23:00 - 14 hours after speaking with Layla…

Though he should have been asleep, Solok was once again thinking of Layla. His thoughts swirled around her more often with each passing day and he found that the experience was as vexing and illogical as it was pleasurable.

Humans, for all their failings, did have an innate ability to endear others to them. Such abilities had never worked on Solok and, in fact, had only served to intensify his criticism of the species. But, now, that seemed to have changed; he found he had fallen into the same trap that many notable Vulcans throughout history had also succumbed to. He had been charmed by a Human. He desperately wanted that to be the extent of it, as being charmed by a Human was bad enough as it was, but he couldn't ignore some of the other more curious symptoms he was displaying. He was diaphoretic, tachycardic, his hands trembled, and his mind was dull. His medical readout was clean, but diagnostic equipment was only so thorough. As such, Solok held onto a reasonable amount of doubt.

After finding that meditation wouldn't help balance his thoughts, the captain abandoned his quarters and stalked down the corridors of his ship. Occasionally, he ran into one of his crewmen as they scuttled by him, hard at work and diligently seeing to their tasks, and he gave them a nod before continuing on his way. Solok didn't have a specific destination in mind, just wandering from hall to hall in an effort to distract himself. But every inch of his ship reminded him of the one person he wished to avoid and he was haunted by his stowaway at every turn.

The science laboratories reminded him of Layla's interest in geology, and he pictured her analyzing rock samples with a fascinated grin. The unbidden image frustrated him so much that he turned on his heel and stormed off in the opposite direction.

The security offices reminded him of how cleverly Layla had evaded capture and detection over the last few weeks despite his best officers' attempts to find her. He slipped past the doors hastily and exited the hall without a backward glance.

The mess halls reminded Solok of Layla's love of sweets and, worst of all, her unfortunate experience with the locked replicators. The sight elicited memories of her weak body nestled under blankets and how she'd softly asked if he would be willing to conduct her interrogation. Solok closed his eyes, marched out the hall, and fled to a turbolift, telling the computer to take him to another deck.

Unfortunately, Captain Solok's luck was poor that evening and after much walking, he eventually looked up to find he was standing before a door.

His feet had carried him to the Brig.

It was the one place he knew he shouldn't be, but it was where his mind knew he wanted to be. Solok battled with himself outside the Brig's entrance even though he knew resisting was useless. Before long, he gave in to temptation.

Your control is non-existent, and your self-discipline is severely lacking. You should be ashamed. Turn back and return to your quarters now, he scolded himself.

But his own thoughts fell on deaf ears, and his body carried him forward, ignoring reason.

Once inside, he found Layla's cell black beyond the frosty, opaque glass. Clearly, its occupant was asleep.

Of course she is; you should be as well. Visiting at this hour is highly inappropriate. Let her rest.

But, as he turned to leave, he froze when a brief flash of light cut through the darkness of her cell. As soon as the white burst appeared, it was gone, but Solok was immediately suspicious. Moving swiftly, he entered her cell without a sound and ordered the computer to illuminate the room. It took half a second for Solok's sharp eyes to find Layla; she was sitting cross-legged on her bed, squinting against the overhead light in pain.

"Um, hello? I know you run this place, but could you do me the tiny courtesy of announcing yourself next time?" Layla cracked, obviously a bit miffed by the captain's invasion.

Solok ignored her. "What was the source of that light?" he demanded.

"Mmm, light? What light?"

"Layla."

"Well, see, I meditate and I don't have a meditation lamp, so I have to make do with whatever I can. I know using the light of a PADD in order to find one's center may be a bit unorthodox, but it does the jo-"

"Surrender the PADD," Solok ground out. He would have usually been more composed, but he had been in a rocky emotional state before walking in on Layla's mischief. Now he was positively fuming.

Layla huffed and lifted her shirt, revealing the PADD she'd hastily stashed against her stomach. "Here," she mumbled, handing over the contraband.

The captain took the device from her, almost yanking it out of her grip, and Layla's interest was piqued as she watched him inspect it. She'd never seen a Vulcan act so jumpy before.

