#fic by thraume

[thraume]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek: Discovery Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Katrina Cornwell/Gabriel Lorca Characters: Katrina Cornwell, Gabriel Lorca Additional Tags: 2nd person POV, Pre-Canon, Backstory, Early Days, Sexual Tension, Smut, explicit porn, Feelings, mild pining, Fluff, riding the edge of if, mutual conquest, anticipation is half the fun, it's not romance if they're not kissing and dating, Oh wait, the slow courting of Katrina Cornwell, she's really got it bad, But it Feels So Good, Gabriel Lorca is playing the long game, and enjoying the hell out of it Series: Part 2 of Galathea Summary:

Isn't a single thing they could find distracting about building their friendship. Except each other, of course.

[thraume]

diligence

When inspiration strikes unbidden.

It's such a very good idea to work on two WIPs at the same time. It absolutely is. This one's short, though. Probably. At this point, I'm still just toying with the idea.

Fic tropes: slavery.

I know I really shouldn't. But I just can't resist. Because I think MULorca's moral compass isn't as warped as we're being made to think.

And because I wanted to try my hand at a different version of MUCornwell.

Think early days mirrorverse, with a younger Gabriel Lorca setting out to butt heads with the emperor over the (moral) state her realm is in. Very carefully so, in small, but significant ways. Finding his match in Katrina, whom he frees from the very circumstances he so despises. Smart and indomitable, she's managed to keep herself away from harm and trouble, and he can't help admire the way she's fended for herself in these dire conditions.

Have a sneak peek, if you like.

There's something to be said for a crew as loyal as he's managed to gather in the short time of his command.

When given the choice, not one of them opted to stay behind as the Buran set out for the unloved outreaches of Terran space.

Issued as a penance for speaking his mind one too many times, his ideas opinionated and uncurbed, Gabriel doesn't fret at all over being this far-flung from home. It's a chance he embraces, to reinstate some order on the fringes of the realm. Cut down on the deteriorating conditions among the nomadic traders, the slavers and the brutal ravagers the emperor regards with mild indifference at best.

The very thing indeed that's caused him to temporarily fall from her good graces, and be sent away on extended border patrol to come to his senses.

What she won't understand, what he's been careful not to point out, is that there's never been anything wrong with his senses to begin with.

It's a fine line he's riding, using as much of his leeway with her as he dares, fitting as many of his ideals into the small space she's allowing for in their difference of opinions.

Things are pretty bad in the Eulara sector. Reports of ravaged ships won't cease to come in, people killed over the way that they look, pray or simply think; soldiers and civilians alike enslaved as spoils of war, a fresh influx of servants to ease the ways of the empire's finest.

Graveyards of ransacked vessels adrift in space, broken and bereft of all purpose and meaning. Hundreds and thousands of lives lost over their butchered-out carcasses.

The nomads steer well clear of the Buran if they can, but more often than not, Gabriel picks the worst of the culprits to receive his visit as a nasty surprise, and word is spreading slow but sure that crossing his way, that crossing him, is a thing best avoided.

For days now, they've been preying on something of a ghost, a slaver by the name of Finton, ruthless and cruel even by his peers' low standards. One of his pals, once he'd made the acquaintance of Gabriel's blade, was kind enough to spill the preferred haunts of the Diligence, but she's remained elusive, her whereabouts a well-kept mystery.

Until just now, and the Buran's shields swallow her resistance without a single hitch. Gabriel's crew makes short work of her defenses, brings her up starboard, locked nice and secure in the keep of the tractor beam.

"Let's see what we've got," Gabriel says, waving aside his first officer's concerns, that same old speech about his safety all over again. He won't be kept from boarding the slaver, make his presence known, and imprint on the captain a fresh code of conduct. Or, if that should fail, offer a fast-track promotion to someone who's more willing to adapt to a more reasonable course of action.

Finton himself awaits him by the transporter platform, a sour expression on his sallow face, his captain's insignia askew on his chest.

"My apologies for firing on you. Mistook you for a rogue raider." As lies go, it could probably be worse, but not by much. Gabriel accepts it with the curtest of nods. He's here to raise trouble over far more important matters. "And what can a lowly trader like myself do for the emperor's spearhead?"

"Official business," Gabriel says with deceptive mildness, refusing to be riled by the derisive use of the nickname he's always regarded as more of an insult than a badge of honor. Especially with people continuing to use it as such. "I'm here to assure your... dealings are in keeping with the empire's best interest."

If at all possible, the man's plump features grow even less welcoming, almost shy of being openly hostile. He doesn't have the spine, though, Gabriel decides, of right out opposing this invasion of his ship, his small eyes shifty and continually evading Gabriel's searching gaze. Not a bone in him that would rise to question the legitimacy of Gabriel's authority.

And what a sad piece of junk it is, this vessel he's forced his rein upon. Kept in working order, and that seems to be the sum and total of the attention the crew can be bothered to spare for their ship. It's a den of a place, unkempt and in disorder, and Gabriel has half a mind to refrain from inspecting the lower decks.

He shudders to think what he'll find in the holding cells.

