Don't Tell Anyone
Posted on Wed Jul 23rd, 2025 @ 4:59pm by Lieutenant Adrianna Baciami
1,656 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission: Vinyl and Void
The sun had barely risen over the Baciami vineyard, casting a soft, golden hue across the dewy vines. Morning clung to the earth like a veil. The mist hadn’t yet lifted from the hills, and the air held the kind of hush that only grief could create. Two caskets rested side by side beneath lemon trees. No music. No speeches. Just white garden roses draped across each lid– symbols of devotion and memory. The family stood gathered in small clusters, black-clad and solemn, their heads bowed, breath caught in their throats.
Giovanni stood tall at the front. His face was unreadable, carved in stillness, though his jaw was clenched so tight a muscle trembled just beneath the skin.
Adrianna stood beside him, hands trying not to fidget, folded tightly in front of her, eyes fixed on the two wooden boxes laid side by side in the soil of the vineyard where they had all once played beneath the sun. She had said nothing since they’d stepped off the shuttle. The journey from space to Earth had felt too fast, and yet equally too slow, too unbearable.
The priest raised his hands slowly. His voice, when it came, was the only sound in the world.
"In the quiet of this vineyard, where they once danced, once laughed, once built a life together… we now return Dario and Tanina Baciami to the earth."
A gentle breeze stirred the vines. No one moved.
"In life, they were never apart for long. In death, they would not let each other go."
The priest paused, the silence behind him profound.
"What fate has joined together, let no man put asunder. May their souls find peace. May their love be eternal. To have loved in this life was a blessing, and now they will love each other in the after life."
The breeze picked up, gently ruffling the linen coverings on the caskets. The priest lowered his hands and stepped back.
Still no one spoke.
A worker stepped forward to begin the burial. The first thud of earth was soft– final. A child in the back whimpered. Someone sniffled. But still, the silence held.
Giovanni reached out and placed a hand flat on his mother’s casket. He didn’t look at anyone. Just held it there for a long moment, as if imprinting her into his skin. Then, slowly, he turned to his father’s and did the same.
Adrianna followed. She didn’t cry. Not here. Not now. But when she crouched to set down a rose on each casket, her hands trembled. She pressed her palm lightly to the wood and closed her eyes.
The priest stood at a respectable distance, head bowed. The vineyard whispered around them, leaves shifting in the breeze, the faint creak of wooden poles supporting the vines, the distant hum of bees beginning their morning work. Life continuing.
But here, in this sacred patch of soil beneath the lemon trees, the Baciami family stood suspended in stillness and mourning.
No words.
Just presence.
Just love.
And when the earth had been fully laid and the caskets disappeared beneath the soil, Adrianna reached for her brother’s arm. He didn’t speak, only nodded once. Together, they turned and began the slow walk back to the family home, the place now hollowed and holy, awaiting a next generation of Baciami to live there.
Behind them, the vineyard swayed gently in the morning light, as though bowing in farewell.
***
The bedroom still smelled like her mother. Lavender oil. Old leather-bound books. Something sweet from the kitchen.
Adrianna stood at the dresser, numb fingers folding her dress. She'd put her Starfleet uniform back on, her wedding ring tapping faintly against the combadge as if to ensure it was there.
One week ago she had been in white.
Smiling.
Looking forward to a future.
She had barely taken the ring off before the message came through. Just a soft chime. A few words. Her mother, gone. Her father, gone. Her mother, because of her mind; her father because of his heart.
And now she was here, in a house that felt hollow and cruelly quiet, packing to leave again as though her entire world hadn’t been carved out from the inside.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
She didn’t need to turn.
Vance.
“I'll be ready in a second, amore mio.”
He said nothing at first. She could feel him in the doorway, not hesitating, exactly. Just… unsure.
She kept her back to him.
“Adri…”
His voice was gentle, careful, like he was approaching a wild thing that might bolt of he raised his voice even a fraction.
