colour of his long silky hair. Popular, constantly courted by other men, Oliver had seemed beyond his reach and Hari had kept his longing strictly to himself. Or so he'd thought.

Even now, ten years later, his heart leapt when he remembered... He was at a party, a party for Oliver's birthday. Everyone was celebrating in the bar of the Rising Sun, the room filled with noise and laughter when Oliver had appeared at his side, a glass of sparkling wine in his hand and a teasing smile on his face.

"Hullo, Hari! Did you bring me a present?"

"N-no, sorry," Hari had stuttered, his senses swirling with Oliver's nearness.

Oliver had leant even closer and whispered provocatively, "Come with me. I know exactly what you can give me."

Hari could have sworn the shock stopped his heart. His mouth moved to ask a question but no sound came out. Oliver laughed and took Hari's unresisting hand in his. "Come on. It's my birthday."

He hadn't had to ask again.

Looking back, that night was the start of the absolutely best two months of Hari's life.

Hari tried to inject himself with a brisk shot of reality. He might still have Oliver on his mind, but he could hardly expect Oliver to feel the same way. Would he even remember him?

Despite himself, he couldn't help wondering whether Oliver had aged gracefully—or not. Would his fine, silky hair be thin and receding, a little paunch now sitting comfortably around his trim waist? Anything to make him more on a par with a scarred, middle-aged man with greying hair and a gammy leg. Hari grimaced, who was he kidding? Oliver was never going to look at him again—even if he remembered who he was. Hari'd had his chance and he'd blown it out into space.

He was just turning away, when a young man barrelled out of the door, his face wild and his jacket half off his shoulders.

"Stop him!" The shout came from inside the building. Without stopping to think, Hari stuck out his bad leg. The fugitive tripped and fell heavily, face first onto the pavement followed almost immediately by Hari whose leg collapsed beneath him. Damn, that hurt. He lay on top of the man, unable to move for the moment, grimacing with pain and trying not to whimper.

"Well, that's one way of catching a slippery bastard," commented a cheerful voice. "That'll teach him to try and run from me." A hand reached down to help Hari to his feet. Concentrating on fighting the pain and the inclination of his leg to collapse again, Hari took the hand and struggled upright, paying scant attention to either his helper or the man on the ground.

"Are you all right, Ser? Hari?" asked an uncertain voice. "Is that you?"

Hari's eyes flew up. And there he was—face to face with Oliver Morel. The iridescent turquoise hair was new, but he would have recognised him anywhere. His face was a little older, his figure less of the lanky youth and more of a mature man, but he looked just as wonderful as ever. Except for the expression on his face, which resembled that of a man who had just stepped in something unpleasant. Hari realised their hands were still entwined and let go as if he'd been burnt.

"It is you," said Oliver. His unsmiling gaze raked the other man up and down, taking in his uniform. "I see you made Captain. Congratulations." There was a small silence. "What are you doing here?"

Hari's throat seemed too tight. He couldn't speak.

"Are you here on Patrol business?" Oliver paused again and his lips twisted unpleasantly. "Or just looking for a quick fuck again before you fly out?"

This had been a really bad idea. Hari swallowed. "I'm on leave," he managed. "Four weeks." At least. Maybe more if I don't pass the physical, his voice continued, silently. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'll go."

The man on the ground groaned faintly and both men looked down in surprise. They had completely forgotten him. Oliver reached down to grab his collar and haul him to his feet. His captive was glassy eyed, evidently still dazed by the sudden crash to the ground.

"As it happens, I'm between lovers at the moment," Oliver continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "So do you want a fuck or not?"

Hari's ears burned red, embarrassed by Oliver's crudeness. He knew Oliver was doing it deliberately, paying him back for the way he thought he'd been treated— the way he had been treated—all those years ago. He tried to find the words to decline gracefully and back away. He couldn't believe it when his own mouth opened and he said. "All right."

He thought he saw a split second's shock cross Oliver's face before he gave him a sardonic smile and said, "Where are you staying? The Rising Sun, I'll bet. I'll be there tonight at eight o'clock. If you're not there, I'll know you've changed your mind."

Oliver turned away, pushing his captive in front of him, and went back into the building, leaving Hari standing on the pavement.

Well, I guess Oliver hasn't forgotten. Or forgiven.

3. Hari

(Ten years earlier)

Hari was sound asleep in the middle of Oliver's bed, when the message came that would change his life.

