Star Trek: Theurgy

Star Trek: Theurgy | Season 2 => Episode 01: Advent of War => Topic started by: stardust on September 28, 2021, 11:56:23 AM

Title: EPI: S [D03|1930] Two Moons
Post by: stardust on September 28, 2021, 11:56:23 AM
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford ( | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Swift

As Samantha had descended from the keep of King Arthur's realm, leaving the knights of the round table behind, to venture into the caverns beneath the high castle, she couldn't help but feel the comforting, yet hurtful ping of dark mementos spring to live as she set foot into the busy sickbay. Granted, it was not the exact same place, but rather a few decks down, and it wasn't by far as busy, as when the Spearhead Lounge had just gone up in flames, days prior. It still felt as if with the memory came the lingering scent of ash and cinder, still in the cracks and corners of the ship's veneers. Be it from that specific instance, or any of the ones that came after, where sparks and smoke filled the corridors. The main patient's ward was busy, yet not turbulent. Everyone knew what they had to do and were under no pressure to do so more swiftly than what was required by medical ethics. No omnipotent force pummeling down on the world around them, but rather a momentary sense of calm creeping in, that one could only appreciate in the aftermath of a grand storm.

Following the almost ethereal form of a surgeon in white garbs, as the fabric flowed through the air like liquid, the blonde's azure retinas focused in on the far side eventually. There, sitting on the last bio-bed, awoken from the dead, it seemed ... was Andrew Fisher. And it was in that moment that it felt like past and present were converging in this very instance. Time slowing down to a crawl as it fought to entangle the concoction of memories and impressions, what was real and what wasn't. Thuds of ethereal mechanisms in her chest pacing to an almost halt, as the sentiment stretched into oblivion. Even though conscious design had drawn her to this very moment in time, this very place, it belied a far deeper connection, which seemed to transcend such mortal considerations, pulling her back like an elastic tether through space and time, into reality.

It was as their eyes met, sage falling upon frozen diamonds, that the nature of said tether became more clear, as it manifested physically in their longing glances. A moment that had been pushed off in favor of protocol and duty, to the very precipice of what was humanly bearable. There had never been a true sense of being in the now, whenever Sam's visited a sickbay post Dominion War. When every bed and every console had become synonymous with loss and despair. But now, many years later, there was a golden glimmer of hope that such daemons could be replaced with the angels of opportunity and fortune, which Andrew seemed to be rather adept in tricking. The man that seemed to have more lives than a Caitian. The man that seemingly would always come out of any situation unscathed, because some kind of grander scheme was not done with him yet. For better or worse.

Passing the threshold between them, across the vast ward, the past was blown from the woman's slender physique by the sheer means of her momentum. Falling off her shoulders like autumn leaves, as a gentle smile of resolution dawned on those plump rose petals of hers. After all the new day of the present dawned on her and with it the revelation that this was different. Different from searching every sickbay for her husband, after the last battle of the war had ended. Different from finding him after the bombing of the Spearhead Lounge. Because by now the man's persistence had manifested itself as a reassuring pillar in the woman's life. A rock in the stormy seas they all had to navigate. And quintessentially so, they were for each other, it seemed. And if there was even just the slightest hope that death let Drew slip off his shovel so he could find salvation before the eternal realm, then it was her privilege to help him do that. An absolution for the both of them.

"We really have to stop meeting like that." Samantha mused softly, slipping into the void between his bed and the next. Moving one hand to gently cup his jaws, plush lips placed an almost whispered kiss on the furrowed pleads of his forehead. Lingering there a little more than she had intended, soaking in the casual fragrance of comfort and security. No matter how obscured it was by cinder and antiseptics. Letting her hand brush through the thick of his hair, before resting it into the crook of his neck, dainty fingertips dancing across the skin on the back, for the first moment she let herself walk through the succession of events since they had come back.

When she'd been so preoccupied by getting the diplomatic data and away team debriefed, that she had not noticed Andrew being transported away until the first aid team and his hover cot had almost vanished through the shuttle bay doors. Then Yeoman Henshaw had ordered all senior staff to the bridge. And the sentiment of going back to that moment where it all began was postponed in favor of duty. It was until the wildfire had been ignited once more with the spark of his sage orbs.

And now, at this point, it felt like it would be hard to put it out again.
Title: Re: EPI: S [D03|1930] Two Moons
Post by: Swift on October 02, 2021, 10:43:46 PM
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher ( | Intensive Care Unit | Main Sickbay ( | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @stardust

About to write a private communique to Lieutenant Alana Pierce, the Officer he'd select to serve as his new second, and who he'd intended to rely upon over the course of the next twenty-four hours while he was laid up in sickbay, Fisher's gaze shifted away from the PADD held in his hands to a figure who'd only an instant earlier stepped into the Intensive Care Unit.

"Sam." The whispering of her name barely audible as it had escaped his lips more as an exhale, than an actual spoken word.

Immediately, a litany of thoughts and emotions surged forth from the periphery of his mind and the depths of his subconscious, like an overwhelmed storm levy that had given into inevitability. Was she real? Was any of this real? Where had Hurley gone? Questions besieged and battered his conscious thinking, daring him to loosen the tenuous grasp of reality he'd managed, so that he might be swept away in a torrent of absolute confusion, floundering into an abyssal he'd might never re-emerge from. Yet when his eyes found those of azure, any lingering doubt as to the veracity of the moment seemed to fade; this was real, and more importantly, she was real. The relief of knowing this fundamental was enormous, and suddenly the deluge that had befallen him seemed only to ease his mind, rather than further confound, and contort it. Assuaged of his doubts, at least for the moment, he set the PADD face down on the bio-bed beside him and began to shift his position so that he might sit in a more upright position for her approach, and their eventual coalescence. Sure enough, the star he'd imagined during their night of passion flared into brilliance in the back of his mind as she finally stood beside him, and the tenderness of her lips touched his forehead.

Exhaling deeply, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was at ease once more.

As before, this incredible woman had acted as an anchor for him, keeping him at bay amidst the veritable hurricane of fate which seemed to batter and bruise him at every possible turn. Her steadfastness in the face of her own adversity, never waning as she had not only remained poised during the siege of Theurgy but had also coordinated and overseen the mission to rescue his unfortunate hide. Whereas others might have faltered under such a barrage, their ability to forge ahead so stoically having been compromised, she had seemed to be beyond such reproach. Fisher wondered for the faintest of moments, if that trait of hers was due in part of her upbringing, so surrounded by a family of prominent Federation Diplomats, or rather her Vulcan heritage peaking through; or both. Regardless, he had so quickly come to understand that she was as unflappable as any he'd ever before met, and as long as she was in his life, he could trust in her to tether him to a better aspect of who he was, and he would always strive to be the man she'd seemingly come to admire, whoever that might have well been.

