Star Trek: Theurgy

Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn: @Griff

Hathev pushed off her knees and slid back to sit on the floor.  The clarity would not come.  She had been attempting meditation for the past three hours forty two minutes and twelve seconds.  In all that time, she had been unsuccessful in calming her thoughts to say nothing about finding her logical center again.

Emotional control and suppression had been difficult in her younger years, but with the guidance of a counselor of her own, she had developed techniques that proved successful in fulfilling her needs.  Ever since, those techniques had been honed, refined, perfected and had never failed to return her to her center.

Until now.

She had not been aboard ship nearly as long as the original Theurgy crew and already she was feeling the stress and pressure of duty aboard this ship. 

She…felt…

It hit her like a nerve pinch and she pulled her legs in to rest her chin on her knees as she contemplated her own mental state.  The emotional transference from her mind meld with Cross remained still and after this long, she had her suspicions.  In the past, she would have called upon Triss, spoken with her over a cup of coffee while the two sat on their couch.  Now that was no longer possible.  Logic dictated that Triss had perished in the attack on Paris.  Even if she had not, logic also dictated that Triss had been informed that Hathev had perished with the destruction of the Bellerophon.  To say nothing of the loss of Kireil, the continued tension with Saren, and now the death of so many innocents in Paris.


This is unacceptable, she told herself. You are Vulcan.  You are trained, disciplined, logical.  You must find your control.  You have time honored techniques to address your needs.

Time honored techniques that are not working at present.

Logic dictated she needed to find a new approach.  Through her department, she was responsible for the mental health of every individual aboard the Theurgy and she could not permit herself to become impaired to the point that it would prove detrimental to her duties.  If she were dealing with one of the crew, she would recommend them to speak with someone in her department. 

Logic dictated that she seek similar treatment.  She needed to speak with someone.  Under normal circumstances, she would seek assistance from outside the ship.  During her time on Starbase 313, a measurable subset of her patients were transients come to her from starships in dock.  Ship’s counselors, captains, and other crew who felt they could not get the support they needed from within their posted vessel.

It seemed now that she was to become one of those people.  There was a certain logic to it, she knew, though she had not anticipated such a need to arise this soon after coming aboard.  However, given the current circumstances, seeking a counselor at a Federation outpost was not possible.  She could look to the Theurgy’s current allies for support.  However she was not aware of any qualified counselor anywhere in the Klingon empire.  This left her with but one reliable alternative.  She would need to seek support from within the ship.  There was only one aboard in whom she could place her trust on this matter.  She did not share a professional confidentiality as anyone's patient aboard ship but given the circumstances it would be logical to expect a certain level of discretion with her confidant.

She leaned forward and blew out her meditation lamp as she reached for her communicator badge.

"Hathev to Cross.  I apologize for the lateness of the hour.  May I see you?  I require…" Her voice trailed off as the choice of words hit her with a sense of inaccuracy.  "I would welcome the opportunity to be in your presence."

[Lieutenant Commander Cross (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Cross) | Cross's Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring

[Show/Hide]
Battle was coming. For much of the night, Cross had that thought ever-present on his mind, conscious of the steep odds that the Theurgy might be facing upon dropping out of slipstream the following day. He'd done everything he could to prepare the Theurgy's considerable complement of weapons, had checked that all the tactical staff were ready, had even scheduled a tactical meeting the next morning. Cross had done everything he could, mostly to continue ignoring the frustration and anger he felt at losing Ranaan and Kai. There were no other preparations to make.

Still, knowing that he (and everyone else) might be dead tomorrow weighed heavily on Cross's mind. Fear and anxiety rumbled constantly even as he had a shower, stripped off and slipped into bed. It took hours of tossing and turning before he finally slipped into slumber...and thus, when he was woken suddenly by the comm scarely an hour after falling asleep, Cross was quite ready to throttle the caller.

The irritation vanished almost instantly upon hearing Hathev's voice. Cross didn't understand the connection he had with the counselor, even after their ill-advised mind meld, but even he could recognise the plaintive tone of her voice. Besides, Cross wanted the company. Needed the company. Apparently, so did she.

"That's fine, come on over," he said, unable to keep the fatigue from his voice and wincing. Repressing a groan, he got up and tossed the blanket away, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I'd like to see you too."