"You okay?" she asked him seriously.

He didn't look up from the screen. "I'm assuming you acquired this when you 'transferred' yourself from the infirmary to this cell, correct?" When Layla nodded mutely, he continued. "However, this room has been thoroughly searched since that time..."

Solok and Layla's eyes meandered up the wall to settle on the vent. After Layla's little stunt, where she locked herself up in the Brig, the vent cover had been secured much more effectively, screwed down to dissuade any more excursions. But, as clever as Layla was, Solok wasn't surprised she had managed to find a way around something as simple as screws. However, getting into the vent wasn't the issue - climbing up to the vent was the real challenge. She couldn't have scaled the furniture, as everything in the room was either bolted to the floor or far too heavy for her to lift. By Solok's calculations, it was almost impossible for a Human woman of Layla's size to climb to the vent's mouth on her own power.

Almost.

Once again, his stowaway had defied expectations, but that did not mean that he would let his admiration for her cloud his sense of duty. As it was, too many things in Solok's mind were clouded where Layla was involved.

"Get up," he ordered.

Layla saw that his face, despite looking outwardly passive, held a noticeable edge. And, though it was her instinct to be cheeky, she shut the urge down for the moment. Right now, Solok did not look like a man whose authority should be doubted and he was in no mood for her usual antics.

Layla did as she was told and stood off to the side while the captain searched her blankets for other prohibited items.

"Before you flip over my mattress, Captain," she warned, "I want you to know that I really was planning on giving you all of them back tomorrow morning as a sort of peace offering. Obviously, it's not really working out that way, but I swear it's true."

Solok, unaware of what she was referring to, swiftly overturned the mattress and gazed upon an exposed horde. Next to a ratty backpack, there was a stack of half a dozen PADDs, a partially-eaten chocolate bar, and a child's toy - a black and white fish-like animal. But Solok didn't spare the silly item a second thought as he was too distracted by some of the other objects stuffed under the bed, ones lined up in neat rows.

All his missing left shoes.

Layla popped up at Solok's shoulder, looking from his face and back to the shoes anxiously. "I didn't do anything to them. They're just as clean as they were the moment I took them out of your closet. It was just that one pair that I filled…with the…." She grew quieter when Solok slowly turned his head to stare at her blankly, and her sentence fizzled out, "...soup."

Taking a measured breath, the captain straightened and faced his prisoner. "I am pleased that you have chosen to return my belongings…Now, turn around."

When Layla's brow pinched together and she didn't move, Solok took matters into his own hands - literally. He grabbed the woman by the shoulders and made her face the wall. "Arms out and feet apart," he ordered.

She did as instructed, a little shocked when the captain began patting her down. "Besides the PADD, I didn't stuff anything else into my clothes, Sol-Captain," she corrected herself, knowing that he'd primly do it for her if she didn't.

"Then this search will prove fruitless," he replied blandly. "However, afterward, I can rest assured that I did my due diligence and performed my duty thoroughly."

While inspecting her, Solok used the backs of his hands as much as possible and never lingered anywhere too long, but the intimacy of the scenario wasn't lost on Layla, and she blushed something fierce. As his hands skimmed over Layla's waist, feeling around her hips, it took a herculean effort for her not to make a sound. She prayed Solok wouldn't notice how red her face had become as he continued his investigation but didn't hold out much hope. Her face felt like a lit candle.

The torture continued when Solok towered over her and inspected her neck. He gathered up her hair with one hand and pulled it to the side, for it obstructed his view, and smoothed his knuckles over the curve of Layla's neck. He appeared oblivious to his touch's effect on her, but appearances were misleading. In fact, he was acutely aware of how much her breathing had increased and how much warmer her skin had become, but he still had a job to do. He silenced the rational part of him that cautioned him to stop and continued on to palpate Layla's head.