"Yeah. There are better ways to appease my addiction for the smell of Sickbay antiseptic." He mused, a broad teasing smile crossing his face, the swollenness of which had finally come down, thanks to some cursory attention given him by the Medical staff so far.

An odd realization soon came to Fisher as he let his head rest gently against a comforting forearm, the scruff of his gradually regrowing facial hair brushing gently against the back of her wrist as he almost nuzzled into her; while he knew that it was important to remain actively cognizant of where he was, and to be locked in the here and now, he so desperately wanted to let himself go and be washed away into the sea that was her blue gaze. The thought however, served as a stark reminder of how dangerously he was perched upon a precipice of sanity. After all, Hurley had been there just a few scant seconds earlier, and he could still detect the stinging scent of burnt tobacco on the inside of his nostrils, tainting the lovely aroma of his pleasant and very real companion. "I guess I owe you something of an apology." Deflecting away from the very real consequences he was currently faced with. It was obvious he wanted to steer clear of any of the important aspects of his capture and subsequent interrogation. "I guess I also owe you a thanks too, for the whole, rescue thing. Should make a list of all the things I owe you for now that I think about it." He nodded in an over-the-top affirmation, narrowing eyelids around sage orbs as he glared at her teasingly.

"Commander. Commander." Announced a Nurse as she inched closer, intruding upon their moment for just an instant to get an updated reading from the bio scanner before she spun round on heel and politely left them be.

"They uh, have to do some kind of surgical repair for my ribs and lung." He began to explain. "Same side as the piece of shrapnel from the other day; right side of me is starting to feel neglected." His left hand touched gingerly against that side of his exposed abdomen, where there was an obvious hint of bruising from the 'treatment' he'd received from his Klingon friends. "Doesn't hurt too bad, now." There was an obvious sentiment of male bravado not so well hidden in his voice, all part of that charm he turned on whenever Sam was around. Lifting his head slightly as if to allude to Rutherford's own untreated injury, he had noticed the small bit of dried crimson that hugged at the periphery of her forehead when she drew nearer. "Maybe you should get that checked on while you're here. Give them something serious to take care of. I think they're starting to get a little bored with me." Winking wryly, he winced as a sudden pang sprang up throughout his abdomen; a muscle spasm that came and went with some regularity and which was starting to really grate on his nerves.

"Mmmh-mmmh... yeah, she's nice alright."

Blinking, Fisher's attention shifted as he caught sight of Hurley standing at the end of his bio-bed, lit cigarette in his lips, and a disgusting look in his face as he looked Rutherford up and down as though she were a piece of meat. Fists clenched tightly as the spy took a deep breath, trying to dispel what he was seeing, and latch back onto the reality he had been in. Realizing how obvious his demeanor had suddenly changed, he shuffled uncomfortably in bed and cleared his throat in an attempt to further deflect attention. "I caught the Captain's discussion with Martok and the Oneida. Was nice to see the kid reunited with his Grandfather." At the same time, Hurley took a few steps over to stand beside where Sam stood in actuality, the gaze of his former mentor having returned to Fisher again. The sight pricked at the back of his neck, causing an obvious twitch at his temple as he fought the urge to yell at the hallucination. "Has your department started in on an approach for Donatra and her supporters yet?" Genuinely, this was one of the threads he'd wanted to pull on with Rutherford, for obvious reasons, but it likely would have been clairvoyant to the Chief Diplomat what Fisher was doing at this point.

"Oh come on, introduce us already! She'll love me!"

Ignoring Hurley was getting difficult; the floodwaters threatening him and his slight grasp on sanity, but Fisher refused to give up on the idea that eventually the manifestations would dissipate like a receding tide when the last of the drug had been cleared from his system. It was just a matter of time. He was totally convinced of it, and with Sam here and now he knew the struggle to ignore that which threatened his grasp of reality would be lessened.
Title: Re: EPI: S [D03|1930] Two Moons
Post by: stardust on October 03, 2021, 08:34:08 PM
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford ( | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Swift

The true irony of strength, in its essence, was that it wasn't born from the absence of fear, but rather an acceptance over things that could not be changed. Over one's own limitations and mortality, and going on despite of it, rather than in absence of it. Just like light could not exist without darkness, strength could not exist without the matching fear to support it. Something that was very much true for the blonde diplomat, whose fortitude had grown in equal measure to her fear. So, one could surmise from how strong she seemed, on the outside, how much trepidation and insecurity there was to warrant such strength. An equilibrium held in check in no small part thanks to her Vulcan upbringing, heritage and teachings. Which acted as a catalyst, to level the scales of power, within her slender frame. A mechanism that threatened to fall out of balance, whenever she touched Andrew's body, triggering a biochemical reaction, that equaled a wrench being thrown into a well-oiled machine. Which both calmed and worried her. But the submission seemed to win more and more often than not, which was an alarming trend, had her conscience not gone down with the tantalizing fog of ignorance as well, that challenged her free will whenever he was around.

Watching his pate dip into the soft dune of her warming arm, like a weary traveler, Samantha let her thumb flick up through the scruff on his chin, before delicately tracing the precipice of his lips, as her wrist ever so smoothly turned in his possessive ministrations. A distinct discharge of protons prevalent between the fine ridges in her fingertip, where her nervous system terminated, and the plush delicateness of his own beginning. A curious sensation deepening, as a measure of the man's emotional state seemed to be come ore into focus than it had been seconds prior. A notion, heralding back to the night of their reticence's undoing, when they fused into one sentiment of ethereal bliss. Which only now, under the scrutiny of logical thought, seemed as more than just a poetic memento, symbolic of their congruous chemistry. Calling more from a memory of shared conscience, than mutual sympathies, which the commander had experienced only once or twice before.

"I am sure they could give you some rubbing-alcohol to go." Samantha replied coyly, the faint glow of rouge playing at her cheeks like the violets and orange hues across the sky of a rising day. All the while her shoulders delicately shimmied left and right, as her pate dipped with plump lips curved mischievously, belying the audacity of her thoughts behind them. A small indecency that quickly succumbed to the professionalism of her grander nature, yet it would forever be a notch carved into the brimstone of time. A fleeting glimmer of devotion. A similar notion of affection and rapture still prevalent, albeit in a more comely manner, overcasting the first indications of a shadow looming, in the connection they shared through tender touch. So, all that remained on the forefront of her attention, was how gingerly he venerated her extended hand, as if it was the very token of his salvation. Though a brief a notion of confusion, washed over her radiant features, at the mentions of an apology, her mind did not immediately hone in on what that would've pertained to. He owed her nothing.

