Chapter 1

Lost and Found

Dr. Moira Blackwood hadn't been aware that she was missing until she was found. It came at great surprise—and some bewilderment—when she got the hailing frequency of the U.S.S. Enterprise on her transmitter. Moira had just finished inputting another chunk of data into the mainframe she'd been working on almost exclusively for three solar years, and was just about to consider breaking for a sandwich when she heard the beep of a hailing. Somewhat annoyed at the interruption, Moira tore her reading glasses off and swung around in her wheeled chair to flip on the 'open' switch.

"Yes?"

"This is the U.S.S. Enterprise," came the official reply, "Lt. Uhura speaking. Is this Dr. Moira Blackwood?"

Intrigued and, despite herself, somewhat amused, Moira swung her legs up onto the metal table and leaned back in the worn chair. Ah, Starfleet. For some reason the name of the ship rang a chord with her, but the reason refused to surface in her mind.

"This is she, Lieutenant. Can I help you in some way?"

"This is Captain Kirk speaking." The voice changed from a deep, rich woman's voice to a light, authoritative man's. It was attractive enough, and innately confident, and she could easily fit it to some space-cowboy with a golden smile and a reputation to match.

"Hello, Captain. As I said, can I help you? I wasn't expecting any word from the Federation for some time yet, and certainly not a personal visit. I'm afraid I'm a little confused here."

From his seat on the bridge Kirk leaned forward, his usual rampant energy channeling through a tapping of fingers on the arm of his chair. He had a small smile on his lips as he listened to her friendly yet prim reprimand. They were intruding, her voice clearly said, no matter what her polite inquiry stated. From the photo they had on file, the good doctor was very attractive, and her voice fit the image well, with just enough deep huskiness to remind him of dark rooms and whispered words… And that certainly never hurt. His smile widened.

"We're sorry to distract you, Dr. Blackwood, but this is a routine checkup on your facility. Your sector of space here has been under blackout of communication for some time. Klingons," he added for proper effect. "Nobody has been able to contact you, and seeing as you weren't expecting them to, you probably didn't notice. Still, a lot of the surrounding planets have been sieged and destroyed." He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath over the speakers, but he continued. "You were probably spared because this is, essentially, an abandoned and inhospitable planet. It's only you and a small research team, and I correct?"

Destroyed? Moira focused on that one fact and shuddered compulsively. Space was a great mystery, an undeniable adventure, but she was reminded that it could also be very dangerous. Blinking and glancing around her small station, Moira struggled to find her balance again, a hand at the hollow of her throat. When she spoke again, she was relieved to find her voice professional and untainted.

"Yes, that's right. I have three assistants, but this planet has no other life. We're just researchers, captain, we aren't equipped for defense, much less attack. Simple scholars." He detected that her concern lay more with her team members than for herself, and Kirk respected that. When his voice came back on, it was somehow more somber, and more understanding.

"Yes, I know, and it's good to find all of you alive and well. Too often that isn't the case." Moira accepted that statement with an unseen nod, groping for her container of cold coffee substitute.

"So then, what comes now, Captain?"

"Kirk, please." Her lips curved up a fraction. "And, finding you alive, we send a message back to Starfleet for further orders. They will decide what happens to your project from here. In the meantime we will be of service to you, if you should require anything." The way he put emphasis on the last word drew a chuckle from her, and she took a sip from her mug, pretty sure she had the good Captain's number.

"I appreciate the offer, Kirk, but personally I'm quite fine. I'll relay your message to my team nonetheless, however, and get back to you on that. Goodbye for now." Easily cutting of their connection, she shook her head, and didn't hear the hearty laugh from the bridge of the Enterprise as Kirk sat back in his seat.

"She was a live one, wasn't she?" He mentioned aloud to no one in particular, grinning with his good mood. "Nice to find someone alive and perfectly fine out here, especially after so many years. You never know what could happen." Punching a button on the arm of the chair, he called for the Medical wing, and was immediately patched through. "Bones, everyone's alive on Vergon. At some point or another, I suppose you'll want to take a look at them."