Evidently concerned with devices adhered to her scalp or hidden in her hair, the captain smoothed his fingertips past her temples and into her thick waves. Layla might have appreciated the sensation if she wasn't practically screaming inside as Solok gently held her head. While she fought not to burst into flames, she struggled to find something to look at. Making eye contact felt like a fate worse than death at that point, so she considered closing her eyes instead. But that could be misconstrued as pleasure, she realized, and would definitely send an awkward message. So, face on the verge of melting off, she settled for staring at Solok's commbadge. As far as she was concerned, it was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen and would remain such until the torment ended.

Thankfully, as a Vulcan, efficiency was Solok's middle name, and the patdown ended as quickly as it had begun. However, even though the encounter took less than two minutes, Layla would have sworn on her life that it had lasted at least twenty years.

After Solok stepped away, he and Layla regarded each other in awkward silence. Both sensed something significant had shifted between them, though neither Solok nor Layla was sure what that 'something' had been.

When Layla cleared her throat uncomfortably, she broke the trance.

"These items will be confiscated," murmured Solok as he moved to gather as many of Layla's things into her backpack. He told her he'd be back to continue his questioning in the morning, as scheduled, and stiffly marched to the door, the backpack in one hand and four of his shoes juggled in the other.

Layla was poised to tell him goodnight and usher him out of her cell as quickly as possible, but a PADD left on the table caught her eye. "Um, Captain? You forgot to take this," she called, holding the PADD out to him.

But Solok didn't attempt to take it. Instead, the captain gave her a heavy, meaningful look and his eyes darted between her and the PADD. "Goodnight, Layla." With that, he turned tail and ordered the cell doors closed behind him.

In his wake, Solok left a shocked and delighted Layla, who stood in the dark with a smile lighting up her face.

Upon entering his quarters, only minutes after departing the Brig, Solok slid to the floor in front of his bed, immediately assuming a meditative stance. His back was perfectly straight, his breathing not nearly as measured as he would have liked, and his mind was reeling. The journey from the Brig to his rooms had been an exercise in terror as he realized how out of control he had been in Layla's presence. She might not have noticed anything was amiss, but he was all too aware of it.

The thoroughness of that inspection was unnecessary, he berated himself again. You…took liberties. She was clearly mortified and uncomfortable. Your intentions were not purely logical.

But, a strange side of him argued, she appeared more flustered than anything. You felt the undercurrents of her emotions. The psi points on her neck were quite responsive….

Solok's stomach tightened painfully at the memory, and rushed to counter. You heard what you wanted to hear.

He did not intentionally read Layla's emotions; to do so would have been unforgivable, but telepathic transference from skin-to-skin contact was inevitable. However, he couldn't lie to himself; he should have had more self-control, completely blocking out any feedback from Layla's mind, but restraint had been the last thing on his mind. His discipline had unraveled with alarming speed from the moment he'd touched her.

Before he thought too much about that experience, he straightened his back, rolled his shoulders, and quickly focused his thoughts inward. The glow of his meditation lamp gave him direction, its glimmering light acting as a centering force for him even with his eyes closed. But, a subconscious fragment of his brain was reminded of something else when he saw the flickering, orange tones in the fire - a certain orange-haired woman he had locked up in his brig. Without pause, a vision of Layla crashed through his shields, and in his mind's eye, she danced with as much enthusiasm as the flame. Some sane part of him tried to reign her in, but Solok's version of Layla was just as clever and carefree as the real one. She resisted capture with ease and flitted around his periphery coyly. As Solok sat, temporarily struck dumb and in no hurry to regain control of himself, he fantasized about reaching out and grabbing hold of her.

The memory of how the real Layla felt under his palms was fresh and searing, but still, a primitive piece of him cursed. It bitterly regretted not savoring the sensation more. Even with Solok's eidetic memory, recollection alone wasn't enough to do the feeling justice, and he longed for another opportunity to touch her.

Not just with your hands, that odd part of him insisted, but more…

That lewd thought unceremoniously kicked out of his trance, and Solok fell back to reality, startled.

He was a well-disciplined Vulcan, but he was also a man who had desires as strong as anyone else. Maybe even stronger. But, typically, he never had an issue suppressing indecent thoughts when they cropped up, simply locking them away for careful inspection should he want to analyze them more later. But, there was nothing detached and controlled about these desires, and they were not easily suppressed despite hours of struggle.