The way Andrew worded his subsequent exculpation, however, brought back the whisper of amusement, to her rosy petals, which made her icy diamonds pop like sparkles in the sea. "Worse things to imagine than your forever devotion." She whispered quietly, not faltering in her unwavering attention as the insipid nurse intervened as if she was here to sell the daily newspaper. Though it did require a good measure of that good old Vulcan self-control. She merely nodded, as he continued, letting her hand fall together with his, to the supple dunes of his cozy blanket, where she could idly stroke the back of his with her delicate thumb. Keeping that spark alive, that tied them together so vividly, like a psychedelic drug. "I am sure you'll be as good as new." Sam replied confidently shaking back a wave of golden strands that tenderly curled down the side of her peach cheek, fine lines appearing as if out of thin air, beneath her blue eyes, just for a second, as plump lips inched upward just a little more. Letting his concern wash over her with a subtle shake of her head, sending curly tresses into an uproar, there was no way she'd even just take as much as an analgesic ointment away from his recovery.

Er face, however, froze in motion ever so gently, as she heard a voice that didn't seem to have left his lips. It was, however, coming distinctly from the man's direction, yet so quietly she couldn't tell if it had been his voice. The ocean in her eyes dying down to a frozen plane for a moment, broken up by frostwork of concern. "Who is?" she asked quietly, voice barely but a raspy whisper, as her blue eyes moved around the immediate pasture of their being. Brows inching closer ever so slightly, over the sculpted bridge of her nose, dipping alabaster skin into vague turmoil. Catching the flicker of his eyelids, as dark lashes cleared away some semblance of illusion, sage eyes had shifted to the end of Andrew's bio-bed. Following the notion with her own crystal orbs, she could discern naught but a faint feeling of dread, manifesting in the approximate vicinity. Looking back at the man with concern marking her flowery features, the diplomats mind staggering over the ensuing attempts at diversion, all the while trying to keep a stable connection with the more covert subtones of his aura.

And then she stumbled, falling over the obstacles he had laid out for her, in the shape of diverging sentiments. Her mind wrapping around the ideas posed, weighed by the added gravity of duty, that compelled her to pursue this avenue first. "Yeah, of course." The diplomat replied momentarily, before her thought process had fully caught up to the sudden shift in momentum. "I mean, no ... I have a department debrief in an hour." The blonde instantly corrected, shaking her head with abject confusion. Something had stirred in her mind, and it was hard to get back to the one true path. Then there it was again, that cutting whisper, making her body shiver with a sudden sense of gloom. A voice that was so distinct from Andrew's warm baritone, yet no logical avenue would allow a different rationale that it was indeed the handsome intelligence chief. "Who are you talking to?" she queried in gentle contempt, that invaded her own perception like poison. Pulling her hand back as if through a subconscious need, she rubbed the extent of it into her other, as if she had been stung by the thorn of a cursed rose. Yet the haze like slumber lifted, after the deed, instead of intensifying. Only proving that fairy tales weren't always true.
Title: Re: EPI: S [D03|1930] Two Moons
Post by: Swift on October 13, 2021, 07:16:13 AM
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher ( | Intensive Care Unit | Main Sickbay ( | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @stardust

Fisher's assumption that time would lead to silence in regard to Hurley and the other recurring hallucinations he'd had been experience, was one born purely of a personal desperation rather than any kind of advisement made by members of Theurgy's medical staff. There had in fact been no advisement at all regarding the things he was seeing, due to his not having divulged their existence to anyone; as far as all of the Doctors and Nurses knew, Fisher's ailments were entirely of the physical kind. Sure, they knew he'd been administered some kind of an advanced chemical agent geared toward interrogation, but on all neuro-scans that they had conducted so far, nothing had seemed to be overtly out of order. It was a dangerous thing to keep such an admission to himself, but Fisher had little to no interest in revealing the potential damage done to his psyche, as he knew it would mean an extended stay from duty, or worse. It also would've meant an all but mandatory session sitting opposite a Counseling Officer, and there were seldom few people Fisher disliked more than them. The thought of being ordered to put the whole of his thoughts and emotions on a proverbial slab to be dissected by Commander Hathev was about as alluring as an evening spent under the guide and care of his Klingon captors, and he might well have legitimately opted for the latter over the former.

"Would be nice to finally add some hint of a personal touch to my quarters." He followed in on her coy reply, the muscles, and tendons in his face tensioning in just the right way as the already broad grin across his face broadened further.

No, it was bad enough that he'd be under constant medical supervision and observation for the foreseeable future, deprived of the chance to coordinate and lead his department in advance of Theurgy's next move to meet with Donatra and her allies. It was safe to say, Fisher was itching at the opportunity due to his recent and extended past involved with the Romulan Star Empire and their internal matters of state. All of that would technically need to wait for him to be given the okay to return to active duty. Or at least, some of it would. If anyone thought he'd be laid up in Sickbay without any say or input in the matter of overseeing the running of his Department, they had another thing coming. He would acquiesce to the orders of his superiors, within reason, but he absolutely would not allow his Operation to suffer because of a few broken ribs and a mildly annoying case of overactive memories. That was what he was trying to convince himself they were, in the sincere hope that it might hasten their eventual disappearance.

If it was indeed an eventuality. He hoped.

"More like you're making an ass out of you and me." Hurley interjected, the burning cigarette bobbling up and down as it was still perched at the corner of his lips as he spoke. Fisher chose to continue to ignore him, though it didn't seem to make much of a difference in said hallucinations persistence, or the annoyingly smug look in his face.

And then there was Sam, who he was feeling a stronger connection and dependence to with each passing interaction, and whom he knew would invariably want to know more of his thoughts and feelings as they grew closer. To an extent the idea scared him, as he worried that he'd in turn scare her off if she got to better understand him on a deeper level too hastily. Thus far, they had certainly shared and professed an interest in one another that had gone beyond mere physical attraction, and Fisher had already settled into a modest level of emotional comfort whenever she was with him. But at the same time, he knew it would've been entirely unfair of himself to hide from her who he was, and what he thought. He'd owed her that much, and end some given all that she had done for him in their short time together. But if he was unwilling to share the knowledge of his current predicament with Doctors and Nurses, did it really make any sense for him to share it with her? What would her reaction to such a revelation mean, and how would it affect his status within her mind? Tilting the pate of his head slightly in opposition of her, so that he might better peer up into those azure pools of hers, the sway of his internal debate was dipping in her favor.

"Forever devotion? Doesn't sound too bad at all." Sensing and seizing on an opportunity to turn on the playful charm he tended to exude, Fisher deliberately shifted the tone of his voice to a flirtatiously teasing one, while a deft hand stealthily slipped down to gently pinch at her thigh. Were he in better physical condition, he imagined he might've acted on the mounting base need he felt when in Sam's presence.

"Hopefully sooner rather than later." He winked.

