Two Views
Posted on 24 Jun 2023 @ 11:03pm by Lieutenant Commander Lance Quinn (*) & Commander Calliope Zahn
Edited on on 25 Jun 2023 @ 9:16am
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: USS Pathfinder, Zahn-Quinn Quarters
Timeline: M3 D9 Evening
1241 words - 2.5 OF Standard Post Measure
Calliope lay very still, her eyes boring through the lighting panel of the ceiling, which was set to a very soft glow, the nightlight making spots in her eyes between every slow blink. On the surface of her vision she still saw the fog of polluted waters, stretching out for miles and miles, and the elegant undulating motion of silky, ornamented Korin swimmers flanking her peripherals. Although she’d written all she could for the Acamas' away mission report— accounting for their initial dive, the ride to the spawning grounds and the of the meeting with the Grand Crest— Calliope hadn’t laid still since it had all come to pass, and now her mind was unfurling her own sensory data in her pseudo resting state.
They had only barely touched a world, full of its own peoples and histories, only visited for a mere few hours. How many millions more souls lay hiding in the depths? And untold thousands on the shoals of the island? How many wayward souls might have been scraping by in other post-apocalyptic abandoned shells of their underwater homes scattered in the twilight depths across the watery face of the world? All under the heel of a single boot. All destroyed within twenty years. What other worlds were crushed by this weight? What other worlds might come to similar fates if the Federation didn’t intervene? Might she find herself on the front of a war in a few weeks time? Or what if there was no war, and the Federation stood by quietly, as other worlds were plucked like ripe plums? Was the only thing worse than being on the front line of a new war never showing up to fight at all?
Calliope didn’t relish it. Her stomach turned. The decisions would be above her paygrade, to be sure. Above the paygrade of anyone with a military rank. Starfleet as a defense force only served the member states. There would be talks, debates, maybe votes. And whatever the representatives of the Federation decided, she would have to abide by. Either to support actions against this terror, or to standby as worlds succumbed to it.
In the corner of her eye, she saw a lanky shadow cross the room. She heard the replicator unit humming as it dematerialized clothing and provided a new set, then there was the sound of water and the vigorous brushing and picking of teeth. Tooth caries were prevalent in the Quinn family, and he wanted to prevent additional dental care. The door was left open while he ran the sonic. Calliope knew it to be an invitation. It was usually herself making the invitation, and Lance was now likely making an attempt of his own in kind. She’d already showered before dressing for bed herself. But even if she hadn’t, she would have left the invitation unanswered.
She continued to think of Korix and wonder after the other subject worlds of the Pyrryx until Lance padded uncertainly into the bedroom. He walked around the bed a couple of times, shuffling and putting things away. He was avoidant and awkward when he was uncertain of her mood, and her current expression was blank and distant.
“I don't suppose you would mind if I joined you?” He finally asked. It was sticky business guessing if after throwing him out of her office earlier, she now meant him to take his evening rest on the sofa in the living area of their quarters.
She didn’t answer. It was his bed as much as hers, but she had no intentions. After the lengthy lack of reply, he tested the waters by sitting on the foot of the bed and making a show of straightening his socks. When she made no response to that, Lance arranged his own pillow and laid back, folding his hands over his stomach. He lay for a long time, staring into the same ceiling.
If asked, Lance wouldn’t have been able to put words to the discomfort. Although they’d not lived together for 15 years, in their shared times of leave, he’d never once slept in a bed with Calliope and not felt her touch. It was the first time she didn’t move to curl against him, or put her chilly toes under his calf, or rest her hand on his chest or even twine her fingers in his. Though she lay less than a foot away, she felt to Lance to be on the other side of the quadrant.
This was the price, he thought to himself, part of the high price for the decision he had needed to make. In protecting her, he had caused her ire. When she had been confrontational, with her voice raised, Lance had been somewhat at a loss. But this was something he understood, a pattern he knew very well since his own childhood. His parents had always fought in silence. To reassure himself, he thought that it might actually be a sign of a healthy marriage. They had never shared their lives for more than a long vacation, and now that they did, it was only natural that they have disagreements. And any proper disagreement would naturally include some cold shoulders. His father was the paragon of enduring the cold shoulder of his mother, and Lance drew up in his mind the way that his father often carried on as if there were no disagreement at all. He’d been secure in the good faith that in time, they would either bury the hatchet or carry it along with them, and there was little to be done about it besides. So much of married life consisted of conflicts, spoken and unspoken, and differences were to be expected.
How much more so between someone like Calliope and himself? They came from completely different worlds, entirely unrelated upbringings, and were of nearly opposite temperaments. It had often been Calliope who had made the difference for them as a couple, her own outgoing personality never failing to reach out and give him something to respond to, just as she did when she’d first met him, that fated day in the cafeteria, when she had helped him with his toppled tray of food, and given him her portion of dessert even while classmates had made him feel the fool.
Whenever she was around, her mood had always been infectious. But now, just as during her recent medical recovery, he knew it would be his part to play to mend this gap. His own patient part to play as her faithful husband.
As they both stared through the same ceiling, seeing very different perspectives, Lance suspected it was entirely possible they would never see eye to eye on the events that had transpired. But he also knew he would be content if she would accept only that he loved her. Love had been his motivation. Just as he had protected her during the battle on the station, he had once again dutifully tried to do so aboard the Pathfinder. He would never do any less.
Yes. It was a natural part of marriage. And one he could endure until she was ready once more to face it or carry on as time caused it to diminish in importance to her, however long that might be. Lance cleared his throat, resettled himself, and fell asleep, his conscience clear.
