Chapter Text
Postlude: Croft
Jamie Blackthorne walks into the sickbay on the O’Bannon. Due to the crew size and the marine propensity for frontal assaults, the sickbay is somewhat larger than any other of the other Cohort vessels. It is occupied by only one patient, right now. Eileen Madison had been transferred to a fast medical transport to get her to Earth for serious medical care. She will have a long recovery; she was transferred in a stasis pod.
He sees Declan Starros and Daniel Hagan standing against a far bulkhead. Both of them stare at him intently. Finally, they both nod and turn away.
There are four women gathered around the bedside of the sole patient, including the doctor, who from what Croft can tell, has more of an interest in seeing this patient survive than any other.
The doctor, Kim Sinclair, stands next to Admiral Decker, looking down at their daughter. They stand next to one another, but there is a slight distance between them.
Not just physically.
Another young woman, very close to Decker’s age, with red hair and masses of freckles, as well, though with darker skin, looks down at her friend and, for a brief time, her XO. She rests her hand on Decker’s arm, then reaches down and finds bare skin between the bandages on her forehead and places a kiss. He vaguely remembers her from before.
On Vostus. She had helped carry Chandra to the medical shuttle.
She turns and walks away, towards where Croft stands. She stops and looks him up and down. A slow grin comes over her freckled features. “I can see what she sees in you,” she says. She resumes her exit.
Which leaves him to look at the last woman standing beside Decker Sinclair’s bedside. He exhales sharply. He knows that she knows that he stands there; the Link-bond that they had shared assures him of that.
Croft takes his time examining Chandra’s face. His heart twists as his eyes fall on the nasty scar. This was the first time he’d seen it, healed, in person, rather than on a comm screen. His gaze. moves to her small nose, above the slight smile on her full lips.
He would be remiss if he didn’t look over the rest of her body. She is clad in a uniform vest, with no shirt under it. Her arms—arms that he remembers holding him, in joy and in grief—are strong and toned.
The ache in his heart wants to motivate his body to walk over to her. To hold her, or let her hold him, if she will.
He has taken a step, when he stops himself. Too soon. She has a life now. She doesn’t want me cluttering it up.
Croft turns and is gone.
Behind him, Chandra looks back at where he had stood.
She feels her eyes well. Kim Sinclair looks at her, then reaches up and touches her cheek.
He is rebuilding, she thinks. He doesn’t want me cluttering up his life.
All I can say, she hears in her head, in T'Varilyn’s dry, familiar voice, is that both of you are complete and utter dumbasses.
Postlude: Emma
Emma leans against a bulkhead outside the sickbay, wanting to check on the young captain, but not wanting to intrude on the family time, not knowing her or her mother very well. She watches as the hatch opens and Croft walks out of the sickbay. His eyes are distant; she can tell from his body language that something was weighing on him.
Most probably the tall Deltan who was also checking on her officer.
Emma had only had a few moments to see Chandra; nothing like she had wanted to, having not seen her since they had lost T'Varilyn and Chandra had been injured on that Klingon shithole. They had held each other tightly, not saying anything, only existing as two friends—maybe even still prelanka-sonén, if she remembered the Deltos.
“Hey, hard-charger,” she says. “What’s the haps?”
He looks up, as if coming back to the world of the cramped passageway of this ship. He gives that customary crooked grin, the ‘sheepish version #5’ as Eleanora Cavendish had once called it.
“Hey. Not much. I’ll check back later.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Healing pretty well,” he replies. “She’ll be up and saving the universe in no time.”
Emma snorts. “Yeah. Annoying, aren’t they? All those universe-savers.”
“Pot, meet kettle,” he says dryly, giving her a hooded look.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Just a mustang ship-driver,” she replies.
He smiles warmly. “And a mother. Don’t forget the most important part.”
She looks away, feeling her eyes prickle. He and the others could always bring those emotions up, whenever she needed them. To remind her of what she had.
