I Need You As Much As the Air I Breath

Fully repaired, Enterprise remained a safe distance from the asteroid field studying the aftereffects of the gaseous cloud. Five days passed quietly and routine reestablished. The ship continued its journey.

For Pike it had been a day of restless energy refusing dissipation via work, conversations with crew, and a longer than usual run. Retreating to quarters he poured a drink and settled on the couch.

His rooms, typically a sanctuary, now felt too quiet, too big, too empty. Had felt so since the afternoon, night, day, and evening Aalin spent there. Returning to these rooms without her presence jarred and cast a pall over a space which Pike had carefully assembled, a space meant to be soothing and welcoming.

A glance at the clock. Three hours we meet in the mess hall for our daily chat, he thought.

Too long.

Why wait?

Setting his untouched glass on the coffee table, Pike strode into the corridor and towards the nearest turbolift.

Deck nine's hallways were, as always, filled with crew bustling to and from duty shifts, mess halls, and recreation areas. Pike flattened against a bulkhead when an ensign called out, "Make a hole." A half-dozen beings jogged past acknowledging their commander without breaking pace. Others greeted him as well. No one residing on a starship traveled the corridors incognito nor without being noticed, especially its Captain.

Pike hesitated, slowing his gait. Aalin's put up with enough rumors and whispers because of me. His doubts grew with each step. After reaching her quarters he nearly turned back. Hard to refuse your commanding officer when he shows up unannounced at your door.

Chris pressed the chime.

Aalin invited through the intercom, "It's open," She looked up from the book in her lap.

A pause.

"Aren't you going to scold me for not asking who was at the door before letting them in?" she teased.

"Ah … well … not this time …" Chris loitered on the doors' threshold. Noting numerous stares in his direction he quickly stepped inside triggering their closure. "Sorry about that."

"What do you need?" she asked.

You, Chris thought. Clearing his throat he said, "I should go."

Before he could execute a hasty retreat, Aalin was by his side. "Don't. Go that is."

"My coming here will be all over the ship by morning," he protested. "I didn't think this through."

"They already believe we are sleeping …" she abruptly stopped. "I mean you and me, we're old news. And if your prediction does end up proving true, I don't mind the gossip. It's not malicious." Aalin started reaching for his hand; hers hovered in midair then pulled back. "I'd like you to stay," she urged in a soft tone and returned to the sofa assuming he would follow.

He didn't.

"Sit with me," she beckoned.

Chris chose a chair rather than a place beside her on the couch.

"Do you need something translated?"

"I'm not here for …" he rubbed his chin while shifting uncomfortably in the chair, "my coming here … isn't work related."

Her pleased smile soothed some of Chris' restlessness. He leaned against the chair's padded back and crossed one leg over the other.

His response came in speedy jumble. "Didn't want to wait until eleven … couldn't that is … and … only an hour with you … it isn't enough." Searching for a diversion Chris motioned at the book lying on the low table between them picking it up when Aalin nodded permission. He thumbed through multiple pages. "This is written in?"

"Andorian. A gift from Ambassador Shran when I stayed behind after the Federation Council mission to the refugee camp. The first volume in a series much like our Agatha Christie and her Hercule Poirot stories. In addition to an intricate murder-mystery the dialogue is quite funny. He, the Ambassador that is, said the detective character reminds of an eccentric relative in his family. There's a good Federation Standard translation in the ship's library if you are interested."

The corners of Chris mouth twitched at the thought of a compulsive, eccentric, meticulous Andorian exclaiming he cannot eat the mismatched sized eggs set in front of him, antennae dipping and twirling as he smoothed his moustache. Chris returned the book to the table. Silence fell.

Aalin steered the conversation in a new direction. "Much of the data we gathered from the system designated A405TGB survived our shuttle crash. Initial analysis matches sections of the older Cycladian languages."

After a nod acknowledging the information his eyes clouded and looked away. They again retreated into silence.

What's wrong? she asked herself. Chatting is effortless in the mess hall, easy in his quarters … what's different … … the mess hall is neutral … quarters are his personal safe space … did I trigger a Talos memory? Aalin racked her brain for a distraction, one smoothing the awkwardness between them, considering possibilities then rejecting those ideas. Inspiration struck and she crossed the room to a cupboard. Pulling out a box she turned to him, "The previous occupant left this game. Shall we give it a try?"

He resumed eye contact, but his body language remained tense and withdrawn.

"It could be fun," she prompted with a slight smile.

Forty-five minutes later.

"That's all seven letter tiles, a triple letter score, and a double word score," Aalin recited while counting on her fingers, "one hundred and twenty-eight points for me." With a flourish she added the score to her overall tally. "Your turn," came the reminder in a sweet tone of voice.

"Damn x's," Chris grumbled. "And who do I have to order about to get a vowel?"

"Vowels are overrated. And you can do a lot with an x or two," was the helpful (not) reply.

He added two tiles to the board, O-Y onto a B. Then shook a finger at her warning, "Don't you dare overpraise my play with a cheery, pretend encouraging well-done or count up my paltry points on your fingers."

His commentary prompted a light chuckle from her. "Boy is worth eight points." Aalin paused while totaling his overall score before continuing in that cheerful tone, "Congratulations, you've finally passed one hundred and fifty points." She began arranging and rearranging tiles on her rack then carefully placed all but one on the board accompanied by a regretful mutter, "Only used six of my letters this time, no bonus. My father would be disappointed in me."

