THIRTY-ONE: Paradoxical

Waking up to someone else's breathing never failed to disconcert Dagmar. Mostly, it was a cultural thing – Humans didn't really do the cuddle pile gig- but it was also rather disorienting… to say nothing of how alarming it was. She had gotten used to it, on the transport ship and in the Embassy on Earth, but since she had arrived on Andoria, well, living by herself had re-settled her into old habits (and, in some ways, older comfort zones, as well.)

Fighting past the initial moment of alarm, Dagmar recalled the previous evening. She and Shral had finished the bottle of ale and… she must have fallen asleep at some point, but the redheaded woman at no point remembered moving into the bedroom. Shral must have moved her – Dagmar raised her head from the pillow just enough to twist around and confirm that theory.

The view was surprising. Usually, Thelen was rather liberal with the Andorian idea of personal space (rather, the lack thereof) and showed no hesitance in making physical contact with her. More often than not, she woke up on the couch after an evening of movies and ale with the still-sleeping security officer practically draped over her. Whenever they actually bothered to bring in blankets or anything of the sort, Thelen –with the strange practicality that nearly all Andorians possessed- deemed her domicile entirely too warm; since the blankets were brought in with all parties' comfort in mind and Thelen was uncomfortable as a result of the blankets, clearly clothing was what needed to disappear.

Spirits, had that been awkward the first time that had happened. Thelen had not understood – even now, there were huge barriers between Humans and Andorians, in a thousand tiny ways- and she had been too embarrassed to find the words to explain her discomfort. It was one thing when she was with a group of Andorians, but one on one seemed… dangerously intimate. She was extremely fond of Thelen, very much so, but that did not leave her with the overwhelming desire to see Andorian in his birthday suit all day every day.

Needless to say, Dagmar stopped offering blankets after the third incident – a decision which suited Thelen just fine. It was less awkward when she didn't do things that brought up cultural incompatibilities.

Shral, on the other hand, had done something rather interesting. He'd piled every single blanket on the bed onto her, or at least almost had, and had chosen to not only sleep in full uniform, but had done so on top of the aforementioned blankets – and well out of range for any sort of physical contact. His back was to her, and his breathing was slow and even. His white hair, normally slicked back away from his face, was dishevelled.

It was… considerate. Extremely so. Thelen and many others had grown comfortable enough with her to forget her 'idiosyncracies' and her Human quirks. It was not carelessness or callousness on their part – Dagmar enjoyed the familiarity and comfort- but sometimes she wished they would remember that there were certain Andorian customs which alarmed and confused her, or that she would probably never quite understand the things they thought were hilarious.

Shral remembered, apparently. He remembered that she didn't do well in the cold, and he had taken the time to research a Human custom or two to make her more comfortable, and, despite their infrequent encounters, he seemed to take what he knew of her preferences into account for some things. The shev'tak, for example – a risky move on his part, as she could easily have been offended or upset by the gift, despite the kind intent.

It took a moment of flailing under the piles of blankets, but Dagmar eventually freed one of her arms and reached for Shral. When she pat his arm lightly, he did not start, as one newly awoken might have, but rolled slightly into the curve of her hand. Dagmar wondered how long he'd been awake, shuffling some of the blankets off to one side so that she could wiggle closer.

"Hey," She mumbled, squeezing the hard curve of his bicep lightly before withdrawing her hand into the cocoon of blankets. She squirmed closer, so she didn't have to speak too much louder than a whisper. That quiet atmosphere had settled in the room, like before in front of the clinic, and she was loath to break it. "Thank you."

"It was no trouble." Shral murmured, eyes half-lidded and droopy, but verdant green eyes surprisingly alert. He rolled over to face her, and she watched his eyes trail over her face. What he was looking for, she wasn't sure.

"Been awake long?" She asked tiredly, raising a hand to rub at her eyes. They felt crusty at the corners, and still blurry from sleep. Shral offered a drowsy shrug with his antenna and blinked slowly; a weird sort of gesture which Dagmar usually interpreted as meaning "It's a small matter" or "It means little" in most situations. She had witnessed the gesture a few times, from a few different individuals – usually when she inquired about something Andorians considered trifling and Humans considered somewhat important – like philosophy.

Andorians, it turned out, didn't really like talking about philosophy amongst themselves.

They liked the Terran version of it even less.

Frowning, the redheaded translator said, "You know, if you wake up before me you can go get food from the kitchen or whatever. I sleep longer than you will even on a good day – you don't have to hang around and be bored."

"I was not bored." Shral refuted simply, his voice low and soft and sibilant like all Andorians. "I accomplished a great deal of thinking – more than I usually have time for."

A mild form of chagrin, then. "I didn't interrupt any really important thought-processes, did I?"