Blinking as the pleasant moment made an odd turn, Sam reacting to something that wasn't there, at least not for her, Fisher's brow furrowed in joint confusion, all while the shit-eating grin on the persistently annoying man he actually could see intensified. A moment passed, and while a part of him considered asking her for an explanation, Fisher decided to just let it pass as little more than an isolated mistake, distraction, or loss of concentration on her part. After all, it had been just as taxing, if not more so for Sam over the course of the previous twenty-four hours, and it was entirely reasonable if she'd thought she heard something that simply wasn't there. Maybe she needed rest as much as he did. Whatever it was, it didn't seem of paramount importance to investigate. Pressing on, he'd asked her about the preparations her Department was likely making, and whether or not she'd had a chance to meet with them. Indeed he wanted to know what she was planning, because they would have to coordinate their efforts closely, just as they had during the rescue of M'Ven, even if that had been somewhat cobbled together on the fly. Once more though, Fisher ignored Hurley as he tauntingly plead for himself to be introduced. Instead he nodded in acknowledgement of her apparent scheduled meeting, the idea inspiring him to consider scheduling one of his own with the remainder of his department and the new people that would be picking up vital roles therein.

He would have to reach out to Lieutenant Pierce, and from the sound of it Lieutenant Amarik too, since she was supposed to also be assigned-- Wait a second, was she talking to him?

"What?" he asked her aloud, seemingly as confused as she was.

"Uhh-ohh! She's just as crazy as you are, bud!" Hurley piped up, narrowing his eyes as he took a step closer to her, his face quite literally an inch or so from hers, and evidently examining her for something. "Yeah. That's what you get whenever you mix in any of that pointy-eared logician DNA." Bringing a hand to his lips to retrieve the burning cigarette, he disrespectfully exhaled smoke right into Sam's face, and the thought near boiled Fisher's blood. "Guess her old man added one drop too many during the crafting process." As Fisher's fists clenched again, knuckles popping quite audibly so as he did, the manifestation of Hurley turned his attention back to him. "Unless your crazy is contagious, and she caught it just by being near you." Recoiling away in another mocking motion, Hurley checked his hands for cleanliness. "I didn't touch you, did I?" The seriousness in his voice betrayed by a chortle of laughter that escaped him a second later. "Nah! I'm just fucking with you!" Subconsciously Fisher's mind was trying to make sense of his and her shared confusion, an explanation of which, however haphazard it might well have been, was relayed to him via his hallucination, though understandably so, he was reticent to believe it. There was no way, that Sam was hearing Hurley, that is, if she was really Sam and not another lifelike manifestation of his mind.

His heart stopped for a moment in reaction to the thought that he might have mistaken a fake for the real thing, and soon after a wave of panic began to hit him, his vitals visibly spiking on the monitor behind his head on the monitor.

"Sam?" he swallowed hard, sitting up straighter in his bed, very clearly worried.

"You're... you're not real?" he asked.

OOC: Tagging writer's who's characters were also mentioned: @P.C. Haring @Pierce @BipSpoon
Title: Re: EPI: S [D03|1930] Two Moons
Post by: stardust on October 25, 2021, 08:58:06 PM
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford ( | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Swift

Upon the tapestry of Andrew's countenance, within the delicate wrinkles that spread like cracks on oil paint, to signify the years and years of wear and tear, taking its toll on the masterpiece, every line adding meaning and character, Samantha could see the inner discord that was so delineative to his very being. But she could also feel it beneath the cover, like a pulsating ripple through the framework of molecules, giving his spirit a shape and form as it manifested in this reality. On the surface, the struggle between an expression of joy and relief, fighting the pain it caused, in correlation with his physical ailments. The willful movements to remain closer with her, feel her tender skin, at the expense of his ribs and bruises aching, like the bulkheads of an old battleship, victoriously turning into harbor after a fierce fight. But also, upon a torn soul, courageously longing for that sense of home and comfort, even across the dark chasm that threatened to swallow everyone daring to cross it. Yet not all these battles decided in his favor, she also surmised. Though as of late, the winning streak seemed to be almost foreshadowing a bitter end, if one were to have an entirely pessimistic outlook on it. Which wasn't too hard for someone who had stood at the precipice of eternal bliss, when the world crumbled away, in one sudden flash.

It was a harsh reality of both their pasts, like a force of nature binding them together, as two moons circling the same planet. And even as that world slowly faded into oblivion, sending them into the abyss of space, the same force that tied them to tragedy, also held them together. Spinning around one another, hurtling bravely through the dark, until their centrifugal momentum turned into the warm comfort of each other's embrace, and they would fuse together to become one, in the shared gravity of their connection. A single mutual core, igniting with the passion of the act, warming the newly formed union form within, for eons to come, amid the cold of the void. But even through the cosmic scale of their destiny, there resided a light-hearted poetry, which danced across their interactions like a coy fairy, sprinkling its enchanting dust into the cracks that would've otherwise made them stumble. Smoothing out the dark corners and empty spaces, as good as it could, with its ethereal levity. And that fairy was the humorous back and forth, that had transpired from innocent chicken calls to the more loaded implications, a shared history started to provide. Which only added to their overall impact.

Smiling gently, shifting the angle of her slender shoulders in respect to their perspective towards Andrew, a gentle glimmer of pink brushed past the blonde's skin, as if touched by a ruby red rose. "I think your quarters have gotten enough personal touch for the time being." A gentle comment which, as it left her lips like a lyrical train, drew many potential meanings into the clear blue sky, like the smoke puffs of a steam engine. May it be their time shared together there, in the warm embrace of each other, or the damage it had surely taken in the ensuing events. Not limited to their resounding passion, but also the struggles of the past days as a whole. This whole ship, in a way, with every loose bolt and every scorched bulkhead, as well as ruffled sheets and disheveled pillows, had become a memorial to their blossoming relationship. And within its beaten hull and weakened shields, it contained the frail amber of compassion growing, until it was mature enough to burn on as a fire of its own. Which, of course, did not preclude the danger of assailants from within. Inner saboteurs and seemingly benevolent notions, trying to undermine their respective sentiments in hiding, like covert operatives chipping away at foreign governments. Bit by bit.

So no, despite what humor and passion made you believe, this ship was not set for smooth sailings. It was in their DNA, their history, imprinted upon the tapestry of their memories. The code to their undoing. But at the same time, as history went, the capacity to learn from the past and change for the future. Which was the crossroads they were at, currently, wasn't it. Giving into the notion to cut one's losses and walk away, while the dices were still falling. Trusting that voice calling out to be reasonable and not expect a miracle. Alas, that was not what either of them was doing, as their limbs were fused together by ominous forces, their minds as one. Albeit unconsciously. Trusting into the very human notion of hoping for change, in a beaten and twisted path, that fate had laid out before them through the years. Giving added weight to the notion of braving hardship together. That shared pain was pain halved. What an ironic concept to behold, in the eye of that mutual perception between them, the figments of Andrew's imagination. Ghosts becoming almost reality, at the assurance of two people acknowledging them equally.  For a solitary illusion was a mirage of the mind - whereas shared illusions became something else entirely - a manifestation of fears and wants.