“So are you and Chandra going to find more than five minutes to gaze longingly at each other? Maybe fifteen minutes to talk about what you both lost? About how you’re doing?”
He shifts from foot to foot, looking down and watching the motion. “I dunno. Just got a call from Ael'a. The Praetor-Prime is getting antsy. Wants a report on this whole thing.”
She stares at him, sensing a dodge. She reaches up and touches his cheek. “Fifteen minutes. Maybe even a half-hour. You don’t even have to spend any time doing anything but talking. Even if it’s getting acquainted again with each other’s Link-signature.” She grins. “Without even any of the physical manifestations of that.”
She reaches over and kisses him gently. “You both need to heal,” she says gently. “Together, as much as possible.”
Emma turns and leaves him standing there with his own thoughts.
Postlude: Kim
Kim tries to stretch her tortured shoulder, but gives up once she realizes that Mary doesn’t seem to be waking up and moving to another medbed.
Her ex-wife also appears to have drooled on her shoulder. All of the others had left, as Decker hadn’t shown any sign of waking up. She was out of danger, but apparently had no real desire to wake up yet.
Kim knows the feeling. She eases Mary’s head down to a more comfortable position. Mary gives a little moan as she shifts. Kim looks down at her. She sees so much of Decker in her mother, but with some from her father as well. She also sees what she fell in love with almost twenty years ago. Even asleep, Kim can see Mary’s intelligence, her passion—even her loving and caring nature.
It is when she was awake that she had seen what she had fallen out of love with.
There is another moan. She sees Decker stirring on the bed next to where her mothers lie.
She swings her legs over the side of the bed, then gently lays Mary back. She moves over to the bed as Decker’s eyes come open.
She gazes at Kim, then smacks her lips. Kim lifts some ice in a cup and lets her take a couple of chips. Kim, ever the Doctor, looks up at the medbed’s readouts, particularly those dealing with brain function.
There is no evidence of a brain bleed or any type of fracture. Kim checks the orthopedic matrix that covers her right side under the medical gown. The ribs are already starting to mend under the combination of energy waves and medication. The same with the punctured lung, once pressure had been relieved.
She notices that Decker is focused on her. She smiles softly and says, “Hi, Mom.” She looks over at the bed and sees Mary. She rolls her eyes, turning back to Kim. “Please tell me that the two of you didn’t fuck in a sickbay bed on one of my Group’s ships. That you didn’t have ‘makeup sex,’ or whatever the hell you two wanna call it when you fight, one of you feels contrite, you get naked, then you go back to fighting and not talking for awhile.”
Kim feels herself flush bright red. Decker looks over at the bed in question. Her birth-mother is awake, staring at them both.
“I didn’t know that you knew about that.” She looks hard at Kim. “Did you tell her?”
“She didn’t have to,” Decker says. “Sometimes I could hear the two of you after the divorce. I’ve also been to your office on Mars when Joelle wouldn’t let me in there, then I would see Kim doing the walk of shame out of a back passageway.” She smiles. “I love you both. Even though you probably shouldn’t be married to each other. I always appreciate you trying, but I’m okay.”
Kim and Mary look at one another. Mary gets off of the bed and moves over in tandem with Kim. They get on the side opposite her broken ribs and both gently pull her into their arms.
Postlude: Chandra
Chandra looks up as the ready room door slides open. Her breath leaves her as Croft stands there. She looks him up and down; he is now clad as he had been since she had first seen him again, in the Romulan version of a business suit. He doesn’t wear the gold collar that she’d glimpsed under his shirt, she is glad of that, at least.
She doesn’t like to think what that collar means, even when it is an obvious ruse. It would be too easy where he spends his life for someone to make it a reality.
Or worse.
“Hey,” she says. She manages not to wince at the triteness of the greeting.
“Hey, yourself,” he replies.
She gets up from her desk and moves towards him, with only a tiny bit of hesitation. He lifts his arms with the same lack of hesitation and pulls her in tight. Chandra rests her forehead against his, feeling his cooler skin against hers.
