“Positions! Partner check! Go!”
Walking around the illy-sized athletics room with my one hand holding my other wrist behind my back felt second nature. Sure the days spent running the same drills with several groups of crew members could be draining and monotonous. Sure it left me bruised, sore and exhausted. But the respect and smallest tinge of fear I perceived from my students as I walked around and observed drills made up for all the tediousness.
Gaze overly critical. Expression hard. Lips pulled tightly together but able to snap out corrections in an instant. This was me in my finest form, and when I felt the most like myself. Strolling at an even and measured pace around the room, I kept my body language consistent as I moved my head just enough to bark out adjustments that each student needed to make. Just as I rounded down the last row of students before the final drill was over, the comms at my wrist buzzed.
For a split second, a grin started to creep its way onto my face as I thought about pulling my hand from behind my back to check the screen on my wrist. After that split second came and went, I remembered where I was and what I was doing.
Unofficial business or no — honestly I was entirely unsure what to expect — I was teaching. And while the drill was supposed to go on for a few more minutes, for the first time in weeks since being aboard the ship that had only existed in my dreams, I had somewhere to go and someone to be with.
With a deliberately long pause in the center of the last row, raking my critical gaze over each and every student to make them work harder for a few more seconds, I yelled “Time!” and looked on as every person came to a stop. The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the awkward, clumsy movement of people finding a variety of different positions in order to come down and rest from the demanding series of defensive and offensive drills.
“That concludes class for today. Tomorrow is the ship’s mandatory day of rest for the week — enjoy it. After that, there will be a day of double drills to make up for it. Dismissed.”
A chorus of groans, sighs and mutterings met my ears as I walked towards the front of the room to where my bag sat. I casually checked my comms before gathering up all of my stuff. Something perfectly normal to do, right? Even though I never checked my comms after class because it had never really served a purpose — merely a wrist accessory more than anything.
In a movement which I thought was natural and casual, I brought my forearm up in front of me and read the now illuminated screen.
“9:54p.m. Back in my quarters — hope to see you soon.”
I wasn’t sure why I felt surprised and relieved when I read the short message from Jim. Maybe because last night seemed a little too good to be true. I figured he’d find a reason or excuse to not see me tonight, and that would be that. We’d fall into the same awful routine of captain and cadet we’d known for weeks prior, and that would be the end of it.
But he had stayed true to his word and messaged me when he was back to his quarters. Still just a little too good to be true from an infamous smooth-talking captain with that damn disarming smile and eyes that drew me right into his orbit like some damn moon.
With a shake of my head that caused my high ponytail to brush against my neck, I replaced my things in my bag before slinging it over my shoulder and heading out the door. Thank the stars and all of deep, dark space that our quarters were at least in the same direction. I knew people on this ship were desperate for gossip, and anything even remotely out of the norm was bound to get flung around the conversation circuit.
It was also fortunate that my lack of social prowess and general tendencies as an introvert ensured no one approached me after class. It was also an immense help that my drills were designed to thoroughly and completely kick everyone’s ass — leaving them far from wanting to go out of their way to chat with me.
Just as I rounded the last corner to the hallway that held Jim’s quarters, it dawned on me that I was still sweaty and disheveled from a full day’s worth of classes. I hadn’t looked in a mirror since using the bathroom several hours ago, and tiredness was nipping at the edges of all of my muscles and joints.
Well, too late to turn back now. I would have to go as I was. The pure thought of walking all the way back to the training center and taking a shower made me more tired. It was a good thing the message from Jim gave my body a shot of adrenaline — whether it would carry me through what the night had in store was another question altogether. Not that I thought there were things in store, but even just talking or maybe even going through some official business was —
Reaching his door was enough to stop my brain waves from kicking into full overdrive. With a quick check of my face and hair with my fingertips — I made a last second decision to pull out my ponytail, letting my hair fall over my shoulders in messy waves — and a few adjustments of my wrinkled Starfleet uniform, I was ready. Or as ready as I could be given the circumstances of my arriving at his quarters after a long day with barely a second to myself to think or process last night.
