by Keiran O'Sullivan and TC Blane
90207.11
Concurrent with The Dictates of Gravity
Soundtrack: Holiday by Green Day
-=/\=-
-=Headquarters of Temporal Investigations: Location Classified=-
90207.11
Concurrent with The Dictates of Gravity
Soundtrack: Holiday by Green Day
-=/\=-
-=Headquarters of Temporal Investigations: Location Classified=-
"Why can't we go back to the ship?" TC Blane folded his arms over his chest. He didn't like this place and he didn't like what went on here. The sooner he left, hoping never to return, the more pleased he would be.
"I've already explained to you, Commander Blane..." The gangly young ensign pulled at the collar of his uniform, which seemed all at once to become too tight around his neck, and mumbled "twice..." softly more to himself than to Blane. "That the Admiral and the Director have to release you following your debriefing before you can go."
"How much longer is that going to take?"
"Admiral Lassiter said that she didn't want anyone to leave until all of the interviews were finished. If she had additional questions for any of you she wanted to be able to ask them immediately."
TC shifted uncomfortably. “We are in orbit. I can return in no time flat.”
"There a problem, gentlemen?" The low, rumbling and familiar voice of Keiran O'Sullivan was heard just over Blane's shoulder. The Ensign snapped to attention.
"No, Sir, Captain O'Sullivan, Sir. I was just explaining to Commander Blane that the Admiral was holding the entire party from the Serendipity until the end of the debriefing process."
"Thank you, Richard. You can go. I'll see to Commander Blane."
"But Sir, the Admiral-"
"Can take it up with me if she has trouble with you leaving Blane to me. Go on with ye then."
Clearly more afraid of the gigantic, legend-in-his-own-and-several-other-times Irishman than he was of the petite and grandmotherly-in-appearance Admiral, the youth agreed and moved away.
Though to Keiran, it seemed that fear should work the other way round. If the boy had been here longer, he'd have known better.
The ensign disappeared, and O'Sullivan turned at TC, who transferred his weight from foot to foot. "You passed on the tour earlier, before they asked you all those questions. Would you like to kill some time by takin' it now? Stretch your legs a bit?"
"Thanks, but I've seen enough." Blane sighed. "I just want to get out of here."
"I know. Believe me, brother, as much time as I've spent here in my career 'tis one place I'm really lookin' forward to leavin' behind me."
His eyes and expression were haunted, and he shook his head, giving a small laugh. "I keep lookin' down at my belt. For my compass. But 's gone. Liis keeps doin' it too. But it's over. Is really...over."
"Is it?" Blane asked, doubtful.
Keiran hoped for all he was worth that it was, but felt unable to make any promises. He'd done the work too long to trust yet that it truly was, only time would prove if it were so.
The moment passed and he smiled at Blane, clapping his hands lightly together once. "So. Thomas. Feel like poundin' somethin'?"
"You've no idea."
"Then by all means. Let's. I know just the place. Reserved for senior operatives and the like. Be happy to take ya there."
Moments later, Keiran had led Blane through a dizzying array of corridors and turbolifts and they reached a locker room; where Keiran procured two sets of sweats, tossing one to Blane. "You can change in there. I'll be happy to hold the bag for you, while you work out some of that frustration." Keiran went to change as well and nodded to the second door on the right, which lead to a small gymnasium. "Meet'cha there."
It took TC no time to change out of his uniform and into the sweats. He went shirtless and shoeless, preferring not to soil his undershirt.
He walked out onto the gym floor and found the big Irishman waiting for him by one of the heavy bags with a pair of light practice gloves.
Keiran tossed him the red gloves as he approached.
“Thanks, I need this.”
Keiran smiled. “Aye, you're wound tighter than a young priest hearin' confession from the prettiest girl in church.”
TC put the gloves on and smiled. “Aye, that I am.” He imitated an Irish accent almost to perfection.
"Then don't just stand there, man. Take your best shot." Keiran responded to Blane's parroting by dropping his accent and imitating TC's North American inflection, just as perfectly.
He braced himself against the bag, holding it steady as Blane unleashed his first volley of punches. "So tell me, then, Commander What is it that's got yer nose so far outta joint? The Paradox? The Romulans? The Vulcan's behavior? He watched as with each suggested idea, Blane hit harder. "The Inquiry itself?"
