Star Trek RPG - Mission #6: "Marala"

The Science Officer, Chief Engineer and his husband huddle at the far end of the table and each accept another Saurian brandy from the stewards, apparently settling in for a longer conversation. Lts. Vielar and Thalen still seem engrossed, too, but most of the others say their farewells and leave. Graham notices that the lights in the corridor are already dimmed for shipboard "night."

Dr. Bucci sees Ens. Alvarez approach, smiles and says, "I believe I will defer to my young colleague. We'll talk some other time, Mr. Kylah. Goodnight to you both." He bows a little and leaves.

Alvarez smiles a little bashfully and holds out his arm. "I'd be honored, Kylah. Shall we...?"

Standing in place--and maintaining her balance rather well, she thinks with dim pride--Kylah smiles her thanks toward Dr. Bucci, then turns to the younger man.

His arm is held out. Like a palace guard, a courtier, a... a gentleman. It is terribly old fashioned--But Velir's arm was so solid, so nice against mine, she remembers wistfully before the memory dissipates into a cloud of uncertainty.

Will taking Mr. Alvarez's arm mean anything? She asked for company but only because she thought the men might be headed in that direction of Sickbay anyway, and because... because...

Because I am now afraid of these corridors. There is no way to know what lies beyond, friend or foe.

She bites her lip. On Elas, when a female member of the royal family is presented an arm, much as Mr. Alvarez has, she then rests her own forearm atop his, parallel to the floor. He is underneath her, but supporting. Symbolic symmetry.

Kylah is certain that is not what Mr. Alvarez expects. Hesitantly, she slips her fingers through his bent elbow, clasping it. It seems an intimate gesture.

She is not afraid of the young medtech beside her--she feels nothing alarming at all. But Kylah knows what happened the last time she left a dinner table hanging dizzily on a man's guiding arm.

Pure force of habit sends her gaze toward Lt. Graham--before she remembers how disinterested he was when she brought up the idea of increasing security and surveillance onboard. Even adding cameras, as she suggested, was not worth considering.

Dropping the anxious expression she had sent to Graham and substituting a friendly smile, Kylah looks up at her companion. "Thank you, Mr. Alvarez," she murmurs, unable to deny the pleasant sense of his lean muscles beneath the material of his dress uniform . "Or... should I call you 'Doctor?' I do not remember..."

She hesitates before walking. She wants the others to leave with them, so at least part of the way. she and Mr. (or Dr.) Alvarez will be among colleagues.

Graham didn't have much to drink by his standards, which is helpful as he's hit with a rapid fire series of weirdness. Kylah seems to be taking the arm of a young officer...is that good, bad? Well, she seems to be smiling at least. Hell, at least it's not that piece of shit Rangin he thinks.

But it's the barrage of weirdness from Nia that takes him aback and commands his attention. Poker? Where did that come from?

"Uh, yeah, we've met," he replies. "The doctor was, ah, very professional helping me close the books on Rangin's incident." He clears his throat. "Don't play a lot of poker, but I know the drill," he adds.

Alvarez leads Kylah out of the Wardroom and down the corridor, towards a turbolift. Several others from the dinner are around, too, as they go their separate ways. He says, "No, I'm just a medtech, not a doctor. You're welcome to call me 'Carlos' - and I hope you will." This close, the young Elasian woman can sense that he's very happy.

"Poker?" Nathaniel says. "I haven't played in a while, but I've been known to take advantage of a few people at the table in my day. Why not?"

While it is true that Nathaniel has played poker, he generally doesn't enjoy doing anything in groups of people. But he needs to get to know the people on this ship. And around a poker table is a way to do that. Besides, people might have their guard down and that's what Nathaniel really needs. Get them saying things they usually wouldn't... reveal things they usually wouldn't...

Nathaniel realizes that people are starting to leave this boring and uneventful party and who could blame them. He is ready to get out of here himself. As he is about to say goodnight, he suddenly spies the handsome man sitting with two other men across the room. And his heart drops in his chest. He can't believe his eyes. He couldn't be here of all places.

"Joe." He whispers before can stop himself. And he prays that Nia, much less anyone else has heard him.

Nia's listening to the two men, trying to balance out her own annoyance with Booker, which she admits is completely unfair--at least, it probably is--with her pleasure at being beside him again. She's surprised he's not a poker fan. Maybe hanging out with friends in relaxing competition isn't his style. Probably doesn't want anything distracting his constant state of alertness for any danger, real or imagined.

The exhaled word from New Guy piques her attention and she turns his way, wondering what could create such a strange, wondrous emotion from this tight-assed doctor.

But before she asks, she spots the group exiting the Wardroom--and right in front, almost hidden by the rest of the crew who are almost all several inches taller than her, is Ensign Kylah. Leaving.

As in, not planning on fulfilling Nia's request-that-was-really-an-order.

Oh you have got to be kidding me, she thinks. Forgetting Dr. Bennett, and only sparing a frustrated glance at Book with a muttered, "Just a second," Nia starts forward.

But it's pointless. She'd have to push her way through a clump of sated and somewhat tired dinner guests. She shakes her head and whips out her communicator. "Onn to Kylah." Nia is tall enough to notice the girl through the doors, standing very close to Ens. Mendez... no, that's not his name, but it's something like that... Nia's seen and admired the kid before. Too fresh-faced for her, but still a cutie. Figures he'd glom onto the princess.

The girl says something to her companion and slowly, with all the deliberation of a tipsy person trying to pretend they're sober, pulling her own communicator loose from her belt. "Ensign Kylah?" she repeats, as if she's not quite sure of her own identity. Hell, she probably isn't.

"Sorry to bother you," Nia says, doing her best to curb the acid that wants to leech into her tone. "But where are you going? Don't you remember that just agreed to assist me with that communicator project tonight?"

Long pause. It's too far for Nia to catch the expression on Kylah's face, but honestly, Nia doesn't think it's changed. The features don't seem to have moved, and similarly, Nia suspects the neurons in the Elasian's soused brain are immobile too. "Oh. I am sorry. I did forget. Or I did not understand..." Now her head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. "Did you really mean tonight?"

"I don't give orders I don't mean, Ensign."

Another short silence. "It is just... May I first go to Sickbay? I will not be long, I promise."

Nia eyes the male medtech beside Kylah. Just what are these two planning on doing together? Rolling her eyes, she calculates the time she needs to get out of the uniform and into something comfortable, wash, set up the various instruments needed for her Bilitrium infusion...

"You've got thirty minutes. Make good use of it, because if you're a minute late--"

"I will! I mean, I will make good use of the time. I will not be late. Thank you, ma'am."

Nia's actually glad to have been interrupted, because she's not sure how she was gonna end that threat. "Yeah, you're welcome," she says grudgingly. "Bring coffee or whatever it takes to wake you up." An eyebrow lifts. "Better yet, ask your medtech friend over there to pump you full of some stimulant... y'know, while he's at it."

In the distance, the young ensign lifts the communicator away from her face, a frown now visible. She turns briefly toward the man beside her before again speaking into her device.

"I do not think he was planning on 'pumping' anything."

Nia can't help a snort, but her hand covers her mouth and nose, and she swings her communicator away quickly enough to avoid being heard. Chuckling, she wishes she could share this with Book, but it's likely the amusement would be one-sided. "Well, that's unfortunate, but if you ask nicely maybe you'll get lucky. In all seriousness, Ensign. I want you sobered up and in my quarters ready to work in thirty. Got it?"

After gaining a less-than-enthusiastic "aye, ma'am," Nia flips her communicator shut and returns it to her belt in a familiar, smooth gesture. "Sorry about that," she says to the two men--not that Bennett seems to be paying her the least bit of attention. "I've got a night's worth of brainstorming thanks to her, and I'm not suffering alone." Something tickles at the back of her brain, and she flicks a curious glance at Bennett. "Were you saying something, Doctor?"

Kylah says nothing as she shuts her communicator, leaving it cupped within her fingers like a sheltered baby bird. This way she will have a reason to avoid placing her hand on Mr. Alvarez's... on Carlos's arm. And yet she still finds herself leaning slightly against him. It takes an effort to straighten up.

"Forgive me," she mutters, doing her best to maintain her balance. "That was Lt. Onn. I had forgotten my promise to her. We are supposed to work on... something. But we--that is, you and I--can go to Sickbay together, still. She gave me thirty minutes."

