Quicksand
Near 6:00am Aalin woke alone. This stark contrast to the closeness with Chris of the prior few hours jarred her. Doubt crept in. Was my reaction wrong to his revelations about the Talosians? Did I hurt him by staying here last night? By offering comfort?
Doubt notched up into worry.
Be honest. Who was comforting whom? Was it truly an offer or a demand? Was the offer about what I needed or what he needed? Did Chris want to say no but didn't to spare my feelings?
Anxiety slapped worry out of its way.
I've driven Chris from his own bed. She jumped up and searched the rooms. They were empty of another's presence. And I've chased him from his quarters as well. I'm an idiot. Well done me.
Aalin sank into a chair and buried her head in outstretched hands. She wept. For the lostness in Chris' eyes as he spoke about what happened on Talos, for the haunted ache in his tone of voice, for the pain hinted at he and the others endured there, for the theft of their shared future. An inner voice warned, Chris may return at any moment, don't let him see you like this. The back of her hand hastily wiped away the tears.
Okay, deep breath. Come back to the realistic, she instructed. Apply logic. The ship was in crisis yesterday. A subsequent problem may have arisen needing a decision from its commander. There may have been an issue in the overnights requiring early attention. Or … Chris may be on one of his walkabouts.
Walkabout was the crews' nickname for their Captain's turns about the ship; he walked from top to bottom and from bow to stern talking with individuals and looking for the small things which may get lost in the chain of command. It was a ritual conducted at least once after an emergency noting their acts of bravery and creativity, calming their fears, soothing their doubts, looking for any needing extra support. Once or twice a month during less eventful stretches of time Chris roamed the ship catching-up on his crews' lives outside of duty.
She glanced around the living area searching for a task to occupy her mind and hands. But, as per usual, immaculate described Chris' quarters echoing his ready room. Crossing to the viewscreen in the kitchen she checked her work queue. Nothing. And no scheduled duty shift for twenty-four hours. Aalin sighed. Busying my time won't help Chris.
The sad truth of their situation settled uncomfortably. I'm in love with a man who may never be able to fully return those feelings.
A pause. Don't make this about you.
My love for him is not based on reciprocation.
How do we fix this?
Her questions didn't feel right, they struck her as dismissive or condescending rather than empathetic. Equating Chris' grief and emotional distress to a skinned knee which can be patched up and soothed away with a kiss is … cruel.
How do I support him?
Does he want your help? That thought sobered. Or did Chris share this confidence so I wouldn't continue personalizing as rejection his choice of platonic friendship?
Uncertainty and dead ends. That's all I have. Yet we are in the middle of a quagmire without a tangible limb for clinging to. And the tiniest wrong step in this quicksand will suck us under as well as crush any possibility of a future together.
Chris' hints were vague but …
Does this explain what happened in the shuttle when I came on to him, why he reacted as if panicked and caged?
Has he had sex with others after Talos?
I need information. "Computer, establish a link with the medical database in Lausanne, authorization B3-459-Bravo. Pull all current literature up to ten years back on the following topics and download to my personal storage … forcing action through mind-control, sexual assault and it's recovery …"
In reply a mechanical voice said without inflection, "A real-time connection is not possible …"
"Oh. Right. Damn," Aalin muttered.
"Please restate the parameters."
"Cancel and erase request," she ordered.
At this distance from the Federation data cores, submitting a query and receiving results was a multiweek process traveling through at least ten subspace communication relay buoys and was size limited. The same was true for personal messages leaving out of reach advice from friends with the requisite professional expertise.
Will I ever get used to what it means to be this far out in a sector never explored? The loneliness of waking up solo in another's bed faded next to this palpable isolation. I never think about how frightening having no backup is, how tenuous depending on just our ship for most every need is.
Because your crewmates and the senior officers are your backstop. And Chris is theirs.
But who is his?
"Computer, search onboard databases for … no, wait, never mind."
While access of Enterprise's data stores was not monitored, a handful of crew – Spock, the first and second officers, and the information technology team – could trace subjects examined and who requested the research.
Out of the question, any confidences Chris shares with me must remain private, and this one requires absolute discretion.
Thus seeking advice from any among the crew was also out of bounds. Her isolated feelings increased tenfold.
Frustrated, Aalin invoked her robust knowledge of curses in a variety of languages while pacing the room. The physical activity soothed her frayed nerves and after multiple circuits (the count of which was lost) she plopped into a chair. So I am back where I started. Okay. This is too big to sort out in one go, focus on the next step.
Do I stay until Chris gets back or give him space and let him come to me when he is ready?
A little voice added, or if.
She shooed the thought away.