"Wait!" Chris' brow scrunched while studying her latest construction. "Oinstik is not a word."

"It is on Tellar."

"Yet not in the Vulcan Arts Academy Federation Standard Unabridged Dictionary," he reminded in protest after scanning entries listed on nearby PADD, then glancing sideways at her with narrowed eyes. "Making it, in old-school vernacular, a foreign word."

"Not exactly," she countered, "Tellari is one of the parent languages of Federation Standard."

He glared at her.

"Okay, okay. Fair enough," Aalin conceded. She rearranged the letters and played them in a different area.

"Never heard of that one either," Chris pointed out. His expression and tone were ever so slightly sulky.

"An Indo-European root coopted then morphed; Indo-European is an ancestor proto language which influenced most early Earth based languages including British and American English spoken by our grandparents," she explained in detail.

Chris wondered when a footnote or two would be added. Once in a report for him Aalin had annotated a notation, essentially footnoting a footnote.

She continued, "Give it up, you don't have a leg to stand on getting this one thrown out."

"I thought you'd never played this game before," Chris huffed.

"Did I say I'd never played it?" she inquired with a head tilt meant to convey innocence.

"Well … no, but it was implied … sort of …" he stuttered.

"Okay. Even if I hadn't played Scrabble previously, a bright boy might conclude a linguist would be good at word games," was the amused reply.

"I'm seeing a ruthless streak in you I never imagined existed in our quiet interpreter," he replied in serious tone contradicted by the happy and mischievous gleam in his eyes. "And a hitherto unknown competitive side."

"You don't survive growing up with four siblings without being a bit competitive," she said absentmindedly while physically and verbally counting her points.

Chris snorted. "A bit?" Followed by a teasing, "Would you like a calculator? Or an abacus?" He played another three-letter word.

She began arranging and rearranging tiles on her rack.

He was convinced this habit of hers was not for choosing which word to play but rather a technique for ruffling his concentration. Well, two can use this ploy …

His attention laser focused on the board. A pattern emerged.

An hour later.

When her turn came, Alain's moves took longer and longer. Her eyes squinted as she glanced at the board, her letter tiles, and back at the board.

"Take all the time you need," Chris said in a generous tone. He resisted the urge to clasp hands behind his head and lean back while waiting.

She placed two tiles next to a T.

"I'll total that for you," he offered without a visible or audible hint of glee. "S-E-T, three points. And with this," Chris laid down five tiles, "I believe our scores are now tied."

"But how did you manage … to pull even with me … despite my earlier substantial lead …" her voice drifted. After another lengthy evaluation she said, "I can't play. You win."

"We'll call it a draw. Which it is," was the considerate reply.

"Thank you … but how did you turn the game around to your favor …" she asked while staring at the board.

Chris patiently and silently waited.

"Ah." She nodded. "I see it now. Clever. Half-way through the game your every move was strategic? Tactical?"

"Tactical moves executing a strategy," he answered her question.

"Your tactical plays were for managing and confining space on the board rather than for accumulating the most points possible in one turn. You forced me into constructing more words vertically rather than horizontally which negated my subject knowledge advantage. The visual differential increases the difficulty for me. Hmmm … I could never play chess with you …"

"Actually I'm not that good at chess," Chris confessed.

Aalin slowly shook her head. "Your modesty is showing. That's … not possible … it's a game of strategy and tactics and reading your opponent and anticipating their moves. You not excelling at chess would be … illogical for lack of a better word."

"And yet, I often lose. Ask Isak or Una for their theories on that." Chris pushed the game board to the other side of the table and leaned closer to her.

She favored him with an affectionate smile. "I don't know whether to congratulate my boss for an astute, unique, well-execute strategy or chide my boyfriend …" Her hand flew to her mouth. "Sorry. That was presumptuous, I didn't mean to …"

His hand rose from the table, fingers waving to the left in an almost imperceptible gesture communicating an apology wasn't needed.

For both, her label silently echoed. They stood. Each took a step back, increasing the distance between them.

Without thought, on instinct, Aalin extended her hand, intending on caressing his cheek.

He stepped back again just out of her arm's reach.

She sank into the chair. With elbows propped on the table, Aalin buried her face in her palms and whispered, "I know you crave touch ..."

Silence finished the thought rather than words she could not find. Words that would not come as they confirmed a sad layered truth neither Aalin nor Chris knew how to navigate much less fix. She looked up at him "There are so many landmines between us, and I don't know where they are. My words and actions make you uncomfortable and hurt you over and over. I'll understand if you want to …" her voice cracked, "stop spending time with me and protect yourself."

Chris approached Aalin. He squatted in front of her and looked into her eyes. His hands reached for and clasped hers. A tentative voice asked the question as he braced for an unwelcome answer. "Is that what you want?"

"No. Not at all."

He said, "I need you as much as the air I breathe. Is that real or an illusion? After Talos, I have to be sure before I risk breaking your heart." To himself he added, And I have to be sure I can be your partner in every way.

"Chris, I'm in love with you. Can't my certainty be enough for both of us right now?"

With eyes tightly shut he shook his head.

A few minutes later Chris' eyes blinked open, and he looked into her hers. His hand reached for her cheek. After stroking her jaw, he gently guided Aalin's forehead until it touched his. "I still need time," he whispered.

"Okay. We'll figure this out together."