Kylah waits for the Turbolift to fill and close--it is already too full for her liking; better to wait for the next group. She scowls as she examines the door, remembering her conversation with Lt. Onn. Then she pronounces: "She thinks I need to be stimulated, and suggested you might help. Could you? If you think I need it?"

Graham wonders is someone slipped something into his drink, or maybe into everyone else's. because the night has definitely turned weird. As far as he can tell, Nia's issuing order to Kylah to do something or other urgently, while the prickly doctor has just seen the rapture or something...

He shifts in place and clears his throat, not sure what to say--or what to expect next.

Alvarez couldn't help but overhear Onn's and Kylah's conversation. He coughs and says, "Well, it has been a long night. Let's just go to Sickbay for now, and if you need some coffee or something, I'm sure we could get it in time for you to meet up with Mr. Onn." The turbolift moves and soon deposits you near Sickbay.

The Wardroom empties further around Graham, Onn and Dr. Bennett.

“Oh, I didn’t say anything.” Nathaniel denies to Nia, even though he clearly has. But thankfully she hadn’t heard what he said.... or she was pretending that is the case. She seems the sneaky type to do that.

“Look, I need to leave.” Nathaniel practically dives under the table so Joe doesn’t see him. “Contact me about the poker game.”

Without hearing Nia’s response, Nathaniel races out of the room and rushes to his quarters, and breathes a sign of relief as the doors swish close behind him. He didn’t know what to think about Joe being here. He prays Joe hadn’t seen him, but Nathaniel is certain that if he had, Joe would have said hello. He wouldn’t have run away, avoided the past, avoided dealing with them. No, that was not Joe’s style at all. And then another thought crosses his mind. The man with Joe has to be his husband. Joe had left him know he was getting married when it happened. Not to invite Nathaniel or anything, thank God. He just hadn’t wanted Nathaniel to hear it from anybody else. Joe is civil like that.

But Nathaniel hadn’t kept track of Joe after that. Joe is his past, dead and buried. History best forgotten. And well, he’d had other things to deal over the past couple of years, far more important than a broken relationship. But he wished he had of kept track of Joe, not because he gave a damn that he was married and is living happily ever after. He just hadn’t wanted to run into an ex-boyfriend, especially THIS ONE with all that messy history, here of all places. Not with the plans he had. And Nathaniel’s wonders how he can go through with his plans if he had to hide around the corner every time he spotted Joe. Besides, the truth was, they couldn’t avoid each other forever, not when you were on a spaceship. In fact, Nathaniel wonders if Joe already knew Nathaniel was on board. I mean, someone would have mentioend the new surgoen, especially given Nathaniel’s reputation and all he’d done since he’d been here. And Nathaniel couldn’t help but wonder how Joe would feel about seeing him again. Nathaniel knows how he feels, he doesn’t want to. But he didn’t have a choice.

Then again, Nathaniel realizes, maybe it’s something he could use to his advantage. Usually he avoids ex-lovers and ex-boyfriends (not that he’d had many) like the plague. No matter how the relationship when, there is always some sort of drama attached to them and it certainly would be with Joe. But once again, Nathaniel reminds himself of why he is here. Nothing can get in the way of that, included a messy past with a guy he should have never gotten involved with in the first place. However, he could use that past to his advantage, always a plus.

Avoiding Joe was the last thing he needs to do.

Nia gives a start when Bennett runs away so fast he nearly makes a Hot-New-Surgeon-Guy-shaped hole in the automatic doors, having left so little time to allow them to open and shut behind him.

She shakes her head. Maybe he should join Kylah in seeking out the ship's psychologist.

"I must really be losing my touch," she says dryly. "I'm even chasing away guys who barely know me."

At last she turns to Booker--who, to his credit, remains by her side. "Well, hello there, Lieutenant." Nia smiles and gives him and his uniform a frank inspection. "Gotta say, the extra stripe suits you. Did you have a pleasant evening?"

Graham rubs the back of his head. "Well, ah...pleasant enough, I guess." He smiles slightly. "I'm in good company now, for sure."

After a second's pause, he takes a deep breath. "Look, I, uh--I saw earlier that Ens. Kylah must've said something that really upset you. I don't know what it was, but it seems like she sometimes--uh, lashes out...at maybe the wrong people. But she'd benefit from the, ah, the right sort of people not pushing her away, even if she doesn't make it easy... Anyway, I'm sorry about that, I hope you don't hold something that might have been a one-off, uh, 'error in judgment' against her."

Nia uses all her will power to avoid saying if Ensign Kylah's only had one 'error in judgment,' I'm an untouched virgin.

Instead, she inhales deeply. "Truth is, I was just trying to stop her from making a drunken toast before slumping headlong into the lemon pie. Your protege doesn't handle wine very well--which is too bad since she seemed intent on drinking a whole bottle."

Nia brushes at Booker's chest as if there's some crumb on his uniform; really, she just wants to touch him.

"My reward for this act of generosity? An order to propose a whole new method of communication overnight, courtesy of Vargas." She lets her hand rest over his heart, then pats it, murmuring: "It is something we need, though. Wouldn't it be lovely to speak directly from here, Book? I wonder what we'd say? Or who we'd say it to?"

She lets this thought linger in the silence, then drops her hand. "Speaking of books... You left your gift in my quarters in your rush to leave. It's no problem, I can bring it to you tomorrow. Or you can walk me back and pick it up yourself."

Graham feels like his heart takes an extra beat as Nia lays her hand on his chest.

Unfortunately the gist of the conversation is anything but uplifting.

"I'd like to walk you back," Graham replies. After a deep breath he adds, "And I'm sorry your night is...uh, has been commandeered."

He starts to turn to go, expecting Nia would join alongside, then stops, turns back, and takes her hand. "And I'm sorry about the way I left, and forgetting the book--it's a wonderful gift, Nia. But..."

He places her hand against his chest again. "You don't have to say anything if you thought it was lame, or...not the right time to say it, or...whatever...I...it probably wasn't the right way to leave,
I guess....but I meant the message I left on your terminal." He taps he hand gently against his chest. "That was directly from here, to you."

He retains hold of her hand, down at his side between them, and nods his head toward the door. "Shall we?"

Nathaniel takes a deep breath before the doors to the dining hall swish open and he walks through them. And of course he immediately spots Joe still in deep conversation with the man Nathaniel assumed is Joe’s husband — and some other guy. Nathaniel steels his shoulder and prepares himself for the moment he thought would never happen. He sees Nia staring at him out of the corner of his eye. But he does his best ignore her as he moved towards the table and towards the past — and in some ways, his future.

“Hey, Joe.” Nathaniel smiles that dazzling smile that has gotten him laid more times than he could count. It certainly worked on Joe. And while he knows he shouldn’t be thinking this, he wonders if it might work now. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Nurse Sarah Perry is the night duty nurse in Sickbay. When she learns why Kylah and Alvarez are there, she nods. "I just looked in on Mr. Rangin, as it happens, and he's still awake. You can go right in, if you like."

Lt. Joseph Bancroft, one of the Yorktown's astrophysicists, rises to his feet with a surprised smile, and sticks out his hand. He is tall and trim, in his early 30s, with thick, sandy-colored hair, bristly eyebrows but a neatly-trimmed beard. He says, "Nathaniel! I thought I spotted you down the table. Well... it's been a long time. What brings you aboard?"

Rangin sits upright in bed, hunched over in the half light and feeling something between tiredness and the associated annoyance at not being able to drift off to a welcome sleep. It's not like there is anything else to do but read, as he twists slowly under the sheets feeling as constricted as his enforced stay. At least tomorrow he should be able to get back to his own room, and not tied to this room.

From what he had heard from the gossip, there was some big dinner for the captain and officers. Given the choice of having to be on his best behaviour or being cooped up in sickbay, he wonders which would be the lesser of the two evils. Rangin also wonders if it is the reason Kylah has not responded to his messages. Either that or she took offence to them again. No, no, he chastises himself silently while staring at the ceiling, that is unfair and probably part of the reason they are in this position.

And now all he can do is just sit there with the regular visits from the duty nurse. He can almost feel her doing her rounds, walking down the corridor arm in arm, coming to see him again having just left, as from outside he can hear her talking to Kylah. He frowns as he tries to make sense of it all, he must be tired.

"Hello?" he calls to the outside of the room.