It was only then that Cross wondered if Hathev wanted a more physical sort of company. It was a pleasant thought, but as he got up and pulled on a loose shirt and some comfortable pants, he scolded himself to grow the fuck up. If she did, great. If not, great. Let things happen and don't be an idiot about it.

[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Hathev's Quarters | Deck 10 | Vector 02 | U.S.S. Theurgy] Attn: @Griff

Hathev closed her eyes and sighed releasing tension at the sound of Cross’s voice over the comm.  Not only was he willing to see her, but he desired to see her.  It would not do to show up at his door in her mediation robe, for all the good it was providing her.  No.  She desired something more casual.

The three piece set was the most logical choice in its warmth, comfort, and appearance.  The original had been a gift from Triss a few years back on the anniversary of their marriage and Hathev had immediately become attached to it.  The original had been the first thing she had packed when she left for Starbase 84 and had, of course been lost when the Bellerophon had been destroyed. 

She had, however, memorized its design, material, and composition, and had programmed it into the Theurgy replicator systems.  With that, and some assistance from Thea to address some inconsistencies, Hathev had managed to replicate a replacement set which was nearly identical to the one she had lost.  It seemed appropriate that this be her choice given the news of the past few days. 

It is logical to mourn the loss of a spouse, even one from whom you are estranged, even one who thought you to be deceased before her own death, she reminded herself.

She slid her feet into the slippers and crossed to the replicator.  At her command two steaming mugs appeared, which she took by their handles and pulled towards her.

Thus prepared for her long overdue visit with Cross, she stepped into the center of the room.  It would not do to be seen crossing three decks and a vector for all to see and wonder.  Tonight, she needed discretion as she did not know how late she might be calling on Cross.

“Thea,” she instructed. “Please lock onto me and initiate site to site transport to Deck 7 on Vector 01”

She felt a gentle tingle as the transporter beam took her, and the sight of her quarters faded out as 

[Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Corridors | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | U.S.S. Theurgy]

the corridors leading to Cross’s quarters faded in.  Thea had placed her just a section away from her destination.  The corridor was vacant, making her short journey simple and without interruption.  She stopped at the door, extended a finger from it's grip on the mug and pressed the chime.

---

((OOC - Hathev's wardrobe for the night))
[Show/Hide]

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Cross) | Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]Cross had began moving the moment the commlink with Hathev had closed, all thoughts of the coming battle pushed form his mind as he tried to tidy his quarters in anticipation of her arrival. The mess on the table was his primary concern, the various PADDs, dishes, and clutter needing to be dealt with. The PADDs he scooped up and deposited in a stack on the desk in his bedroom before returning to the table to tackle the remaining debris.

Cross’ head jerked up as the door chime sounded, the clutter on the table which he had been frantically tidying momentarily forgotten. Hathev has arrived sooner than he had expected, adding acute pang of frantic urgency to the former hybrid’s movements as he scooped up the last of the clutter, shoved it into the replicator and growled the word ”Recycle” at the machine, a small voice in the back of Cross’ mind hoping there had been nothing important among the various things which had just been reduced to reusable energy. As the replicator took care of the last of the mess, Cross quickly crossed the room and keyed the controls to his bedroom door, causing the doors to hiss shut and thus hide his unmade bed from view.

”Haja!” Cross let out the second growl, this time an oath as he hopped briefly on one foot, teeth gritted as he inwardly cursed both his stubbed toe and the offending chair. He just hoped Hathev couldn’t hear the noise in the corridors.

Hathev…

Cross limped the last few paces to the door and jabbed hurriedly at the keypad, too late realizing the force he had used as he heard a soft crunch. His gaze shifted to the keypad, where his metallic index finger had cracked the button to open the door. He was still staring at the cracked keypad when the doors hissed open, admitting an unexpected scent. Cross’ eyes shifted to beyond the door, taking in the casually dressed Hathev and the twin mugs she held. His pale blue eyes stared for a moment as the former hybrid tried to think if he’d ever seen her dressed in such a manner. The soft looking fabric of her clothing looked far more comfortable than the stern and almost severe style of uniform she preferred, especially when paired with the slippers which currently adorned her feet.

