Chapter Text
Part One (Cont'd)
The journey to Admiral Jenner’s office had not taken long.
That was mostly thanks to a speedy turbolift ride all the way up to the top of the starbase module they had landed by, but also thanks to the two security officers literally marching them along through any walking phases of the trip.
Since they had arrived at their destination, the reason for the haste in their journey had become less apparent, given that the admiral was clearly happy to keep them waiting. For half an hour and counting.
They had been deposited in a plush waiting area, filled with a selection of comfortable furniture and staffed by a single Bajoran ensign working diligently behind a warm mahogany reception desk. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows curved around the outer edge of the room, affording spectacular views across the planet’s surface.
Not that Natasha was paying a great deal of attention to the view. She had uncomfortably perched herself on the edge of one of the plush sofas, feeling deeply out of place. The scuffed overalls she wore, a pair she had borrowed from Denella, were a million miles away from the Starfleet-spec surroundings. Although, as she again considered the uniforms she had seen everywhere on their trip up here, she couldn’t help but think that she’d feel equally out of place wearing one of those right now. Even back amongst the familiar surroundings of a Federation facility.
As she contemplated her situation, and tried to avoid thinking about the face of the ensign in the corridor, she couldn’t help but wonder what Jirel thought he was doing.
“Yeah, like I said, he’s definitely expecting me.”
The Trill casually leaned on the reception desk, trying to look as charming as possible despite the stern look he was getting from the ensign on the other side.
“Again, if you would take a seat, sir,” the young Bajoran replied with disdain, failing to remove every layer of sarcasm from the word ‘sir’ as she addressed the scruffy Trill, “I’ll let you know as soon as Admiral Jenner is available.”
Apparently unperturbed by her tone, Jirel kept the charm dialled up. “Listen, Ensign…?” he let the word hang with a hopeful smile.
“Lenaris,” she sighed eventually, “Ensign Lenaris Kendra.”
“Listen, Kendra,” Jirel continued, deliberately dropping the formalities and going straight for the Bajoran’s first name, “Me and Admiral Jenner go way back, and he has this thing he likes to do to mess me around, y’know? He likes to keep me—keep us, in this case, waiting out here.”
He gestured back to Natasha, who didn’t look especially unhappy to be kept waiting.
“And it’s hilarious, obviously. A really great bit. But today, I’m kinda busy. So, we can just skip all this messing around and—”
“Admiral Jenner is currently on a diplomatic call with the Tholian ambassador,” Ensign Lenaris explained patiently, “Once he has concluded their discussions, he will see both of you. I assure you that there’s no…messing around.”
Jirel nodded knowingly, glancing down at the desk in front of her and spying the brushed metal comms panel. “Yeah, right. That’s the sort of thing he says when he knows I’m here.”
“Or…when he’s on a diplomatic call with the Tholian ambassador,” Lenaris replied, in a tone of voice that she usually reserved for subspace calls to her bratty five year old nephew back on Bajor.
“Right, right. I like it, you’re really going with this, aren’t you?” he said, wagging his finger at her before looking over her shoulder and pointing at something, “Hey, so, is that replicator for general use, or…?”
Despite it being one of the oldest tricks in the book, Ensign Lenaris naively turned to look at the replicator in question, allowing Jirel a free moment to jab his finger down onto the comms panel. By the time she swivelled back round and realised what he had done, he was already speaking.
“Hey, Bryce, nice try with that Tholian thing, but next time you might wanna—”
“Jirel, get off this damn channel!”
The admiral’s voice came back with a level of anger that suggested either he was committing to the bit about the Tholians with far more relish than a Stafleet admiral necessarily should be doing while on duty, or that Jirel had miscalculated the situation somewhat.
The ashen-faced look on Ensign Lenaris’s face rather gave away the answer to that one.
* * * * *
A few moments later, Lenaris was being comforted by Admiral Jenner himself in the entrance to his office.
“Again, sir, I am so sorry,” the Bajoran babbled through reddened eyes, “I had no idea he would—It won’t happen again, sir, and I fully accept the consequences of—”
“Don’t worry, Ensign,” Jenner replied as calmly as he could manage, “You’re not the first secretary of mine to fall foul of Jirel’s…persistence. Just communicate my apologies to Ambassador Losaran and his people, and make sure we send them a little something as well.”
“Yes sir,” Lenaris nodded, considering this for a moment, then adding, “Anything in particular, sir?”
“Whatever you normally get an eight foot tall crystalline being to say sorry. Improvise.”
Lenaris nodded and exited the office, still at an understandable loss as to exactly what she was supposed to send. Admiral Jenner whirled around to stare across at the two other figures in the room.
In front of the expansive wraparound desk that dominated the lavish office that befit the commander of a starbase, Natasha had been standing to attention for so long that she was worried she was about to sprain something. She also couldn’t help but feel vaguely ridiculous being so formal in her current attire. But still, even if she was still sure her future didn’t belong in Starfleet, she was determined to uphold protocol for the time being. Even if it meant standing to attention in baggy overalls.