The longer she stands, the more Kylah feels the lassitude of weariness--or drunkenness. She is certainly grateful for Carlos's kind assistance in keeping her upright. For a few seconds while the nurse speaks to her, Kylah tries to understand why being so close to this man, a near-stranger, does not bother her.

"Because these arms are strong but safe," she murmurs contentedly. "No grabbing, no possessiveness. Just protective..." The sound of her own voice surprises her, and she realizes far too late that she has spoken aloud. And she turns nearly as red as her uniform.

Body stiffening, she steps out from the warmth of Carlos's gentlemanly support and must fight against gravity on her own. "I--I am sorry, Carlos," she says, wishing the nurse were not here to observe this. "I did not mean to-- I am saying too much. Forgive me for imposing on you."

It strikes her that in this frame of mind it is probably a very bad idea to see Velir, but desire overtakes reason. Especially when she is close enough to his recovery room to sense--very vaguely, thanks to the alcohol clouding her system--Velir's presence nearby. In fact, she is dimly aware how strange it is that she can sense anything at all. Velir's emotions, his thoughts, are more tangible to her than Carlos's, or this nurse's, even though the latter two are right here, and he is behind a door several meters from her.

As if pulled by a string, Kylah is drawn toward the room. She turns to thank Carlos again--fighting her instinct to ask him to wait for her and help her to her quarters. She dares not risk making such a request; it could sound like an invitation.

Nearly at the door, she hears a tired but familiar voice from inside. "Hello?" Kylah's heart jumps and she hurries--nearly stumbles--through the doors to the room.

Nia feels the strong but gentle pressure of Book's hand on hers, when he thanks her for her gift and says, "But..."

But what? she wonders, filling in the silence with a dozen different possible answers. Primarily: You're not young enough. You're not as feminine as Cecilia. You're not human and your scales are repulsive. You're too pushy. You're not right for me.

...You're not Jane.

How many heartbeats pass before he finally continues? Not many. And now her hand's back on his heart, enveloped by his, and he's apologizing for something, for... for what?

"Message?" Nia repeats, her words hoarse enough that she clears her throat and starts again. "You left a message?" What under the dying sun is he talking about? "On my terminal? I didn't see..."

She remembers bumping into her monitor before her Watch. She remembers not paying attention to anything on it when she slammed it back in place. She remembers being an idiot.

She has no idea what the message said but she strongly suspects that it'll either echo her own suspicions above, or--given the way Booker Graham is staring down at her--it is very, very much the opposite.

As they start walking, Nia forces out her own apology. "I'm sorry," she says, dropping her gaze to their still-entwined hands, his lighter but rougher skin contrasting her darker, silvery fingers. "I haven't looked at my terminal all day. What did it say? Or... or is this something you'd rather me read, in private?"

Carlos says "But Kylah...." as she hurries away. She can hear a world of concern and yearning packed into those two words.

"Oh..." it's a little louder than Graham might have intended. He gets his volume back under control. "Well...you must have thought I was world-class jerk, leaving the way I did, then..."

He looks down at his feet, then back at Nia. He shakes his head and shrugs slightly. "Well, it sounds stupid to say out loud...I mean, Federation Poet Laureate needs a Security detail, I got it, but, ah, eloquence..." He clears his throat and squeeze her hand gently. "I, uh, said--I wrote...'I woke up to a miracle today,' Nia."

When drinking in Booker's words, Nia--so surefooted, so confident--almost loses her balance. Only slightly, nothing embarrassing, nothing that can't be controlled thanks to his fingers' grip on her own.

Her eyes sting, and she blinks the sensation away, a little shocked by it. It's as close to crying as is possible for her race.

"That's not stupid," she says quietly. They are near the Turbolift, and she places a palm--visibly trembling, which also astonishes her--on the control panel. She then turns to Booker and does her best to meet his gaze without shame. "It's lovely." Eyes measuring every plane and curve of his weathered, scarred face, she tries to smile. Her throat is tight with tears she's incapable of shedding. "You're lovely, Book."

Swallowing is difficult, but she manages it. "What's stupid is everything I've thought and felt today. Actually... no. Stupid isn't the right word. It's..."

She falls silent when the Turbolift arrives. "Let's get to my quarters fast, before we're interrupted. I really... I need to..." Again she stops. What is wrong with her? She's never been so hesitant before. Not as an adult, anyway. "I have to explain. I'm just worried I'm gonna ruin things if I do."

Her free hand finds his, and now they stand together, hands clasped as if their shared pressure is enough to run the Turbolift. "I've piloted journeys of a thousand lightyears, all told. But I haven't flown this particular route before. And it scares me."

Graham just nods, trying to make sense of Nia's reaction--"I'm with you," he says softly , holding her hand and matching her pace.

Kylah starts to turn back toward Carlos after she catches his words and the heartfelt tone in which he said them. But the door closes behind her, and she is now…

Surrounded.

She slowly faces Velir. The very air feels charged with his presence. Her senses are enhanced, even standing at the edge of the room. Why? What has changed? He has, she thinks with a sharp intake of breath. The inexplicable psi powers. She does not know if he can sense her as easily as she is now picking up his mental strength. It is considerable. It is frightening.

But his weary face, his steady gaze… they do not scare her. Not much, anyway.

Opening her communicator, she hurries to read his second message. “Forgive me, I did not have time to read both notes,” she says when she realizes the silence has lasted too long, while continuing to scan his note. "I hope you do not mind my visiting so..."

Her voice fades as she reads:

I meant to thank you for being here when I woke up. I know that such a place does not hold pleasant memories from the time when you were in my current situation. I don't believe it could have been easy for you, but I would not want to try and think on your behalf. I have made too many assumptions over the last few weeks and lying here is giving me plenty of opportunity to think things over.

In particular, I would like to talk some more with you. Previous to my waking up, our last meeting did not end well, and I feel I should make amends, but I can understand if you would prefer not to.

By the time she finishes, all the taut knots in her muscles seem to melt. Buried in this oddly formal text is… empathy. Humility. These have been lacking from him, at least toward Kylah.

Moved, she presses the communicator to her heart as if hoping to transfer his words through skin and bone.

Her face rises up to meet his stare. Her feelings are too complex to to address immediately, and so her immediate response is simple politeness. “How… How are you feeling? I am not keeping from sleeping, am I?”

* * *

Rangin looks at the figure who has stumbled into the room with a certain amount of shock. He blinks couple of times, and each time she is still there talking to him.

"No. No you're not keeping me up at all," Rangin fires off a little rapidly as if to make up for lost time, "I wasn't sure you would return even if I did ask. I heard the Captain was entertaining some officers. I thought you would be there instead."

He feels uncomfortable, stuck here with Kylah no doubt waiting for more following his message. But the fact she came here must mean something.

"So, as I said in the message, that yes, I'd like to try and make amends and I hope you are still open to it and not just here to tell me never darken your..." he stutters to a halt as he realises how that sentence would end and the unintentional, unwelcome thoughts it could raise.

He looks down at the sheets, the guilty feeling crawling up his back and he can feel a sheen of sweat begin to form, despite the cool air in Sickbay. Once again, he can manage to say something that hurts.

"Sorry", he says quietly wondering if she will respond or just leave.

* * *

Frowning--which not only represents Kylah’s confusion, but also helps her bleary eyes focus better--she takes a hesitant step closer. She starts to respond a few times during Velir’s speech, but her mind is too slow.

“Do not apologize--not for that. Did you really think I would stay away? I did not even need the second note, although now that I have read it…” She shakes her head, still hugging the communicator to her. “It means so much. Of course I would come. The dinner… it was long, and tiring, and if it had been anyone but the Captain who invited me, I would have ignored the invitation and stayed by your side.”

Abruptly she halts herself. The truth unravels from her like a fallen spool of thread. She bites her lip before continuing, aware that her state of mind is working against her sense of self-preservation.

But again, something about Velir almost compels her to blurt out: “I care for you. I have not made a secret of that. I came straight here as soon as I could, and even though there was another man escorting me I could think only of you. I treated Carlos poorly...”

One hand gestures vaguely toward the door. Though she still senses Carlos’s disappointment--strange, has he lingered outside?--Kylah is far more overwhelmed by Velir. He truly does feel guilty, and more.

There is none of the shield of remoteness that has guarded him for so long. What matters is now, with his emotions enveloping her like a warm blanket held out to a frozen traveler.