At the angle she touches him, she feels some of that coolness against the beginnings of her scar, as well as the three scars on his forehead he has earned since she had first met him. A decade ago, now, or close to it.
Neither of them close their eyes, but keep them open, focused on the other. Just as they had in the past when they had kissed each other. As if trying to prevent the other from disappearing.
As one, they close their eyes. The memories cascade through the Link. Not just the ones that Deltans are known for, but all of them.
Memories of her family, both blood, the one that had first chosen her, and one she had chosen at the Academy. The one she was thinking of choosing now. The new bonds such as the young woman lying in the medbed, surrounded by love and warmth, and those surrounding her.
They share emotions and images of those that they had lost, as well as those they had gained. T'Varilyn enters their thoughts, sharing hers with them both.
As usual when they would share their emotions in this way, any sensation of Croft’s birth family is a blank slate. The emotions locked away.
None of them, after the initial questioning, had pried any further.
They hold each other, letting the warmth flow through them, along with healing.
It’s a start, but neither of them will touch the reason for running away from the other.
Maybe not even one they will admit to themselves.
Postlude: Decker
Decker comes awake, feeling tired from so much damned sleeping. She is ready to get out of the bed and at least move to her own quarters to sleep. Her mother—the one with the MD—had given her an emphatic ‘no.’
She shifts a bit, as she does, she feels the dull ache of her ribs start up again. The thing that she is wearing has given her a great deal of relief as it heals, but hasn’t totally taken the pain away. She doesn’t want to ask for additional pain meds.
As she tries to get comfortable, she notices a man in some sort of civilian clothes seated near her.
She searches for a name to the face. Croft, she thinks. The one who Siobhan and Kaylin had said had helped them escape, then had disappeared after making sure that Chandra was under care after her grievous head wound.
“I’m Jamie Blackthorne,” he says. “Just wanted to check on you before I shipped out.”
“You’re Chandra’s friend,” she says. “They call you Croft.”
He grins, then looks down and to his left. His grin is crooked and decidedly endearing. “They do. You can call me that, too.”
“Shouldn’t I call you Commander?” she asks.
Croft shakes his head. “Nah, I’m kinda past that. Only technically a major.”
She feels her eyebrows rise into her forehead. She winces as the expression impacts one of the cuts on her forehead. She takes in his clothing for the first time. “That’s Romulan clothing,” she says.
He nods after a moment. “Yep. Good eye.”
“I’m assuming you can’t talk about why you’re wearing it,” she says.
“And you would be right,” he replies.
He looks up as a wave of warmth comes over Decker’s body, as well as her heart and her mind. Chandra comes in. She walks over to the bed, then reaches down and kisses Decker.
The ache in her ribs mysteriously vanishes as she returns the kiss. Her eyes focus on Croft. He is smiling softly.
Chandra lifts up, breaking free, then moves over to stand next to Croft. There is about three inches between them, but both of them look like it could be a mile away.
“What the hell is up with you two?” Decker asks.
Both of them start at her words. She figures that either everyone has been talking to them separately, or tiptoeing around the blatant distance.
She didn’t feel like tiptoeing.
Chandra rolls his eyes. “I guess the afflicted has spoken.”
“She always this difficult? Asking difficult questions?” Croft asks.
“Every damn second,” Chandra replies.
Decker realizes what they are doing. She realizes what she might’ve done.
They’re at least speaking. She notices they have moved closer.
Croft checks his chronometer. “I’ve got to go.” He reaches down and kisses Decker on her cheek, then her forehead. “I’ll see you when I see you,” he says.
“Be careful,” she replies.
He turns to Chandra. For a moment, Decker thinks they’re going to shake hands. Instead, they both move and touch lips. The kiss lengthens; Decker wonders if she should time it.
They break apart and Croft is gone.
What is left is an incredible feeling of warmth emanating from her CO.
One that touches Decker’s heart.
Well, mostly her heart.