An almost-smile, razor thin around sharp teeth, and the calf-eyed smile that Dagmar was honestly beginning to love seeing on her Andorian friends – particularly her two closest friends- answered her. A cool, calloused blue hand, long-fingered and steady, reached up to brush against the side of her face gently before withdrawing.

Andorian affection never failed to make her feel warm and fuzzy inside – until she remembered that it did not mean what her instincts told her it should mean, and that all the pats and hugs in the world wouldn't change the fact that she was alone. She had friends – good friends, best friends- but sometimes a friend was not enough.

Sometimes, she considered investigating the Andorian idea of playmates, with the half-serious notion that it might ease some of that loneliness. Those moments never lasted long – wishful thinking aside, Dagmar knew what was and what was not in her nature.

It was better not to contemplate such things for too long – it just made her sad. The Terran woman had had enough sadness to last several lifetimes as it was. To add more to that tally... No, it was best to simply avoid thinking about it.

"No." Shral answered her question, still smiling. "And I would not have minded even if you had."

Some small part of Dagmar muttered that she had to stop having all of these bizarrely domestic scenes with Thelen and Shral – it was starting to get a little strange. A larger part of her, however, found peace in such moments, and a sense of belonging that she had not really felt in years. Even when she got things wrong, she felt… at home, almost. She felt like Andoria could become her home, could fill the space left by the loss of the Earth she had known. Oh, not completely – never completely- but maybe… maybe just enough.

She didn't want to leave the icy planet, with its strange flora and stranger fauna – with its warlike people and their highly ritualized ways. She didn't want to ever have to leave, for any reason. Despite her misgivings, and despite her blunders, she was home.

And she was, the Terran woman realized with a start. She really was home.

It was definitely not the home she expected to find in this strange new age, or even one that she could have reasonably predicted finding, but it was enough. More than enough, even.

The translator hadn't even noticed the bright, beaming smile had made its way onto her face, or even the twin tracks of tears that ran sideways down her face, across her nose and down onto the pillow –not until Shral made a noise of inquiry. She sobbed, abruptly, and another wave of tears followed their predecessors' trails.

Shral rose onto one elbow, looming above to examine her face with some concern, and calloused fingertips brushed at the wet tracks of tears. His antenna writhed in confusion and alarm, the calf-eyed smile in his eyes long gone. "What caused this? There is no reason to be sad now."

Dagmar shook her head, still smiling so widely that it was painful, and sobbed, "I'm happy."

Spirits! Again with the crying, Dagmar raged internally! Did she have no control over her own emotions?

This confused Shral further, if the writhing of his antennae was any indication, but for the life of her, Dagmar couldn't stop crying. She didn't understand it herself – she was happy, happier than she'd been for a long time, but the waterworks wouldn't shut off! What was she supposed to do with that? Keep crying? Stop crying? What?

"I'm happy," She sobbed again, though Shral seemed dubious and rather unconvinced. "I can't stop crying – but I'm not sad, I promise!"

Shral just looked at her as if she'd gone completely mad. After a long moment, the Andorian delicately inquired if this was a normal reaction to extreme happiness – possibly wondering if she needed to see whatever the Andorian version of a psychiatrist was all the while. The aide didn't bother to hide his relief when she nodded yes, and went on to explain, between uncontrollable sobs, that emotional overloads often led to crying, happy or sad.

She curled closer, on the simple instinct to draw comfort from anyone nearby, and continued to smile like the happiest person in the world while she sobbed like the most miserable one.

Such strange quirks, Shral thought to himself. Humans were far more conflicting than he had originally believed. They performed sad gestures when they were happy – what an idea! Andorians were not so convoluted in what they felt; if one was happy, he was very happy and friendly to everyone, and if one was sad, he retreated to some place of solitude and grieved. One was never mixed with another, even under the strangest of circumstances.

How very strange…

In the dark of the room, the Andorian aide offered an uncertain Human smile, and reached over to rub Dagmar's upper arm. He and others on the Ambassador's staff had witnessed similar gestures amongst Humans when they comforted one another, though the holovids had been unclear as to which forms of comfort were acceptable for which types of relationships and for which degree of closeness within that relationship. The mildest form seemed to be rubbing the upper arms, or touching the shoulders carefully. Touching the hand of a distressed Human seemed to have conflicting meanings, and appeared to be a very forward and alarming gesture at times; the holovids had not explained that, either.

The gesture seemed to have the calming effects advertised, and so Shral continued. Andorians often used touch to convey and comfort, and found great satisfaction and relaxation in doing so; he wondered if Humans would not be more united if they did as Andorians, sometimes, before dismissing the idea altogether. Andorians were Andorians and Humans were Humans – one could not abandon themselves and become another. Humans would do as they were meant to do, and so would Andorians.

Though, perhaps, the green-eyed Andorian amended as he looked upon his Ambassador's translator, there might be exceptions.