Automatically, Hari woke in response to the vibration on his wrist, experience telling him that the message was classed Important but not Urgent. Carefully he turned his wrist, trying not to wake Oliver who was cuddled against his left side, and looked at the flashing light on his wristcom. Blue. A message from the Patrol, then.

Damn. He'd been hoping for a lie-in and a bit of good-morning sex.

He took a moment to bury his face in Oliver's silky hair, breathing in the spicy scent. He still couldn't quite believe his luck, that this beautiful man had chosen him to be his lover, out of all the men fighting for his favours. Gingerly, he tried to draw his arm out from underneath Oliver's warm body.

Oliver stirred, woken by the movement. He opened his purple eyes, a rather startling colour he'd adopted recently to match his current hair choice, and blinked.

"Is it morning already?" he asked, yawning.

"Message from the Patrol," Hari answered.

"Anything important?" Oliver asked, drowsily.

"I don't know. Sorry, Oliver, I've got to read this." Hari pulled his arm out from underneath him and raised the wristcom to his eyes.

"Report to Patrol Ship Siren 12:00 hours 26th Aperil to take up position as First Lieutenant. Acknowledge. S. Piell. Captain. HQ Capella."

His first reaction was pure elation. Finally, after years of fruitless applications, with prejudice no less real for being denied, he had got a coveted position on a space ship. No more dirtside jobs, kicking his heels in an office while others flew through the stars.

"I've got a ship!" he burst out. "First Lieutenant on the Siren. Reporting on the 26th."

"That's nice. When will you be back?" asked Oliver, still half asleep.

Hari went blank, only now realising what else this transfer would mean. He would have to leave Asra. He would have to leave Oliver.

So, instead of good-morning sex, they broke up.

(Present time)

Hari lay on his back in his bed at the Rising Sun, his eyes wide open as he stared blankly at the dark ceiling. He could hear Oliver's soft breathing next to him, and was almost certain he was sound asleep. Ever so carefully, he turned onto his side and reached out with one hand to stroke Oliver's hair, as gently as he could so as not to waken him.

Tonight had been one of the most stupid things Hari had ever done in his life. He hadn't argued when Oliver took control, leading the way up to Hari's hotel room, pushing him down onto his back. Looking up into Oliver's hard face as he pumped himself into Hari's body, his own pulse racing fast enough to win the Burran Derby, he knew he was making a terrible mistake.

Though Oliver's face had been hard, set in almost grim lines, his hands had been gentler, and he had positioned himself carefully to protect Hari's bad leg. Hari knew he'd be foolish to read too much into that. All it proved was that Oliver was not as cruel as he wanted Hari to believe—at least, not physically.

And that would have to do. For tonight, he could pretend that he and Oliver were lovers once more. Morning would be soon enough to face the painful reality.

It might have been the most stupid thing Hari had ever done, but he knew if he had to choose again, he would make exactly the same decision.

Oliver woke first. Hari was spooned behind him, one arm holding Oliver tight against his body, his warm breath ruffling the hair on the back of Oliver's neck. A smile escaped Oliver's lips—Hari had always been a cuddler. For one foolish moment Oliver wished this was real, that they could stay like that until Hari woke and made love to him. And then he could ask Hari to turn over and he'd repeat the favour. He felt uncomfortably hard just thinking about it.

And talking of hard, there was a distinctive part of Hari pressing into his buttocks even now, aroused in his sleep.

A reckless part of Oliver wanted to take full advantage, but the sensible part knew it was a bad idea. He'd made his point; he'd just be storing up bad memories and more pain for himself.

Gingerly, Oliver disengaged. He rose and dressed quickly, then paused for a moment to look down at Hari, sleeping blissfully on. He rather liked the touch of grey at his temples, it gave him a distinguished look. Judging from the scar and the weary lines on his face, his life hadn't been easy since he'd left Oliver. Not to mention that damaged leg, obviously still painful despite modern medical procedures. How had that happened? He hadn't bothered to ask. Well to be honest, last night neither of them had spent any time talking.

Oliver grimaced. He'd got what he came for, hadn't he? It was time to go, before Hari woke up and things became... awkward. Even more awkward.

When Hari woke, an hour later, he was alone in the room.

