For the second time that day Reed found himself standing in front of Varo's door.
He was angry. He understood that under current circumstances casualties were inevitable - on both sides. He knew there would be times where impossible choices would have to be made. Where the success of the mission would have to come before all else. This hadn't been one of those times. She had murdered that man, and in the process, had robbed them of an important source of intel.
"Lieutenant." One of the men standing guard said, pulling him from his thoughts.
"Hernandez." He returned the greeting.
"Anything to report?" He asked.
"I haven't had any trouble from her, Sir." The man replied.
He nodded, decidedly relieved to hear it.
He took a breath, composing himself before he moved his hand to the buzzer. Before he could press it, however, a loud growl - no, an angry scream - and the sound of shattering glass came from within.
At once his two men were beside him, phasers drawn, as he entered his override code into the door's panel. He drew his own phaser as the door slid open. What he saw when it did wasn't at all what he expected.
The room was dim, unlit. Varo was kneeling on the floor, her shoulders hunched over and her hair a mess before her face.
Next to her sat a mostly empty carafe of what was undoubtedly a sort of liquor. And on the wall and floor opposite her were the remnants of a drinking glass and its former contents.
She looked up at him then away. He could tell from the uneasy sway of her head that she was intoxicated. He holstered his weapon and motioned for his men to stand down.
"Varo." He said as his men resumed their post.
She sat herself fully on the floor and pulled her legs out in front of her. Leaning back against the wall behind her in the process, she rested her head against its undoubtedly cold surface.
"Reed." She nearly whispered.
The reflection of starlight on her face revealed streaks of recent tears. He wasn't sure what to say, caught between his anger and concern for her state of being. Somehow, this was the last thing he had expected from her.
"Care for a drink?" She asked, holding up the carafe.
He noticed the added tremor of her hand to her already unstable gesture. Whether or not it was due to the alcohol, he didn't know.
After a moment she lowered her arm, seeming to have realized where his gaze lie.
She shrugged. "Surprisingly, It hasn't helped." She turned to the still wet wall before her. "If anything, it's made it worse."
"Made what worse?" He asked, suddenly having the impression that she meant more than just her hand.
She said nothing for a few, long moments. He was beginning to wonder if she'd heard him.
"I was in love once." She said simply.
His reply was a snear. After the Xindi, he somehow doubted she was capable of it.
"I mean really, truly in love." She said, having seemingly understood what he'd meant.
She picked up the carafe from the floor and made to take a drink, but instead simply held it between her hands whose elbows now rested on her knees.
"I couldn't have been more than thirty at the time." She continued, seemingly lost in thought. "Those were the happiest six years of my life."
He thought he saw her smile before it faded. The genuine look of sadness it left behind gave him pause.
"What happened?" He asked, taking a seat beside her.
Gently, he pried the carafe from her hands. She didn't seem to notice.
She glanced at him and shook her head slightly. "Murdered." She was staring at the wall now. "The assassin..." She gestured before them, her expression lost, as if she could see him now, "came out of nowhere. I didn't see him. His blade." Her hands fell into her lap.
"I'm sorry." He said. He didn't know if he meant it.
She shrugged. "I was young. So naive. I thought that fate had no bearing on me."
His brows furrowed.
"We make our own fate." He said.
She half-heartedly laughed. "That's what I thought, too. And who knows. Perhaps for most that's true."
"But not for you?"
She stared before her.
"Everything I touch turns to dust." She whispered it like one might a mantra.
"That can't be true."
Now she really did laugh. "If you only knew."
She looked at him then and her eyes faded and iced over.
"This is my curse." She said. "I can run and hide from it, but it doesn't matter. In the end it always finds me." She smiled a sad smile. "Always takes something away."
His gaze traveled back to the shattered glass before them. He did feel somewhat sorry for her then. There was a weight behind her words that he couldn't help but believe.
He thought back to Rolik. He remembered the look she had had on her face as she had stared at the bloodied knife in her hand. He hadn't known what to make of her expression - but thinking back, perhaps it had been remembrance that he'd seen there.
He shook his head and turned back to her.
"That's not an excuse." He said, suddenly remembering his anger.
She turned to him, a hazed look of confusion on her face.
"For what you did." He clarified. The look on her face said she understood. "You murdered that man."
She shook her head and stared at the ceiling. "I'm not giving you an excuse, Reed. I'm telling you what ran through my mind when he asked me to do it."
There was a long silence between them before he spoke again.
"Pardon?" He asked. "He *asked* you to kill him?"
Her eyes were closed. She nodded lazily.
"Why?"
She sighed. "It's complicated."
Reed's brows furrowed. "That's not good enough. Not for killing a man." He was getting tired of her self-pity.
She said nothing for a moment. Her eyes were still closed. She seemed to be falling asleep.
"Varo." He demanded.
She sighed but opened her eyes. "What does it matter?"
Reed's brows furrowed. His mouth was a sneer. "What does it matter!?" He stood. "A man is dead because of you. Several men."
She had killed four. He knew two or three of them could be argued as self defence, as casualties of war, but not the last one. There was a line and she had crossed it.
She seemed unmoved by his anger. It left him oddly disheartened.
"Maybe you really are just a sadist." He muttered.
She said nothing for a moment. Simply regarded him. Her look turned quizzical at first, as if she were trying to decide if he were joking.
He wasn't. He hadn't imagined the perverse pleasure he thought he'd seen on her face as she killed the first man, had he? The extreme anger - no, hatred - she'd exhibited for the others, *that* had been real.
There was a sudden softness to her gaze then, followed by a small furrow of the brow before her look ultimately hardened and turned dismissive.
She sat herself up a little straighter than before. "Believe what you want, Reed. Your precious Starfleet won't care either way, so why should I?"
He bristled at the statement.
She turned her gaze back to the wall before her.
He'd had enough.
"You know what, Varo?" He said before he made to leave. "You say everything you touch turns to dust. And you blame fate. But do you ever stop to think that maybe it's not fate? That maybe it's you?"
She didn't move. He sighed.
"The choices here were yours to make. You made the wrong ones."