“The Arcadia doesn’t leave for another day. You don’t have to go tonight. Stay– maybe take some time off to be with your family and grieve.”
She didn’t answer.
“I know you think you have to be strong, but–”
“Don’t,” Her voice was low, sharp. She still didn’t look at him, “don’t tell me to stay. Don’t tell me to rest. Don’t act like I’m going to break if I put one more foot forward.”
Vance swallowed hard. “I’m not–”
“I need to work, Vance. I need to get back to my post. I need to be away from here because I know what happens next and I do not want to be part of it. I need to go where people don’t look at me like I’m about to shatter or judge me for not crying. My parents made it clear that they want everything to go back to life as normal, and I will be damned if I sit here and sulk about it.”
Her hands curled into fists.
“I’m not taking leave. I don’t want pity. I want silence, and structure, and a job that reminds me that there is more than this house.”
She turned finally, eyes wet but defiant.
“And if you tell anyone– Zai, Sabastian, the captain– anyone– what’s happened, I swear to every star in the damn galaxy, you will be transferred to another ship for a minimum of one rotation. I don't care if we are newly married. I need this, and I need you to let me handle this how I choose.”
Vance didn’t argue. He just stepped forward slowly, cautiously, until only a breath remained between them. “Okay,” he said quietly and reluctantly, “I won’t say a word– I can't say the same about one of your brothers though– especially Giovanni.”
He waited a moment, watching her. She looked like she wanted to say more– he'd seen the look too many times before. After a few beats, he asked, barely above a whisper, “Adrianna, are you okay?”
Adrianna flinched like he’d struck her.
Silence.
Her chin trembled, lips parted– but no words came.
Just one, small shake of her head.
And then another.
And then the grief hit her like a pulse from a collapsing star– sudden, cataclysmic, and all-consuming. “No,” she choked out. Her body collapsed into his, and Vance caught her before she hit the floor, arms wrapping around her with the kind of desperation that only comes when you’ve just started a forever and the universe starts tearing it apart. She sobbed into his chest, raw and broken, shaking so hard he had to hold her tighter just to keep them upright.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice cracking, with uncertainty having not seen her like this really before, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
But it wasn’t okay.
She wasn’t okay.
Fate had warned her that if she wanted Vance back, a balance would have to be struck. Clearly this was it.
Her mother had died in her father's arms– evidently whispering I love you with her last breath. Her father, gone because of a broken heart. Her wedding bouquet hadn’t even wilted before joy had been replaced by such detestation.
Adrianna gripped his uniform like a lifeline, her body wracked with a grief she hadn’t let surface until this moment. She had held it all together– when she had first been told, through the funeral, the prayers, the endless looks of sorrow from her brothers and extended family, and now the dam had finally, finally broken. “They’re gone, Vance. Both of them. They’re gone,” she sobbed.
“I know,” he said, kissing her temple, his own eyes wet now. He'd only seen her break like this once before– after she'd almost been sucked out of an airlock and he'd saved her. He'd broken then– seeing such a strong being reduced to being a mere human, “I know, Ade. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
She shook her head violently, “We were just married.”
“I know.”
“They didn’t even get to see us have our own family– our own lives.”
“I know,” he repeated, voice thick, holding her tighter still.
“What do I do now?”
Vance was silent for a moment as he tried to consider how best to answer. “We make a life that honours them,” he buried his face in her hair.
And for a long time, they stayed like that– tangled on the floor of her childhood bedroom, her grief finally let loose, his arms the only thing anchoring her to a reality that had shifted beneath her feet. In that silence– that sacred, unbearable silence– Adrianna wept for her mother, for her father, for the family she’d loved and lost, all in the arms of the man she’d only just promised forever to.
And Vance?
He held her like he’d never let go. Because he wouldn't. In that moment, he knew that love wasn’t just about joy or promises or bright futures.
It was this too.
The holding-on when everything else fell apart.
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