It was not long before Dagmar recovered herself, much to Shral's relief, and, tentatively, the aide asked what she had been so terribly happy about to provoke such a reaction. He had been disturbed to see such a sad reaction, but if was caused by happiness, then perhaps there was a way to replicate it.

The redheaded woman did not appear to mind that he continued the soothing gesture, light-fingered and soft over the bare skin of her arm. Indeed, she didn't appear to mind even when he expanded the range of the gesture to the curve of her shoulder and the full length of her arm, until the gesture became a light tracing of muscle groups and the hard lines of bones. He felt the fine hairs of her forearm, thin and not as dark as the hair on her head, the pointed curve of her elbow, and the firm curve of muscles in her upper arm, soft and unmarred but for a few faint scars on the outside of her forearm, barely even noticeable under the pads of his fingertips. He felt the steady flutter of her heartbeat at the inside of her wrist, and again just under her collar bone where it met the ball joint of her shoulder. This he did not consider invasive, because it was not – neither in nature nor intention. He intended to comfort, and comfort he did. Moreover, he was curious, though not about any particular thing, so he satisfied that as well.

If he had caused harm or discomfort, then that would have been another matter entirely – something well beyond forgiveness- but he had not and therefore it was not.

"I realized," the Human woman said with a small, half-sobbing laugh as she sniffed and wiped her damp face with the heel of her palm. "I realized that I'm home."

Shral hummed quietly, inexplicably pleased by this, and ceased his exploration to squeeze her shoulder and lean close. His forehead touched hers, lightly, and she swore she felt his antennae brush her over her hair, and the aide whispered conspiratorially, as if to share some great secret, "We Andorians have known this for some time – we have just been waiting for you to realize it, too."

Dagmar smiled again, tiredly and not quite as bright before, though still as genuine. There was a flicker of uncertainty in her expression, quickly suppressed and replaced with a calmer set to her alien features.

After a long moment, with a sharp pang of realization that she could not know the gesture for what it had been, Shral shifted away and settled once more onto his side. He did not know the Human equivalent of the gesture, or if there even was one, and his mood took on a note of remorse. He might consult with Thelen, who claimed to be a very close friend of the Terran female, but the forwardness of the act, so very counter-intuitive to their own culture, might give cause for offense.

He had no wish for strife between himself and the security officer – and strife was a distinct possibility. Thelen had quietly and discreetly dealt with several such offenders who had given insult to the Terran translator, or who had presumed too much; the younger Andorian was gaining a reputation as a loyal and all but ruthless friend to the female, though the source of such loyalty was often contested.

Shral knew better than to assume that they two were playmates. Dagmar did not even fully understand the meaning of such an arrangement and was too cautious and conservative about such things (as were many Humans, it had been noted, and this was not considered a terrible flaw) and Thelen was not one to take advantage of someone so ill-informed. To do so would be underhanded at best – dishonourable at worst.

The possibility of a bond was unthinkable – though, he admitted to himself, perhaps not for the most logical reasons. Whatever the case, it did not bear thinking about.

…More research would be required, that much was evident, but perhaps speaking too directly with Thelen would be unwise. Much depended upon circumstance and interpretation.

Even though Dagmar shifted closer, until she was all but curled at his side, as she drifted into a light doze, Shral spent the rest of the night cycle mourning the things lost in translation. He thought of the gestures given and received, and wondered if any of their meanings had gotten across the gap between his species and hers.

But perhaps it was enough – to be present with her, as they were then, to be allowed so close and to be so highly regarded and trusted. Perhaps it was enough to have the knowledge that only one other was so closely kept, and so well regarded.

Dagmar shivered, in her sleep, the flesh of her exposed arms retracting slightly in an effort to conserve heat – leaving something Humans called "goose-bumps" in its wake. Frowning, the aide drew a heavy blanket over the Human, until the hem rested just below her chin. It had been foolish of her to shake off so many blankets; Humans were too susceptible to the cold for that. Did she have no care for her own health?

"You don't have to stay and look after me like that," The woman murmured, apparently not as far off into a sleeping state as he had believed, despite her slow and even breathing. "You can go do stuff."

He shook his head, though her eyes were closed and she could not see the movement, and answered simply, "I will stay, Dagmar."

She lifted her arm, and the pile of blankets over top of her, and mumbled drowsily, "Share, then?"

He would be too warm under such a pile, Shral knew, even as he shifted closer and tried not to react too obviously surprised when an arm slipped around his mid-section. Hesitantly, he settled an arm above the layers of blankets and sheets and heavy quilts, resting over where he assumed her waist was, and prepared for a long and somewhat overheated wait until the redheaded female fully awoke.

While it was not what he had envisioned, subconsciously, as he had made such an uncharacteristically forward gesture not half an hour ago… it was, perhaps, enough.