174: Torn

By Ensigns Dalca and Andraste
Almost Four Years Ago
After The Mikky


= Aboard the USS Ganymede =

Everything fit neatly into the travel sack. After all this time, Warren was surprised at how many things he was willing to leave behind. Sports trophies meant little to him, so he sent them home to his Aunt and Uncle, to give them something to impress their friends with. He also found he'd outgrown posters. They changed each season, and he never had room for the old ones. So those were distributed to those of his friends who were still at the Academy, lagging behind. Most of them had already left for their positions, taking to the stars while he scrambled back to Earth.

Not in time for graduation. No, Warren missed that boat. Oh, he still received his diploma and ensign's pip. But he'd earned the chance to be part of that ceremony, and instead he was off gallivanting in the stars.

The yellow shirt he had worn throughout the ordeal was still sitting on the end of the bed. He picked it up and walked it over to the replicator, setting it down. His hand hovered over the button that would disassemble it into the mass that would eventually create something else. Wipe it from existence. One more discarded item he had no use for.

His hand dropped to the side, and Warren frowned at the sad little item. He picked it up and folded it thoughtfully, and walked back over to his duffel. It was...a memorable souvenir.

The chime on his door sounded. Even before he acknowledged it, he knew it was Nimue. She entered, dressed now in an elegant brown dress designed with the revealing fashions of Ardana in mind. After what she had been wearing through out their entire adventure, however, the dress seemed terribly modest. Her wavy brown hair was pulled back, and decorated with metallic beads of silver. She said nothing for a moment; then, when he kept staring at her, she looked off to the side and smiled.

"Mom wanted a photo op," she explained, "I had to dress the part. Looks ridiculous, I know...."

"You don't need to explain yourself to me," Warren stated, with a smile. He set the folded shirt down. "You look good in clothes. It's a side of you I've never had a chance to see."

"I always look good," Nimue joked with a grin. Then she nodded at his duffel bag. "You keeping that shirt?"

"Of course. It's part of the story," he explained.

"You could've asked for my bikini top. I imagine that'd make the story a little sexier."

He sat down at the end of the bed, a heartbeat closer to her, grinning back equally, the fey corners of his mouth curled on par with her own. "Yes, well, your bikini top didn't survive a shuttle crash, a tiger fight, and frequent removal."

"A bit of it did. Anyway, so you're gonna have the shirt framed and tell people how you faced a giant cat while wearing it?"

"Something like that. I think it best if the other part of the story never makes it to your mother's ears. I hope you understand."

She rolled her eyes at him and walked up to his duffel bag, "No one will believe you. I mean, you know, it isn't even torn." Nimue looked at the maddeningly resilient shirt reflectively for a moment, then she picked it up and with all the strength she could muster, tore it as best she could. "There. That's better. Nothing should be so...impervious to what happens to it, I think. Life should leave a mark - you know, so you know it happened."

"Good philosophy." Warren pushed off of the bunk and stood tall over her, taking the shirt in his hands and pulling it down. He leaned forward to gently leave his own mark on her lips.

When they broke apart after a lingering moment, Nimue looked up at him. "I guess," she whispered, "I should go."

He sighed, resigned. "You'll have to let go of my shirt, first."

"Yeah," she said with a grin as she stepped back, "Okay. Well...you know.... Bye."

He stepped forward with her, towards the door. "Is that Ardanan you're speaking now, or gibberish?" The shirt remained suspended in between them. "It's a good thing you had a photo op. A speech would have been so very...monosyllabic."

Nimue laughed softly and let go of the now torn shirt. "I don't like goodbyes. Especially permanent ones."

"Well, in that case..." Warren whispered, as she backpedaled further, "We'll have to leave it at...." He stood straight, and the door closed between them. Sure, it felt just a little cruel, but he'd rather the game end mid-play than wait until one of them won. He stood in front of the door, shoulders slumped, head down and staring to the side. Warren smiled softly. It was an exquisite torture.

The smile held in place until he realized that when the door opened again, she would not be on the other side.

= Later =

= Aboard the USS Ganymede =

Xanthe Andraste studied her daughter with a great deal of suspicion. Nimue was just sitting at the end of a sofa, quietly doing some reading. The older woman could not actually remember the last time she had seen that happen. Even stranger was the fact that Nimue had not changed her clothes yet – normally one had to twist her arm to wear anything Ardanan.

“You are exceptionally quiet all of a sudden.”

Nimue looked up and smiled at her mother, “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because…you always want me to be quiet.”

That was true, Xanthe had to concede. All of her life, she had wanted to see her daughter in exactly the scene that was playing out before her right now. A pretty Ardanan young woman engaged in an intellectual pursuit. And yet, strangely enough, it felt...wrong somehow.

“You never do what I tell you to.”

Nimue thought about that and nodded slowly. “I guess,” she agreed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her right ear using her index finger, “Maybe I’ve got a secret evil plan in the works and I’m trying to throw you off my trail.”

Xanthe scowled. “There is no need to get snippy, young lady. It is simply not a done thing, you know. In my day, we did not speak to our elders with such disrespect. When I was your age....”

“Mother. I really don’t want to do this now.”

“Then start acting like yourself or tell me what is wrong. You are making me nervous and, being the half-breed freak that you are, you should know that already.”

“One would think.” Nimue agreed quietly.

“Did something happen on that Firdous world you crashed on?”

“It turns out it was nothing. I mean, you know, I knew it was nothing from the start. But then it was like...maybe I was wrong – but I didn’t want to be wrong – did I? And that got me wondering but...well, turns out I was right in the first place and nothing real had really happened. So now I just feel like part of me kind of wishes something had happened. Does that make any sense?”

Xanthe scowled at her daughter. “Not even a little.”

“Yeah. That right there, that’s the problem. Anyway,” Nimue said rising to her feet, “I’m going to go change my clothes.”

“Why? You can’t stand to be dressed properly for more than ten minutes? You are always running around in human clothes. It is a disgrace, really. I tell you, it is simply not a done thing. In my day….”

= At That Moment =

= Daystrom Institute =

The woman slept in her bed peacefully, blissfully free from the torture that comprised her waking hours. Earlier, before she’d fallen asleep, she had smiled at her son and conveyed with the eyes of a mother that which he’d been hoping to see.

She loved him. She felt many things that no one could see, trapped in her own self, apart from the world. But not completely, not while he was here for her.

“I’ve been gone a long time, mother, but it won’t be that way any more. I’m an Ensign now. But I’ll be working nearby.” He leaned forward and touched her shoulder, pulling up her blanket just slightly. “Graduating was challenging, but I’ve done two impossible things today.” He paused, and stared out the window at distant Earth. “I said ‘goodbye’, and now I’m saying ‘hello’.”

He leaned his head on her arm.

“I hope you’re proud of me.”

Ensign Warren Dalca

And

Ensign Nimue Andraste