Episode Two Teaser - Good Night

Chapter 8
Vorik
A Long Time to be Cold

It occurred to Vorik that he had not been the most companionable of roommates, and social interaction was important for most Humanoids' health. Gerron reclined in his bunk underneath Vorik's, reading. He didn't even look up when Vorik entered the room.

Vorik wouldn't be opposed to friendship, though it seemed unreasonable to expect. Perhaps impossible. He expected the disrespect from the Maquis. He expected the indolence and the verbal abuse—though, admittedly, Miss Torres's fist connecting so forcefully with his face was shocking. He would not be so unprepared again. He couldn't even consider that to have been the most unpleasant part of the encounter.

Pointy-eared bastard?

Without the light of his brother constantly flickering in the sea of psychic Vulcan stars, the darkness was enough to disrupt his concentration. They didn't communicate as often as simply sense the constant being of the other, but he had never gone so long without… something.

He had never felt so alone.

Gerron was the youngest member of the crew, maybe eighteen, approximately five years younger than he was. He didn't know if Gerron would be homesick, given his background on Bajor and then joining the Maquis. Having no family seemed to be something some of the Maquis had in common. That was something to which Vorik could not relate with two brothers, two sisters, parents, and spending the majority of his life at this point in the clan compound surrounded by cousins and uncles and foreparents—extended family beyond which there were no Human words.

Despite the size of his family, last time Vorik shared a private space this small, he'd almost killed his brother.

That was an exaggeration. Everything seemed exaggerated at the moment.

The room was largely as he'd left it. Gerron seemed to make an effort to be accommodating—or at least not exceptionally annoying—which Vorik appreciated. Tidiness was evidently not Gerron's standard operating procedure, with a pile of socks accumulating at the foot of his bed, two PADDs wedged between the mattress and the wall, and a perpetually unmade bed. The exception to this was his scuffed shoes: neatly beside the door in almost exactly the same location each night—at least for the past two. Otherwise, the floor was kept clear.

Vorik had been standing for most of the past eighteen hours in these shoes. He eyed the chair before sitting down to remove them. "We only have one chair," he said.

Gerron dropped the PADD he'd been reading against his chest. "What?"

"It seems inconsistent. There are two beds and a single chair." He placed one shoe beside Gerron's on the floor. "It would be more appropriate if there were two."

"Yeah?" Gerron looked at the chair for a second, then the shoes. His eyes drifted back up to Vorik. "I guess?"

Vorik removed his second shoe and looked at it much longer than he thought was reasonable before placing it beside the first. "I apologize, I am not particularly skilled in… idle conversation."

Gerron picked his PADD back up. "Don't worry about it."

That was not the response he'd been intending. "If we are to be roommates for the foreseeable future, I believe it is in each of our best interests to get to know one another."

Gerron dropped his PADD again and looked at him pointedly. "Okay. What do you want to know? Where I grew up or something?"

Vorik nodded, since that seemed as reasonable as anything else he might have come up with. "I grew up on Vulcan, in a village called Kaiden in the Vokau Mountains in the southern hemisphere."

"I grew up on Bajor," Gerron said, once again going back to his PADD. "Eastern Province in a village called Akkaetur. It was razed by Cardassians just for fun when I was twelve years old. We were relocated to a labor camp where I worked harvesting katterpods, saw my sisters raped, and parents and brother murdered. Anything else you want to know?"

Vorik felt like he'd been tricked somehow, though he should have known better. "I'm… I apologize," he said, and wondered if Gerron would take that as condolences or that he regretted speaking at all. Even Vorik wasn't sure.

Gerron said nothing.

"I have been—"

"Look." Gerron rolled to prop himself on his elbow and looked at him, the chain from his earring swinging. "Vorik, right? I don't want to be rude, but I don't really want to get to know you."

Vorik blinked, pressing down the surprise and hurt so it could never be seen. "I see."

"I doubt we have anything in common except the room number, so let's just leave it at that. I'm a quiet guy," he said, gesturing to himself before extending a hand to Vorik. "You're probably also capable of being quiet."

"I am." Vorik rose from his chair, perhaps a bit stiffly. He stood before his drawers in the wall for a moment before pressing it open. He had decided to continue to wear his Starfleet uniform, even though Chakotay had suspended the requirement. That was another thing they did not have in common. Not that commonalities mattered with a response like that.

