What Could Have Been

Posted on Tue Mar 18th, 2025 @ 10:01pm by Lieutenant Adrianna Baciami

1,973 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Stars Around the Well

The hum of the Pendragon’s engines resonated through the deck plates, a familiar vibration that settled into Vance’s bones like an old tune he’d long forgotten but never truly lost. The scent of burnt plasma and machine oil lingered in the recycled air, sharp and comforting.

He was home.

He stepped onto the bridge, boots echoing against the worn metal floor. The chairs, the consoles, the overhead displays– everything was just as he remembered and how he had left it. The glow of dimmed control panels cast a flickering light against the bulkheads, and beyond the viewport, the stars stretched endlessly into the black.

A presence stirred at his side. His right hand man, Lutz, grinned, arms crossed, "took you long enough, Captain. Thought you’d finally given up the ghost."

Vance smirked, "not a chance. You know me– I never stay dead for long."

He moved towards the captain’s chair. His chair. The worn leather moulded perfectly to him as he sank into it, fingers curling over the armrests. It was more than a seat.

It was command. It was control. It was freedom.

The console in front of him flickered to life. A bounty list rolled across the screen– cargo runs, illicit deals, high-stakes jobs that only the Pendragon could pull off in its prime. His name, Captain Vance Adams, still carried weight in the underworld. One of the best, one of the boldest. The galaxy had tried to erase him, but he had never been one for staying erased.

A familiar voice crackled through the comms of the ship's computer, "heading, Captain?"

He exhaled slowly, a grin playing at the edges of his lips, "set course for the nearest payday."

The Pendragon’s engines roared, and the stars blurred as they jumped into the unknown.

The bridge was alive with the quiet hum of anticipation, the crew falling into the easy rhythm of professional rogues who knew their place in the galaxy. Vance let himself settle into it, the weight of the captaincy fitting around his shoulders like an old coat.

Then the door hissed back open, and Lutz strolled in, ever the ghost from the past. His sharp blue eyes swept over Vance before he smirked, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Now this is the Captain Adams I remember," Lutz drawled, leaning lazily against the nearest console, "none of that Starfleet nonsense. No rules, no restrictions. And best of all–" his smirk widened, "no distractions from some girl."

Vance frowned, "what are you talking about?"

Lutz gave a bark of laughter. "Oh, don’t play dumb, Cap. We all saw how she softened you. Had you playing hero instead of doing what you do best. But look at you now,” he gestured broadly, "back where you belong. No strings. No restrictions.”

A strange, twisting sensation curled in Vance’s stomach. He glanced down at his hand instinctively, where the ink of his wedding ring tattoo should have been.

It was gone.

In its place was a faint, raised scar– a pale reminder of something erased, something deliberately cut away. His pulse hammered in his ears. His fingers ghosted over the mark, breath catching in his throat. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that he had done this– had it burned away, scraped off like something unwanted.

But that wasn’t right. It wasn’t him.

A cold dread unfurled in his chest. "Lutz," he said slowly, voice oddly hoarse. "When did I–?"

Lutz’s smirk faltered as he took in Vance’s expression. His brow furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to work out if this was some kind of test. "Cap… you ordered it," he said slowly, watching Vance with careful scrutiny, "Adrianna Reggimi, well, Baciami. You had us treat her like a traitor after she told you who she was. We hunted her down, just like you told us to."

Vance’s throat went dry, "what?"

Lutz let out a sharp breath through his nose, as if exasperated by the need to explain, "you were furious. Said she’d sold us out, set you up to die. The whole crew agreed– couldn’t have someone like that running loose. We cornered her on some desolate, godforsaken moon, and she didn’t even fight us."

Vance felt the blood drain from his face.

"Surprisingly, she went willingly," Lutz continued, crossing his arms, "didn’t resist, didn’t beg, nothing. Just stood there, let us take her." He exhaled, shaking his head, "figured she felt responsible for getting you ‘killed’." He let out a short, humourless chuckle, "Hell, she was responsible."

Vance’s heartbeat thundered against his ribs, "where did we take her?"

Lutz shrugged, as if the answer was obvious, "Freecloud. Handed her over to some people there. They paid us a tonne. You know, that was the only time she looked scared– she even screamed, begging us not to sell her off."

Vance’s hands curled into fists, but he couldn’t feel his fingertips. The scar on his ring finger throbbed in time with his pulse, a phantom ache spreading up his arm. This wasn’t right– none of this was right. "Lutz," he said, voice low, dangerous, "who did we give her to?"

Lutz's expression darkened, and for the first time, there was something unreadable in his gaze. "You really don’t remember?" he let out a slow breath, shaking his head, "Xra’kot. That Gorn warlord she tried to kill– you know, she set some explosives and tried to kill him and he blamed you. You thought it was fitting– ‘poetic justice’, you called it."

