'Til Death or Nearest Offer
Posted on Thu Jan 9th, 2025 @ 11:49am by Lieutenant Alexis Ryan
Edited on on Thu Jan 9th, 2025 @ 12:04pm
Mission:
In Dreams
Location: Personal Quarters, USS Athena
Timeline: MD02 (Evening)
1185 words - 2.4 OF Standard Post Measure
With her eyes closed, it was telling just how many things she could identify by sound alone. The faint hum of the overhead lights, the squeak of footwear on the recently-mopped floor of the corridor outside, the murmured voices of on-duty staff that had at least lowered in volume over the last few hours. Chaos, whilst never truly tamed, had at least been averted for now and there was silence between the digital indicators of life that set a steady metronome behind it all. She breathed within those spaces, the simple intricacy of in-and-out, over and over, so easy to take for granted. She wasn't asleep and couldn't see that changing, but retreat to the armchair had at least given her back muscles a reprieve.
She willed her shoulders to relax.
It was the rattle of a trolley that coaxed her eyes open eventually. Not too long ago, there had been haste behind the navigation, a succession of decisions that sent gurneys in every which direction until the ward was overflowing with desperation and the stench of drying blood. As one of the few to walk in under her own volition, there hadn't been time to worry about pleasantries, or hierarchical systems that determined who should speak when and in what capacity. He'd teased her plenty of times for having a tone that could cut through an entire stadium if she chose to, there had been no chance she was letting them wheel him away without knowing everything she did.
An explosion.
Intentional.
Targeted.
A fucking extreme way to express cold feet.
That had made him laugh, at least, as the pressure of her hand sought to staunch the flow of blood whilst medical transport was arranged. She'd called him an idiot and told him to hold still, but fell short of berating him for being a hero because she wasn't ready to label it a sacrifice for her benefit. She'd told him he could wear the reflex-inhibiting dress next time though; he'd claimed not to have the legs for it. She'd joked that the hour spent on her hair had been a waste of good champagne; he'd celebrated that not a single hair on his head was out of place. She'd fretted at her delayed reaction, a reminder of why she never wore heels; he'd told her she looked beautiful.
The trolley rattled by, destined for another room.
And when she'd apologised, through the threat of harsh tears, for not eloping as he had constantly offered since proposing three months ago, he'd reminded her that shit could happen anywhere, particularly when people wanted you dead. There hadn't been time for a response, the med-team was on-site by then and the task of piecing together those within the blast radius had taken priority. Their colleagues, friends. Not, as fortune would have it, their families at least. Spontaneous ceremonies mid-shoreleave didn't leave a lot of time for travel.
Though they provided ample opportunity for preemptive strikes.
A flash of movement beside the door was indication enough that the security detail was still present. It was only a matter of time before the medical injunction expired and the investigative forces converged. She had until then to figure out how she was going to avoid tearing them all a new one for lack of intel. They had one job; make sure Jacob Kane didn't get killed. Only by sheer luck and technicality did they get to claim any form of success.
Her eyes wandered towards the still figure in the bed, kept in one place by medical intervention and an overtly hostile fiancée.
Wife.
That one would take some getting used to.
Until such time as process kicked in, the only sensible thing to do was wait. Watch. Breathe. They'd given up trying to force her into her own bed, at least, though she was grateful for the change of clothes. Maybe in a few minutes, she would concede defeat and ask for something to stave off the dull throb at her temple. For now, it was just in-and-out, over and over.
Down the hall, a cacophony of alerts stalled her next breath.
Alex hadn't fallen out of bed since she was five years old. The short, sharp shock as she landed forced consciousness before her mind was ready and, for a few seconds, the tangle of bedsheets around her legs caused a frantic succession of kicks and twists as if fighting off an unknown assailant. It took the pain of lashing out at the bed frame for her to scramble upright, at which point she found herself pressed against the wall, chest heaving with adrenaline-fueled panting.
As clarification slowly dawned, and the trickle of reality once again assumed responsibility for making her aware of what had happened, the Science Chief resisted the urge to push aside the recollection and, for once, simply sat and saturated herself in it.
There had been a time, during the war and the repercussions that followed, where she had become quite accustomed to broken sleep. One of the things Alex had noticed once she'd started to employ emotional regulation techniques that actually worked was that her dreams had become far more vivid, as if to indicate her mind's rebellious desire to have its tantrum no matter her preference. She was relatively used to it by now and, though the nightmares were not pleasant and too closely resembled reenactment of fact, her dreams were creative enough to make up for it. Some had even been the impetus for several holo-novels over the years.
This was different.
Or rather, these were different, now that she was gradually accepting the repetition of attributes that indicated a pattern. Accepting this posting had certainly been a change in direction, and grappling with the personal pressure of inevitable corrective surgery on top of professional obligation might definitely constitute a reason for nocturnal expressions of stress and tension beyond what usually motivated her. None of it explained the content of the dreams, or the fact that they centered around one reoccurring theme that made no sense. Whatever was possessing her subconscious to continually script a narrative that involved a man she knew only in a professional capacity was...concerning.
The fact that the legitimacy of the emotion seemed to linger a little longer each time was doubly so.
With effort, Alex unwound herself and rose, aware that there were still hours yet before she was due back on duty. There was plenty to be done from the terminal in her quarters, however, which required only the presence of a hot pot of black coffee to counter-balance sitting cross-legged in her pyjamas. Activation brought up the last document she'd bookmarked, right where she'd left it...
She hesitated.
"Computer." Her tone was tentative, as if worried the walls were poised to judge her. "Locate Commodore Kane."
[[Commodore Kane is in his quarters.]]
Of course he is, it's the middle of night-shift.
In the corner of the display, her reflection scowled back.
He didn't have a single hair on his head anyway.