Intuition offered this advice: Don't repeat earlier mistakes, like staying away after he pulled back. Assumptions may wound. Honesty is more important than ever. Second-guessing may be well-meaning but places an additional burden on Chris. Only he knows what he needs.
Ordering paper and pen from the replicator, Aalin settled on the sofa to form the questions for which she wanted answers and to wait. She felt jittery and queasy with apprehension that her and Chris' next interaction may prove the most important of their relationship.
ooooo
Chris retreated to the ready room after his walk through the ship. At his desk, he responded to the urgent messages and requests. With the crisis behind them and the ship on stand-down there were few. He then worked through the low priority items until none remained.
And still lingered, undecided. He rolled his stiff neck then massaged it. A chimed sounded requesting admittance. "Come."
Enterprise's first and second officers claimed chairs in front of the desk.
"We dodged a bullet," Isak remarked once seated. "I've squeaked through bad situations before surprised to have made it to the other side in one piece but getting out of that bloody asteroid field was the squeakiest of them all. Who'd have ever dreamed we'd need a musician to guide the ship out. Well done by the way Chris, for hiring as our linguist one so highly trained."
Una cocked an eyebrow and frowned in pretend annoyance.
Isak raised his open hands fanning them slightly in a gesture of apology. "My bad. Well done Commander Chin-Riley for the foresight of adding Lieutenant Matthews to our band of merry beings."
"That's better," she responded tilting her head in a firm nod.
With a faint grin Chris teased, "I should get a shred of credit, or at least the opportunity to bask in the glow of Number One's clever prescience. I did, after all, approve Aalin's commission."
The first officer rolled her eyes and her corners of her mouth twitched up. She turned to Isak. "Did I ever tell you about his response when I first proposed the posting?"
"Do please go on," the second officer urged.
"After the Varian mission concluded I presented my case. I think we can all agree unraveling their language was a testament of Ms. Matthew's skills under pressure. And what did our illustrious leader say?" She paused for maximum effect then recited "But I, meaning Chris in this sentence, am the one who will end up walking and feeding her, meaning Aalin in this sentence."
"My response is out of context," their commander protested to no avail.
Leaning his chair back on its axis, Isak placed hands behind his neck. "I, as I am certain Number One did, assume you'd want to attend to that personally," he mused with a faint chuckle.
Pointedly ignoring his friend's remark Chris continued in a light huff, "For the record, at the time, I didn't even know what you, Una, were talking about. All you had said in preface was 'I think we should keep her.' Therefore I answered with a joke."
"Un-huh. Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir. We'll go with that." Una's tone of voice was mockingly placating. She stood. "My work here is done. I'm off to bed."
Isak retrieved two tumblers then motioned to the sitting area. "Join me." After pouring an orangey liquid from a large flask into both glasses he handed one to Chris. Both took seats in the armchairs.
"Your carrot, ginger and wheatgrass concoction?" Chris surmised after crossing his legs and holding his glass up, eyeing it in the light.
"Yep. You've been looking a little peaky all day, so I whipped up a batch."
Chris sipped from the tumbler. The drink was good, as always, and revitalizing. "Are you ever going to share the recipe with me?"
"Nope. Because my crafty Betazed husband will worm it out of you, likely using methods only he can and shouldn't employ as they give him an unfair advantage. And then Matt will have no need of me," Isak responded.
"I hate to point this out …" Chris began.
Isak nodded, his expression one of deep affection. "I know, I know. Matt could read it from my own thoughts. Why doesn't he? Who knows? His reason will likely bite me in the arse at some point. And then he'll apologize with those bottomless dark eyes I can't resist."
Chris decided not to reveal Matt knows the recipe and pretends ignorance, so Isak retains the pleasure of making the favorite drink for his beloved.
"You know I don't get involved in trying to manage other's affairs," Isak started.
"So you say, but when did that practice actually begin," Chris queried his oldest of friends with a faint smile and the familiar baiting response.
"Yes, it is true I may have mentioned back when you were a lieutenant, I didn't trust the Majalans and suggested you steer clear of that certain one of their scientists with the flirty smile." He added with a jutted chin, "Because any people that proud of themselves are hiding something." Isak sat his glass down and leaned forward. "Learning to live with someone is messy. At least once a month I look at Matt, think 'what the hell' am I doing, and doubt creeps in. I admit this is typically after my neatnik husband has scolded me for leaving my socks or trunks on the floor."
"Your point?"
Isak rubbed his chin. "Oh hell. Maybe I don't have a coherent point other than you and Aalin are good for each other, I like you together. You remind me of one of those screwball romantic comedy couples, the ones in the 1930's and 50's movies Phil watches repeatedly where the female lead can so adeptly kick her frenemy's arse without raising her voice, and the male lead is gobsmacked when he finally realizes he's head over heels in love with her, only you two never disliked one another."