Doing his best impression of scowling through words, the cantankerous southern doctor scoffed his reply.

"They're damned lucky to be alive, living all the way out here in this vacuum of nothing! What are they even up to, anyway?"

Taking the cranky volume as his friend's way of being concerned, Kirk pulled up the document on their lovely Ms. Blackwood again. No doubt the doctor would find her as… stimulating as he did.

"Apparently Moira Blackwood is one of the leading doctors studying Vulcan and Romulan anthropology. That planet used to be an old Vulcan/Romulan home world, back before the two split. It's a pretty big gold mine of anthropological gems I suppose, and it could give the Federation a lot on both cultures."

"Bah," summed up Bones' opinion. Leonard McCoy let everyone know how he felt about space. "We'll never understand Vulcan's anyway—why bother trying?"

"Just make sure they're healthy, hm?" after a non-committal noise Kirk punched the button again, focusing back on the bridge which hardly needed his attention. Waiting was the name of the game now, since Uhura had already sent out the message of their success. Just biding time until orders were given to be carried out. He was handed an engineering report by a young yeoman, and he smiled at her absently as he signed the PADD, missing the flush that overcame her as she walked away. James T. Kirk never would have considered anyone on his ship in that way regardless, but pretty young doctors with bedroom voices…

Those were a completely different barrel of Tribbles.

Considering the woman in question, Kirk perched his chin in his palm and looked right, towards the science station, where his trusted first officer sat scanning for anomalies. Wondering what Mr. Spock had to say on the matter, he asked. After all, Spock was a Vulcan. Maybe he knew more on the project, or the planet. If nothing else, Kirk always liked to have his logical friend's opinion on things. They didn't always agree, but Spock's brain was undeniably a fascinating one—to use one of his own favorite words.

Not perturbed at all by the sudden question, (or at least not visibly,) Spock sat back to properly consider the facts. That was something you could always count on—a rational, fully thought-out reasoning. Impulse was foreign to him, or so he said… of course Kirk had served with him long enough to suspect that Spock might be more human than he let on, but he was always coolly (and logically) disproved on the matter.

"I have heard of Vergon mentioned in early texts, dating before Surak," he relayed, perfectly composed and fingers steepled thoughtfully. Ah, ever the picture of the unflappable Vulcan. "No doubt there is much to be learned about my ancestors there. I should like to look over any research published from their findings. Ms. Blackwood's credentials are flawless, and in fact quite substantial. She seems anxious to continue her work."

There was a strong urge to ask him what he thought of her on a personal level, but Kirk knew it would be useless. If Spock had opinions on anything physical, he kept them firmly to himself, which was sometimes a little disappointing.

"Well, you have the conn then," he said, stretching as he stood to pop his cramped muscles, "I think I might hit the gym while we're playing the waiting game." Standing to the side, he let Spock pass, then put a hand on the other man's bony shoulder in comrade-like fashion. "If any Klingons show up, you'll call, won't you?"

"Of course, Captain," the Vulcan answered, his dark, angular brows raised in question. Kirk sighed inwardly. No matter how long they spent in one another's company, he thought, Spock was never going to get his humor completely.

"Of course," he echoed, and with the mechanical whir of the turbolift doors, he took his leave of the bridge.

Not in the best of moods, Moira nonetheless found herself cataloguing artifacts for travel, hoping that nobody came upon her in her current state. Occasionally, when something would get the best of her normally well-kept temper, Moira preferred to spend time alone and unwind before re-joining the rest of the world. Now, what with a looming foreclosure of the entire project floating above her head, she knew she didn't have the luxury of time to spend ridding herself of her black thoughts.

Although her hands were gentle as she handled the delicate remnants of a long-gone people, the rest of her was wired with suppressed energy.

Honestly, who did they all think they were? Before her face could fall into a grimace Moira heard tentative footsteps wandering through the storage room, and she set down the pot she was marking to turn and greet her guest. Of course she knew who it was already; after all, you couldn't live with three people for three years without getting to know as much about them as you knew about yourself.

