Mr & Mrs Quinn
Posted on 09 Jan 2021 @ 7:00pm by Commander Calliope Zahn & Lieutenant Commander Lance Quinn (*)
Edited on on 18 Jan 2021 @ 6:54pm
Mission:
M1 - Emergence
Location: Quarters
Timeline: MD 05 2300
1831 words - 3.7 OF Standard Post Measure
Lance was already pacing their shared quarters waiting for Calliope to arrive. The last few days had been like the ones they were used to - not really seeing one another except in fleeting moments. The distance remained, loosely. Aside from the brief moments they were permitted some closeness.
This time, however, he was a bit more uncertain. The whole affair with the Romulan refugees had him confused and concerned. Logically, they were illegal immigrants into Federation space - a Federation that had set out some clear policies on the matter. That part he was clear on. Somehow it just didn't sit right, though. They were families. And he knew how being separated from loved ones could be incredibly difficult at times.
As the door opened and Calliope entered, he stopped pacing mid-stride and faced her.
"Okay, so I need to talk to you-" they both spoke at the same time. Both looked at each other awkwardly.
"Oh. Well. You first?" he offered.
She exhaled and realized she was at a loss for how to begin anyway. "No. No, it's better if you start." Calliope peeled off the sweaty gritty duty jacket and looked around before deciding on Quinn's method. The floor could have it. "What is it?" She wasn't used to seeing the kind of look writ in his brow and didn't know how to begin guessing what it was about. "Did you manage to find the parts on the Appalachia?" Something told her it was some worse news than a supply chain issue and she felt a creeping scare. At the mention of the Appalachia Lance looked freshly upset. The last time she could remember anything like it was when she had frantically tried to get trough to him when the news of the strike on Mars had broken. What sweet relief to have seen his face but how wretched he had been with personal loss over colleagues! "Did... did someone get hurt?" She imagined some accident in engineering. In all the rush, maybe mistakes had been made.
"What? No. At least, I don't think so..." He frowned. He hadn't really noticed if anyone was hurt. The medics didn't seem overly concerned by anything. "I just..." he had to take a moment to formulate his words more carefully. "I found something. On the Appalacian. A cargo container not on the manifest." He wrung both his hands together anxiously. "It had...people in it. Romulans. Refugees."
"Oh." Her shoulders relaxed. Refugee situations were matter-of-course almost everyday while patrolling the Romulan border. But not a part of Lance's day-to-day before now. "That must have been surprising for you. I'm sorry. You informed Security?"
"Lieutenant Winslow assisted," Lancelot nodded sharply, his brow still furrowed. "It was incredibly disconcerting. I cannot for the life of me understand how or why they would take such a risk. To travel like that, in secret and in fear. I don't understand it."
"What happens next really depends on what they share with security under an interview." She started ticking things off on her fingers, "What are they running from, where were they going to, if there's any past record of offenses or not, any contacts in the federation, their political affiliations, persecution, or just general hardship. There's a flood of refugees on this border every day. And there's all kinds of different protocol that hinges on the interview and any records Security might be able to find on them. Sometimes the aspects are more objective and sometimes... they're not as clear. What could you tell from what you saw?"
"They were scared. But I suspect that's only natural." He paced the floor as he verbally processed. "They must have understood the risks they were taking. To do something like that in secret - without knowing where one would end up...I don't know if I can truly understand the logic."
She watched him pace and was kind of touched... he was worried. "It's not really logic exactly for folks at that point. It's just desperation. A leap." Calliope unlaced one of her shoes and started to knock the desert sand out into the waste bin. "Don't worry, starfleet doesn't turn away anyone we can help. Especially not under my watch. Lt. Winslow will be able to tell us more tomorrow, probably."
"Yes. Of course." He paused, watching her removing her gear. "You mentioned some news of your own?"
Calliope put a hand over her face, smearing more of the grime. She put down the boot and reached for his hand, pulling Lance to sit as she did. She crossed her leg over her knee and started to unlace her other boot, as if unwinding the laces would untangle her mass of thoughts and feelings. "I know this is not the time for this... kind of nonsense. I'm being told I just have to suck it up, deal with it." She sighed as she pulled off the second shoe and watched the sand pour out. Like the end of an hour glass. Like the last of her spent cartridges. "We really need the reactors up, and It didn't seem fair to bother you right now. I was going to give it a few days, but I can't just... ignore it."