After a fast, settling breath, I raised my hand and pressed the call button on the keypad next to the door. Suddenly my nerves and anxiety caught up to me as I waited in silence for his response. Was it insane for me to be here right now? Was I jeopardizing everything I had somehow managed to regain in the past months? After all it was thanks to Jim, but that’s not why I —
After an intense few moments trapped inside my own head, the door mercifully slid open, and I stepped inside the captain’s quarters, which were equally, if not more sterile than his apartment back on Yorktown. The overhead lighting wasn’t bright like the hallways and common areas of the ship. It was dimmed enough to be comfortable and relaxing. Although I wasn’t quite sure there was much space to actually relax and unwind.
An official-looking table sat with eight uncomfortable-looking chairs tucked in neatly around it, along with an equally uncomfortable looking L-shaped couch and coordinating armchairs. No color permeated the space. Just different hues of gray mixed in with swaths of black. Cold and uninviting — much like all the vast space that surrounded the ship.
The only inviting elements of the room were the dim lighting and Jim standing behind the bar in his gold-yellow uniform, collar undone as he poured two glasses of what was no doubt whiskey.
“We really need to stop meeting like this. Looking like hell after a long day and ready to drink.”
I was surprised by the bright, chipper quality to his tone that didn’t seem to match the tiredness on his face in the slightest.
Without skipping a beat, I quipped back at him as I walked my way over to the minimalist bar.
“Looking like hell, huh? I mean I haven’t looked in a mirror recently but it can’t be that bad…”
With a smirk he placed his hand on his chest. “The only one who looks like hell here is me. You look just as amazing now as you did when I left you this morning. It’s actually a little unfair. Too bad we’re in space or I’d suggest you find some grass and sticks to roll in just to even things up a bit.”
A chuckle escaped my lips as I pulled out a stool at the bar, placing my bag on the empty seat next to me. Jim was directly across from me, standing behind the bar with his hands spread wide on either side of himself, gripping the cool black granite countertop.
He expertly slid the whiskey over to me with that signature shit grin of his spread across his handsome face. I really wanted to hug him, pull him against me and breathe in his natural musk again. I wanted to brush my lips so softly against his, teasing him and tempting him into kissing me. My quickening pulse and anxious shifting in my seat were dead giveaways of what was racing through my mind. But I wouldn’t give in — not yet, at least.
“Here’s to both of us unwinding, even though only one of us just happens to bear the scars of the day’s trials.”
I was met with a chuckle of his own before we clinked glasses and sipped our drinks. After a few moments of comfortable silence, I finally posed a question that I’d been desperate to ask him for weeks on end. I leaned forward onto the cool granite with my arms crossed in front of me, angling myself towards him a little bit more before looking into his eyes and saying, “Tell me about your day.”
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Something in his demeanor shifted as he considered the question. A lightness spread across his features and reached his eyes before he matched my posture and started explaining his day to me. Meetings, decisions, frustrations, interesting interactions, jokes — he spared no detail.
As he spoke, he seemed to get more lost in his own thoughts, making the conversation much more relaxed, much more natural. There was an easiness between us now that had never existed before. I wasn’t sure why, and I wasn’t sure how. But it was there, and I wanted to capitalize on it.
Both our glasses were empty by the time he finished answering my question. As he reached to pour two more, I leaned in closer to him in an effort to get just a whiff of that natural musk I enjoyed so much. Whether he noticed my new closeness or not, he didn’t let on. Instead, he resumed his position with a new drink in his hand and asked me the same question.
“Tell me about your day.”
And as I looked down at my freshly poured glass of whiskey, the last thing on my mind was more talking. But instead of acting on any number of the lewd thoughts bouncing around my skull, I tilted my head slightly to the side, some of my hair spilling over my shoulder in the process, and made sure to keep my eyes on the amber gold liquid and away from his piercing blue gaze. I tried my damnedest to push the images of me leaning over the cool granite of the bar and kissing him out of my head and out into the vacuum of space.