For all his mental control, Solok could not silence Layla's call.

And then, it hit him.

That thought was like a t'an slipping into place to complete a harmonious shape, and Solok knew he'd just found the answer to the riddle that had been plaguing him for weeks. It wasn't a riddle that Layla had devised and left smudged onto his bathroom mirror. This was the riddle that had curled itself around his heart, around his katra, and hadn't uncoiled since it'd taken up residence. Each time Solok saw Layla, it squeezed tighter, but he hadn't understood why until now.

Finally, the reason for his disorientation and panic was within his grasp, and words Solok first heard as a much younger man returned to him.

"...There are other phenomena one must guard against, beyond the fever. Unlike the raging fires of pon farr, shon-ha'lok is a rapid, but tortuous ache. The devotion it inspires can lead to profound discovery or to great peril if one does not exercise restraint…"

Yes. That is it.

Shon-ha'lok was considered a rare and complicated phenomenon. Some, who took a more cynical view, saw it as nothing more than a lapse in self-control and not at all what others claimed was "love at first sight." But, as grounded and traditional as Solok considered himself, he was confident that such a power existed; one strong enough, it could completely shift a Vulcan's center, pulling at them like gravity. As he saw it, Vulcan emotions were so intense it stood to reason that their romantic attachments had to be as well. Who was one to question what, or in this case who, their katra desired? Such things were beyond logic.

Solok had never felt such an intense desire for another, not even for his former bondmate. And he was certain T'Peia had never felt an emotion even closely resembling passion for him either.

Obviously, he muttered to himself but quickly shooed his bitterness away.

Solok was eager to leave T'Peia and all thoughts of her behind, and with Layla now never far from his mind, that had become remarkably easy. Changing tack, Solok wondered when his thoughts began to focus so intently on his stowaway.

Was it spontaneous? Or did something set it off? he questioned.

Solok reached into his memories, clearly recalling the night he'd caught Layla in his quarters. Once he had let her up from his bed and she'd turned to face him, something inside him had dislodged, violently shoved out of place.

Or, he argued, perhaps something had snapped into place.

However, Solok distinctly remembered feeling drawn to Layla long before he'd seen her face. It had all started with his determination to catch her. The taunts, riddles, and strategies had just been a game to Layla, yet Solok's answer to her challenge hadn't been merely a game, he realized. She had unknowingly offered him a sort of hunt and, on some primitive level, that had appealed to him so much he'd responded in kind. He'd parried every one of Layla's moves, but his motivations hadn't been those of a captain protecting his ship from an invader but of a mate responding to the chase. His responses had been a display of his intellect and prowess - his fitness as a potential partner. What better way to attract a mate than to demonstrate how capable one was through a game of wits?

And, though she was not to blame, Layla's reaction had made matters even worse. Instead of giving in to defeat, she'd resisted and pushed the hunt onward. With every foiled attempt to capture her and each of her cunning riddles, Layla proved that she, too, was a very capable mate.

But she's Human, he thought with disgust. Although, it's irrefutable…she is what I want, and denying one's katra is futile. Logic be damned.

And there was no logic in a Vulcan mating with a Human, at least not in the captain's opinion. He'd observed and studied Human behavior for most of his life, and the conclusions he repeatedly came to were that they were a young and troubled race with much to learn. They lacked basic emotional maturity, and their mental and physical faculties were weak.

Layla did nothing to change Solok's mind about any of those observations. In fact, she possessed an excess of those faults, but Layla was no Benjamin Sisko or James Kirk, even if she was just as foolhardy. Unlike her kin, her flaws did not detract from her other qualities, at least not in Solok's eyes. His katra had chosen Layla to be the object of his devotion and love, and that alone was powerful enough to blind him.

And I do love her, he admitted. Even if the reasons still elude me. But what am I to do?

Could he change this situation? Did he want to? He knew of Vulcans who had meditated their intense desires away, effectively staving off shon-ha'lok, but his feelings for Layla felt like an unstoppable force.