Following the winding road of the man's temperament, letting him guide her through the pastures of his troubled mind, albeit involuntarily, Samantha sat along for the ride. Taking in the blossoming meadows devoted to her, as much as the dark valleys of the shadow of death. Feeling their endless void and cold embrace more real than the warm sunlight breaking through lush trees, reflecting off of white petals and glimmering dew. Inclined to believe the sad reality over the enchanting prospect of a better life. Which wasn't really an idiosyncrasy of her own - despite not really being considered Misses Positivity - but rather a notion spilling over from whatever this was, that established between them like a busy motorway. His one-word longing for reassurance cutting through the veil of perception like a Bat'leth, peeling her out of the ever-evolving cocoon of telepathy, that drew her back in with such vigor, she felt her body jolt. A sensation as if loosing grip, at the precipice of falling asleep, causing her muscles to tension. A distinct smell of cinder, mixing in with the jumble of words, phrased by a voice unknown, echoing from a deep dark crevice in reality. A world beyond.

A cold shiver ran down the blonde's spine, as she felt the presence of something almost demonic near her. The cold hands of despair almost touching her skin from within, like imprisoned hell spawn, trying to escape the mortal shell. Leaving not much more but a wrinkle in the skin beneath her brows, on the surface, but much more elaborate cracks in the flesh beneath. And it was in that moment of inner conflict, that Sam felt as if drifting away from Andrew's physical form, like two astronauts in the void of space, despite their bodies still being connected. Her touch and feel growing numb and nothing but a mere memory, as her conscience separated from its physical form, presiding beyond the two of them, like some ethereal shape of the afterlife. It was so cold and detached, she couldn't help but feel like a ghost, that wasn't any more real than the voices on the wind. Questioning her own reality, at the sight of her own body next to the bed, without realizing it was not how she saw herself, in that moment, but rather what Drew believed her to be.

The blonde winced, slightly, at the insinuation that she wasn't real, as if being called out for something uncomfortable. But her body didn't even move, which made the whole sensation just that more unreal. "I ... I am!" she contested defiantly, though her voice was a mere whisper, and her lips didn't move. Yet the resounding echo of her words reverberated between them, like the fear and confusion, that enveloped her spiritual manifestation like a hazy robe, floating in the suspended force of weightlessness. A desperation growing, from seemingly not being heard, being regarded as imagination, being caught on this ethereal plane beyond her control. "I AM REAL!" she yelled out, a radial shockwave of golden particles, ejecting from her spirit like a supernova, burning every other imaginary being in its vicinity to scattered dust across the void, before slowly settling back into her physical form. Now panting with the beating heart of a hummingbird, gasping with the rejuvenated vigor of life. Feeling her grip on Fisher's hand tightened, more real than ever, as the moisture of tense heat transpired between their skins, like liquid silver.

And it was silent, for a moment. The people, the machines, the ship ... reality was under their command now, which only made it feel that much more true. The voices, if only for the time being, seemed to have subsided, and with them had changed the entire aura of the physical realm. The moment of being lead through this life by the firm hand of shadows had passed, and back was the light they shone on their own path, one stretch at a time.

"I am here ..."
Title: Re: EPI: S [D03|1930] Two Moons
Post by: Swift on November 03, 2021, 02:33:17 PM
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher ( | Intensive Care Unit | Main Sickbay ( | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @stardust

How could he have been so wrong?

Panic, or something akin to what most people would have described as a panic began to settle in at the foundations of Fisher's conscious thought, seeking to knock him free from the place of calming refuge wherein he had been so safely anchored. The revelation that he had somehow managed to hallucinate such a convincing approximation of someone he'd come to care for, had felt like a rogue tidal wave smashing against the broadside of a rickety old life raft he had so desperately clung to amidst a storm. What little confidence that had been building within him, reassuring him that he'd been through the worst of it, only to find the reprieve of still waters had snapped away, the chain tying him and his lifeboat down giving way as he was washed back into the raging waters of his troubled psyche. The serene moment he had so despairingly allowed himself to be enraptured in, felt now like nothing more than a lie; the eye of hurricane which had so deftly lured him into a false sense of hope. He was left only with a notion of supreme despondency, a very visceral sensation of which was now painfully palpable in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to turn away from 'her', and to hide his immense shame at having been so mentally corrupted that he had been duped into believing another one of his manifestations to be real.

It was a disservice of the worst kind. A slight made against someone who was so very above him in every imaginable way.

Yet, 'she' had persisted in her presence, long after he had realized his mistake. Why?

"You..." the word had barely seeped free from his lips in abject shock of how she had so vehemently reacted to his protestation of her falseness, internal conflict reclaiming its utter dominance of his perception of thought. There was so little he had been sure of, and with each passing moment even less. Questions of the most harrowing nature were assailing him with no afforded opportunity to address them in any kind of realistic timetable and interlaced with those were some errant realizations that were gradually popping up, most of which he couldn't appropriately comprehend as jumbled as his thoughts were. One which he did manage to capture and ponder over, was just how insidious the drug running throughout his system had been, and how incredibly effective it had been working against him, tearing apart any conceived notions of cohesive thought. Cognitive attrition by a thousand contradictory thoughts, spurned on by an insanity driven overactive subconscious. The Obsidian Order deserved all the disreputable recognition the Universe could muster for this little trick, and to a degree, Fisher found himself rather envious of their ability to so deftly undo a subject. Sure, it had been the Klingons who had co-opted the drug, and who had administered it to him, but they weren't the Mad Doctor behind this particular Frankenstein.

On top of all that, it bothered him, how Hurley had once warned him of the existence of this gift of the Cardassian people years earlier, and how he had ignored it as though it were a kind of boogeyman, meant to scare young operatives enough that they did every they could in order to avoid capture.

How wrong he had been.

"...are real?" brought back from the whirlpool of misdirected attention he had been sucked down into, Fisher and his little raft were thrown back into the squall that was now interrupting him mid-sentence with tangents of wandering considerations. As his eyes dilated in wavering confusion, their focus shifting from one feature of Sam's beautiful face to another in staccato tempo, it became increasingly evident just how tenuous his grasp of the real was.