Lena was a small, dark woman, with a young complexion and wide eyes that gave her the appearance of a child. Still, she was sweet and soft-spoken, incredibly considerate, and more importantly, she was extremely intelligent. As acting doctor for their base, Lena was also a highly renowned Terran expert on Vulcan and Romulan anatomy, and she was invaluable when studying remains. Trying with some concentration to wipe away any indication of her personal problems, Moira gave Lena a smile.

"Hey, just finishing up some packing from the last excursion. What's up?" Built something like a small pixie, and well under Moira's own five-foot-ten, Lena fiddled with the sleeve of her blouse and spent a few moments trying for eye-contact.

"Is it true, what they're saying about Klingons in the sector?" Immediately Moira cursed herself, wishing she'd called a meeting instead of letting her crew terrify one another with rumors. Some project leader she was.

"I'm afraid so, at least that's what the Captain said. He's assured me that we're safe, for the moment being." Letting her eyes drift up, some of the worry that had been mixing with tension showed clearly on her face. "To be honest, Lena, we're probably going to be shut down." She heard the other woman give a sound of dismay, and she felt it echoed in a tug at her own heart. "I know. We've made some great strides here over the last three years, but there's so much more, and it breaks my heart to think what we may have to give up. Still, if what Kirk said was true, I can't imagine them letting us stay out here, not with Klingons blowing up our space. Maybe if I convinced him to just leave me…"

"You'll do no such thing," Lena admonished in a strong tone that had Moira's gaze focusing back on her. "That's just silly. If they say we can stay, we will stay, but if they force us to leave, we will simply come back again… Together."

Well well, Moira thought to herself, wasn't that sweet? Nodding, she found that some of her stress had lifted. "You're right, of course. Thanks, Lena. Actually, could you round up the guys and get them in the main lounge? I think I want to have a talk with everyone." Lena smiled shyly and nodded, as if even she couldn't really believe her own outburst, and was soon out of sight. Sighing, Moira finished labeling the box, and with the kind of care a mother might show with a newborn, laid the pot down into the packing with a feather touch. After she was sure that it wouldn't move an inch, she slid the box onto one of the enormous shelves with the rest of their work, and pulling off her gloves exited the storage unit and headed down the hallway.

Their station on Vergon had become as much—or more, she mused—of a home to her as any other place had ever been. From a childhood of instability, Moira had learned to be flexible, and could make almost anywhere habitable, for however long she was there. She'd chosen a profession that could potentially station her in any reach of the galaxy, for any length of time, and it suited her perfectly fine. Maybe she would wonder, during slow points, what it would feel like to have somewhere to land when everything was said and done, somewhere to run to when her entire life was full of sprinting to see around the next corner. But, in the end, she kept doing exactly what she'd done the day before. Routine was a comfort, she mused—not a rut.

Walking into the lounge, she freed her hair from its band, hoping to ward off the headache she could feel beginning to brew in the back of her skull. With her shoulder-blade-length goldenrod hair loose around her shoulders, she began to pour herself a cup of the sludge they settled on for coffee. On the other side of the room, the rest of the planet's inhabitants were comfortably conversing amongst themselves, aware that Moira needed time to settle before launching into her announcements.

Their little, intimate group… Just four people who had become close, in more than a professional way. Tiny, pretty Lena was squished cozily on the long couch between two men who were both talking animatedly. They were both young, in the first grueling assignment of their respective careers, and exuded a boyish charm that Moira found perfectly harmless but endearing. Eric, his curly blonde hair in a waving halo around his charming face, was very unexpectedly a veritable whiz at mechanics. He kept the station running smoothly, and had many interesting insights when they found tools and technology on the planet. Ryan, slightly older with a ruddy complexion and hair the color of chestnuts, focused more on the domestic aspects of both their day-to-day living and their research. He could cook like a dream, clean without complaint, and had an innocence about him that rivaled Lena's. Moira suspected that the two of them may have something going on… At least if one of them would ever get up the courage to make a move. And now, well… They may not get the chance.

With a tiny heaving sigh, Moira gripped her mug for comfort and went to spread the news.