He stared at the fabric in the drawer until they crystalized in his vision into the shapes and textures he was looking for.

He lifted off the black-and-gold shirt, folding it into the drawer and removing the combadge. He cast a glance behind him to see that Gerron had laid down, once again reading whatever was on his PADD. Vorik picked the softest of his robes, the blue one. He slipped into it and tied the sash. Replaced the combadge, just in case. Besides this one night-robe and two sets of his uniform, he had two sets of clothing to wear when off duty… not that he had time when he was off duty. He was too busy sleeping or eating or meditating in the cargo bay or phaser maintenance. He replaced his uniform trousers with his softest and warmest alternative, as well.

"Would it inconvenience you exceedingly if I were to meditate here in our quarters?"

Gerron looked at him, apparently interested, which Vorik had not expected. "Meditate?"

"Yes, it is a daily practice which I have attempted to do elsewhere or when you are not here, but…" He hesitated and tried to figure out why he'd bothered asking.

He was tired, and he had no reason to be accommodating anymore. He felt sick, though he knew that was more an indication he'd let self-control fall too far in his priorities. Unless something outrageous or unfortunate happened, Gerron would be his roommate for a very long time. Vorik would be humiliated to confess to Commander Tuvok that he simply could not live with this roommate.

Though, if Gerron could not oblige this simple request, that seemed like a suitable reason.

"It's your room, too," he said.

Vorik considered that. "Yes, this is truth. However—"

"It's fine. Why, does it involve chanting or something?"

"No." Vorik picked up his lamp from the table where he'd left it to take off his shoes, turned it in his hands. He'd replicated it the first day. His hand-made lamp from his childhood was in his quarters on Deep Space Nine… at least, it had been. He wondered if Taurik had it, now.

Vorik hoped he did…

"I will simply require quiet while meditating. Usually for approximately one hour," he finished.

Gerron didn't say anything else, so Vorik knelt on the floor and lit the lamp. It was an artificial flame, of course, and it smelled of Vulcan aster and rock rose resin, sandalwood, and Earth's vanilla. He found it pleasant, but he supposed even that could grate on wearing nerves.

Vorik took a deep breath and held it, listening and clearing his mind. He shut his eyes, contracting his field of awareness until the only thing in his consciousness was himself. His physical senses and his emotions. He could smell his roommate's accumulated laundry and unwashed body, hear his breathing. The room was cold, to accommodate Gerron's more typical comfort-zone of approximately twenty degrees. Vorik had long ago become accustomed to being uncomfortable, but seventy years was a very long time to be cold.

He had used a significant portion of his replicator credits for the month on a heavy blanket. It was a luxury, but… never once going home to Vulcan's hot sands and caverns and canyons in seventy years.

The idea that he'd already seen his brother for the last time was nearly unbearable.

His vision turned further inward where his heart and lungs stormed. He detested the captain for attempting to steal the Defiant, and Riker for participating. He despised Tuvok for supporting the captain, for adopting the suspension of uniform requirements, and assigning crew quarters as he had. Even Chief Paswan allowing disproportionate work assignments because the Starfleet crew knew how aggravated his thinning patience. He had been working increasingly long hours because he could, and had suffered many attempts at humiliation from his new crewmates because he could. Miss Torres's infraction galled him, but, perhaps illogically, he believed Tuvok would blame the altercation on him if he had reported it: Vorik had been too harsh, or his proximity could have been read as a threat. Even if Miss Torres's resorting to physical force would not be tolerated, the racial slurs likely would. He would be expected to overlook such offenses… because he could.

Finally, he resented the idea of sharing a room with Gerron for the foreseeable future more than the situation could possibly warrant.

It was safe to say he had never been this angry.

Vorik took a deep breath, internally repeated a few phrases of emotional control, and focused on priorities. Harmony was paramount: they would kill each other before any unknown had a chance. To allow himself to contribute to any discord would, in effect, contribute to his own death.