Drawn to him, Kylah manages to propel herself toward his bed, then stops herself from falling courtesy of her free hand clutching the nearest object, which happens to be the sheet draped over Velir’s thigh. Though embarrassed, she enjoys being near him and cannot help laughing at the mistake.

“I am sorry. I had too much at dinner. To drink, I mean.” She releases him and, leaning forward, delicately touches his cheek. The wine has definitely made her bold, and she does not want to shrink from it.

“You speak of amends. I do not ask for much. All you have to do is say you believe me. That you trust that I never meant to hurt you. Do you?”



Kylah by choie, Rangin by, uh, Rangin.

In a haze of mixed emotions, Nia barely notices how long it takes to get to her quarters. But they're here now, and the door closes, and Nia--casting a rueful eye over the dilapidated state of her unmade bed and cast-off clothing and knocked-over monitor--pulls Booker closer.

"Pretend you don't see this mess," she rushes out, shaking her head dismissively before caressing his hands were hers. "Book... tell me what you meant. Honestly, I'm not usually this needy, but right now, I..."

I feel unsteady, like we're being pelted by asteroids and the inertial dampers have gone on the fritz. "I just want stuff said as openly as possible. No metaphors. No poetry."

She inhales--it's getting late and she'll need to get her air-tank soon, but it's not only the lack of Bilitrium that's making her breathless. She steps closer, noting that her heels make him only an inch or so taller than her. Their faces line up nicely.

"What did you mean by what you wrote? That--" She tries to remember the exact wording. "That you 'woke up to a miracle?'"

* * *

Graham clears his throat and takes a long moment to blink. "Well, it was--I mean, it really hit me that someone like you - you're not just beautiful, you're smart, you're strong - would want to wake up next to me. At least, uh, more than maybe once, before someone like me became a waste of your time..."

He closes his eyes again and shakes his head slightly. "But that's..." he takes a deep breath and squeezes her hand. He can't help but let his gaze slide away and down, off to the side. "That's a cop-out. What really hit me, Nia, was that I--"

His shoulders tense and then release; his whole body shudders slightly. "I never thought it would be possible to love a woman, ever again...maybe that I shouldn't , but I was sure I couldn't, and, uh..." He clears his throat and forces himself to look, if not straight into her eyes, at least more generally toward her face... She deserves that, right, Booker?

"This morning it hit me, just maybe I could wrong...about both."



Nia by SidonianGal, Graham by general_urko.

No hug? Nathaniel thinks. There was a time when the man couldn’t keep his hands of me. Probably doesn’t want to irritate his husband, Nathaniel muses as he casts an eye at the spouse and of course Nathaniel knows he is much better looking. But Nathaniel figures Joe couldn’t be too happy to see him, show too much emotion in front of the husband. While Nathaniel has ticked off more than a few husbands in his day, he doesn’t want to do that with Joe’s husband... at least not yet. He and Joe will get better acquainted later. For the moment, Nathaniel only wants to announce his arrival.

“I’m the ship’s surgeon.” Nathaniel announces. “I thought you would have heard — given what I’ve been up to since I arrived. It’s been a hell of a few days.”

Rangin is frozen on the spot. A mixture of Kylah’s close proximity, the boldness of her touch and the fact he is now staring into deep into her eyes. Drawn in, he can feel the touch of her hands, as delicate as they always have been, and he remembers the last time they were this close together. That had not ended well and now is not the time to react in the same way.

She is close enough for him to faintly smell the alcohol on her breath, but even so he thinks she is telling the truth, that she is being as open and honest to him now as she ever has been. It is disconcerting just how sure he is about it. That perhaps when they had been together he had reacted so wrongly to her, so misunderstood what she meant and so caught up in his own history that he had ruined it without thinking.

“I wish I could say the same for my actions, but I do believe you.” He does not want to move, hoping to hold the contact to go as her emotions, though blurred, seem to leak out through her fingers and he shudders at the caress as new sensations begin to seep into his mind.

“I... I think I need to do more than just believe you and I am currently not in a state to do much more.” He reaches up and takes her hand and holds it carefully with his own and in doing so, the feelings begin to quickly fade and he can begin to think more rationally, though he wonders if he has once again chosen poorly.

“But if we are to talk more…”, he sighs as he straightens up slightly, “...you still have someone waiting for you outside. You might want to let him know whether to stay or go.”

* * *

Kylah stares at their joined hands. She wants more, she wants to cradle him in her arms. But this very desire is beginning to feel uncomfortable. This need… this compulsion to be near him, to touch him, is familiar. Delicious but also… it reminds her of something. Something unpleasant.

Her fuzzy head is not helping, and it is also not doing much for her ability to take in Velir’s own words.

His last comment brings with it a hint of coolness, or uncertainty, flowing from his skin to hers. Kylah tilts her head, confused, then inhales in comprehension. “Someone waiting for me....? Do you mean Carlos? Mr. Alvarez?" she corrects, again feeling her cheeks burn. "He works here, in Recovery. He was kind enough to bring me here after dinner. I do think he likes me… I like him, too, but not in the same--”

Kylah almost bites her tongue when she slams her mouth shut. Why did she say this? It is true--Carlos’s words, his gallantry, his warm brown eyes… He feels more than friendship for her. And yes, she did encourage him.

But why under the Tellun sun did she reveal this to Velir? Has she no sense at all? Why, looking into Velir's eyes, does she feel determined to speak the truth?

It occurs to her just how handicapped she is by her lack of knowledge about exactly what Velir's mind can do.

Now all she can do is shrug, trying to dismiss what she just said.

“--But I doubt he is waiting for me,” she says hurriedly. Then her eyes widen. “Yet someone else is. I forgot all about it. Lt. Onn ordered me… I must meet her. She wishes me to assist her work on… something about a new type of communications device? Obviously I am no engineer, but she thinks I might be of help.”

She could stop here, and it would be a flattering anecdote. Still, once again the truth is almost forced from her. “Really, it is a form of punishment. I made a foolish mistake at dinner, and she covered up for me. And got in trouble for it, I believe. That is why she must work on this device all night, and why she is forcing me to do so as well. I suppose it is fair. She does not like me, but did me a favor. So I owe her.”

***

“Communication device..?” Velir’s mind thinks back over the his last memories and the dreams he has been having. “Yes, I need to find out about that communicator, the damaged one you gave me, to see what had happened to it. See what I can discover.” His eyes look into the distance as he thinks back. “You probably won’t believe me, but I dreamt about it for some reason, along with some other weird things I can’t quite remember.”

He focuses back on Kylah again, “but that is for tomorrow, I’m of little use here at this time, even if I am fine. But I should be discharged soon and I can get started on that. Try to make up for something if I can.”

He squeezes her hand gently, as if to remind himself that she is still there. “If Lt. Onn is waiting, perhaps you should go and sort out what you need to do, I can wait, it wouldn’t do to keep the Lieutenant waiting.”



Rangin by Rangin (duh), Kylah by choie

At first, Velir’s mention of repairing a communicator does not even register with Kylah's foggy brain.

Then his meaning hits her: her last destroyed device, ruined by whatever Darren Zweller did to her weeks ago. All at once she remembers the confrontation with Mark Ferguson the other day--was it yesterday, or two days ago? Kylah cannot remember.

She can remember Ferguson's threats. She shivers as if a draft has blown through the carefully controlled atmosphere of the room.

Ferguson knows she has been searching for answers, specifically because of that very communicator--the one she was holding, and which had been ruined, almost melted, the same day Darren Zweller surprised her in her quarters.

When Lt. Ferguson cornered her in that Engineering corridor, he warned her not to continue down that path. And he knows about Velir...he knows how I care...

“No,” she says hoarsely. “Please, Velir, do not worry yourself about the communicator. It was… just a malfunction. Nothing important. I should not have bothered you.”

But his eyes are closing and he seems so tired… she is not certain he even heard her.

Afraid to reveal too much, Kylah hesitates. He needs his rest. Perhaps--if she is, for once, lucky--he might not even remember any of this.

Reluctantly she lets her hand release Velir’s own. Their connection subsides and her mind clears somewhat. While her feelings for him are still powerful, the need to blurt out every last thought is no longer as strong.

She swallows and tries to smile, forcing her anxieties away. “Perhaps we can talk tomorrow? If you are up to it. And assuming Lt. Onn will release me from my obligation by then.”