Chris offered a half-hearted chuckle.
"I'm not scolding. Nor pushing you forward when you're not ready. I applaud your caution. After the way the Talosians fucked with your head, your heart, and your body, knowing up from down, sorting out what's real and what isn't, embracing the ultimate vulnerability of making love to one you deeply care for …" Isak's expression darkened, "If it'd help, I'd wring every scrawny Talosian neck. Gods know they have it coming."
He sighed. "That you've let Aalin get even this close to you is an encouraging sign."
Isak paused. "And I hesitate to bring all this back to the forefront, but Chris you have to ask yourself, what happened on Qua, is that mixed into the state of things between the you and Aalin as well? Qua, Talos, and someone who charges your protective instincts in a thrice. It's a perfect storm. This is what I came here to say and … I'm here for whatever you need."
ooooo
Chris paused at the doors of his quarters unsure if he wished the rooms empty or filled with her presence. Entering he found Aalin sitting on one of the bar height stools, reading from a stack of papers, nibbling the top of her pen, and humming. The bridge of her nose wrinkled slightly when she held one sheet up and squinted at it before replacing the sheet on top of the stack and attacking it with her pen, crossing out and scribbling at a fast pace. Now and then the humming gave way to a phrase or two of words. The tune was familiar, but Chris couldn't remember its title. He cleared his throat hoping to avoid startling her then called out, "Hey."
The song ceased and to Chris the cozy feeling in the room dimmed a little. "Don't stop, I like hearing you."
Her cheeks tinged pink. "I rarely sing in front of others."
"Someday maybe you'll explain to me why that is. And would you make an exception for me?"
A happy smile accompanied her response, "Always." She noticed he remained by the small table near the door, the one holding a chess set, keeping a wide distance between them. Her tone of voice turned hesitant and soft, "I wasn't sure if I should stay."
Chris glanced around the room avoiding eye contact. He sorted, measured, decided. His gaze settled on her. "I'm glad you did."
Aalin let out the breath she held and her shoulders relaxed inching down and back. "You'll tell me if you change your mind?"
He inhaled sharply and audibly.
She added reassurance, "I won't interpret the request as anything other than you need time to yourself."
A quick nod. "I'll get changed."
On his return she remarked, "You should wear blue more often, it compliments your eyes. Oh." Her eyes widened, her cheeks blazed with embarrassment, and her hand quickly covered her mouth. "Sorry. Don't know why I started channeling my mother."
Chris' chuckle dissipated the awkwardness between them. He sat in the chair on her left. "What are you working on?"
Suddenly deciding this wasn't a time for peppering him with queries about Talos and what happened there and afterwards, she turned over the stack of handwritten notes concealing their contents. "Thoughts. Not important right now."
"What were you humming earlier?" he asked.
"Here Comes the Sun. When I had a bad dream those first years at boarding school, I sang it to myself. The tune has been stuck in my head all day."
Chris tried imagining being eight and sent away for months at a time without anyone familiar nearby. This didn't square with the closeness of his own childhood. A wave of protectiveness swelled urging he soothe away all her past loneliness. "Drink? Wine?"
"Sure."
"Do you have a preference?" he inquired.
"I'm a complete neophyte. All I know is rose," she answered.
"Hmmm. In the future we shall broaden your education," Chris stated while uncorking a bottle holding a very pale pink liquid and labeled Pure. He offered a half-filled glass, "I think you'll like this."
She sipped. "Mmmm. Nice."
"You're not going to swirl?" he asked with a sideways half grin and a slight twinkle in his eyes.
"Do you want the contents of my glass spilled on your table?" she countered.
"Ah, No," was his definite answer.
"There we are then."
Retaking his seat Chris said, "Funny, I always imagined Sunday dinners in your family as very formal, a bell on the table to summon the servers, layers of forks, spoons, and knives around the place setting, a different wine glass for every course …"
"Well that was true at my grandmother's, but at home meals were a rowdier affair, certainly when Mother was away. And you had to be quick, or you'd lose out on the mashed potatoes."
He started to say, 'Meeting your family is going to be interesting.' But the gulf between such an invitation and where he and Aalin stood now felt insurmountable. Instead, he bowed his head. She waited without filling the silence. Twice, with eyes still downcast, Chris started to speak. Twice he aborted. Then he looked up. "I'll make dinner. Any requests?"
"Salad?"
"I can do that." He left the table and began pulling out plates from a cabinet, knives and silverware from a drawer, and vegetables from a stasis box. From the four-level hydroponic garden he harvested different varieties of greens and snipped herbs.
"I've always wondered," Aalin said while pointing at the plants. "Do you grow those yourself?"