To her right, Jirel was clearly free from any such hangups. If she had been shocked by his behaviour in the reception area, she was doubly shocked when the Trill turned to one of the quadrant’s most decorated officers and held his arms out for a hug.
If it was meant to be a disarming tactic, the admiral definitely didn’t take it that way.
“Two months, Jirel,” he fired out, as he stalked across his rich burgundy carpet to his desk, “Two months I’ve been working on the Tholians. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get one of their delegations around a negotiating table?”
“Cos of all the legs, right?” Jirel offered.
As a disarming tactic, that worked even less well than the offer of a hug. Jenner continued to rant at him as he took a seat behind his desk.
Bryce Jenner himself was a stout man, with short greying hair and brilliant blue eyes. Although he had aged, Natasha knew that his reputation was surpassed by few in the fleet. His time in command of the USS Firebrand was the stuff of legend. As, it had to be said, was his temper.
“You show up five days late,” he barked at the Trill, “You hand my engineers a repair list the length of a Sovereign-class refit, and then you go and pull a stunt like that? Seriously, Jirel, next time I get a message from my exec that we’ve got every phaser bank on this base trained on your little ship, I’m not gonna tell them to hold their fire.”
Jirel’s arms flopped down to his sides, conceding defeat on the chance of a hug. “Ok, honestly, I thought the Tholian ambassador thing was a—”
“Well, it wasn’t.”
The admiral wrung his hands together, trying to calm himself down.
“Look, this little arrangement is getting complicated enough as it is. You met the security detail, I assume? There’s a lot of protocol to follow when a Starfleet admiral invites someone like you to his office these days. Everything gets logged, questions have to be answered, it’s a pain in the ass. So when I give your crew these little errands to run, the least I expect is that you take it seriously.”
“Ah, ok,” Jirel said, gesturing to Natasha, “We did take it seriously this time. And here she is.”
Jenner looked over at Natasha, almost for the first time since she had walked into the office. Seeing her standing to attention, his mood immediately softened. “Lieutenant Kinsen,” he said apologetically, gesturing for her to stand at ease, an offer which she readily accepted, “I am so sorry for all this distraction. Welcome home.”
“Thank you sir,” she replied, her voice sounding oddly small in the expanse of his office.
“I can’t tell you how happy we all were to hear that someone survived out there,” he said, his tone offering her nothing but kindness that she felt she didn’t deserve, “Must’ve been hell.”
She stifled her reaction to the emotions that bubbled to the surface at the admiral’s words. Guilt, pain, anger, sadness, all mixed together.
“It’s…not something I’ll ever forget,” she managed eventually.
Behind the desk, the grey haired admiral studied her face in silence, and for a moment she was worried that he had already seen through her facade. Eventually, he nodded and smiled. “Well, if you’re up to it, you’ll be debriefed tomorrow. For now, you’ve been assigned quarters here on the base. Please, get some rest.”
She knew there was precious little chance of that, given the nightmares that had haunted her over the last few months. But she nodded graciously. “Thank you, sir.”
“Any chance I can get in on that?” Jirel chimed in from her side, “You’ve gotta have more than one spare set of quarters around here.”
Jenner sighed and turned back to the Trill, all of his kindness evaporating. “You’re getting your repairs,” he grunted, “As many of them as I can sign off, anyway. This is an active Federation starbase, you know. Not your own personal shipyard.”
“Yeah, but—”
“You want your own quarters? You know where the damn Academy is.”
Natasha was more than a little surprised to see that this shut Jirel up immediately. Partly because she had been starting to think that such a thing wasn’t possible, and partly because he genuinely looked hurt by it. Before she could consider this any further, the door chime to the office rang. Jenner turned back to her and smiled.
“One more thing, Lieutenant. News that you survived travelled fast through the fleet, and there’s someone who’s been desperate to see you. Enter!”
As he barked out the command, Natasha turned to see the doors part and a face from her past walk in. The dark-skinned man wore a Starfleet science uniform, with three pips affixed to the collar. Jirel immediately noticed that Natasha’s mouth had dropped open in shock. He also noticed how the newcomer’s face instantly creased into a delighted smile as he made a beeline for her, gripping her in a tight hug, which she reciprocated.
It was a hug that went on for long enough to make Jirel feel distinctly uncomfortable. For reasons that he didn’t entirely want to admit to himself. It was also a hug that only stopped after the Trill’s second awkward cough was loud enough to register with both parties.
“Hey,” the Trill offered weakly, “It’s just—Y’know, other people in the room, here.”
The newcomer looked slightly contrite as he acknowledged the others. Natasha, for her part, still looked to be in a mild state of shock.
“Sorry,” he offered with a shrug, “But it’s not every day your wife comes back from the dead.”
If Natasha’s face had been a picture of shock, it had nothing on Jirel’s.