Velir takes a few seconds to respond drowsily. “Tomorrow, if we can, we will. Good night, Kylah.” He brushes the side of her arm as she leans back heading for the door, a last contact between them as he settles back down to go to sleep.

Waiting, Kylah watches his breathing getting slower, more even. After a moment, Kylah touches his hand with the tips of her fingers, the blissful electric feeling buzzing through her just at this feather-light stroke. “Good night, Velir.”

She hurries out of his room, not even noticing if Carlos or Dr. Bucci or even anyone else is waiting in the main Sickbay area. Too much runs through her: delight and terror, exhaustion and exhilaration. Leaving Sickbay, she looks up Lt. Onn's quarters in her shiny new communicator--is this number three or four? She has lost track of all the required replacements.

Through the corridors, she dreamily remembers the rekindled closeness between her and Velir. How gentlemanly he was. And allowing--no, not just allowing, he was receptive to her touch. She has missed that so dearly. Is hope actually possible?

It is, it must be. But he must not investigate that communicator, she thinks, dread again creeping its clammy fingers along her spine. Surely he will forget all about it?

Mind jumping from worry to elation, Kylah quickens her pace to Lt. Onn's.



Kylah by me, Rangin by Rangin

Nia takes a tiny step backwards, rocked by Booker... his whole demeanor, his obvious feelings, and especially his words. They're like a splash of cold water to her--something surprising and wonderful; something she doesn't dare take for granted, even a dozen years off her desert planet.

"Oh," she says in an exhale.

Her insides cringe. Brilliant. A man like this tells her that after a great tragedy involving the woman of his dreams, he might at last be able to fall in love... with her... and Lt. Nia Onn, known for being quick on her feet, always coming up with an insightful solution, decisive order, blistering insult or bawdy joke... that allegedly sharp mind can only think to say Oh.

Her lungs are tight. Which is normal for the 47th hour between Bilitrium doses, but Nia doesn't think it's solely related to the air she breathes. It's panic. Cowardice. Paralysis. Everything Booker's just said is should be making Nia thrilled. And she is. Somewhere, down past the fear and impulse to run.

She has to say something. Something good, something equally lovely, because she knows Booker's just paid her a tremendous compliment and he deserves one himself.

She might as well start with the truth. Part of it.

"That... that's one of the most moving things anyone's ever said to me." Nia swallows. Her throat is painfully dry. "I know we've only known each other for a little while. But I also know what you felt for Jane. Feel for Jane," she hastens to add; death does not end love. "And for you to tell me that I've somehow given you hope of feeling that again..."

She shakes her head, words failing her. Another long pause while she gathers her thoughts.

"All day I've been in a horrible mood. Because you fell asleep on me last night, because you said--" Oh hell no. Do not bring up that he mistook her for his wife now. "--I mean... because you didn't say goodbye this morning... or so I thought. And then at dinner, you looked so good next to--"

Damn it, she can't admit to jealousy either. Nia's pride won't allow that. Just get to the friggin' point.

"We just seemed off. And it's pretty obvious now that the reason was me. Because if you're feeling all that... you're not the problem. It's my own-- it's me." Nia's throat tightens again, and she can hear the air sucking through her windpipe trying to feed her increasingly starved lungs. She still can't tell whether it's biology or terror.

"There are things I've never said to any man, Booker. And I'm old." She lifts a hand, fingers lightly covering his lips before he protests. "I know, I know you don't think so, but I am. Older than a lot of women get to be on Sidonia. And even though I left, the way men and women are back there is embedded in me. I'm still afraid.

"So I don't say stuff like this. I just run. I keep things casual. I don't let things get to the point where talking really matters."

She shakes her head, breathing a little harder, and steps closer to Booker. She rests her temple against his cheek. "I'm not ready for this yet, Book. I am so incredibly moved by you. And I care. A lot. But maybe there's something missing in my makeup, because I can't find the right words, yet. I don't know if they're in me."

Then, lifting her chin so her mouth is closer to his: "Can we just... not talk? Because if I keep at it, I'm gonna screw things up completely. Whereas not talking is something I do really, really well." Her hand reaches up and gently pulls his chin so they're face-to-face, and she kisses him. Slowly, tenderly, and soon with increasing heat.

* * *

Graham needs a lot more time to process everything Nia has just said before she kisses him, but one thing comes across loud and clear: for all what he sees as her confidence and strength, Sidonia wasn't a good place--a safe place--for her...and that's still with her.

He hesitates to fully respond to her kisses, wanting to say "you'll always be safe with me, Nia." But then--is that really true, Booker?

It hits him: maybe this is your chance at something like redemption, Booker. You can't undo your failure but you are being given a chance to do right....

And he so wants to, with skeins of new hope entwined with despair and guilt with desire. For the first time in a long while they sort themselves out in a way that grants him presence, and belief in a future that's not a dark echo of the past.

He returns Nia's kisses with the same light and heat he seems to feel at the edge of his being, reaching to caress her shoulders and push her top up, away, and down ...

* * *

The door chime sounds.

Nia, uniform hardly in ship-shape order, and wanting Booker's hands on her more than she wants to breathe, pretends she didn't just hear what she heard. But there it is again. Worse, it's followed by a slightly tinny and hesitant voice addressing her via the comm panel beside her door.

"Lt. Onn? It is Ensign Kylah."

Nia's eyes close as she remembers her assignment. "Oh, fuck me," she mutters--and unfortunately, it's not a command to Booker. Her eyelids flutter open and she searches his face. "We have the worst damn timing ever..."


Nia by me, Graham by general_urko, and pain-in-the-ass Kylah by me choie

It takes longer than Kylah would have expected for the door to the Helm Officer's quarters to open. When it does, with a soft whoosh, Kylah finds herself facing not only a somewhat aggravated-looking Lt. Onn, but someone else behind her.

"Mr. Graham?" Kylah blurts, so surprised she forgets his new rank. She tries to recover, but then the heightened emotions emanating from both officers are so intense and, well, obvious, that Kylah might as well have caught them naked. She flushes and averts her eyes as if she indeed has.

"I--I am sorry, ma'am. Sir. I did not mean to be... early."

Lt. Onn tells her to come in, apparently not accepting the apology--which is unfair, since the truth is, Kylah is not early and both of them know it. An awkward greeting from Lt. Graham to Kylah is followed by some quiet words between the two superior officers. Kylah remains standing half-in, half-out of the impressively large single quarters. She manages to avoid the others' conversation by wondering just how, and why, Lt. Onn rates such spacious quarters.

Finally Lt. Graham leaves, his emotions mixed upon brushing past Kylah. She does her best not to show any reaction, especially not to the scent of Lt. Onn's perfume that clings lightly and rather pleasantly to him.

"All right, Ensign," Nia says once the door whooshes closed. "Stop looking so pointedly discreet. This isn't a scandal. Big deal, you found two adults in one of their quarters--it's not like catching Captain Kirk in bed with a Klingon."

"N-no, ma'am."

"Okay. Make yourself comfortable, pick up a datapad on my desk--I see you didn't think to bring one of your own--and wait right here. I need to..." Lt. Onn coughs slightly and holds a hand against her chest. "Um... I need to get out of my uniform and... tank up."

Kylah does not know what this means, but since her very existence seems to annoy the older woman, she is not going to ask. It was stupid of her to forget the datapad. But she is only now coming out of her intoxicated state; it is fortunate she managed to find these quarters on her own.

Finding a slim datapad as ordered, Kylah moves to a chair and delicately removes some stockings, a single boot, and some sort of underwear that looks more like a gossamer dragonfly than anything an officer should wear beneath her Starfleet-issued uniform. Actually, it is the most Elasian-looking garment Kylah has seen on any of her colleagues.

It certainly does not prepare her for the sight of Lt. Onn, her hair tied back in its usual ponytail, wearing cotton purple and yellow polkadot pajamas--and, most surprisingly, a shoulder strap attached to a slim but hefty-looking tank connected via tiny plastic tubes to the Sidonian woman's nostrils.

Lt. Onn pauses and lifts her eyebrow. "Yeah. You're shocked, right? I know what you're thinking." She takes long, deep breaths. "The pajamas are pretty hideous."

Kylah nearly corrects her as to why she is so startled, but quickly catches on. "They are not that bad. The colors are just... not suited to your complexion."