Disrespect for Chakotay was, at the moment, beyond his scope to act upon, so he ignored it. He could tolerate Riker for his utility—he had even given several hours unprompted to engineering to alleviate the strain, and was knowledgeable and surprisingly efficient. Chief Paswan only did what he could with what little he had: three total Starfleet-trained engineers, including the chief himself. Vorik would one day catch up on sleep and meditation and easily overlook Miss Torres' juvenile attempts to elicit an emotional response and be more cautious. More respectful of her space. Vorik did not prefer the intense distrust he felt toward Tuvok at the moment, but that was not a constant threat to his calm, his control. His relationship with Gerron, however, could very easily be.

Vorik took another step back within himself and beheld what he now knew of Gerron. However uncomfortable their brief conversation had been, Vorik learned more than he'd expected. Vorik was, of course, aware of the atrocities committed by the Cardassians on Bajor, in a statistical sense. He had never applied the statistics to an individual.

A failing of pure reason, he decided. Even this was cause and effect.

Gerron did not deserve resentment.

Despite the evident bitterness, Gerron had been surprisingly open, even if it was only for the purpose of shock and offence. It was illogical for Gerron to treat Vorik with such loathing and suspicion, given their lack of interaction. Vorik based all interpersonal interactions on the premise that each individual deserved respect. Vorik doubted few people had extended Gerron the courtesy. In that position, and during his formative years, his distrust could not be surprising. Gerron had endured mental and emotional harm that Vorik could not comprehend.

Vorik would, therefore, treat Gerron with care and dignity. He always knew he would, of course. But now, he knew why. Logic still worked regardless of which way he worked it out.

After thirty minutes of smoothing out the last turbulent vestiges of resentment and willfully ignoring the odor of dirty laundry, Vorik opened his eyes. The wall wavered with the light of the lamp until he shut it off. With a sigh, he rose and put it in the drawer where it belonged.

He reached out telepathically to his brother, even though there would be no answer, and wished him a good night.

He turned back to see Gerron still awake, still reading. As he said, at least he was quiet.

Despite Gerron's stated desire for quiet… it was too quiet. "May I ask one question?" Vorik asked.

Gerron gave him a single glance that didn't even span a second. "If you have to."

"Am I correct in assuming you have no family in the Alpha Quadrant?"

Vorik observed the slight change in Gerron's demeanor, the way his shoulders slightly relaxed even as his forehead tensed. His gaze fell from the screen, and he answered, "Yeah, that's right."

Vorik nodded. Gerron was correct, of course. They didn't have anything in common. He climbed up into his bunk, under the sheet, and pulled the heavy blanket he'd neatly folded on the side over himself. He stared at the ceiling. At least his mind was quieter tonight. Certainly too quiet, without Taurik subconsciously sitting behind him dreamlessly sleeping or thinking about warp field calculations…

In all likelihood, Taurik was in his quarters on the Enterprise with his hands folded over artificial lamps and wrestling with the only logical conclusion there was: he'd already seen his brother for the last time.

For all the resentment, impatience, and anger he felt—it only covered up something else. Something worse. He'd contemplate that tomorrow during the long hours in engineering.

"Am I… correct in assuming you do?" Gerron mimicked his words and tone, though Vorik wasn't sure if he intended it to be mocking. "Have family?"

Vorik suppressed the surprise he'd said anything at all. He folded his hands on his chest. "You are correct."

Eight seconds passed. "Sorry."

Vorik was surprised again—though expressing condolences was about as logically vacant as expressing gratitude. "I am not unique among the crew in… missing my family."

Fewer seconds passed this time. "I'm not unique among Bajorans. I bet you couldn't find a single Bajoran that doesn't have at least one story kind of like mine… That doesn't make it better."

Vorik sighed. Closed his eyes. "No. It does not."

The room became silent again, except for Gerron periodically tapping on his PADD. Breathing. Infrequently shifting his weight and adjusting the sheets. Vorik tried to ignore that some part of him still waited for Taurik to answer him, say good night. It had been habit to the point they could respond, albeit simply, even in sleep. He would gain new habits. Forget old routines. What felt like a wound where his telepathic connection with his brother had once been would scar, and he would find peace even where he could not see.

It was just difficult at the moment. He didn't know if he could sleep, but he didn't want to go back to work, either.

"Good night," Gerron said suddenly, quietly, from below. Vorik heard him rustle a bit in his blankets and fall into stillness once again.

For a moment, Vorik wasn't sure what to do.

He shouldn't keep Gerron waiting. "Good night."