Again though, for the insignificant instance of time he was able to actually focus his attention on the woman standing beside him, trying to steer him through the wayward tempest that was his mind, he could feel his heart skip a beat, a sensation which reaffirmed his belief in the veracity of her existence. There was simply no way that he could have conjured her in this state, in all of her glorious perfection and imperfection. The way she had and could steel him away from whatever it was nagging at him, bringing to surface the better elements that made him who he was. No chemical concoction, regardless of how diligently and skillfully it had been crafted by the most brilliant and devious minds could have coerced him into such a precise manifestation. A visual representation was one thing, and convincing dialogue was another, but the intangible manner which had tied him to her in an other-worldly plane was something he couldn't explain. Nor could he have replicated such an inexplicable sensation even if he had tried with all the cognitive capability of his mind. Simply put, she was too real to be anything but, and whenever he found himself absorbed into those piercing azure pools that could reach the depths of him, he found his wavering convictions restored with near absolution.

And as he took short breaths through his nose, quickened by a dawning consciousness, her insistence as to the authenticity of herself reached a supernova like explosion that shone brightly across from a distant horizon in his mind. In an instant, the rough waters he had been tossed and turned about in went as placid as the stillest lake, and the dark confounding clouds that had muddled his ability to focus were dissipated.

Physically, Fisher jumped as though he had been struck by something, his sage green eyes which had been glassed over by confusion were obscured for a faint moment as he reveled in the sensation of true revelation. This was real. She was real. She was Sam. Gone, without any lingering annoyance was Hurley, and any of the other falsities he had been envisioning. A silence permeated between them that could've been as prolonged as an eternity, or as brief as a bolt of lightning, the perception of which was as individual as anything he might have ever experienced, but when it passed Fisher found himself gravitationally drawn into the metaphysical embrace of another consciousness. "Sam!" he exhaled her name as though a great burden of weight had been freed from his shoulders, a salve of restorative clarity wresting him back from the brink of whatever insanity had plagued him. Whatever she had done to him, it had worked, alleviating him of the myriad demons that had haunted him. "I'm sorry I doubted you." He soon added, the heartbeat in his chest steady for the first time in what felt like days, or even weeks. She was there. It was no longer a question that harangued him; one of few he had definitive answers to, but arguably the most important one he had faced since being brought back to Theurgy.

Eyelids opening, he breathed deeply as he leaned into her, his hand holding firm unto hers as though he would be swept back asunder if he let go.

"They, they wouldn't leave me alone." He began to explain, knowing it was his compelling duty to do so, not because of any Starfleet mandates, or anything so official as that, but rather because he trusted in her to a measure, he'd not afforded anyone else in many years. "Hurley. You. I saw, and could hear them. They were like ghosts. But they weren't at the same time. Some kind of, manifestation of my subconscious, meant to stir my mind into a typhoon of disconcertment." Taking another breath, he looked away from her as he recalled another ghostly visage he had witnessed in the last minutes of his imprisonment. One who was so deeply intertwined with her past, and whom he knew could shake her to her very core if he confessed to knowing. But he couldn't deny her any detail, regardless of how troubling a revelation it surely could have been, his life was an enigma of lies, but with her, if he denied her the truth, he knew he would damn himself worse than ever before. "And there was, another..." Clearing his throat audibly, he was about to say the name they shared from their past, one he'd seen ascribed within her personnel dossier and whom he couldn't believe the coincidental nature of but had concealed from her out of guilt.

"Excuse me. Commander Fisher. Umm... hello, Commander?" interrupted a diminutive, asymmetrically blonde-haired woman. The exotic hue of her eyes flaring as they caught in the overhead lights, she held a silver tumbler in one hand as she stepped around to the opposite of the bio-bed as Rutherford. She had a stark weariness to her face as she seemed interested in the sharply elevated vitals that the computer systems had just detected.

"Ahem. Yes?" Fisher responded, more than a little annoyed at the sudden appearance of whom he assumed to be another prodding Doctor.

"I'm, umm... I'm Doctor Foster. I actually treated you when you were first brought in." She introduced herself, yawning deeply after having spoken as she pressed at a few controls on the console at Fisher's head. "Sorry for umm... for interrupting, but the bio-scanners detected some kind of strange neural activity from you a moment ago. But umm... Don't umm, don't mind me, I'm just checking the calibration of the instruments. We're still trying to understand the specifics of what the Klingons did to--." Casting a wayward glance at Rutherford, it was clear that Doctor Foster could detect some tension at having so rudely barged in on them, her face going a shade paler. "I umm... I'll leave you be. Sorry." She held up an apologetic hand and just as quickly as she had come, she was gone, not looking back even once as she hastily exited the ICU.

With an exhale, Fisher shook his head and returned his gaze to Sam.

"Damned Doctors."
Title: Re: EPI: S [D03|1930] Two Moons
Post by: stardust on November 08, 2021, 01:27:09 PM
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford ( | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @Swift

In the traditions of many civilizations, there was the common theme of an ethereal deity, forming the world and the realm beyond, long before its inhabitants ever cast off the shackles of their homeworld, to explore their superior's creation. A process involving all the love and skill, this being could convey, flowing into not only the conception of a planet and its surrounding universe, but the people as well. And with all the doting and caring, for this masterpiece, came a plethora of expectations and concepts of destiny and fate, that were not always in the creator's intent. As it was also common in myth, when this happened, a mystical event came to wipe the sin and the misdemeanor, off the face of the physical realm. A great flood, to cleans the visage of reality, like a shockwave reverberating through all layers of being. Making way for the fertile fields of volcanic ash in the aftermath, that would become the breeding ground for new prosperity to grow, like poppies and violets, in lush meadows of hope. Ushering in a new era of history, whereas the old would serve as a testament, a reminder, to never make the same mistakes again.

In a similar fashion, Andrew's mind had been perverted by the figments of intelligence, harvested for the dark arts of coercion and deceit, to break his vow of duty. A sentiment that did not only defy any concept of benevolence and respect, but also the very foundations of Klingon faith. That was built on violence and conquest, indeed, but about doing so upfront and honorably. Not by way of a Cardassian war crime. And in that regard, the cesspool of iniquity in the man's mind needed to be rid of the dark shadows and malignant manifestations. Despite Sam not really knowing what ailed him, in regards to the drugs in his veins, or even fathoming any concept of remedy towards it, she somehow had managed to send that golden shock of cascading waves, rippling through the meadows of his mind, eliminating the thorny barriers and demonic vanguards, making way for the seeds of the man's essence to spring forth once more, as lush green leaves sprung from the burned soil immediately thereafter. A lively forest, hesitantly growing, where a jungle had been before.

