Aalin woke to an empty bed. After donning a robe, she found Chris in the living area, seated on the edge of the sofa and leaning forward with weight balanced on knees and calves, dictating into the air as he reviewed the ship's status displayed via a three-dimensional image. When she approached, her husband discarded onto the coffee table the PADD he held and cancelled the display.
She laid a hand on his shoulder before asking, "Okay?"
His nod was faint but perceptible. Chris wrapped an arm around her waist placing its hand on Aalin's lower back coaxing her nearer until she stood between his legs; he then rested his head against her abdomen and closed his eyes. With gentle pressure, she massaged the back of his neck. His free hand moved to her hip bone, a touch and place which for him represented intimacy beyond sex, a belonging, a good kind of possession.
For uncounted moments Chris indulged in this respite.
Soon he'd have to call the senior officers together and inform them and his crew of the hostilities. But for a few more hours his world could remain narrowed to his wife. He brushed a kiss on her navel while turning and lifting his head. Their eyes met. "Sorry I left. There's a lot to do and I didn't want to wake you."
"No matter," Aalin said in a soothing murmur.
"Oh, and I put together a plate for you."
She started to decline then hesitated, thinking beyond her usual aversion for food when upset or stressed. Chris can't spare the time or energy to worry if I am eating. Instead she said, "Thank you. Do you want more coffee?"
"Yes, please." He retrieved the PADD.
Her hand tilted his chin up. She leaned down, touched her nose to his then kissed him. "Thank you."
"Not complaining but where did that come from?" he asked. His thumb traced over her hipbone, the hand on the small of her back drifted down.
"For bringing out my better angels. With you I am more of the person I want to be," she said with a fond smile and another kiss before taking his half-empty mug of cold coffee to the kitchen. There she brewed a fresh pot, the way he liked it, and had taught her.
Setting the fresh beverage in front of him, she curled into a nearby chair, legs tucked under and to the side. "How'd I do?"
Chris sipped from his cup then raised it in the air as if toasting. "As good as mine."
"Where's that famous modesty?" Aalin teased.
The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a crooked grin. "Next we'll tackle proper scrambled eggs and toast."
"Is that such a good idea? Our last attempt ended with a dozen eggs broken on the floor," she said. "Along with scattered slices of bread, bunches of herbs, and an broken plate of butter."
"Unbuttoning your shirt that far was unnecessary, and who, by the way, wears a teeny, lacy, nearly see-through, pushup, half bra for a cooking lesson?" he muttered while taking great interest in PADD he held and the contents of his cup.
"What's that dear?" Aalin asked between bites. The innocence in her voice was exaggerated. "I didn't quite catch what you said."
Chris shot her a knowing look.
She chuckled. "It's called a demi-bra."
"So pleased to know the technical term," he retorted in a dry tone.
"You were rather pleased with it that day," Aalin said sweetly. "And my wearing and displaying it was supposed to be a joke." The memory provoked a smile. They preferred the bedroom, or the sofa in a hurry, but that day his arm cascaded the ingredients off the counter with one sweep before lifting her onto it.
She stared at her plate. "Though you landed the punch line."
Without lifting her head, her eyes looked upwards in time to see Chris' cheeks edge to a faint pink as he smiled. Mission accomplished, she thought. With her fork Aalin pointed at the plate she held. "This risotto is really good. You've changed it."
"Been tinkering with the recipe. Added a bit of fennel pollen in with the saffron. Plus lemon juice with the broth as it cooked. And chervil to the salad dressing. There's fruit in the stasis box if you want it."
Their conversation faltered. Neither attempted to fill the empty space. Levity was a needed balm but too soon felt awkward juxtaposed against their new reality and the sorrow and challenges waiting outside of this room. Aalin finished the meal Chris had prepared but the effort was forced and solely for him. After three attempts, he gave up reviewing the queued requisitions.
"Tell me what you held back earlier," she said. "When I suggested the hostilities may be over and a confirming message on its way."
"Unvarnished truth?" he asked, head tilted while evaluating her body language and tone of voice.
"Please."
Chris paused. The silence stretched. "I fought on the front line on Donatu V. And in other bush skirmishes, when various Klingon houses and the Federation armed proxy worlds. Their attacks were swift and brutal but lacked organization, high-level strategy, or mutual cooperation. All those years during the cold war, we, the Federation, weren't holding back the Klingon Empire. Rather, we stymied individual houses who feuded among themselves as much as with us."
He shook his head. "If the descriptors of the size and scale of the battle at the binary star system are accurate … no one Klingon house could have orchestrated that … which means …" His voice drifted off.
Aalin waited several moments before asking, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer. "Go on. Which means?"
"Most or all of the Klingon clans have united under one banner. We are now facing their combined strength," Chris said. He sounded like a weary commander facing slight odds for prevailing.
"But will such an alliance survive sustained conflict?"