"Ignore what?" Lance alighted on the edge of their makeshift table.
"I had a physical with Dr. Mazur when we came aboard earlier this week. Her scans turned up some systemic issues and she says my hormone medication is to blame. I was at the end of my supply. Counseling didn't help me acquire any more either. I've been trying to make it last but, I'm out of doses. I... I made a scene and Corvus took my last vial." Calliope started into a kind of hoarsely whispered, desperate rant... "I just need another week, you know? Until we can get systems powered and defenses up. I don't have time for this any more than anyone else does. I mean I've had eight thousand doses over the years. What's eight more?"
He was silent for a few seconds as he tried to gather his thoughts. He could see she was struggling from the way she had spoken about it, but somewhat damning was that he hadn't noticed until she'd said anything. How had he missed that? It made sense, now that he thought about it, that he'd felt...differently...towards her in the last few days, but he'd put that down to having missed her.
"Cali," he started, still not sure how to express himself. "Are you sure?" He wasn't. But he wasn't a doctor either. His knowledge of her biochemical makeup was limited. But if her body was anything like the starbase, then running without the right resources was going to cause long term problems.
"I wish I wasn't. But I saw the scans." She reached to where she'd set down her padd and switched to her medical results. It was easier to show him Mazur's scans than try to recount the dozen things that were affected. Calliope gave him the padd. "It never showed up at any of my other check ups. And I feel fine. I guess it's coming on all at once." She shrugged, helplessly.
He again fell silent, reading and digesting. Processing. "If you were a warp core I'd be recommending a replacement of the plasma injectors and a complete overhaul," he said, without even a hint that he was joking.
"Thanks," Calliope snarked. "That's essentially what Mazur wants to do with me. I'm supposed to get therapies."
"This is several days old," he noted, looking up at her. "You were hoping to avoid putting additional stress on me, with everything else that was going on?"
"Yeah. I mean. You already dropped everything, flew across the quadrant and shouldered this wreckage. I thought I could handle it myself until there was less on your plate."
"Cali. I didn't fly across the quadrant to watch you destroy yourself like that," he scowled. Honestly, with the last few days he'd had this was something he was neither prepared for nor wanting to go deep into. "So don't you dare put this on me. Had I known, I'd have been demanding they prioritise medical supplies over reactor parts. I *need* you to function much more than I need this damned station to."
Destroy herself? Her jaw slack, Calliope flustered and flushed a shade of indignant. "I just. I'm trying to be the Executive officer here, and the station, supporting your work came first." She hadn't thought of her reasoning as an excuse or a burden on him and it hurt that her whole intention had backfired. She thought about the doses she intended to collect from the surface in secret. A moment ago she could care less about the risk to herself in her search for status quo in her work life, but now she wasn't so certain. "I didn't see it like that. I'm sorry."
All Lance was capable of feeling in that moment was intense fatigue combined with frustration. He felt an urge to emotionally lash out building, and had to forcefully supress it. "You're supposed to be the sensible one..." he growled. "What does that make me? A fool, I suppose." He turned to make an attempt to leave, but given the lateness of the hour - and the fact that there wasn't a decent bar for a few sectors - he just stopped with his back to her.
Calliope's hands trembled. Her shoulders shook. Lance was disappointed and she didn't know what to say. She covered her face.
"I'm very tired. I think I might go to bed," he explained quietly. The conversation was far from over, but he wasn't ready to talk.
Calliope stood, not looking Lance in the face for fear she'd break down. She was supposed to be sensible. She snagged her boots and dirty jacket off the floor. "I'm going to... pack some more boxes." That seemed sensible. She walked towards the door, hugging her coat and shoes and waiting for Lance to step aside.
He said nothing, hesitating a little before he stepped out of her way.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Calliope said around the lump in her throat, so he would know not to expect her back tonight.
"0800. We'll be finishing unloading those parts you obtained for the reactors." His tone remained neutral. As though speaking to a senior officer, which he was. He didn't wait for her to leave the room, instead walking slowly towards the corner where their bed was.
Calliope paused in the open door and looked back over her shoulder. All she saw was Lance's back to her and the long cast of his tall shadow across the bed and the wall. A step forward and she was in the hall, striding in her stocking feet at a pace shy of running with her chin high to prevent the hot tears from escaping.