It is Layla herself that may be the unstoppable force, he thought wryly.

His desire for her was like a hot flame, but she was like a wild river or one of Earth's devastating oceans. She'd barreled him over instantly, but he'd been too distracted by arrogant pride to take notice. He could attempt to keep her influence over him at bay, build a dam in his mind, but the effort would be immense. And, if there was ever a leak, surely the dam would fail soon after.

Solok allowed himself to smirk. Perhaps I'm better off letting the current carry me away. It would be far more enjoyable…

Pursuing Layla and sharing a life with her would have been a disturbing prospect for Solok a few months ago, but now he yearned for it. Never in his life had he envisaged becoming intimately connected with a Human, but something about the possibility smacked of poetic justice.

All my research and years of derision…Perhaps this is an example of what Humans call 'karma.'

The captain's ideas and musings only became more cyclical after that, and he eventually had to admit defeat. If meditation couldn't bring relief, then sleep was his last hope. Picking himself off the floor, he slithered into bed, no longer caring about dignity or poise. He'd had too many life-changing revelations in the last few hours to be bothered with such things.

At 0900 the following day, Solok walked into the Brig, toting a paper cup, and passed a security officer sitting near the entrance. Spotting the beverage, the guard looked quizically at her captain, but Solok only nodded in acknowledgment. His behavior had raised several eyebrows among the crew, but Solok wasn't in the mood to ponder their opinions of him. He wasn't comfortable admitting it, but he was too eager to see his stowaway again to give his public image much thought.

Strolling up to Layla's cell, he decided to try a different tactic to wake the woman up. After his last attempt, he understood that she was more of a "night owl" than an "early bird," as the Humans put it. And so, Instead of turning the lights on full and verbally waking her, Solok intended to conduct a small experiment. He adjusted the controls so the room was dimly lit, not blinding, and entered quietly. With practiced grace, he slid into a seat, set the cup on the table, and looked out onto a chaotic scene.

Layla was sleeping soundly with her back to the room and hair sticking up in all directions. She'd kicked off half the covers in the night, and now her socked feet were exposed to the air. By all appearances, she looked hectic and savage, but Solok found the disarray endearing. His logical mind itched for the opportunity to correct all her little imbalances, to help align that which was inherently off-kilter about the ginger woman. But he appreciated that, if Layla was "improved" in the ways his rational mind saw fit, she wouldn't be the captivating woman he'd fallen prey to.

Hastily, he brushed those thoughts aside. He'd dug himself into enough mental trenches throughout the night; he didn't need to do so again now.

Focusing on his task, he popped the lid off the cup he'd brought and watched the steam roll out, curling into the air. The smell hit him immediately, and he found the aroma surprisingly pleasant. Although the scent of coffee elicited countless memories of rowdy cadets in Starfleet mess halls, Solok didn't consider it offensive. In fact, from now on, he would most likely associate the smell with the Human woman in the bed before him, especially since all his thoughts were intensely focused on her these days.

Petrichor and coffee, then. I suppose it is a very Terran pairing, he pondered. But his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of curious sniffing.

Layla shifted on the bed and, with her eyes closed, sniffed the air. She reluctantly opened her eyes, unsuprised to find the captain watching her from the chair. She thought she'd heard him enter a few minutes before, but when the lights didn't burn into her eyes and no Vulcan barked into her ear, she figured it was just her imagination playing tricks on her. The smell of coffee gave him away, however. After taking a childishly long time to stretch, Layla twisted around and fixed her visitor with a smirk.

"Morning," she said and immediately winced. Her voice was thick and gruff. But the captain didn't seem to mind. In fact, she could swear Solok's eyes lit up a watt as he returned her greeting.

Layla's gaze flicked from him to the table, and she eyed the proffered cup intently. "I see your mission was a success. Honestly, I had my doubts - I was worried you weren't up to the task. Or that you'd decided I wasn't deserving of a treat given what happened last night."

"I managed," he murmured. "And as far as the events of last night are concerned, consider this coffee a peace offering."

"Shouldn't I be the one making a peace offering?"

