Obsidian Command

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Homemaking

Posted on 22 Mar 2021 @ 5:40pm by Lieutenant Commander Lance Quinn (*)
Edited on on 22 Mar 2021 @ 9:22pm

Mission: M2 - Sanctuary
Location: Quinn's Quarters
Timeline: Backpost - During Calliope's Recovery
1041 words - 2.1 OF Standard Post Measure


It had taken a few days to get everything in a reasonable order in Lance and Cali's assigned quarters. Of course between long shifts, various meetings and at one point reporting to an Admiral, he'd had just enough time to visit Calliope on the Ardeshir. Only some of the furniture had been arranged, boxes were everywhere, most of it unlabeled. He was fortunate that the replicator was working, or he would have been diving through crates to find cooking utensils.

Crashing down on the couch with a bowl of freshly replicated noodles, he found himself staring into space and trying to process...well, everything.

The last few days he'd seen Cali make slow but promising improvement. She was more lucid than she had been at the start of the week, able to talk but not really do much of anything else. Even their advanced medical sciences didn't have much of a rapid solution for her. He understood that - ironically her physical condition was somewhat similar to Obsidian Command's had been when they'd arrived; barely functional and in need of a lot of help to get back up and running. He silently bemoaned their lack of a genius-level medical mind to fix her in the way he had managed to do to the station while under threat of sudden attack.

So zoned-out as he was, Lance almost didn't hear the door chime. It snapped him out of his vegetative state enough that he hauled himself up and stumbled over to answer it.

Standing in the hallway in a clean, fresh, gold-trimmed uniform, stood a female human, carrying a large duffel over one shoulder and a stack of PADDS three-inches high in her arms. He had to take a moment to catch himself or be swept up in her crystal blue eyes.

"Oh, I...yes? What?" he asked.

"Hi! Really sorry, I'm new on the station. Still trying to figure out where everything is. I didn't know whether someone could help me find my quarters?" she asked. Her voice, a high tenor, was strangely sing-song like. Or maybe it just sounded that way in his worn-out brain. "I'm Lieutenant Monroe. You can call me Sarah."

A beautiful blonde Lieutenant called Monroe. How poetic, he silently mused. He shook off the thought, wondering where her looks came into it.

"Yes," he said.

"Yes...?" she echoed, confused.

"Excuse me. I'm just very tired at the moment. Lieutenant Monroe...and you're looking for your quarters." He rechecked his understanding. She nodded hopefully. He rubbed his eyes and stepped out into the corridor. "If you're registered as a senior officer, this would be the section you're looking for," he explained. "Probably a little further on." He started to lead the way along the long curving hallway, past numerous identical doors. One of the things that irritated him about Starfleet was the uniformity of every door. Why couldn't they permit a little customisation or freedom of expression so that people could find things more easily?

"Um...you're Lt Commander Quinn, aren't you?" the young woman asked as she maintained pace.

"Last I checked," he replied, scanning door labels.

"It's a real honour, sir. A real honour. Your paper on Quantum Slipstream theory is what got me into the engineering track at the academy," she explained. "I was amazed that you postulated the relative subspace reaction coefficient would require greater capacitance from the dilithium matrix."

He was momentarily surprised by the statement. Certainly it was rare that someone would recall a minor paper he'd written on the work conducted on the Vesta project. Rarer still that it would be a fresh-faced young Lieutenant barely able to find her way around a starbase without getting lost. Then again, Lance recalled having similar problems early in his own career. There was only so much headspace for important information.

"I see." He wasn't sure how to respond.

"Did you ever resolve the problem with the bleed-over of deflector power into the Slipstream control matrix?" she continued.

"It required a rethink of the harmonics into a sub-quantum bandwidth," he replied. "Here. Lieutenant Monroe." He pointed at the door.

"Oh, that's wonderful, thank you so much!" she exclaimed. "I have to say, it's incredible to actually meet you in person. I'd love to pick your brains some more, sir. If you had the time, that is."

"Oh, well, I'm not sure..." he mumbled awkwardly.

"Please? I have a bottle of Denevian wine already open in my bag..." she urged, her clear blue eyes fluttering at him. He swallowed, not quite sure what was happening.

"Lieutenant-"

"Sarah. I said you could call me Sarah, remember?" she smiled sweetly.

"Yes. No. Well..." he cleared his throat. She was particularly stunning, he had to admit. And she was interested in him - his knowledge, as well as...something else, perhaps? His reading of people was terrible even when he wasn't exhausted. He blinked hard when he clocked the implications of that train of thought.

Calliope is recovering in a sickbay, and here I am.

With a...beautiful young woman...

Who hasn't lied to me or been hiding a drug problem...


He sucked in a deep breath, breaking himself out of the momentary trance.

No!

"Lieutenant. I'm glad to have helped you find your quarters. Hopefully you remember them for future reference." He shifted uncomfortably between both feet. "I must be going now." With barely a goodbye he marched at a rapid pace back along the corridor towards the safe haven that was his new quarters. His new shared quarters. With his wife.

Scurrying in through the door, he immediately locked it and leaned heavily against the nearest wall, sucking in a few deep breaths to avoid hyperventilating.

Lancelot Edward Alcott Quinn...you great fool... he chastised himself inwardly. Calliope needed him, especially on her road to recovery. Stupid thoughts and silly moments of madness were what had gotten them into this place, and he wasn't about to make that ten times worse by doing something even more stupid.

He cast a look at the now cold bowl of noodles still waiting for him on the couch. And then he turned and retreated to bed.

 

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