By Ensigns Dalca and Andraste
80227.13
Following House Guest
= Dalca’s Quarters =
80227.13
Following House Guest
= Dalca’s Quarters =
Warren had kept the shirt. He had actually had it framed. It hung now behind his desk, where people usually put up rare memorabilia, like expensive paintings or exquisite weapons. How he explained to visitors why a torn and ragged yellow shirt, the part of an ordinary Starfleet uniform, deserved so prominent a place in his quarters, Nimue could not fathom. It was the first thing that had caught her eyes, however, when she had entered his room and she stood before it for a few moments, smiling.
Then she took a deep breath, stretched her arms to the side and spun around. The rest of the quarters seem rather drab. There was a shelf with all kinds of books sitting on it. Nimue recognized a few of them...in the sense that she knew she had once been required to read some of them for courses on philosophy or literature. Somehow, she had never quite gotten around to them.
And there were pictures. Not of his mother, father or some other family member, but of a human male of Asian descent. One of the pictures was had a caption that read: Bruce Lee. In fact, the image of this Bruce person appeared enough times in the otherwise relatively barren quarters that Nimue began to wonder if Warren had decided to pursue a different vein of romantic interests in the four years since she had seen him....
Part of her was tempted to keep looking through the quarters, but Nimue felt a little like an intruder here. This was his space and while the two of them had been intimate – repeatedly – they had never really been intimate.
So she unzipped her uniform jacket and tossed it onto a sofa, heading for the replicator. All of the possessions she had were aboard the Executor, and it seemed unlikely she was going to be allowed to recover them. That meant she had, quite literally, no wardrobe. That was just wrong – it was like a rip in the space-time continuum and it simply had to be addressed.
With a determined look on her face, Nimue Andraste went to work.
= Later =
There were pivotal, tragic moments in Warren Dalca's life. Not many, but they came to mind quickly. When he broke his arm learning kung fu, it had taken weeks to heal before he was allowed to jump back into it. When the Borg killed so many near Earth, he watched the invasion by sneaking into his uncle's holo-lounge, a terrified boy of five years old. When he first learned how his mother had gone crazy, he spent much of his time trying to understand how his father could have left.
But no amount of hardship could have prepared him for this moment.
He discovered it in an expanding moment of awareness where time had no meaning. He recognized the shadow of what had once been his quarters, but where there had been order, now there were splashes of clashing color, foreign clothing scattered over furniture that had been moved or even replaced.
Then the music hit him, loud and sure to get his own fellow security officers involved. A dance song he remembered from his Academy years that had been fun at the time, but not exactly something he cared for. And laced with the tune was a voice.
His eyes followed the disaster, and his ears guided them. A streak of flesh jumped out from the bedroom and slid on a discarded silken garment, brown hair thrashing about. Naked save for a scarlet tank top and panties, she spun around, singing to the music in a halfway decent voice, her hand holding a chocolate bar like it was a microphone.
She swung her hips to one side, then the other, taking small steps back, to the side, and forward. Her body dipped gracefully as she bent at her knees, and came back up, dropping her arms to the side. The music quieted, and Warren took a step forward. Then it hit again, and she jumped on the couch, nearly losing her balance. Her arms circled out as the music reached a crescendo, and she threw back her hair, eyes in his direction.
She stopped when she saw him, one foot on the back of the couch, the other against the cushions, and commanded the music to end. The room fell silent. And when she smiled, the tragedy was forgotten in an instant.
Nimue Andraste.
Warren smiled right back at her, the shock still sinking in, and with warmth and disbelief in his voice, he declared, “What the hell?”
Nimue remained where she was for a moment longer, like a gazelle startled by some unexpected event. Then she hastily wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and held out the candy she had been eating towards him. “Chocolate?”
He took another step in, and the door closed behind him. He took the chocolate bar from her, but simply held it. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but one encapsulated many of them. "What are you doing here?"
“You know…hanging out, having lunch, trying on….” Nimue paused, looked down at her state of relative undress and reached for a pair of khaki slacks that were lying nearby. “Clothes.”
He nodded. "Okay. Now let's expand on that a little. Like, why are you on Serendipity, and why are you in my quarters? Did you break in?" Warren set the candy bar down on a clear surface, and took another step, looking at her intently. "Are you in trouble?"
She gave him a mischievous grin as she began putting on her pants. “What kind of trouble could I possibly be in?”
"I'm not going to answer that." He sat on the edge of the couch, watching her dress in what felt like a dream. Most of his memories of her were distinctly lacking in clothes. "Almost four years," he said quietly. "And you look even more... troublesome," he recovered. "Kill any cats lately?"
“I’ve picked up other hobbies,” she answered, stepping back to perch herself on the edge of a coffee table across from him. “I’m not in trouble. Exactly. I was on the Executor and its having mechanical difficulties, so I figured I’d hitch a ride with you guys. Not happy to see me?”
"I've seen amazing things in just a few years, Nimue." He leaned back against the couch, paused, reached behind himself, and pulled out a sequin shirt. He tossed it aside. "But next to you..." he paused, gave it some thought, and smiled wryly, "Their color fades."
“And you like color?”
Warren shook his head. "Even when it's bad for me."