What I really wanted to say was that I’d rather not talk at all. What I really wanted to do was flick my golden, lash-covered eyes up to him, paired with a mischievous grin, and pin him with my gaze — full of nothing but longing and need.
I wanted to reach towards him, take him by the unbuttoned collar of his uniform and pull my lips onto mine. I wanted to taste the whiskey on his lips, feel his warmth and feel my heartbeat slam into my chest as he sent it into overdrive.
The feeling of his tongue against mine would send me up and out of my stool, crawling over the bar and recklessly knocking over our glasses in the process. Without the slab of granite between us, we could finally press against each other, and his hands could roam over every curve and —
Raising my glass of whiskey to my lips and taking a long, deliberate sip was the only way to derail my hot, bothered and dangerous thoughts. My god I needed to take care of myself before I did something so incredibly stupid.
After pursing my lips and letting a sigh out through my nose in an effort to disperse some of the heat still roiling around inside of me, I finally managed a response that in no way, shape or form alluded to the scenario that had just unraveled in my brain.
“It was… okay? I don't know. That’s a weird question to try and answer. Ever since leaving Yorktown under such… unexpected circumstances, I’ve kind of felt disconnected. Disjointed. I obviously know I’m here aboard this ship with an incredibly specific set of rules to follow in order to make sure I can continue to stay aboard, and that helps. Having a crazy schedule helps too. I mean if I’m not leading class, I’m meeting with one of my mentors. If I’m not meeting with one of my mentors, I’m studying. If I’m not studying, I’m having a mandatory meeting with Bones to…”
The whiskey had given the wheels of my brain a little too much social lubricant. Instead of stopping before I got to my mandatory mental eval sessions with Bones, the one I in fact was supposed to be having with the man leaning on the bar before me, I rolled right into it.
We hadn’t come anywhere near broaching the actual subject since he had so suddenly come back into my life yesterday. Sure we’d tiptoed around it, alluded to it. But we were nowhere near discussing the nitty gritty details of what had proven to be one of the most difficult times of my life.
For the love of the entire wide and vast expanse of space, we’d only just been talking for less then twenty four hours. Sure it was a heavy, undeniable presence in the corner of all of our conversations and interactions. But it just felt too soon for me to dive into what exactly I had gone through over the past weeks. After tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I looked up to find his gaze glued to his own half-full glass of whiskey that rested just in front of his crossed arms.
Even without looking directly in his eyes, I could see the tension racking his shoulders. The slight drop of his head. It was too late to backtrack now. The door was cracked open — just enough to be able to refuse to close it without knowing what exactly was on the other side. So with a deep breath and adjustment of my own relaxed posture into something more formal and upright, I started talking.
“It's been okay Jim, really. I mean maybe not okay, but all things considered it’s been pretty okay. At first, I just pushed forward. Through all the hurt in my body and my mind. I thought I could just out pace it. If I just managed to stay busy enough and refuse to let myself think about it. But after a week, I could feel it starting to rot away my insides. I looked okay enough on the outside, but all that darkness and anger and fear and sadness inside of me was going to start to seep out sooner or later. It was a good thing Bones requested our first meeting when he did. I guess he figured it was time, or you had asked him to take over your responsibility for the check-ins.”
A sip of whiskey to refresh and wet my dry mouth and tongue, and then I continued on. Words were flowing in a way I hadn’t expected. I didn’t feel the need to stop them when they came out so naturally. Sure my voice was a touch quieter, my presence a little smaller. Sure I couldn’t peel my eyes from my glass of whiskey to risk looking up at Jim. But I kept talking. For the sake of having it out of me and into the air to let him do with it what he would.