"We have our own doctor, Captain, which I'm sure you're aware of. We're all healthy as horses, so really, we don't require your chief medical officer to waste his time." Practically spitting with indignant anger, but barely managing to tamp it down, Moira fought the urge to bash her head against the walls. Couldn't he see that there was work that needed done? She didn't have the time to share idiotic chats with him, let alone waste valuable working time letting his doctor poke and prod her crew.

If the man needed something to keep him occupied, she would be more than happy to punch him and give him a real injury to focus on.

"Regulations state that you must be seen by a member of my medical staff while we're here," Kirk insisted, his arguments half-hearted because even he found them inane. Since they were probably going to be pulled soon anyway, it would make more sense to just wait until they came onboard the Enterprise, but protocol often trumped logic. "I promise that, if you're all as well as you seem, it won't take more than a few moments of your time."

Seething, Moira was quiet for a few seconds to exercise her breathing techniques. Calmer, realizing that arguing with the man would get her nowhere, she finally acquiesced.

"Fine, Captain, I'll send your transporter room the coordinates of our medical lab. When can we expect your Doctor McCoy?" Tapping her foot impatiently, she waited while she heard a fuzzy conversation in the background.

"If you're agreeable, he says that he could beam down immediately."

"Peachy. I'll see him in a few minutes." And with a self-satisfying flick, she had once again severed their communications. It gave her a small amount of comfort that she could thumb her nose at his authority, even if she realized the childishness of it. The entire ordeal still had her up in arms. True to her word, she transmitted the coordinates, then she got on the loudspeaker system to the entire base.

"This is Moira. I need everyone to wrap up whatever they're doing and head to the medical lab for a few minutes. Hopefully this won't take long. Over." Running a tired hand through the ash-blonde hair, Moira could hardly suppress a yawn. She'd been working long nights, practically round the clock for days, trying desperately to begin to finish all the things that needed completing. Now every time she examined an artifact she felt pride, but the pride was somewhat smothered with regret. The easy rhythm of her life, the excitement of discovery, was going to come to a halt very soon. It was no surprise to her that she had become emotionally attached, but she was doing her best to make the separation an easy one.

Walking down the hall she ran into Eric, and they fell into a friendly matching pace as they wandered through the halls. Looking bright-eyed and not a little winded, Moira surmised that he'd come from the engineering room, and the fact that he was speckled with oil stains didn't discount her assumption.

"Hot water heater took another hit today. If we do leave, I'll tell you what I won't miss. Waking up and getting into an ice-cold shower." He smiled, but it had lost some of its luster, and she knew that he was simply trying to make the best of the situation. Eric may have been a little excitable, but he had the same devotion to the assignment as the rest of them. Feeling a strong wave of affection, like from a teacher to a pupil, Moira slung her arm around his shoulders and gave him an awkward hug. Neither one of them commented on it, but they entered the medical lab that way, both content in the other's company.

Lena and Ryan were already present, and looked up from a private conversation as the other two entered. There was the faintest hint of a blush on both of their faces, and Moira had to keep from letting a very inappropriate grin cover her face. That's it, hurry it up, she cheered them mentally.

There was a low whine, accompanied with a whirring of light in the shape of a human being, and then suddenly an older man was standing in the middle of their lab. He carried a tricorder and a medi-kit with an impatient look on his face, which cleared somewhat when he realized the trip was over.

Moira extended a hand, stepping forward from the group and establishing herself as its leader.

"Moira Blackwood, and I assume Dr. McCoy?" He took her offered hand philosophically, pumping with a firm grip that seemed fatherly, like the man who owned it. Not that her own father bore any resemblance at all to this man, but rather, he was what she would have imagined a father to be like. Thick brown hair swept to the side of a craggy face full of personality, wrinkles beginning around eyes that sparkled with a mischievous blue light. Once again Moira found herself drawn, no matter how much she had promised herself she wouldn't like the intruder, and she put more of herself into the handshake.

"That's me. Glad to arrive in one piece… I hate transporters, you know," he confided to her, looking around with a gruffness that seemed more inherent than immediate. His voice had just the slightest whisper of the old Terran south, and she realized that she immediately liked this honest, cranky figure.