Cross realized he was staring and shook himself back to the moment, the right side of his mouth curving upward slightly as he chuckled at his own reaction. ”Uh, hi,” Cross said by way of an awkward greeting, the Vulcan still feeling a bit flustered from his frantic cleaning. ”You look… great.”

Smooth as ever, Cross…

It was then that he realized that Hather had likely arrived via transporter to avoid being seen walking the corridors in her current attire. It would explain how she’d arrived at his door so quickly. Hastily stepping back, Cross motioned for her to step inside. ”Please, come in!”

Cross had the sudden realization that he hadn’t seen Hathev for nearly three weeks, not since their date. In all the commotion aboard the ship, the former hybrid had had little time to do much besides eat, sleep, attend meetings and run tactical scenarios within his department in anticipation of the battle which had occupied his thoughts just a few minutes previous. And, for the past 24 hours, worrying about Blue Tiran. The realization brought with it a pang of guilt at not having made time to see Hathev, especially after the great effort the Theurgy's Chief Counsellor had made to help him... and after what had happened in the disastrous aftermath of those efforts…

”I wasn’t expecting to hear form you at this hour, though I’m… happy to see you,” Cross admitted as he glanced sideways at the diminutive Vulcan as he gestured for her to sit on the sofa. ”Is everything alright?” He thought about apologizing for not having made time to see her in the past weeks, though he suspected that any effort to do so would likely be brushed off as illogical.

---

Kardasi Translation:
Haja – Fuck

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Fife 

"Greetings," Hathev replied. 

Her breath caught in her chest at the sight of him and it took more effort than she had expected, to keep her emotions at bay.  They hadn't seen each other outside of their duties in a few weeks and Illogical though it was, she realized she missed him.  Even just standing in his presence brought welcome support to her unfocused psyche

"Thank you," she said when he complimented her appearance.  "It was my desire for it to meet your approval."

The words felt awkward as soon as the left her mouth.  If she were human she would have just said 'I'm glad you like it'.  Why could she just not say that?  Was being g lad too much of an emotion for her?  Did she even know what it was like to be glad?  Was she always so stilted? 

Is that what drove the wedge between us, Triss?  Help me to understand so I do not repeat my mistake.

She accepted his invitation to enter and she took in his quarters for the first time as she had not had occasion to enter them until now.  They weren't so dissimilar from her own, although the décor was different for obvious reasons. 

"It is," her voice trailed off as she struggled with the right word, her Vulcan logic fighting with  a desire to better express her thoughts.  "It is…good to see you too. I apologize once again for the lateness of the hour and am grateful for the accommodation especially given the crisis into which, we are about to enter."

She handed one of the steaming mugs of coffee to Cross as she sat down and took a sip of her own. 

"I should also apologize for the prolonged hiatus since our evening together.  As you might imagine my schedule has been filled with my duties to the crew's health during their convalescence at Aldea."

A stinging sensation in her eye drew her attention.  No.  She would not cry.  It was illogical to show this emotion.  Death was a natural end to life.  She would not allow grief to overcome her. Yet… despite that undeniable logic, the grief that filled her…felt…appropriate.

She took a tentative sip of her drink.

She was procrastinating, she knew.  Logically she understood.  Her patients often chose to speak about a troubling topic as doing so would force them to perceive it as more as reality than imagined.    As a Vulcan and a mental health practitioner, she knew better.  She understood the logic and no amount of avoidance could alter the reality she faced.

"To answer your question more directly, I am not 'all right' this evening.  I have reason to believe Triss was in Paris."

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Cross) | Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]Cross was relieved that Hathev seemed not to notice his flustered discomfort as he greeted her, though a slight green tinge rose in his cheeks as the diminutive counsellor informed him of her desire that her outfit meet his approval. Cross was struck silent by that remark, the former hybrid unable to recall a time where someone had hoped for his approval outside of departmental duties. He didn’t think it had ever happened otherwise, especially not in regards to someone’s clothing.

