My helm beeps, but it's always doing that, so it doesn't draw my attention. Hell, a Klingon raiding party couldn't draw me away from this sight. It's become a daily routine, arguing with the captain in that subdued manner I've come to expect, starting a confrontation with the captain. Everyone on the bridge knows exactly what's going to happen, but the captain's as indulging as he is forgiving, so by tomorrow this will never have happened. It'll start off small, a tiny disagreement about policy or some such matter, then the escalation. It's one of those things you have to look for, but it always comes one way or another. Then it's time for my favorite part. Short, dark hair stays impeccably in place during the sharp turn and walk back to the lift, but I can't say that's what I'm looking at. My favorite part is the end, watching the defeated retreat. It sends a shudder down my spine, watching the flawless movement, going back to the armory to lick his wounds. You know what they say about a man in uniform, and he's every inch the man in a suit.