"A necessary evil, I imagine," she replied with her own almond eyes alight, and Bones had the chance to think that they were almost brandy-colored in person. Since he was a man who respected and admired his drink, he chalked up another point for her on his 'like' column. If Jim got a real look at her, he considered, he was going to find himself smitten… again.

"Don't I know it. So, no matter what anyone says, I have to take a look at you. Any volunteers?" Moving to one of the two beds that jutted out from the wall, Leonard took out his medi-wand and stood waiting in his blue short-sleeved uniform shirt, a messy brown eyebrow raised in impatience. "Well?"

Even though Moira hated the idea of doctors—she was much too active of a person to have any tolerance for sickness, especially in herself—she felt it was her duty to make an example for the others. With a manful gulp and a fake look of apprehension for show, Moira wandered forward and lay on the other bed, her eyes following the doctor.

"Will it hurt?" she asked with exaggerated fear, and he gave a throaty laugh as he ran the wand along her body.

"Only if you sit up too fast and jab yourself with it."

"I don't see the point of this," commented Ryan from the desk where he sat, watching the proceedings with a frown on his face. "Lena is more than capable, she's been taking care of us for years." Looking over at him, Lena sent him an exasperated look, but her pink cheeks betrayed her pleasure at the compliment. McCoy sized her up, what little of her there was to size, and snorted.

"If my doctor looked like that pretty young woman, I'd probably complain about having to change to me as well. It's just red tape. Everything is political, you should know that by now."

"Too true," lamented Eric with undisguised disappointment in his voice. Lena patted his shoulder supportively.

"It'll be all right," she soothed in her light, airy voice, "Moira will figure out what to do."

On the table, Moira felt the tugging of her stomach muscles, and wished quite suddenly for an antacid to nibble on. Oh yes, she thought, Moira will have all the answers. Unfortunately, for once, Moira didn't know what to do any more than anyone else. Incredibly tired, she looked up into the squinted eyes of the doctor, who gave her a sympathetic look before stepping back.

"All clear. You're free to continue your duties. Next!" Sliding off the table, Moira moved aside for Lena who took her place. Although she was usually shy around strangers, she must have considered their similar professions a sort of bond, because she was able to easily strike up a conversation with the man. As they chuckled over some story that had to do with technical things Moira couldn't understand, she turned to the others and nodded over her shoulder.

"Cooperate, will you? Then go back to work. I want every 'T' crossed and every 'I' dotted, do you understand? They may pull this out from under our feet, but it'll be the best damn report they ever got. I don't want to give them any reasons not to let us back here once the smoke has cleared." The last part was said more to the room in general, and after a tense moment she swept out of the room, leaving everyone to look after her in awkward silence.

Days passed with a thick, syrupy silence, the heavy kind that came before a storm. After receiving a neat, tidy PADD report that her crew was all in excellent health, Moira hadn't heard from or seen a member of the Enterprise, and she could almost imagine it wasn't floating aimlessly in orbit around her planet.

But it was, and having it there made her feel more on-edge than safe. There was no real reason why, as far as she could see, but Moira often followed her gut… and it was that feeling that told her it wouldn't be long before she discovered just why she felt so antsy.

The others felt it, too, and she could tell the strain was eating at them. Try as she might her own frazzled moods were adding to the atmosphere, and it was something like walking a tightrope—where someone was going to take a tumble, and soon.

At any rate, the idea of their approaching deadline seemed to have the proper effect of melting Lena and Ryan's hesitant temperaments. With any luck at all, Moira thought when she caught them sharing long, doe-eyed looks in the corridors, Kirk would have a wedding to perform on his beloved ship. At least that would be one happy day in an otherwise dismal proceeding.

Moira fiddled with a curl of her hair as she sat at her cluttered desk, glasses on the bridge of her nose and eyes squinted nearly to slits. None of the words on the paper she was trying to read made any sense, and with a groan she sat back to scrub a hand over her face. Of course it was gibberish; she'd been awake 24 hours now, maybe more. Her brain was committing mutiny.