"I do not feel as though my actions were fully justified and," his squeezed his knees tensely, "for that, I apologize."

"I see," she uttered quietly. Layla could read between the lines and thought she understood what he was getting at, but the implications made her cheeks tingle.

In the newfound awkwardness, Solok assumed the focused, composed posture he used when concentrating. Back straight and hands in his lap with his fingers steepled. After last night's revelation, he knew that he'd need to exert more control over himself than usual, and all this talk about his impropriety was doing nothing to improve his focus. He took in a breath and looked Layla in the eye. "Now, if you'd rather answer my questions from your position on the bed, it makes little difference to me. But, your coffee will go cold."

"Mmm. We can't have that, can we?" Layla dragged herself off the bed with a sigh and plopped down onto the metal chair. Peering into the cup Solok scooted her way, she could tell the coffee was doctored exactly how she liked it: extra strong, extra cream, extra sweet. "How'd you know?" she wondered.

"When Engineering was attempting to undo the…adjustments you made to my replicator, I read over the logs of what you ordered during your invasion of my quarters. You ordered this specific configuration thirty-two times from my replicator."

"Thirty-two?" she asked, her brows high as she took a sip.

Solok resisted the urge to shake his head; the Human need to repeat another's words for emphasis was baffling, but he'd learned to ignore it long ago. "That is what I said."

Layla took another sip and closed her eyes thoughtfully, considering the taste as if she were sampling a fine wine. "Did this come from your replicator?"

"No. I acquired this from a replicator in the mess hall."

"Mmm, I thought so," she nodded sagely.

"Why do you ask?"

Layla grinned and shrugged one shoulder. "It tastes great, but the ones from your replicator taste better."

"I assure you, the replicators in my quarters are identical to those throughout the ship."

"Mhm," she hummed, pausing to take another sip. "Maybe technically, but my tastebuds don't lie. The coffee from your replicator is definitely better. Not as good as at home, though."

Solok raised an amused eyebrow. "That is Terran coffee," he pointed out.

"Oh, I didn't mean Earth. I was raised on Earth from birth to about six years old, but then I moved to Vulcan and I've lived there ever since. I consider it more of a home than Earth, actually."

Solok's mind buffered as he worked this new information into everything he knew about his stowaway thus far and found that Layla was becoming a more intriguing woman by the day. But he had trouble envisioning her standing on his home planet, baking in the intense sun. He was under the impression that, while Humans were incredibly adaptable, the fair-skinned red-headed ones were particularly susceptible to damage from solar radiation. Even in the more temperate regions of Vulcan, Nevasa's rays were powerful enough to negatively affect a Human within minutes. An uncomfortable image of Layla, miserable and red-faced, implanted itself in his mind.

"What brought you to Vulcan?" asked Solok.

"When I was five, my mother met a Vulcan man while he was visiting Earth on business. They fell in love, got married, and, after Kuvak adopted me, he moved my mother and I out to Vulcan to live with him. Not long after, my mother gave birth to my brother."

Layla's ability to withstand the increased heat of the ship longer than expected, her impeccable Vulcan script, impressive kal-toh skills, and other small, curious details began to fall into place. So many things about her made sense in the context of Vulcan culture, yet so many more…stood out awkwardly. For a Terran raised within a culture so different from Earth's, one would think she'd be more controlled and less delinquent. Solok never would have guessed that the woman who sat before him was a product of Vulcan education and discipline.

But then he remembered the name Layla had dropped a moment before, the name of her stepfather, and it nagged at him. Kuvak was not an overly common name, and Solok had heard rumblings surrounding a man named Kuvak once before.

"Kuvak…The name is familiar to me," he admitted. "Where do you live on Vulcan?"

"You've probably heard of him before," she said with faint discomfort lacing her words. "He comes from a very prominent merchant clan in Raal, the clan K'vek. My mother and I live with him about forty minutes outside Vulcana Regar, on a vineyard at the base of the mountains. Just about where the river begins; it makes for perfect growing conditions."

Ah…that explains a great deal.