A thunderous thumb shook the bag.
"Ah." He knew he had found the issue of contention in TC. "So that's it then, is it yeah?"
TC assailed the bag with three more rapid blows. He was starting to break a sweat.
"I should be used to the political bullshit by now." He stuck the bag hard enough to move Keiran. as large as he was. "But I have seen too many good men get burned for doing the right thing."
He struck the bag two times more.
"Good men never get used to it, Thomas." O'Sullivan said simply. He steadied himself again, holding the bag fast as he continued to do what it was he did best.
He listened.
"Would I have stayed with Taris? Not on your life." TC hit the bag again. "I have a real vengeful streak in me. But do I think he needed to be put through this?" He gave the bag a round house kick. "Not on your life."
He paused and leaned against the bag. "If anything, the Romulans should be begging Starfleet for forgiveness for violating our territory and thanking Salvek for ending the life of someone who could have dragged them into war with us."
Keiran waited still, knowing that Blane was not yet finished.
"Salvek should be getting a medal, not cross examined."
"You'll get no argument from me, on any of those points." Keiran concurred.
Blane caught his breath and wordlessly traded places with him, preparing to hold the bag so that O'Sullivan could take a turn at smashing his frustrations into it. Keiran nodded his thanks in advance, pulled on gloves and began his assault without hesitation.
"So what's got you pounding the bag so hard," TC asked, ready to listen now, just as O'Sullivan had to him. "That Lindsay is warming Vox' seat? That Vox is still set to return in six months? That Salvek almost got us all killed?"
As with Blane, O'Sullivan's punches became faster and more intense with each question.
"That he almost cost Zanh Liis her life?" TC dared to ask.
Keiran slammed his fist into the bag so hard that Blane felt the impact, and had to press his feet firmly against the mat to try to stay upright.
Keiran kept punching for several more seconds, finally looking up at Blane with fire in his eyes.
"The expression," he gasped, as he tried to catch his breath, "on my wife's face when she came outta that interrogation room, took one look'a me and ran for the roof."
Blane had, at that point, the sense to step back from the punching bag to let O'Sullivan wail on it, as brutally and as long as he wanted to. Moments stretched on, and finally, chest rising and falling rapidly, Keiran ripped the gloves off and threw them aside in frustration.
Sweat burned his eyes, ran down his face and neck as he turned away from Blane, seeking a towel and finding a stack of them on a shelf across the room.
He took a few steps back, and then tossed one to Blane as well before beginning to mop his brow with it.
"She saw something, someone, in that room that scared her, Thomas. Somethin' way beyond standard questionin'." Keiran declared assuredly, "If I find out that an'a'one set up this debriefing," he stressed the word to express his disbelief in the appropriateness of its use here, "to hurt her? I swear, by God, I'll-"
His words were interrupted by the sound of a distant rumble, and then the disturbing clatter and hail of dust and detritus falling from the ceiling of the room down onto their heads.
Blane, standing a few meters away from O'Sullivan and leaning against the wall, snapped his head up and locked eyes with the Irishman.
Keiran spoke only one word as they both realized instantly what that sickening sound was. A detonation, somewhere above them, inside the building.
"Liis."
Before they could move, they heard another muffled, yet familiar sound.
An insistent, rhythmic, chirping noise.
Blane raised his hand to signal O'Sullivan the instant that he recognized it, but by the time they realized what was happening, it was too late.
The timer had beeped down from ten before they'd heard it, from five before they'd accepted what they were hearing, and to one before they could react.
TC Blane's eyes drifted involuntarily up to the ceiling and in the direction of the sound, and then instantly, everything went black.
--------------------
Commander Keiran O'Sullivan
Security Liaison to
The Alchemy Project
and
Commander TC Blane
Second Officer
USS Serendipity NCC-2012
NRPG: A mandatory eight count is 'an 8 second count that a fallen boxer must take when he gets back on his feet. It allows the referee time to decide whether the boxer can continue the fight.' =^= KO
Commander Keiran O'Sullivan
Security Liaison to
The Alchemy Project
and
Commander TC Blane
Second Officer
USS Serendipity NCC-2012
NRPG: A mandatory eight count is 'an 8 second count that a fallen boxer must take when he gets back on his feet. It allows the referee time to decide whether the boxer can continue the fight.' =^= KO