And with it came the ability to judge whichever phantom that plagued him, in the depth of the opera house that was his mind, and cast it out, in favor of all things real and palpable, prevalent outside these gilded halls and brickwork caverns. When the siren song from the deep subsided, in favor of the bright light, breaking through the stained-glass windows of his soul. She just stood there, on the outside looking in, marveling at the magnificence of what had just happened. Never not shocked over the awe with which she admired his strength of character and resilience, first and foremost to the jackals of his own undoing. To that end it almost served as a welcome change in pace, to cast out the demons of foreign intervention, rather than brushing those under rug that were entirely of one's own making. Even though they had still wielded their masked pate's and caped bodies in the process, as a measure of using them against their creator. An outside assailant using your own fears and insecurities, like surgical tools, to peel away the skin and the flesh, until greedy fingers could touch raw at your nerves, applying pressure when needed, until resistance melted away.

But he had not gone there yet.

He was still here, holding her hand, and it became the anchor that would bind them not only together, but to reality as well. Pulled from the realm of emotions and dreams, the mementos of the experiences still lingered on, like an echo in a dark forest. A memory which, in part, felt as real as the experience of having walked the corridors of Theurgy to come here, to this place, yet also so far away and removed from conscious thought, that it could almost be considered myth. Which was why the man's apology in this world, was almost confusing and seemingly unwarranted, considering on what level of existence he had doubted her on.  Which threw the blonde, at first, fine lines between her immaculately groomed brows ever present, as topaz crystals betrothed him with such a warmth, that their glacial hue would readily belie. Even though there was a revelation buried beneath the experiences gleamed from the man's mind, that had not quite revealed itself, like a budding flower, beneath the long-fallen leaves of his spring awakening. He spoke of the shadows and inner demons, that had been brought forth by the Obsidian concoction. Dragging his own perception along the line of outward elucidation, in order to wrap conscious thought around the wayward ramblings of an intoxicated psyche.

A name that rung true, in the most abhorrent of senses, ushering in the tidbits of information retained from the former spy's resume. The use of plural terms still eluding the true depth of his ramblings. Casting an undeliberate haze over deeper revelations, harsher winters, that the frail scions of his new awakening could not yet brave. Laying a blanket of warm obscurity, to protect the budding recovery, of all things broken and tainted. Another ... there was another. A revelation that did not yet come forth, hiding in the shadows of allusion, like a panther at the edge of a jungle, waiting to pounce into the field like a wraith. But the scenery of natural power and progress was harshly broken by the echo of an outside influence, a female's voice, who only reluctantly pried the diplomat's attention away from the bearded man's pleading trepidations. Blonde curls bopping around a visage frozen in time, as it sprung to life with the invigorated twist of a dainty neck, glacial depth casting an uncertain light on her, as she unknowingly broke the moment of healing, with her techno babble. The lopsided hair-job irking her Vulcan sense of geometry and balance to endless extent.

Ultimately marrying Fisher too with an inadvertent blizzard from azure diamonds, as he entertained the doctor's intrusions, the blonde brushed her lips together in abject repentance, over letting the harsh reality of her personality, show so unabashedly towards the recovering intelligence chief, she had grown so boundlessly fond of. Almost bathing in the turmoil and terror of moments such as these, to validate the depth of her own feelings, in the absence of regret and fear, over what was and what was going to be there. Letting long lashes ultimately cast twilight over lavender seas, the commander drew in a breath of inner peace, letting her Vulcan logic plead its case against an outwardly rude and dismissive response, her human - and more precisely human female - genealogy was bound to concoct. "Yeah?" she ultimately spoke, a single word succinct from plush lips, lined with the venom of countenance, hiding passions restrained. "What kind of 'strange neural activity' are you getting from me right now?" The gentle voice not doing the beautiful woman's deadpan expression any justice, as it lingered in stark contrast to it. Larimar orbs conveying all the regret the other woman should've been feeling but was only now coming to realize.

Validating the woman's remorse with the emotional sensibility of an ice-cube, resisting the urge to tell her to weigh such considerations beforehand the next time, thin brows rose ever so momentarily, in gratitude towards her immediate withdrawal. Switching her attention back to the man eventually, though gaze lowered to the precipice of their physical connection, slender shoulders shrugged ever so slightly at his way of making light in the situation. "Well, if you knew how to stick to a plan, we wouldn't need them." Samantha uttered prematurely, though no measure of regret casting over dainty features, as blue eyes met his sage ponds once more. For while this truth was inherent and unwavering, it was not the whole story. A small smile growing on rose petals, like morning dew, signified an added sense of levity to the words, albeit painted over after the fact. Hiding a faint sense of logical judgment, which belied her emotional affection for him deeply. Significant of the ongoing internal struggle. "Then again ..." she added warmly, watching her thumb stroke over the firm texture of Andrew's thick skin, on the back of his hand in hers. "... we wouldn't need much of anything, would we." It was a somber revelation, yet in its essence not intended to vie for remorse, or pity. The kind of ugly truth best accepted, rather than questioned.

Though as azure hues met their viridescent mirrors once more, the sensibility conveyed was indeed a gloomier one. Touching down on the basis of mortality and fleeting moments, interspersed through her memory like pearls on a string. A measure of history threatening to repeat itself, ever so teasingly, without any ability to stop it from happening, or to guard herself from the ramifications. Necessarily begging the question whether she even wanted it to. Eventually vying for a measure of distraction, her eyes fell on the small nook in the bulkhead just behind Andrew's bed, where white light broke through a grated bottom. A new dawn breaking through plump pillows once more, as the blue sky of glimmering orbs emblazoned with the thrilling excitement of brighter pastures, heralded in a new beginning, of sorts. "Computer." the blonde alerted, her voice carrying over the breadth of the bed with ease. "Two glasses of Cabernet, 2355 vintage, and two servings of Farfalle Primavera." she ordered, as consideration fell back on the handsome man. "And put it on Commander Fisher's tab ... he owes me one." An addendum which the computer ignored, obviously, because it was somehow intelligent now. And instead, the dinner was momentarily manifested in a haze of blue sparks and glimmer. Luscious scents and vapors invading the ward, like no care in the world.

And there truly wasn't.
Title: Re: EPI: S [D03|1930] Two Moons
Post by: Swift on December 03, 2021, 02:05:59 AM
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher ( | Intensive Care Unit | Main Sickbay ( | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @stardust

Low pressure systems, the movement of a moon and the effect it's gravity might have on the tides; a deluge here, and a subsidence there, all of these elements and thousands more came together to dictate that which could be described as the weather. Anyone who truly claimed to understand it's function, would have understood the intricacies inherent, just as a truly skilled Diplomat would have been able to dissect someone down to the baseline measurable affairs of their past: a stint on this world, witness to a tragedy on another, all of this built the character of someone, and informed their biases. It was those biases which they would then call upon when the right time came, and which they could use to the benefit of whatever cause, they were working on behalf of. In this, it became increasingly clear that Rutherford could so deftly discern the recipe of someone's psyche by observation of their temperament, the manner in which they spoke, and the emphasis they placed on certain aspects of life. She could in turn know intuitively the master strokes necessary to make in order to manipulate them into the place of her desire, and in this case, how to so steer Fisher back from the brink of being lost in the swelling waters of his subconscious.