“I won’t lie, the first few meetings were awful. I didn't want to go, and I gave Bones hell for it. Mostly taking out my frustration with you and your choice to take the easy way out on poor, poor Bones. After a couple hours of verbal abuse and refusing to talk about how I was truly feeling … Well, you know Bones. He wore me down. With that look of his and the strange calm and easiness about him… there just came a point after ranting about how stupid the mandated sessions were and how spineless you were and how I just wanted to do my damn job and get through the damn mission where I just paused and looked at him. His expression was just soft and understanding... And it undid me. I unloaded. About the physical pain that still plagued parts of my body. About the nightmares that had been ruining my sleep. About the paranoia caused from not knowing why it happened to me. About how I hated myself for being so weak and easily preyed upon. About how much I hated you. Blamed you. It was ugly. But at the end of it, all Bones did was listen, hand me tissues, engage with me, and set up an appointment time for the next week. Each session has made everything just a little bit easier.”
Another pause and sip of whiskey as my mental burden started to lighten. I still didn’t dare drag my gaze up from my drink. Not yet. I wanted to get it all out, and once everything from my brain was wrung dry, I’d finish my drink and look into those depthless blue eyes.
“I’ve been doing physical therapy after I finally stopped lying about not being in pain. The nightmares are fewer and farther between. There’s still paranoia. I still doubt myself and my ability to protect myself. And I… I don’t hate you. We never talked about you, Jim. I vented about it during that first session. It never came up again after that. It somehow hurt the most. And either Bones knew that or guessed at it, because he never brought you up. The other things he had no problem mentioning and asking about. But never you. And somehow, that hurt me more. Because I knew how close you two were. I knew I must come up. Or maybe I didn’t, and that’s why he wouldn’t mention you. Because he knew that you were truly over it. All the possibilities terrified me. And as the weeks passed I thought maybe I could just let it go, forget about it. Write you off and just continue on my own path while still owing you for getting me on this damn ship to begin with.”
I pulled in air through my lips and let out a deep, cleansing sigh. There it was. At least the gist of it. Bits and pieces of the whole that at least he could puzzle together and have a relatively clear picture of what the past weeks had been like for me and my trauma. It seemed like a good enough place to stop. It brought us to the present, to me sitting across from the damn captain of this damn ship and his handsome damn face.
The silence following the expulsion of some of the darkness from my brain was starting to eat at me. Tilting my head and gaze back up to Jim, I found him still staring down at his drink. His bright blue eyes moved back and forth as if he was searching for the words at the bottom of his glass, under that liquid amber that seemed to serve as medication to both of us to a certain extent.
In an effort to escape the unsettling and anxiety-ridden silence that had fallen between us, I opted to stand up from my stool and walk my almost empty glass of whiskey through the sterileness of his quarters. The silent stroll over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave us a spectacular view of the deep space surrounding us seemed to take an eternity.
I may have put a little more swish in my hips. Hell, I didn’t even know if he was watching as I crossed the room and leaned a shoulder against the pane of glass that separated us from all that crushing coldness just on the other side. But my hips had swished just a little more from side to side anyways — it seemed no matter how much I drank, a little bit of the alcohol seemed to always infuse a little more self serving sexiness into my movements.
Suddenly, I found myself spiraling into my feelings even more as my eyes took in all the marvels before me. Brilliant clusters of stars, a swirling galaxy, a sprinkling of far off planets. The loneliness, the fear, the crippling self doubt. I shook my head in an effort to dispel all the thoughts creeping into my mind, and then tossed back what was left of the whiskey in my glass.
Turning to where Jim still stood, as if still frozen by the words I had spoken just minutes ago, I found my voice — along with its regular volume and normal tone.
“Well, why don’t we play a game or turn on some music or something.”
He looked up at me then, blinking a few times to dispel whatever thoughts were clouding his own brain. That small smirk I’d come to wish for crept onto his face, and his eyes seemed to get a touch brighter.
“One of those two things sounds pretty decent. What kind of game did you have in mind, cadet?”
I made a show of putting my hand under my chin, drawing my face into intense contemplation as I pushed off from the window and took a few steps back towards him.
“There’s this new game all the cadets have been talking about. Kind of like charades with more drinking, some dancing and singing tossed in, oh and even more drinking.”
A smile lit up his face as he reached to grab a full bottle of whiskey from the shelf behind him, turned back to me with it raised in his hand and said, “Sold.”