"Hard to predict. Their history is littered with blood feuds. But a charismatic leader could do it via an offensive wrapped in dogma and billed as prophecy or spiritual crusade, adding a promise of wealth from conquered worlds luring the more mercenary inclined. Starfleet Command and the Federation Council believed such a unity would never occur. Despite those who lobbied otherwise. This hubris left us unprepared and outgunned. I don't know if we can battle this war to a stalemate, much less win it."
"That's … frightening."
Chris rose and placed a hand on her shoulder.
He began pacing the room. "Not knowing more, staying here … is hard." She waited as he continued walking the length of the combined living space. "I'm … considering ignoring orders and starting for home."
"I see."
He stopped midstride and turned towards her. "You disagree?"
"I … I feel unqualified to offer an opinion," she said. He resumed pacing, her hand reached for his arm arresting his movement.
Chris stared down at her. "Enterprise should be in the fight. There are limited commanders with experience against the Klingons, Isak and I are two of them. Why keep us away? And the opening phase of a conflict is critical." He sank onto the chair's ottoman. "On the other hand, without confirmed intelligence I could lead my crew into conquered territory, into enemy fire." He leaned forward and cupped her cheek. "You look a little pale."
She patted his hand. "Hearing you talk about … contemplating the dangerous things you've done …" Aalin stopped and inhaled deeply while organizing her thoughts. Poor phrasing in this critical moment could push his ever-ready protective tendencies into overdrive. "I didn't know Chris the soldier. I met and married the explorer, the diplomat. Though the other side surfaces when called. Now we need the fighting Captain."
"This conversation feels a bit surreal. But I want to understand this as you do. At least as much as I can." She smiled at him. "Facing this with you, at your side, is less scary than being in the dark."
His fingers lingered after tucking hair behind her ear. "If you weren't here, if you hadn't stayed for me, if you hadn't joined Starfleet, you'd be safe right now. If you're hurt … or worse …" his voice quieted to a whisper, "I'll never forgive myself."
"Christopher, you can't assume that." Aalin reached for his hand. Her fingers traced against his palm in order to soften her tone and words.
His eyes narrowed but she also saw a hint of pride there. And a lot of affection. "True. You'd find a way of being in the middle of it. Once again. Just like on Noohra. That little walkabout of yours aged me a decade."
"Hmmm." She considered possible responses then flashed a playful smile. "I was following the example set by my Captain. Perhaps you should take up your complaint with him."
"Duly noted," he said with a serious yet triumphant expression.
Aalin pondered how and why Chris believed he won that exchange. And what unintended consequences she'd just set in motion, ones destine to amuse him and not her. She decided it was time for a subject change. Before one came to mind, he moved back to the sofa and recalled the earlier three-dimensional display. Lists began scrolling at its side.
"What's bothering you about staying here in addition to feeling you've abandoned your oath as well as friends and colleagues?" she asked.
Chris gestured at the ships' rendering. "We're at the end of our assignment. Ten and a half months ago we took on supplies for a long-duration mission outside Federation borders. Extra resources are always carried, but what remains and that reserve won't see us for more than six months, even with austere rationing. I'm not concerned about food and water, at least not yet, but power is a problem. Contrary to popular belief, warp reactors aren't perpetual. Even during normal operations in the heart of Federation space, every ship has an energy budget."
"But that's not my chief worry." He rubbed his chin. "Enterprise has been without dockside support for nearly a year. And while we are aggressive with preventative maintenance, our environment is harsh. Debris pelts the ship's exoskeleton like titanium encased bugs hitting a windshield on a ground car. Here and there one is big enough to dent the plating. It's almost undetectable. That's a weakness which can fail under repeated warp flight. And one example of the normal wear and tear on a starship. Pile on the unexpected hazards we've come through these past months, such as getting sucked into that deadly asteroid field."
"Meaning?" Aalin asked after joining him on the sofa, taking the spot by his side. She squinted at the image. Chris made a mental note to have the CMO check her eyes, she was partially closing them too often when studying anything up close.
"Things are going to start breaking. Frequently," he summed up with a head shake. "Things that are hard to fix when on our own away from port. Manufacturing parts requires energy and materials and is enough of a challenge without factoring in how we repair or replace large sections of the hull. Or the internal power grid. Or a main computer core. Or a cracked dilithium crystal." He paused. "The list is long, and we are low on spare parts."
"How can I help you sort through this?"
"Listen to the chatter from the long-range communications array," he immediately instructed.
"For Klingonese?"
He nodded. "And translate it. I want your take in addition to the computer's."
Each focused on their own tasks. Each reached for the other as they labored: a touch on a thigh, a knee, an arm, a hand. Chris replenished the coffee, which, unusually, Aalin drank as well; its bitter edge kept her hyper focused as her Captain needed her to be.
Several hours had passed when he closed the display and recorded his last order. "Enough for now. Tomorrow will be here," a glance at the clock amended his words to, "is here."
He patted his lap. Aalin pulled the wireless bud out of her ear and accepted his invitation. Her left side leaned against his chest; his left arm draped around her waist. They pressed right hands together, palms touching, then twined their fingers. She snuggled closer to him.
There they remained until the crew began waking for the day shift.