It was an important report for her files, but she felt she had to concede defeat, at least for the moment, or she'd do herself more harm than good. An endless work drive didn't usually constitute a character flaw, she thought blandly… At least until your quality suffered from it. Already dreaming of a date with her pillow, Moira stripped off her glasses and dug a few fingers into the back of her neck. Tension sat there like a boulder, and she gave into a tiny fantasy that included a massage. Maybe by a Betazoid—one who would know all the right places to rub.

What was quickly becoming a dream-worthy image was interrupted, however, before she could cross her tiny room to the inviting single bed. Suddenly too worn even to scowl, Moira backed up her plans of passing out to fit in one more question or concern—then she was hanging up the 'keep out' sign for six—maybe eight—blissful hours of nothing.

"Yes?" Choking on a yawn, Moira let the doors of her quarters slide open to reveal Lena. Still, it took her tired mind a minute to recognize the glowing, radiant woman in front of her, a positive compact ray of sunshine with her grey eyes lit like candle smoke.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you were about to go to bed," Lena noted instantly, still compassionate enough to be considerate even in her joy, "I'll come back tomorrow."

But her clearly-radiating zeal had already wiped the cobwebs out of Moira's mind, and before her guest could vanish she steered the small woman inside.

"Oh, no, I don't think so. You look like you've swallowed a star, and now that I'm hooked you can't leave me dangling. So, what happened? Spill." Barely containing herself, obviously too glad that she had been forced into telling, Lena managed to allow herself to be directed into the room and seated in the desk chair before she exploded—in true, overwhelming Lena fashion.

"I.. we… that is to say, I mean, he asked me…" Desperate to share her ecstasy through more than the words which wouldn't come, Lena gripped Moira's hands in her own smaller, darker ones. They were warm, and she squeezed tightly. "We're going to be married!"

"Are we?" Moira asked, barely able to keep a straight face. "But where's my ring? This isn't much of a proposal if you ask me."

"oh, Moira!" Unable to keep in a tittering laugh that bordered on slightly hysterical, Lena let her hands fly to her mouth, eyes huge and shining. "I'm just so happy, I could die… Or at least float. I am floating." Jumping up she paced, her sweet round face awash with a smile that threatened to split it in two. "Ryan, he… Well, we just… I couldn't believe it. I still can't. Pinch me, I'm dreaming. Oh, Moira, I'm going to be a bride!" And you'll be excellent at it, thought the older woman, her heart warm for the two people she loved who were so obviously in love with each other. She could only imagine how Ryan was reacting.

"So, where's the ring?" Moira teased, and Lena stuck out her left hand without hesitation. Calming a bit, she looked down at her finger where a piece of string was tied, but she didn't seem embarrassed or angry at the substitute. Instead, her eyes misted like the sea, and if there had been any doubt of her feelings, they were soon laid to rest.

"He didn't have anything here to give me… He said the replicator could have patched something together, but that the first ring on my finger would be one for keeps. So we used this instead—just temporarily."

"I'm so happy for you," Moira murmured softly, and realized with a jolt that she would really miss this friendship when they would inevitably split apart. "Really, I am, Lena. Ryan's so lucky to have you."

"He really is, isn't he?" On a hiccup of a giggle a few happy tears escaped, but she brushed them away impatiently. "I'm lucky, too. Moira, will you be my maid of honor? We were hoping for a bit of an old-fashioned ceremony, and, well…"

"Oh, Lena," was all Moira could manage, bending to encompass her friend in a hug. Her own tears burned in her eyes, and before she could stop them they began to flow. "God, I'm a wreck," she fretted, laughing and crying simultaneously. "I blame you."

"So you will?" Pulling back, Moira rolled her eyes and gave Lena a watery snort.

"Please, you couldn't keep me away. Now, I think this calls for some champagne—I'm pretty sure I have a bottle, somewhere." As she rummaged through her closet and under the bed, Moira was glad to let something strong and real, like love, block out the innumerable things that were wrong in their galaxy. This… This simple feeling of friendship, of hope, of rejoicing in the every-day miracles… This was the sort of thing cultures lived and died for.

She toasted Lena's happiness with a smile, not only on her face, but in her heart. For now, this was precisely what she needed.