A small smile--reluctant, but it is there--is Kylah's reward. "I'm not from an M-class planet," Lt. Onn says as she parks herself on her bed, cross-legged. "I can't last on your atmosphere longer than about two days. So every 48 hours or so, I have to spend a night sorta 'charging up' on the elements I need to survive. Unfortunately they're pretty rare, especially one--at least in non-solid form." She waves a hand at the thin tubes and tank. "Anyway, that's the purpose of all these attractive accessories."

Interested--and glad to have been told the truth--Kylah nods, curious as to why someone would go through such fuss simply to stay on a Starfleet ship. But she does not ask. They all have their reasons, and many have unique obstacles. And vulnerabilities, she recognizes while avoiding staring too long at the breathing tubes. Lt. Onn never struck Kylah as vulnerable at all--quite the opposite. But I felt like that about Lt. Collins. I was wrong there as well.

"Are... are you sure you should not be resting, Lieutenant?" Kylah ventures. "If you need to 'recharge,' perhaps this is not the right time--"

Lt. Onn snorts. "You kidding? The eight or so hours I'm attached to this thing are the most 'vital' I feel on this ship or anywhere that isn't Sidonia. It's the perfect time." She reaches over for her own datapad.

"Anyway. You remember these, right?" She taps her screen in a blur of action and calls up an image of a device that Kylah has never seen. Lt. Onn sees Kylah's lack of recognition and blinks. "Ohhhh... wait. You weren't on that mission, were you? Okay, well, these weird-looking little bastards are Klingon devices, which we saw at work on the Naradraen. They blocked our transporters and seemed to have some subspace communication ability.

"They gave me an idea, and it's something we need to come up with tonight. Not with any great detail, but I'd like it to be detailed enough to pass Vargas's inspection. He challenged me, and I'm not gonna let that pass." Lt. Onn smiles, and suddenly the hint of vulnerability Kylah saw earlier is gone.

The Helm Officer--who is apparently trained as an engineer, Kylah learns--goes on to explain her insanely ambitious ideas for a small, wearable device that combines the basic needs of communication, transporter connectivity as well as transporter blocking, and stealth capabilities.

And Kylah's role, it appears, is to get in touch with the Aelyrr, or at least assist in translating Lt. Onn's requests for any schematics or reconfiguring that they might have performed on the devices.

It will, Kylah realizes but keeps the thought to herself, be a very long night.

And worse: Starfleet making use of Klingon technology is most definitely something she is supposed to report to her uncle.

She erases that thought for now and pays attention to Lt. Onn's ideas and offers some of her own as the night passes along.



Kylah by me, Nia by me-but-not-me

Bancroft winces a little. "I knew I should have checked the latest personnel update. Well, welcome aboard! You'll be CMO by the end of the week, I'm sure. This is my husband, Edgardo." He introduces Nathaniel to a small, stoop-shouldered older Filipino man in Engineering red, who smiles warmly and gives the doctor a strong handshake.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the Chief Engineer says. "I hope you enjoy your time aboard the Yorktown."

Carlos Alvarez watches Kylah quickly leave Sickbay, overlooking - or ignoring? - him where he sat in the waiting room. He thinks of saying something... but doesn't.

Bancroft, Cheverez and Dr. Bennett talk briefly - perhaps a little awkwardly, truth be told - before the astrophysicist and the engineer say their goodnights and leave.

The days pass by, and the Yorktown plunges deeper into the void.

The Captain asks Lt. Onn to come to her office one afternoon and shows her a just-received subspace message from the Federation Interstellar Exploratory Institute, thanking and commending the Sidonian officer for saving the Jorr Surveyor probe. "Well done," the Captain says warmly, shaking her hand. "I'm glad to see your fine work recognized by others, Lieutenant."

Under Dr. Bennett's supervision, Rangin's radiological treatments do him much good. Soon he is back on his feet, released from Sickbay and approved for active duty again.

However, Nina Kostoyev, civilian passenger and wife of the chief miner, Alexei Kostoyev, comes into Sickbay a few hours after Rangin leaves. She is pale and complains of nausea, fatigue and muscle cramps. A quick scan shows Dr. Bennett that she has Canopian flu, which is highly contagious but not usually dangerous to either pregnant women or their fetuses. Quarantine for at least two weeks, bed rest and hydration is the standard Starfleet Medical treatment protocol.

The First Officer likes what he sees of Onn's and Kylah's proposed communications innovation. "Not bad," he says. "Not bad at all. Keep at it, ladies. I'd like regular reports, and keep Mr. Cheverez and Mr. Thalen posted, as well, if you please. Dismissed."

Near the end of the week, Kylah receives this text: Would you like to come to the Lyceum concert with me tonight? Earth Classical music - 1900 hours in Rec Room 1. ALVAREZ.

It is now 1400 hours and you are off-duty, after a mission briefing. On her current course and speed, the starship will arrive at Novy Rostov at 0613 hours tomorrow.




See post 18 for more on the mining colony.

Kylah is seated at her usual terminal in the Communications center, spending some off-duty time to research and update the UT database regarding the language drift from Ancient Caitian to the related Aelyrr and modern Caitian languages. The subject is pure scholarly interest, re-ignited by the project with Lt. Onn.

Receiving the message from Mr. Alvarez comes as a complete surprise. She cannot recall if they discussed music at the formal dinner--after all, her memories of that night are foggy at best. But if she did not reveal her love of music then, he seems to have guessed remarkably well at her interests, or...

...Or he has asked someone. Lt. Thalen, perhaps? Kylah, who has focused on her terminal long enough to lose track of who else is around, swivels around casually to see if her superior officer is here or on duty elsewhere.

Then it strikes her that, considering Mr. Alvarez's position, Dr. T'Var might be a more...well, logical source.

Kylah almost smiles at the slight pun. She has generally been in a much lighter mood for the past few days, and so instead of worrying about what led to the invitation--anyway, the simplest explanation is that Mr. Alvarez just noticed the event on the Lyceum calendar--she takes pleasure in the thought of a new friendship.

She replies that she would be delighted, and thanks him for the invitation. After sending the message off, Kylah frowns slightly. It has been several days since she last spoke to Lt. Graham. While feeling better about things ever since the connection between her and Velir has... thawed... Kylah is not entirely serene. Matters need to be dealt with, starting with something quite basic: self-defense.

She starts tapping out a new message.

GRAHAM, LT.JG - May I still take lessons from you regarding defense in hand-to-hand combat? I do not wish to keep pestering you; I understand if you are too busy. But I would be grateful to know if it is still possible. I would ask another security officer but

She hesitates. She was about to give the real reason, which is that she does not trust many in the Security department. Mr. Rawlings, perhaps, but the size differential is even greater than between her and Lt. Graham. Kylah fears it would be too intimidating to learn how to fight from someone who seems twice her height and three times her width.

Still, she does not want to insult Lt. Graham's colleagues--his subordinates, actually, what with his position as ACoS. The promotion seems to have changed him, somewhat. At least, he did not take her suggestion about increasing security in the ship's corridors with any seriousness. After a mental edit, she continues:

but I do not know them as well. If you could suggest a suitable substitute, I would be grateful. I do not wish to feel so vulnerable simply walking around my own

No. Kylah bites her lower lip, then rewrites the last sentence:

...I do not wish to present a grave weakness to my crewmates should the need for hand-to-hand combat prove necessary on any mission. Thank you, sir. -- KYLAH, ENS.

Sighing, Kylah returns to her terminal.

Graham wants nothing more than...

A stiff drink, a shower, and 14 hours of sleep...
A week's shore leave with Nia...
A knock-down, drag-out brawl to break up to take his mind off everything else...

He's honestly not sure which, but he leans "3" because trying to work through the emotions he felt and what he shared with Nia is a lot harder than taking a drunken cadet on shore leave to ground.

Once off duty, he retreats to his quarters to sort things out. And finds a message from Ens. Kylah.

In some respects, it's a lifeline...I hid from a lot of demons teaching at the Academy. I know for sure one thing I can do for Ens. Kylah is teach her how to hand scumbags like Rangin their ass on a platter.