Solok did know of Kuvak, although only vaguely. The man ran one of the few vineyards on Vulcan and, as such, was the main contributor to the supply of Vulcan port. With his proximity to the city, most of his business likely consisted of exports to Federation planets and the numerous non-Federation worlds that considered Vulcan port a delicacy. Kuvak and his family controlled their own small empire, amassed over centuries of strategically cornering the market. But, his business acumen wasn't how Solok had come to know of Kuvak. Most who hailed from Raal, Solok included, knew of him from the rumors and controversy that had surrounded him over twenty years ago.

Kuvak took a Human wife, and those within Vulcana Regar's prestigious business world had less than favorable opinions about the union. While constantly in contact with outsiders via trade, the old merchant clans of Vulcan never mixed business with pleasure. Aliens were to remain business partners and potential customers but nothing more. So, when Kuvak married a Human, one he had reportedly known for only a short time, suspicions grew.

The rumors were cutting and without tact; some wondered whether Kuvak had fathered a hybrid bastard and married the woman out of obligation; others speculated whether or not this was a sociopolitical move on the part of Kuvak's new wife. From what Solok knew, she did not come from a notable background, was not involved in business or trade, and was, by all accounts, a below-average individual. With the exception of a child she had from a previous relationship (the existence of whom did not do the woman any favors in the eyes of the Vulcan elite), the woman was ordinary. Pair her with a wealthy Vulcan widower, and what resulted was a relationship with dubious strength and credibility.

But, as far as Solok was concerned, none of those unpleasant things mattered. If the rumors were true, Layla was an innocent party, and he would not antagonize her by prying further. He directed the conversation toward other members of her family.

"What of your half-brother?"

Layla smiled, and Solok could see the tension in her eyes lift as she went on to gush about her younger sibling.

"Technically, he is my half-brother, but I've never thought of him as anything other than my little brother. He's just my brother, Erik," she said, shrugging. When Solok looked skeptical, she laughed and nodded her head in concession. "I know, I know Erik is such a Human name, but you have to admit, it does sound a bit Vulcanish. You all love your "-ik" endings."

"Is he anything like you? Not nearly as mischievous, I imagine." Solok tried to envision a boy, fully Vulcan in appearance though not in blood, shimmying through the T'Kumbra's vents as his sister had, but the picture seemed bizarre.

"Ha! Oh, Captain, let me tell you. That green apple didn't fall far from the tree. You're lucky it's just me here. If my brother and I were on this ship together, we'd be unstoppable. The reign of terror would never end. We would have comandeered the T'Kumbra ages ago."

Thinking of him made Layla's smile drop, fading as it sunk in that she was far from home, much farther than she'd ever anticipated, and with no clear way of returning. She looked up to see Solok focused on her, a thoughtful expression on his face. She guessed that their minds were on similarly morose topics.

"Sorry to change subjects…I know you're supposed to be asking me the questions," Layla started hesitantly, "but may I ask one of my own?"

"If you wish."

"What are the theories for why this has happened? Why have we been thrown out to the middle of nowhere?"

When Solok said nothing, merely raising his chin and giving her a skeptical look as if wondering what she planned to do with the information, she sighed. "Look, I've restrained myself from asking until now, but talking about home…I know your officers must have theories, but are there any you can share with me?"

Solok smirked, albeit subtly, and Layla instantly knew he'd been playing with her. "I see no reason to keep it from you; it isn't classified information, even for a prisoner. However, there are many theories, none of which are promising and most are based solely on conjecture. Regrettably, there isn't much that can be gathered by readings. At least not at the present time."

"So, in other words, no one knows anything," Layla stated flatly.

He quirked his brow at her defeatist attitude, and Layla couldn't stop herself from giggling. "You know that eyebrow has more personality than every Vulcan on this ship combined? It's so expressive, it gives you away every time. Are you…" She leaned in dramatically and lowered her voice. "Are you sure that eyebrow isn't Human? I think it may have mutated; either that or you have a tiny bit of Human blood in you. A distant relative, maybe?"

Solok remained defiant and unmoved. "I will not be goaded by Human taunts."