“Great. ‘Cause people are getting assigned roommates – you know, while the ship is nearly overflowing. I’m rooming with this really cute guy from Ops, so I thought I’d tell them to put my mother with you. Since you two already know each other.” She paused at stricken look on his face. “What? She’s colorful.”
"I like earth tones."
“You’re saying you want me to stay here?”
"Even if your story doesn't check out." He paused. "Not that I’m easy.”
"Yeah," she joked, "You are. Anyway, the mom thing was a joke. I'm crashing here though. If you don't mind."
"We should sit down and establish some ground rules. I'm in the midst of a crisis right now, and the more I think about it, the less this roommate idea sounds good." He held up his hands. "I'm sweating."
“Hey,” Nimue said with force cheer, “It isn’t a big deal. I can go somewhere else, really. Especially if it’s going to make Bruce uncomfortable.”
"Who?"
"Bruce. Bruce...Lee. Your boyfriend?"
His mouth hung open. "Are you..." He barked out a laugh. "Nimue... he's my Master, not my lover."
“Whatever you’re calling it is fine. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”
Warren stifled his laughter as best as he could. "My Jeet Kune Do master. You know. 'The Way of the Intercepting Fist'?" He blinked a few times, and decided that explanation may not be enough for her. "Kung Fu, Silver Spoon. Kung Fu. Hiiiyah?" He chopped his hand, eyebrows raised, searching for the look of understanding in her quicksand eyes.
Nimue mouth formed a silent 'O'. Then she looked around the room once again, seeing the pictures of Mr. Lee almost everywhere. "Yeah,” she decided with a shake of her head, “You really need to get yourself a girl. And maybe a few throw cushions."
"Is that decorating advice?" He glanced around. "By the way, I like what you've done with the place. Very work-in-progress. Chaos theory du jour?"
“I was trying a few things with the replicator and I…got just a little carried away.” Nimue shrugged, “Girl’s gotta do something with her time.”
"You sing well."
She glanced to the side, smiled and then looked back at him. “I’ll clean up before I leave.”
Warren stood up. "Alright. I need to make a stop at sickbay if this arrangement is going to..." he turned back. “Leave?”
“Yeah – you’re being really weird. And, you know, you’re apprehensive, uncomfortable…distant. Half Betazoid, remember? Obviously, you don’t want me here – that’s fine. We don’t have to make this a thing.”
"I'm being weird? You sing into chocolate bars." He smiled, walked up to her, and lifted her chin with a hand. Kissing her lips lightly, he tried not to shake at the euphoria and confusion of four years’ time. "I don't know what to make of this. It's been a very long time. I'm not going to run away from… but I'm also not going to let my... heat, get in the way of..." He let his hand slide across her cheek. She scared the hell out of him, and he didn’t know why. "I’m not the same man I was..."
Nimue was quiet for a moment. Then she raised a pert eyebrow at him. “Heat?”
"I told you. I'm sweating. There are complications due to the radiation I was exposed to, and they're getting in the way of my treatments. So my Deltan physiology is rearing its ugly head unless I can find a solution." He inhaled. "Hence, sickbay."
She wasn’t sure what radiation he was talking about – she just assumed it was the current situation with the star going all kaplooey – and even if it wasn’t, it didn’t really matter.
“So if you don’t go to Sickbay, you’re gonna jump me?”
"That's putting the situation.... very mildly," he breathed.
“Promises, promises,” she murmured. Then she ran a hand through her wavy brown hair and chuckled, “Yeah. Okay. You really should go take care of that. I mean, you know, I’m a big fan of the jumping. But stars are dying and…things are crappy, so you have to focus. Right?”
It was almost has if he didn't hear her. A spark danced in his eyes like fire. "It could be dangerous, Nimue. You could get hurt. The effects can shatter human minds permanently. They have."
"Guess it's a good thing there are no humans here. But...."
He stood tall, looking down at Nimue's brilliant gaze, her eyes an open book. He felt a desire that had nothing to do with the warmth in his chest or the tug of his loins. A quiet one. "I'm... sure there are tests that can be done. If it's safe..."
She put a hand against his chest, over his furiously beating heart. "You have to go."
He smiled sadly. "I have to go."
"I'll clean up," Nimue nodded in the direction of the clothes scattered all around them. Then stepped back, stuck her hands in her pockets and shrugged her shoulders slightly, adding with an impish grin, "And maybe run a cold bath for you."
"It would help." He stepped away from her and walked to the exit. A walk would give him time to think. "I'm not myself, lately."
“You know...I’ve never had that problem.”
He turned to her, his expression warm. "Good."
“So – if you aren’t yourself – who are you?”
Warren scratched his chin, glancing at the mirror on the wall. "You'll be the first to know, Nimue. Promise."
“Okay,” she answered cheerfully, her attention returning to her half-eaten chocolate bar. “Toodles.”
Stepping through the door, he wiped the sweat off his brow. He stood in the hallway for a moment, getting his bearing, then moved towards the turbolift. The corridor's vibrant grays and blues accompanied him along the way.
Ensign Warren Dalca
Security Officer
USS Serendipity NCC-2012
and
Ensign Nimue Andraste
Security Officer
USS Serendipity NCC-2012
and
Ensign Nimue Andraste