Vance felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His ears rang, drowning out the hum of the ship, the murmurs of the crew. Xra’kot. The name alone carried the weight of blood and vengeance, of debts settled in screams.

The bridge around him flickered.

“We all laughed so hard finally watching her get hauled off,” Lutz's voice suddenly didn't sound right as a baritone seemed to emerge forming a demonic sound, “you even gave him ideas in how to take revenge properly. Gawd, it's no wonder no-one crosses you. Anyone who dares cross the Vance Adams end up dead… including your sister… that Starfleet sympathiser…”

The shadows stretched and deepened, and suddenly, Vance wasn’t on the Pendragon anymore. He was somewhere else. Somewhere damp and suffocating, where the air reeked of sweat, rot, and dried blood. The distant sound of chains scraping against stone sent a shiver down his spine.

And then– her voice.

"Per favore, no! Please. Enough! I beg you!"

Adrianna.

She was on her knees in the centre of a dimly lit dungeon, her wrists shackled to the floor. Her once-pristine uniform was in tatters, clinging to her bruised and bloodied frame. Her dark hair hung in tangled strands over her face, but Vance could see the raw terror in her eyes as she gazed up at the hulking figure before her.

“Please,” she sobbed, “no more.”

Xra’kot loomed over her, his scaled form monstrous in the flickering torchlight. His claws dripped with fresh blood– her blood. The warlord let out a low, rumbling chuckle, baring jagged teeth as he raised a wicked-looking blade.

Adrianna turned her head sharply– and saw Vance.

"Vance! Amore mio, please," Her voice cracked, desperation bleeding into every syllable, "I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to– please, I never wanted–” Her sobs choked her words, but her gaze locked onto his, pleading. "Per favore, amore mio… have mercy…”

His body refused to move.

"I forgive you!" he wanted to shout, to reach for her, to do something. But his limbs were frozen, his voice stolen.

Xra’kot’s blade came down.

***

Vance gasped, sucking in air as if he had been drowning, bolting upright in bed. His hands clenched the sheets beneath him, damp with sweat.

The dim light of his quarters bathed everything in soft gold. No dungeon. No chains. No Xra’kot.

Beside him, Adrianna lay peacefully, her dark hair spread across the pillow. Her breathing was slow and steady, her face unmarred by fear. Alive. Safe.

Vance swallowed hard, his pulse still hammering against his ribs.

But his fingers twitched, reaching for his ring finger– searching for the tattoo that had never truly left. He saw it and then saw the one on her finger. They were together, everything was fine. This was his reality.

Vance swallowed hard, his throat tight as he lay back down and pulled Adrianna closer, as if holding her would chase away the lingering echoes of his dream. His chest still ached with the phantom weight of chains, of helplessness, of the sight of her on her knees, bloodied and begging for mercy and forgiveness that never came.

But this was real. She was real. Warm, breathing, safe in his arms.

His hand splayed against the curve of her back, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing. He traced slow circles against her skin, his fingers memorising the shape of her, as if he could etch the reality of her presence into his soul. He had nearly lost her– over and over again– not only in his dream but in reality too whilst on the Pendragon and then when he'd lost his memories. And yet, here she was, tangled in his arms, as if she had always belonged there. In one sense, she had.

Vance’s throat tightened as he held Adrianna close, his fingers threading gently through her hair. His heart was still racing from the nightmare, the phantom echoes of her screams clinging to his skin like cold sweat. But here– here in the quiet, with her warmth against him– he had her. She was safe. She was his.

His lips brushed against her temple, his breath unsteady. "I’d give it all up," he whispered, barely more than a breath. "All of it. The Pendragon. The fortune. The reputation. Every last thing that made me who I was– just to have you."

Because he knew. He knew.

She was Starfleet.

She had been all along. He had seen the signs, the moments where the truth had pressed against her lips but never quite made it out. The hesitation, the guilt in her eyes, the way her hands would clench when he spoke against the uniform she had sworn to. She had tried to tell him– so many times.

And he hadn’t listened. He hadn't wanted to believe it or have it confirmed.

But it didn’t matter. Not anymore. Because beyond the lies, beyond the duty, beyond everything that should have made them enemies– her love had been real.

And he’d be a damned fool to let that slip through his fingers.

His grip on her tightened slightly, as if the universe might try to take her away if he wasn’t careful again. "I know you were ready to give up everything for me," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, "but you didn’t have to. Because I'd have done the same. I’d give it all up again, a hundred times over, just to have you in my arms at the end of the day."

Adrianna shifted in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she nestled closer. His heart clenched at the trust in that simple movement, at the way she knew she was safe with him even in sleep.

Vance exhaled shakily, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, "I don't need the Pendragon. You’re all that matters, dove– my hope, my soulmate." And he meant it. More than he had ever meant anything in his life.

If the universe demanded payment for loving her, Vance would pay it.

Without hesitation.

 

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