Postlude: Inspector Torbert
Liz Torbert looks down at the corpse of the woman that she had been seeking for three days. Daina Reese’s—she’d just learned from one of the two people here that her true name was suspected to be D’aina t’Sonrees—face is calm.
“So was this a suicide?” Vice Admiral Jameson McCall asks.
Liz looks over at the medical examiner. The man shakes his head. “I won’t speculate until I can get her on the table, but I’m thinking she bled to death. I think she’s been dead about two days.”
McCall nods absently. “Too bad,” he says. “I think we could’ve learned a great deal from her, about both of her organizations.”
Liz narrows her eyes at him, but says nothing. She has found that in dealing with him and the woman that he had called ‘C’, it was easier to just not ask what the hell they were talking about.
“So do you need the body?” Liz asks.
After a moment, McCall motions to a tall human woman in civilian clothing. “This is Investigator Casey Ambrose of the Starfleet Security. When you’ve completed what you need, she’ll liaise with you.”
Liz smiles at the woman, whose skin is a bit darker than Liz’s own. She is somewhat gratified that McCall had said what he said, instead of ‘she’ll be taking over.”
“Inspector,” Ambrose says.
She looks down at the ME, who looks perplexed.
“Evan?” she asks.
“Uh, I’d like to revise my estimate of time of death,” he says, looking back down at his medical tricorder.
Liz sees McCall narrowing his eyes at the doctor. “What?” she asks. She notices that Ambrose comes over and looks down. She nods.
“You got something, Investigator?” Liz asks.
“Just Casey,” she says absently. “Yeah. I think I’ve seen this before. In the Triangle area.”
“What is it?”
“This is a Romulan, right?”
The doctor looks up and nods.
“Look around the eyes,” Ambrose says.
Doctor Evan Morgan pulls a scanner out and complies. He exhales sharply, then punches a button, raising the magnification on the tricorder.
All of them see the tiny lines under the eyes.
Surgical lines.
“You’ve seen the Romulans do this before?” Liz asks.
“Yeah. Once. A Romulan sleeper agent got extracted. They used another Romulan corpse. I have a sneaking suspicion that they might keep some on hand.” She stops. “This one was complicated, as it had to be surgically altered as a different Romulan surgically altered as a human.”
“Something else,” Ambrose finally says. “I don’t think it was Tal Shiar that did this. Back then, there was a Romulan phrase in a transmission we intercepted. Something we’d never heard associated with them.” She looks up at the sky as if remembering the complete phrase.
“The Way of Absolute Candor.”
Postlude: The Empires
K’hrella walks out into the foggy San Francisco night. She moves to the restaurant and walks through the door. The hostess looks at her suspiciously, especially as she pulls off her hood. “I’m here with the Kla’risse party,” she says. The woman starts, probably at the pronunciation, then relaxes and motions her down the hall, to what looks like a private room.
K’hrella smiles as she sees the decanter of bloodwine sitting on the table. A Deltan woman sits watching her coolly, with one blue eye and one brown. She sits next to her, so both of them can see the door. The woman pours them both a glass of bloodwine; both down it in one swig.
The Deltan doesn’t even blink.
“I didn’t know you appreciated good bloodwine, Curator,” K’hrella observes.
“One must do what one must do,” Issa says. She motions at K’hrella’s clothing. “I didn’t know that you appreciate stylish Earth fashions,” she says.
“Now that we have sniffed each other’s ass,” K’hrella says, “perhaps we can get down to business.”
“So have you taken care of the Federation’s missing Romulan problem?” Issa asks.
“No. We didn’t actually. We were closing in, but we stood down when you found the body.”
“Any ideas?”
“The Tal Shiar’s reach is long, but I’m not sure it’s that long. I think problems of the Federation’s own probably have extracted her.”
“She’ll be no good to that problem any more. Unless she undergoes more surgery.”
K’hrella keeps her expression even. Why can’t you just say their name? she think. Call them what they are.
Section 31.
“Is there anyone else that you think? What about this group of warrior nuns? The Qowat Milat,” Issa asks.