Layla beamed despite the captain's bland response; she could see how his eyes danced. "Sure you will. You just don't want me to see it."

Solok was about to respond, ready to assure her she was wrong when his commbadge chirped. "Bridge to Captain Solok."

"Solok here," he responded with a tap.

"Captain, we've detected odd readings from a nearby nebula. The data is slightly corrupted due to transference but preliminary studies have yielded results that may provide answers about our situation. To collect accurate data, we need to move closer to the nebula."

"On my way." He stood, stabbed by disappointment because he had to cut his meeting with Layla short; he never seemed to get enough time with her. Layla's expression told him that she felt the same, though he suspected that was wishful thinking on his part.

His stowaway lifted her cup in acknowledgment. "Until next time, Captain. Thanks for the coffee," she said with a wry smile.

He returned the sentiment with a stiff nod and exited her cell.

That evening

The light of Layla's PADD faintly illuminated her prison cell, but she stifled it as best she could by hiding under a blanket. She'd been reading a novel for the last hour and was thinking about turning in for bed, but a notification popped up on her screen just as her eyes started to droop. She had a new message.

Since the T'Kumbra was stranded in no-mans-land, receiving a message on her PADD from someone back home was impossible, so whoever sent the message had to be on the ship. And, although the sender had no name, their identity only listed as a random string of numbers, Layla knew who the most likely suspect was immediately.

MESSAGE FROM: 09453872436

SUBJECT: INVITATION

I AM UNABLE TO MEET WITH YOU TOMORROW MORNING. IF YOU WISH TO CONTINUE OUR CONVERSATION TONIGHT IN A MORE HOSPITABLE SETTING, COME TO MY QUARTERS. I'M SURE YOU REMEMBER THE WAY.

She stared at the message in disbelief, sure she was misreading it. But, after the fourth readthrough, she couldn't deny that the captain was, in fact, inviting her to his quarters. Just to be safe, she wanted to clarify.

LAYLA: YOUR QUARTERS? TONIGHT?

His reply came back in less than a minute.

09453872436: YES.

LAYLA: YOU ARE GIVING ME PERMISSION TO BREAK OUT OF THE BRIG? IS THIS A TRICK? THERE'S NOT GOING TO BE A SECURITY TEAM READY TO TACKLE ME TO THE FLOOR ONCE I GET THERE, RIGHT?

09453872436: THAT WOULD BE COUNTERINTUITIVE AND COUNTERPRODUCTIVE.

LAYLA: CALL ME PARANOID, BUT I NEED YOUR WORD ON THIS, CAPTAIN.

09453872436: YOU HAVE MY WORD. I WILL NOT ALERT SECURITY OF YOUR ESCAPE. HOWEVER, IF YOU ARE CAUGHT TRYING TO LEAVE THE BRIG I WILL NOT INTERVENE.

Layla snorted at that and couldn't keep the sarcasm from seeping into her words as she typed a response.

LAYLA: CANNOT OR WILL NOT?

09453872436: BOTH. A CAPTAIN ALLOWING A PRISONER TO ESCAPE CONFINEMENT AND VISIT HIS QUARTERS WOULD BE DIFFICULT TO JUSTIFY.

LAYLA: THEN WHY RISK IT?

09453872436: I WISH TO SPEAK TO YOU.

She sat back with a huff. Her stomach had little butterflies flitting around inside it, and she couldn't place why. Something about sneaking behind the crew's back to meet up with the captain in secret felt…dirty? She shook her head to clear that thought away.

A tiny vibration from the PADD alerted her of another message, one which seemed to be a hasty follow-up from a man who understood that what he was proposing was a touch scandalous.

09453872436: HOWEVER, YOU ARE UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO ACCEPT MY INVITATION.

Layla wanted to go, but her brain told her it was a bad idea. She enjoyed talking to Solok, and the prospect of speaking with him again, outside of a cold jail cell, was attractive. It took her a lot of jittery consideration, where her thumbnail was nibbled down punishingly short, for her to fire back a reply.

LAYLA: I'M ON MY WAY.