4. Recovery

Oliver found concentration difficult all day. Luckily, he wasn't on pilot duty, he thought ruefully. Focussing on his console unit, writing reports in the office was difficult enough, but flying one of the company's shuttles, even on a routine escort run, would have been dangerous in his current mood.

Finally, he finished the last report. Even though it was still early, he grabbed his jacket and left the office, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension. He had to stop thinking about Hari, replaying the events of yesterday over and over in his mind. It was all pointless, he was never going to see him again, he just had to forget him and move on. Maybe he'd go to the Black Hole and get drunk—it seemed like a good idea.

The last thing he expected was to find Hari leaning against the wall outside, waiting for him, wearing civilian clothes. What was he doing here? If he hadn't known better he'd have thought Hari looked nervous, nervous but determined.

"Back for more?" he challenged, defensive.

"Actually, I was wondering if we could talk," said Hari in careful tones. "Could we go somewhere quiet? Perhaps a coffee?"

"Why?" asked Oliver, crossing his arms.

Hari bit his lip. He didn't really want to say this in the street, but it didn't look like Oliver was prepared to go anywhere with him.

"I want to apologise," said Hari. "I'm sorry I hurt you, I didn't mean to."

"'Didn't mean to?'" asked Oliver in disbelief. "You just dumped me and flew off. How did you think I was going to feel?"

"But the ship... flying was what I'd always wanted. I couldn't turn it down, not even for you." Hari stumbled over the explanation, knowing he was digging an even deeper pit for himself.

"Of course you had to take the position," exclaimed Oliver, angry. "I know how much it meant to you. But that didn't mean you had to dump me. You didn't even ask me if I'd wait for you, you just made the decision for both of us!"

Hari reached out a hand to steady himself as the world fell away beneath him. "You—you would have waited for me?" he whispered.

"I might have," said Oliver, pulling himself together. "A long distance relationship is difficult but not impossible, you know—people have been doing it for centuries. We could have caught up whenever you had leave, arranged to meet places. We'll never know now, will we?"

Hari's face was white. "Come out to dinner with me," he blurted.

"No," said Oliver, furious. How dared he? After what Oliver had just said? He strode away, and Hari let him go. To add to his fury, Oliver didn't know if that made him feel grateful or disappointed.

But to Oliver's surprise, Hari was waiting for him again the next night. And the next night. And the next. Each time, he asked Oliver to go out with him, for dinner, a drink, or a coffee but each time Oliver refused. And each time, Hari let him walk away.

The fourth time, Oliver jumped in first, before Hari could speak. "How long are you going to keep this up?" he asked crossly.

"As long as it takes," said Hari, venturing a small smile, which did weird things to Oliver's stomach.

"If I let you fuck me, will you leave me alone?" asked Oliver as crudely as he could.

"That's not what I'm after," answered Hari, looking serious. "Not this time, this time I want more. I'm not going to give up on us."

"I'm never going to go out with you," insisted Oliver. "Whatever we once had—it's over. Finished. I don't feel anything for you anymore."

Hari looked at Oliver's flushed cheeks and stormy blue eyes. He didn't believe him. He couldn't help himself. Before the other man could react, he reached across and kissed his lips, light as a feather. Oliver jumped back, glaring.

Hari smiled. "Dinner?" he asked.

The next night, Oliver came out from work with his shoulders braced and a prepared speech on his lips. It was time to be firm and put an end to this farce. But Hari wasn't there. The street was even emptier than usual. Oliver's face went totally blank as his heart sank through the pavement; which, given that he'd been about to give Hari the brush off—was pretty mixed up. He should be relieved, glad even; he'd known all along Hari wasn't serious. The man simply couldn't commit to anything personal.

He tried to get angry but he only felt sick, sick with disappointment.

But just then, Hari came hurrying around the street corner with a pained frown on his face, and absently rubbing his bad leg. He lit up as soon as he saw Oliver. "Thank heavens. I thought I'd missed you. There was an accident a couple of streets over and I stopped to help. Nothing serious, thank god. Now, how about dinner tonight? I've booked us a table at the Crimson Rose, it's supposed to have the best noodles on Asra. What do you say?"

Oliver's heart started beating again. From despair to joyous relief in less than a second. His head might have wanted to send Hari away for his, Oliver's, own good, but his heart had other ideas. He fought back a crazy desire to fling himself into Hari's arms, and instead, made sure he took a couple of breaths before saying—as casually as he could— "All right. I guess, it won't hurt to talk."