Cross pushed those thoughts aside as Hathev stepped into his quarters, the doors hissing shut behind her. He saw her cast her gaze around the room, taking in the new environment in which she found herself, and his eyes reflexively followed her gaze. A person would need to be feeling quite generous to describe Cross’ quarters as anything other than spartan. The small table in the corner held nothing aside from his meditation lamp, the shelves set into the bulkhead housed a collection of plants including three orchids, one of which Cross had “liberated” from the arboretum, and the table sat bare after his frantic cleaning. No artwork dressed the walls, no photographs adorned the shelves. Cross suddenly feared that she might find his quarters lacking, though after a moment’s consideration he suspected that a Vulcan might approve of such sparse decoration. Doubtless they’d find some way to attribute it to logic.

He was pulled back to the moment as Hathev spoke again, his pale eyes turning back to her as she admitted it was good to see him, then apologized once more for the lateness of the hour.

”Please, don’t apologize. I don’t mind the company, and I don’t care about the time. As I said, I’m happy to see you.” Cross directed a small smile at Hathev as she handed him one of the mugs she carried before seating herself. He accepted it and gave the mug an exploratory sniff as he joined her on the couch, glad to find the mug contained coffee rather than the horrific Vulcan tea Hathev had tried to give him once upon a time.

”I should also apologize for the prolonged hiatus since our evening together…”

Cross couldn’t help but smile at the Vulcan as she apologized again, taking a sip of the coffee as she spoke. He was about to comment on her having apologized again when he noticed that something seemed off about her, though he couldn’t quite place it. Hathev had seemed different from her usual self during the evening they had gone of their date, Cross having attributed it to a holdover form the disastrous mind meld which, though a failure as far it’s intention, had brought the two of them closer together. Tonight was different, however. The change wasn’t only in her mannerism, but something else. A tightness in her jaw? Around her eyes? Hathev took a sip of her drink as he studied her, an slight aspect of concern entering his gaze as he waited for her to speak again. He did not have to wait long.

Hathev continued, answering his question. No, she was not all right. Those words caused the concern in Cross’ pale eyes to grow, even as Hathev continued. She had reason to believe Triss was in Paris.

”Haja…” Cross muttered, the expletive having escaped his lips before he could stop himself. He saw a single tear roll down Hathev’s cheek, the sight telling him how deeply she must be feeling the blow of such news. The two of them had never discussed Triss, though Cross of course knew some of their history, having witnessed snippets of it through Hathev’s own eyes while their minds rocked back and forth like a drunken fiend during the failed meld. Those memories had been filled with sadness, pain and loss. If Triss had been in Paris…

”Hathev…” Cross said, his voice a low rumble as he reached to wipe the tear form her cheek, only realising halfway through the gesture that he was using his left hand. Letting the metallic appendage drop, he shifted where he sat, turning sideways to face her on the couch, and repeated the gesture with his right, a brief awareness of her blossoming in his mind during the short moment he wiped away the solitary tear. ”Hathev, I’m so sorry.” The words sounded weak in his ears, inadequate. She had lost someone dear to her, even if they had grown apart long ago. She had lost her family in a more permanent sense than estrangement. The video clip of the Thaloron bomb replayed in his mind’s eye. Paris had been reduced to an irradiated wasteland, people vaporized where they stood, reduced to ash. ”I know we haven’t really spoken about what we saw during the meld but… well…” Cross struggled to find the words he wanted, the former hybrid having never been suited to these sorts of situations, despite how often he seemed to find himself in them of late. ”I know how much she… how much Triss… meant to you. I’m so sorry, Hathev.”

Cross suspected she had come to him this evening because he knew about her history with Triss, knew the pain and the loss. It seemed cruel and unfair to her that the one person aboard the ship who knew of such things was also, quite possibly, the least qualified person aboard the ship to help her deal with what she was feeling. The fact that he had been up most of the previous night helping Blue through similar issues made Cross once again wonder why everyone around him seemed to suffer, though admittedly this time it was through no fault of his. ”Are you sure she was in Paris? Is it possible she was somewhere else?” Cross felt the urge to hold Hathev and let her cry it out, as he had done in her ruined office in the aftermath of the meld disaster, but given that Hathev was lamenting the loss of her ex-wife, he wasn’t sure such a gesture would be appropriate, or indeed welcome.

Cross was momentarily taken by the thought that he might be lucky to have never had any sort of family. It meant that he would likely never experience the sort of loss Blue and Hathev were both dealing with.