She had rightly predicted the tempest like storm that threatened to consume him, and accordingly corrected the course he'd been on.

Others might've thought this sort of manipulation to be underhanded, but that would've been a gross misunderstanding, as the intention had seemingly been one born of a genuine want to help someone so desperately in need of steadied waters. Naturally, as someone who had so closely worked with people like Sam in the past, Fisher recognized how she could so effectively lead him into whatever port of call she wished, but not out of absolute powerlessness. Ignorance was not something which could comfort him, nor could he confide in it, instead he could only allow himself to be so directed out of a notion of implicit trust. The sort of trust he'd not affording anyone in quite some time, though he now offered it so completely to her for reasons he'd not yet wanted to come to believe out of a fear of losing it. Regardless, he held unto the line he'd cast asunder into the bleakness of his psyche, which had somehow found anchor, and which had brought him out of the misery of an overactive subconscious working against his every thought.

Once assured that he was safe and sound in her very real presence, Fisher's unease had been subsumed into an unveiling of those haunting images which had persisted in his mind ever since his imprisonment on Qo'noS. If he could've, he would've invited her into the very vestibule of his mind and allowed her to witness all which he had, but in absence of such a finer connection, he'd opted to describe it.

Or rather, he'd attempted to.

Though he had been spared any further visits from the ghostly apparitions of his past, in no small part due to the beacon like light she had shined through the mist, a lighthouse to guide him back to sturdy shores, the fog had not yet lifted from his perception. Only time would eventually avail him of the right frame of consciousness that he could completely, and intricately explain to her what he had been through. What he had seen, heard, and even felt. And while his cursory attempt to impart a vague understanding to the one person who had somehow managed to bridge the gap between illusion and reality had strayed, and even stalled thanks to the abrupt intrusion of a meddling Doctor, he knew that in time, he would indeed share with her the link that existed between them through sheer happenstance, that being their mutual personal history with one Brody Miller. To her, a loving husband who had made the ultimate sacrifice in order to save her, and the lives of his ship. To him, an old acquaintance he'd known only as 'Mason', but who had similarly acted with selflessness in order to save Fisher's own life, and effect positive change in the outcome of a harrowing war.

Smirking as Sam afforded the intruding blonde Doctor an appropriate measure of barbed vocal tone, perhaps bordering a tad extreme, Fisher couldn't help but appreciate that side of her personality. The balance, or maybe imbalance of her humanity reaching to the surface of her persona from time-to-time, knocking the stoic and logically inclined Vulcan from the precipice of dominance. It was a quirk. A flaw even. But to him, it was shining example of who she was, and displayed perfectly how unashamed she was of herself, her mind, or her outward perception. Then again, she didn't necessarily need to, or want to. Whereas Fisher's game demanded a healthy degree of obfuscation and misdirection, hers demanded a far greater show of openness. It was typical of any politician, but what wasn't so typical was how brazen and confident she was in the hand she held unto. She felt no reason to hide her cards, because they were simply the best anyone could possibly field, because she had worked so diligently to ensure they would be. She didn't need to bluff herself to victory, because she knew her play would stand on it's own, and in the end, she would win all the same.

Once the Doctor scurried away, an obvious measure of panic and regret evident in the weary expression present on her face, Fisher let a good bout of laughter escape, a pointed index-finger finding Sam's shoulder as way of playfully admonishing her over the fire she'd spat.

"That poor girl's going to have nightmares thanks to you." He commented amusedly.

Then the attention turned back to him, a modicum of accusation lobbied at him, rightfully so, though the levity of the moment helped to ease the severe amount of tension that had been harbored within. Leant back against the upright of the bio-bed, sage-green orbs rolled akin to marbles as he let an exceedingly sarcastic sigh rush out in response to the barbed remarks regarding his failure to keep to a plan. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. But you know how it goes, one minute you're planning a nice romantic dinner for two; fine wine, candles, some decent food, the next thing you know, you find yourself stuck in some random holding-cell in a basement on the Klingon home world, contending with a self-manifest Algonquin roundtable of snappy repartee." Her hand still held in his, the softness of her digits contrasted by the utilitarian and firmness of his own, reminded him of the developing bond they shared, and how absolutely resplendent a sensation it was to return to someone like her in the wake of such an unpleasant experience. "But you're not wrong." He conceded, a thumb tracing gently along the subtle lines of tendons to the base of her wrist in sign of affection he'd not afford anyone but her.

Reverent in the short moment wherein they could just exist for one another, the rejoining of sage and azure pools, all other matters in the Universe and existence seemed to fade to a distant echo of forgotten noise. The guarantee of a tomorrow was one that he intrinsically knew to be nothing but a cosmic lie, but for now, he felt oddly resigned to believe in it, and to allow such a foundationless belief to alleviate any notion of worry and or concern.

"2355? I was just about eleven-years-old." He commented as she placed the order with the replicator, shifting so that he could sit a little more comfortably, pangs of soreness emanating throughout his abdomen, prompting him to place a hand against the exposed flesh as reinforcement. "Let's see..." he said gruffly, exhaling deeply through his nostrils a second later. " 2355, I was on Earth, back in Boston, cleaning dishes in my Mother's Kitchen." The memory of their family's quaint brewery in the south of the Fens neighborhood, stirred up plenty of positive emotions that he was more than willing to indulge in. "I hated cleaning dishes." He winked to Sam, extending a hand to accept one of the two wine glasses the replimat had conjured from out of thin air. "But Mom felt like it was akin to cheating if we let the replicators recycle the dishes into the system. Said..." he shifted again. "...said it robbed them of character, and of distinction." With narrowed eyelids he held up the wineglass to Sam, a general token of salute and formality for them to share at least a clinking. "Not sure I quite understood it then. Not even sure if I understand it now, to be honest. But I guess you gotta do what your Mom tells you to at that age."

Taking a sip of the 2355 vintage, he allowed the dryness of the aged wine settle into his palate.

"I wonder, what was a..." playfully over-emphasizing the 'difficult' math of discerning her age he hesitated a moment. "...six-year-old, Samantha Rutherford up to back in fifty-five? I bet she was already getting into and out of arguments with her parents, wasn't she? Yeah, no cleaning of dishes for that six-year-old. I could have used you in conducting negotiations with my Mother over the distribution of chores between Benny and I."

A wry wink coming from one sage-green eye as Fisher moved around atop the bio-bed to afford Sam a place to sit if she were so inclined.