To his relief, most of them are empty, filled with nothing but a terrible stench, and Finton must have guessed he'd be coming, and sold his latest load as fast as he could. A shame, really, because ever since setting foot on board, Gabriel has been looking forward to taking the man apart for his violation of the one standing rule the empire has left with regards to acquiring prospective slaves: never to do so among the numbers of the Terran forces.

Of all the cells, only one is in use, inhabited by a bundle of rags so matted and dirty, so curled in on itself that at first, Gabriel can't even say if he's looking at a man or a woman.

"Open," he says, an order that brooks no argument, and even though he knows Finton isn't stupid enough to have kept incriminating evidence on board, he still wants to know who he's holding down here. What has made him leave a single person behind.

"She's useless. You can have her, if you like." Her, and Gabriel feels a pang of rage, a rise of sympathy at the reasons he imagines Finton must have kept her for. "Far more trouble than she could ever be worth."

She doesn't cower on his approach, doesn't lift her head either when he kneels in front of her, and so Gabriel reaches out to cup her chin, tip up her head and get a good look at her.

To his surprise, she doesn't flinch, doesn't show a trace of fear. If anything, she looks outright angry that he should dare touch her without her permission.

Gabriel swallows, momentarily dumbfounded by this unexpected find, frowning at this slender face, covered as it is in blooms of colorful bruises. Frowning even more at the look in her eyes, the force of will that's wholly unbroken, a shine of intelligence that's sizing him up, appraising his intentions in the flick of a moment.

Deciding if he's a danger to be countered.

He lets his hand fall away as she jerks her head free, the low murmur of his apology for her alone to hear.

Letting her know he's overall harmless. It knits her brow, and he can see her think, try to fit him into a category other than potential threat.

The only one she's encountered so far.

Still squatting in front of her, Gabriel wonders how Finton could have hoped to enslave a mind like this, these clever eyes that won't be fooled, won't be made to submit. If the man is blind to the fact or, worse yet, unappreciative of it.

"I know you have no reason to trust me," he says, in that very same murmur that will only carry as far as her ears, "but out of him and me, you might find me the better alternative. There's no cages on my ship. No servitude. I'm sorry I can't offer you more than my word for it."

The war in her eyes is something to watch, the sweep of her gaze over his face so fast it's dizzying. Weighing him up for signs of deceit, wary of a mind that matches her own, so unlike what she must be used from Finton.

"Can't get much worse, can it now?" He holds out his hand as he rises to stand, and to his delight, she accepts his grip, her fingers shockingly thin, but stronger than he feared.

He's entirely without official grounds, but he's burning to kill the man waiting so impatiently behind his back.

"She's coming with me," he says instead, and it feels like a small triumph, the way Finton's face twists at the announcement. Must have thought Gabriel wouldn't have any interest in a filthy, useless slave.

"I'll be glad to have her off my hands," Finton says, glaring at them, and that much at least could partly be true.

"Better off in mine," Gabriel breathes as he peels out of his jacket. He hands it to his ward, careful not to crowd her as he does, leaving it to her to put it over the scanty cover of her tattered clothes.

There's a shift in her face, a subtle change in her expression, and it takes him a moment to work out she's trying not to smile. As if his small act of kindness would evaporate in the face of her gratitude.

You're welcome, he thinks, and oh, how he hopes that next time he has reason to visit the Diligence, Finton will give him cause to show off the skills the emperor so values in him.

He could always do so now, of course, bring the woman in his presence a sense of vindication, but without true justification, he'd be little better than the man he despises.

Today, he turns to leave, letting her precede him, feeling a small rise of pride that she should allow him to watch her back, when so far, he's done very little to earn her trust.

Under all that dirt and grime, she carries herself proudly, standing tall, and who knows that if scrubbed clean and more well-fed than she is now, she won't turn out to be quite something to look at.

[thraume]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek: Discovery Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gabriel Lorca/Mirror Katrina Cornwell, Katrina Cornwell/Gabriel Lorca Characters: Gabriel Lorca, Mirror Katrina Cornwell Additional Tags: S01E14, the war within the war without, Missing Scene, Mirrorverse, Smut, Hurt, Emotional Distance, Dysfunctional Relationship, Trauma, Trust Issues, Dystopia, Freeform, Introspection, Stream of Consciousness Summary:

Meanwhile, on the other side of the mirror. With a prize on his head, Gabriel Lorca is forced into hiding, hanging on to the woman who sprung him from prison.

We can't choose who we love, but we can choose how hard we fight to make things work.  

You take a hold of her wrist, non too lightly, so that if she really wants to break free, she'll have to make a struggle of it.

"Let me go," she says, roughly, her arm stiff and hard with tension, her voice brittle with it.

"No," you say, rubbing your thumb over the incredible softness on the inside of her wrist. Tender, and her mouth twists with it, angry-scared, and she tugs, and then she folds, all of her, inside and out, and she sags back down next to you.

"I'm not yours," she says, harshly, with her eyes closed, her fingers tight and hard and bruising on your arm. You cover the unforgiving curl of her hand with the warm weight of yours, holding on, your fingers working themselves into the spaces between hers.

Mine, if only she wants to listen to it.