"Well," his expression turned sheepish. "Not really. I do a bit, but there are only so many hours in the day and night, so I pulled rank and delegated. One of the botanists on board handles the bulk of the work. Last year Spock went through a gardening phase, and he added a few selections from Vulcan."
The familiar rhythm of puttering around his kitchen calmed and dissipated the remaining awkwardness. "You know we could fancy this up a bit, I think I have …" the rest of his words were inaudible as Chris rummaged through the stasis box. He pulled out several small containers then began chopping and heating water.
Thirty minutes later a niçoise salad was placed on the table. He said, "A continuation of the Provençal theme but with a Maine twist using halibut instead of tuna, am offering from Joseph's last fishing trip. Didn't you say your family vacations there?"
"Every summer. You really know how to spoil a girl," she replied with enthusiasm. Aalin instantly regretted her off-the-cuff remark thinking, stupid, stupid, stupid, that sounds like flirting, you have to think more carefully before speaking. The walking on eggshells feeling returned and she held her breath, waiting.
Chris flashed a genuine pleased smile while he refilled their wine goblets and added a pitcher of cold water and two fresh glasses to their meal.
Aalin sighed with relief. Not a trigger, at least not in this context today. She muttered a silent thank you prayer.
"Indulge me with a bit of captaining?" he said.
She nodded between bites.
"I put a note in your file …" he began.
"What'd I do wrong?" she interrupted.
"Let me finish before jumping to a conclusion which is false by the way. My entry is a note of commendation. Getting out of that asteroid field safely depended on your accurate identification of the pitch of those sound waves. In other words, we couldn't have done it without your trained and skilled hearing."
"I had the easy part," Aalin reminded. "Others developed the formulas and completed the complex calculations rapidly while the distance and location data were still relevant, and the helm team maneuvered Enterprise through the mass of debris, which was like threading a very fine needle."
"Don't do that," Chris demanded, his tone hinting at frustration. "Do not belittle your contribution."
She took a deep breath. "Sorry. Old habit. Thank you."
"That's better," he replied, satisfied.
"It's still surreal to me I had something to offer during the situation considering I can't yet operate the communications console on the bridge."
He shook his head. "That's just training. And you never know what combination of skills will come together to provide the way forward."
"You said that to me before Noohra. There, at night, when I was scared and didn't know how to keep the children safe, I recited your words. And they helped. In that way, you were there with me for every step of the journey over the mountains."
Chris shifted in his seat. He rapped knuckles on the table then began gathering the used dishes.
Confused, Aalin nevertheless added Noohra to the taboo subjects mental list she started earlier in the afternoon.
"What's your favorite fruit? he suddenly asked.
"Apricots."
Head stuck in the stasis unit again, he searched.
"That's like a magic cupboard," she mused.
"Yep, still have them." He held up a handful of small ovoids.
"They're blue."
"Andorian quinici, very similar to Earth's apricots. And rare. A gift from one of the engineers. Chris peeled the fruit and tossed them into a pot with sugar and spices, presenting the treat once it warmed through.
"This are amazing," she said after a first bite. Then spoke several sentences in French and Andorian. "That's my compliments to the cook."
Together they washed and dried the dishes. Aalin wanted to ask why Chris performed this chore by hand but held back unsure what subjects may be touchy and unwilling to probe and jar the relaxed rapport of the evening. As they worked, she noticed Chris grew restless, and plaintive. His body language spoke of tightening defenses as if battening down hatches.
When the task was done, he said in a voice sounding weary, "I promised to answer your questions about Talos and what happened there. We should do that now. And I suspect the stack of papers you're hiding from me is a numbered list."
"With footnotes," she reminded.
"Of course," Chris replied with a half-hearted smile.
Aalin longed to reach out and caress his cheek or place a comforting hand on his chest. "I admit I have a lot of questions." She paused, Isak's previous advice echoed in her thoughts, 'for good reasons … well the bottom line is Chris' doubts remain. Which is his story to tell, not mine. And I'm not sure if he will ever be ready to share it. Can you look beyond that and take him on without knowing all of his past?'
She walked to the table, ripped to shreds the papers with her writing, tossed the pieces in the reclaimator and incinerated them. "My questions about what happened on Talos are unimportant. If and when you want to share more with me, you will. But I don't require that from you, I don't need that. I trust the man standing in front of me."
Chris brow creased as he internalized her words.
"And I think you'd like to be alone now," she said softy.
He nodded.
"Thank you for dinner, it was lovely." Aalin retreated to the door.
"See you tomorrow at our usual time and place?" Chris called after her.
She turned and offered a fond smile then promised before leaving, "Deck three mess hall at 11:00pm? Of course."