“I’m not familiar with them,” K’hrella says. The lie rolls easily off of her tongue.
Issa doesn’t seem to notice. They sit there for several moments.
“I guess the Feds are cleaning up their problem?” K’hrella asks.
“Some of it. There’s still some work to do.” She smiles and touches K’hrella’s hands with her own. “You’re welcome to come through the back door,” she says.
“Maybe in a bit,” she says.
Issa gets up, leaving K’hrella with her thoughts.
She erects a compartmentalization field, then opens her comms.
K’hrella dips her head at the holo of the woman flickering on the table.
“My Chancellor,” she says.
Azetbur of the House of Gorkon gazes at her.
“Will we be able to complete our project on time?” Azetbur asks.
K’hrell smiles. “I believe we can. The rebels have already shown their hands. Our agent on Leelix will be initiating the next phase.”
Azetbur nods, then lets herself smile. “Come home, Senior Force leader. Kerla and I miss you.”
“When it is done.”
K’hrell closes her comm, then gets up to follow the Deltan.
Postlude: Mike Walsh
Vice Admiral Mike Walsh turns in his chair as the door to his flag bridge slides open. His flag lieutenant walks in, followed by Saavik.
Saavik gazes at him evenly, standing at attention. He motions her to sit, then turns to the other staffers working at their stations. “Clear the bridge,” he says.
The flag lieutenant remains, positioning himself at the door.
He sees Saavik’s mobile eyebrow rises, but otherwise she is calm, as he’d thought she’d be. “I’m being relieved,” he says. Saavik’s eyebrows knit together at that, but she says nothing for a moment.
“Is this a good thing, or a bad thing, Admiral?”
He smiles tightly. “That remains to be seen, Commander. I have a question to ask you. Are you prepared to take over one of the task force vessels?”
He finally achieves being able to surprise her with the unanticipated. It spreads over her features, but just as quickly is gone. “If so ordered,” she says. “Which one?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that, Saavik. Not yet, at least.”
Mike watches her digest this. He glances over at the holo of Michaela—Morgan as she preferred to be called—on the bulkhead below the viewport that his chair is positioned in front of.
“May I ask what your assignment is to be, Admiral?”
He exhales and looks at his impassive aide, before returning to look Saavik squarely in the eye. “Chief of Special Operations.”
The eyebrow goes up again. “Congratulations, Admiral. Is that permanent?”
“As permanent as anything can be.”
“I understand that will come with a promotion to full Admiral,” she says.
“Yeah. God help me.”
Her mouth quirks up. “I’m sure that any deity will gladly assist you,” she says dryly. “So why will I be taking over a starship?”
“Because there are things afoot, Saavik. Things that could either bring down Starfleet, or ensure a bright future.”
He can see that she is about to ask another question, but they are both distracted by a sound at the door.
The door explodes inward. His aide, Blankenship, is caught in the blast. Shapes dressed in Starfleet security armor start to enter the room. Walsh is up, checking on the flag lieutenant.
Saavik moves towards the nearest security guard as his phaser moves downward to cover the Admiral. Mike sees his finger tighten on the trigger.
The phaser fires, just as Saavik shoves Mike out of the way. She goes down, a grievous wound on her left side, just above her waist.
Stivek walks in with other security guards. He looks dispassionately at Saavik’s crumpled form, then looks back up at Mike.
“That is unfortunate.” He looks at the security officer. “I instructed you that phasers should be set on stun.”
He looks at another guard, who nods. He lifts his phaser and fires.
The guard dissolves, screaming in pain, in spite of his Vulcan heritage.
“Now, Admiral. Let us discuss your future. Perhaps we can come to an accommodation. Section 31 is always looking for new assets.”
Another door opens. Mike can just see the other members of his staff kneeling, their hands on their heads.
The Captain looks back at Saavik. “Take Commander Saavik to the nearest airlock,” he says. “She is of no use to me.”
Mike Walsh sees his daughter’s face as Saavik is lifted by two guards. He isn’t sure that he’ll ever see Michaela again.