Graham changes into a loose-fitting, flowing martial arts practice outfit, deciding to go to the gym and work off some steam regardless. He replies: "Of course the offer still stands. I'll be doing some martial arts practice shortly if you'd like to join." He adds his intended location and decides the best thing he can do for anyone is to beat the hell out of some practice dummies ASAP, and heads out,

It has been a quiet few days, Nathaniel thinks as he sits alone in the mess hall finishing up his meal. He supposes he is grateful for that given how annoyingly eventful his first few days on this ship had been. While his treatment of Rangin was effective enough that the man has returned to duty, beyond the Canoipan flu diagnosis, there isn’t much exciting going on medical wise. And truth to be told he isn’t interested in another medical emergency, at least not that kind. With that in mind, he hopes he wouldn’t have to go down to the mining colony but he has a feeling someone will need medical care and he’ll be assigned to go. Mining isn’t the healthiest of professions. And he is the new guy so he isn’t going to get to go on the choicier missions. Not that he wants to go on any.

He is a surgeon for God’s sake, not a medic in an ER unit, and so far he hasn’t had the chance to show off his talents in the operating room and he misses it. It is where his real talents lie and he has spent so many damned years honing and perfecting his skills anytime he isn’t using them seems like a waste.

Speaking of a waste, Nathaniel’s thoughts wander to his reunion with Joe. He still couldn’t believe it. Or all the places to run into Joe again it has to be here on this damned ship. And that husband of his...talk about trading down. Joe had already dated very attractive men, Nathaniel being at the top of the heap. And Joe is still as handsome as ever. He could do better than... that. So why is he settling? Nathaniel knows that Joe had wanted to settle down and marry. That had been an issue between them because marriage and committment were two things Nathaniel would never want. But even if Joe had been that anxious to get married, he definitely could have done better. Then again despite behind a beautiful man himself, Joe never cared that much about physical appearance. So Joe probably married the guy despite his looks. To Joe, feelings were the most important thing. And there is no doubt Joe loved the guy, Nathaniel could tell that by the way Joe had looked at him.

Nathaniel is surprised he hadn’t run into Joe again, but he hadn’t. And Joe hasn’t come looking for him, not that Nathaniel had expected him to. Things hadn’t ended well between them and Joe had a husband. Probably one who would be very jealous of me, Nathaniel thinks. Lots of husbands are. Wives too. And sometimes they had reason.

Nathaniel had hoped he and Joe would just have an accidental encounter. But it looked like he is going to have to arrange an accidental meeting. Whether Joe knew it or not they had unfinished business.

Alvarez responds to Kylah, Great! See you there.

There are several people already in the Gym, including two women Graham doesn't know practicing what appears to be aikido.

Did Dr. Bennett order the standard treatment for Mrs. Kostoyev's case of Canopian flu?

After sending off a quick note of gratitude to Lt. Graham, Kylah saves and closes the various files related to her research before heading back to her quarters. She receives the confirmation from Mr. Alvarez when in the Turbolift, and this time cannot help but smile at the enthusiastic reply. How good-natured he is.

In her cabin, Kylah glances guiltily at the Vulcan lute by her terminal. She has not yet found the time--or, to be honest, the willingness--to compose a coded message to her uncle about the ship's officers' interest in the Klingon anti-disruptor device.

Kylah sifts through items in her closet to find something appropriate for a workout. She frowns at the thought of Aldaan. He still has not responded to her previous messages, and she is starting to worry about his health. Perhaps a note to her sister is in order.

She makes a little aha! exhale of triumph when she finds a simple bodysuit, something she has not used in quite a while. It turns out to be a little loose--the material used to look like black paint covering her body, but now, with her weight loss, it only hugs some places, drapes in others.

She removes and places it in a small bag, along with a satin robe to cover herself after the workout is over. Her heart is beating quickly, nervous at the prospect of learning something new--and, too, from wondering how Lt. Graham will react to her, after she interrupted his... tete-a-tete with Lt. Onn the other night. If he is like most men, he will pretend it never happened. But Kylah has been surprised by Lt. Graham before.

Now she rushes off to the gym. This time, when she enters the Turbolift, she opens her communicator to type a message herself.

RANGIN, ENS. -- I hope you continue to feel better. If you are dining in the Mess tonight, perhaps I might join you? -- KYLAH, ENS.

It is a timid request, but it is as forthright as she dares right now in this tentative, tightrope-walking relationship they have re-forged as a result of Velir's injury.

The Turbolift opens and Kylah finds the women's locker room near the gym. Changed into the bodysuit, she pulls her hair into a loose pile of curls in a sort of chignon atop her head, then makes sure most of the tendrils are secure with a white band. Finally she self-consciously exits, holding her arms across her chest while scanning the room for Lt. Graham.

Among the dozen or so other people in the Gym, Kylah sees two women engaged in some form of martial arts. She then spots Graham as he enters the Gym.

Graham looks approvingly at the women practicing aikido.

Good style to know. Probably some techniques that would be helpful for Kylah.

While he waits for his new "trainee" to show up, he finds a clear spot and loosens up with some karate katas...and is pleasantly surprised how good it feels to fall into their rhythm.

The face in the mirror smiles back at Nia, who's braiding her heavy hair. She's feeling pretty damn pleased with things right now, in both the personal and professional realms. And since she's not a superstitious person she's decided to enjoy the ride.

Twisting the braid up into a large knot, she clips it in place and surveys the result. Not bad. As usual, this controlled style gives her an atypically serious look. She's choosing it for two reasons: it's easier to stuff into a cap for swimming, which is on her planned agenda later on; and, most important, she's hoping Cmdr. Vargas will respond to her request for a meeting.

Her thoughts run over the message she sent just before breakfast:

VARGAS, CMDR: Sir, if your schedule allows for it, I'd be grateful for the chance to speak with you, any time after morning Watch today or whenever it's convenient for you, about ideas I have regarding the structure of the Helm and Nav crew...

The rest was just the standard humility and genuflecting required when making a request of the First Officer. She gave no details about exactly what her ideas are, but Vargas--regardless of the defects Nia finds in his personality and leadership style--is plenty smart enough to figure out what's up.

Doesn't matter if he does. It's something way overdue. And a weird gap in the ship's hierarchy anyway, far as she's concerned.

She glances at the communicator resting on her bathroom counter. Hasn't heard from him yet--Vargas is a busy guy, obviously--but if he does grant her an audience, so to speak, Nia wants to be ready. Hence the greater attempt to tame her thick mane so she gives off a sleeker and more, well, prim appearance.

Entirely possible Vargas will catch on to the not-too-subtle message she's sending via this change in her appearance, but on the other hand... he's a man. Wear a sexy outfit--or nothing at all--and hell yeah, they'll notice. Picking up the rationale behind such a modest change in hairstyle? Nia hasn't met a guy yet who's that observant.

Now, Singh--yeah, the Captain would recognize the strategy immediately. Again, though, Nia doesn't care if people recognize what she's after. She's not a greedy person and can't possibly be criticized for being relentlessly ambitious. Not after a dozen years on various postings without much change in her position.

Too bad she can't get some good luck and confidence-boosting from Booker, but she knows he wanted a workout. Scooping up her communicator and tucking it inside her utility belt, Nia heads out, hungry and looking for a snack and some friendly conversation. Nothing she can't ditch if Vargas grants her request sooner rather than later.

Kylah starts toward Lt. Graham, but pauses when she sees him going through some apparent martial arts poses. He is impressively controlled and powerful. The women seem skilled as well.

Perhaps Kylah can learn, even if she cannot be as proficient. Her scores at the Academy in this area were laughable.

A familiar flutter of anxiety hits both her stomach and heart. How she misses her knives! Even just one would be reassuring. When wearing her uniform, her thighs beneath her skirt still feel bare without her traditional leather-strapped sheaths. They--and the weapons they contained--were part of her daily wardrobe from childhood until the incident on Anubis.

And that is why I am here.

Girding herself, Kylah pads closer to Lt. Graham, trying to catch his eye in the mirror across from him. Although she would prefer being an audience member rather a participant.

"Forgive me, Lt. Graham," she begins. "I did not mean to interrupt. Do you wish me to wait while you finish..." Kylah gestures at him with her hand. "...whatever you are doing?"

Kylah's somewhat hesitant words break his flow, but Graham isn't bothered at all. In fact for a moment he's drawn back to his teaching stint at Starfleet Academy, where at times he felt...in the moment, doing the right thing.

Graham reflexively smiles. "Ah no..." he comes to a stop and crouches, resting on the balls of his feet and catching his breath, so his eye level is actually a bit lower than Kylah's.

"It's all right...they're called 'katas,' very old Terran tradition." He shrugs and takes a deep breath. "The idea is to learn to move without hesitation or having to think about it..."

He clears his throat and rubs his chin, thinking hard about his next words, remembering tutoring students he was afraid would fail out of some of the self-defense and tactical classes.

He looks down at his (scarred) hands, clasped together and then spread apart as if to dramatize his explanation. "See, when, uh...let's call them 'bad actors' do stuff," he says slowly, "they're usually trying to do something...to, ah, bully, or rob, or escape...they're thinking about whatever it is they're trying to accomplish. But when it comes to self-defense...well, it's...no one gets a pass. When a--ah, say, a hand comes toward you, you're able to react, faster than they are moving, because you're not encumbered by some agenda."

He pauses and looks up. "That's a big thing...you don't have to be the biggest or strongest to, ah..disrupt that." He rubs his chin again. "Well, anyway, I can show you some things, if you like."

At the very back of his mind, Kyah's "discovery" if him and Nia begs the question....why would she care? What should you say? If nothing stops Kylah from learning some defensive techniques, why would I mess that up?

The First Officer responds to Onn's text: Certainly. Please come to my office in an hour. VARGAS.

Nathaniel figures he should go check on his pregnant patient and see how she is progressing. Her case of the Canopain flu seems routine, but nothing has been routine on this damned ship so far. Better be safe than sorry. He finishes his meal and heads for Sickbay.

Paying rapt attention, Kylah tries to take in everything Lt. Graham says--and, because she cannot help it, his emotions as well. He has knelt and is closer to her, and so her impressions are more keenly felt.

Despite his certainty and obvious expertise in both defensive and offensive combat training, an undercurrent of... awkwardness? Embarrassment? ...bleeds through to Kylah's senses. When he looks down at his hands, she has a chance to study his face without his noticing. His skin is flushed, with a fine sheen of perspiration on the forehead and cheeks--obviously in part due to the exertion from the... what did he call it? The Kata exercises. But a wave of déjà vu reminds her...

It reminds her of the other night. What she saw in Lt. Onn's quarters--the annoyed older woman at the door, and Lt. Graham, nearer her bed. While they were both fully clothed, Kylah was struck by their demeanor. More to the point: the very air seemed to crackle with the intense sensual electricity between them. Even if Kylah lacked empathic abilities, she suspects she would have picked up on their mutual attraction, and the activity that she had very clearly interrupted--

Kylah's cheeks flame, worse than Lt. Graham's. What did she just say to him? "I did not mean to interrupt. Do you wish me to wait while you finish...whatever you are doing?" She is almost certain she might have said something similar that night. No wonder he feels awkward; he might think she was making a pointed reference to the incident with him and Lt. Onn.

She shakes her head, trying to will away her own embarrassment, and does her best to focus on the rest of what he is saying. He has asked her a question... I can show you some things, if you like. And he is looking up at her again, with another flicker of something he is leaving unsaid.

"Yes, please, of course I would. Very much so," she replies, now awkward herself but attempting to focus. "I have wanted to learn for some time, but we have both been busy, or--or preoccupied..." Again her cheeks burn. Why must everything she says come out so terribly? She hurries on: "I do appreciate this, sir."

In the Turbolift, a little tingle of anticipatory nervousness runs through Nia's spine after she reads Vargas's reply. The feeling doesn't rise to the level of actual anxiety. True, she might not be Cmdr. Vargas's favorite flavor, and vice-versa, but thanks to her recent successes, her confidence is high right now--and Vargas might even agree that it's warranted.

But still. A case of nerves is to be expected in a meeting with the ship's 2nd-in-command, especially when the guy is someone who generally holds a dim view of her casual attitude and irreverent humor.

Glad I've still got an hour, she thinks, returning the communicator to her belt. When the Turbolift door opens, she strides her way to Rec Room 2. Time for a light snack and friendly conversation, if anyone she knows happens to be there. And if not? She can message Ajay and catch up with him.

Graham nods and starts to stand upright. "Good, so..."

Then Kylah's obvious blush and...well, putting two and two together, her awkwardness registers. His general impression is that Elasians are far from shy about romance--well, maybe romance isn't the word, given what he's heard... liaisons? Hookups? But on the other hand he's never met any Elasians other than Ens. Kylah, and "calm, cool, collected, and comfortable" with such topics is definitely not the impression he's gotten. More often he's seriously worried she's...well, wearing Elasian clothes without understanding typical goings on, right or wrong, in the Federation at large...And.With.Consequences.

Then OCIII leaps to mind along with everything he spsects (and regrets) and he has to blink hard and work to push away the memory.

Graham clears his throat and looks away for a moment, then back to Kylah. "Look, ah, about..." He stops before saying "the other night" and resolves to return his attention to the moment.

"Uh, I mean...I can't guarantee what I teach you means you'll be invincible." He points at the long scar on his face. "Case in point." He clears his throat again. "But you don't need to be the biggest and strongest to be a survivor...."

He rubs his chin. "I, ah--look, here's where I think we should start. What I want you to do ...I'm going to reach toward your throat with both arms outstreteched. When my hands get close, I want you to swing your arms down and up, like this, kind of a windmill, up against my forearms just below the elbow. You'll be stronger than me at that angle. If you can I want you to shout as loud as you can, whatever works for you... "no" or "stop" or an Elasian war cry, whatever..."

He stands and gestures toward her. "Make sense? Don't worry about hurting me. Don't think about me at all. Just swing, boom. SWING, BOOM! Swing, Boom, No...OK?"

Lt. Graham's ever-changing emotions can be seen in his eyes and felt in Kylah's soul. She cannot latch onto any single one: they buzz around like hornets trapped in a jar.

A flash of something is called up in her memory--smooth black material, like a curtain or a banner--but disappears.

The hornets seem to buzz more angrily. She ignores the adrenaline and listens to Lt. Graham's instructions. Self-consciously she tugs at one of the shoulders of her bodysuit--the looser fit makes the neckline sag lower--and, hoping Lt. Graham does not notice, pretends she is simply stretching her arm muscles while discreetly tucking the material under her bra strap. She does the same to secure the other side.

He mentions the scar. It is so familiar now that she thinks of it as simply part of the normal topography of his face. She has dined beside Klingons--those the Federation has rarely encountered, with cranial ridges ranging from symmetrical to looking as if their bearer had been attacked by random blows of an axe. Compared to them, Lt. Graham's face is smooth as marble. And with or without the scar, he is an attractive men. To Kylah, even more so when he is gentle, like this.

The thought remains with her while memorizing the moves Lt. Graham describes. And when he asks if she is ready, she nods, prepares herself, and says in a light attempt to push away her anxiety:

"Size and strength may not always matter, but resilience surely does. You may bear that scar, sir, but if I recall its origin correctly, the man who gave it to you did not long survive the encounter. Whereas when that Iotian's knife was delivered to me..." Kylah touches her right arm and attempts a wry smile before finishing, "...the experience was not so reciprocal."

Nina Kostoyev is still in Sickbay, her husband sitting worriedly nearby. She looks just as ill as when Dr. Bennett last saw her, and says she feels awful. Did he order her to be quarantined for two weeks, as is standard Starfleet Medical treatment protocol (along with bed rest and hydration)? See posts 932 and 936.

In Rec Room 2, Onn finds Lts. Cecilia Bennett and Guillaume Vaudreuil talking over coffee; Ens. Faisal Mahmoud reviewing a data pad at another table, a glass of ice water and a half-eaten sandwich at his elbow; and across the room, three redshirts and someone in Science blue - none of whom she recognizes - joking and laughing as they play cards.

Graham pauses as Kylah's words register. He takes a deep breath. "Ensign..." he pauses long enough for there to be a break in the phrasing. It's easier to look at the floor, but he forces himself to look up--jeez Booker, what would you have done as an Academy instructor? Read your student, for god's sake...

"Kylah." He closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head slightly. "I trained a lot of cadets at the Academy. The biggest gift I could give them is that it's not about how many fights you 'win.' It's about how many you prevent or avoid. Or have the skill and courage to run away from. Running away takes courage. Checking your impulses takes courage."

He squares his shoulders and gets into position. "And let's get this straight, Ensign--I'm damned sure you've had some hard times in Starfleet, but you're here. As far as I'm concerned, you're goddamned resilient," he says, gently, but with some I'm-a-senior-officer-authority.

He smiles slightly. "Now make sure you flex your knees, use your whole body, and knock the god-damned hell out of these meathooks reaching for you, OK?"

After a second he adds "Better yet--yes sir!"