”Is there anything I can do?” The question was genuine, both in the fact that he wanted to help her, and in that he had no idea how to do so. Seren might have been able to help, but the insufferable counsellor was in stasis, just like Ducote. What would that idiot have asked Cross in this sort of situation? "Do you... want to talk about it?"

---

Kardasi Translation:
Haja – Fuck

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Fife 
 
Her hand found his wrist as he wiped the tear from her cheek and she gently held his hand to her face while leaning her head into his palm as she closed her eyes.   His awareness, his concern for her, his strength of will ebbed into her conscious thought and she drew it into her, allowing it to strengthen her own composure.  It might have been a violation, but she suspected Cross would not object and even as she opened herself up to him verbally, she tamped down with her mental discipline doing her part to ensure there would be no backlash to either of them.  In all, the contact lasted five seconds before she gently pulled away, breaking the shallow psychic connection.  But as she pulled away, in deference to his comfort, she felt the emptiness take her again.

She heard his response, his expression of regret and sorrow, his question about how certain she was of Triss’s whereabouts, what he could do and, most importantly… if she wanted to discuss.

“You are free to decline without judgment from me,” she started.   “But I would welcome your embrace.”

She slid over on the couch a few centimeters closer, not so close that she would invade his personal space, but close enough that if he did welcome her, she could lean to her side and rest her head on his chest.  Triss had been especially fond of this form of ‘cuddling’ and she had never understood the desire for it…until now.

“I cannot be completely certain of Triss’s fate.   Our last correspondence came a few hours before the Ballerophon engaged the Theurgy.   She sent me a subspace message notifying me that she had accepted a prestigious fellowship in Paris.”  She paused to gather herself.   “She described the rigors of the program as ‘almost Vulcan’ in nature and was planning to live in Paris for the duration.   The fellowship was to take the better part of a year and she was to start immediately.”

She took in a ragged breath as the emotional toll pushed back on her discipline.  

“In some ways, Cross, you knew more about what she meant to me than I did.  Up until our meld, I was not in touch with my emotions, my…feelings for her and could not express them.  Now…” she felt another tear slide down her face.  “Now it is too late and even though I no longer desired to continue our relationship, I find myself regretting the loss none the less.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Cross) | Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]”You are free to decline without judgement from me,” Hathev said, having placed her hand on his wrist for only a moment, though Cross found himself savouring the brief contact. ”But I would welcome your embrace.” She slid closer to him on the couch, though maintained a careful distance. Cross supposed it was likely she did not wish to seem to be invading his space should her turn her down.

Vulcans…

It was, quite possibly, the most Vulcan manner in which Cross could imagine someone asking for a hug, and yet the fact that she was asking it of him made Cross wonder exactly how much she was hurting, how much she mourned Triss’ death.

Cross placed his coffee on the table before he reached out to her. He gently placed his arms around her, shifting the position in which he sat as she leaned sideways against him and rested her head against his chest. He rested his left hand on her shoulder. His right hand he lightly rested on her forearm, careful to keep the fabric of her sleeve between them. She was obviously in a vulnerable state, the fact made apparent both in her mannerisms and in the brief awareness he had had of her while they had touched. He did not want to intrude, should she wish to keep the exact extent of her sorrow to herself. He would leave such a decision up to her.

He listened in silence as she spoke, admitting that she could not be certain of Triss’ fate before explaining the nature of the last message she had received from her wife before coming aboard the Theurgy. He could tell by the ragged intake of breath that she was battling with her own emotions as she thought about that message and the woman who had sent it. He could not only hear her breathing betray those emotions, but feel the unsteady way in which she drew the air in, leaning against him as she was. Cross tilted his head forward and let his cheek rest on the top of her head as he let her continue uninterrupted.

He blinked in surprise as she confided that she believed he knew more about what Triss had meant to her than she did, the grieving counsellor admitting that she had not been able to feel or, indeed, express those emotions to Triss. Cross wondered how difficult that must have been for the two. A Human, emotional and fully feeling every single thought and emotion that flitted through her head, and a Vulcan, cold, logical and restrained. Cross didn’t have to try too hard to imagine it, having been immersed in a full awareness of the situation only weeks before. The pain and emotion Hathev felt was far stronger than a Human would experience, but Hathev’s training had prevented her from being fully aware of the depth of those feelings at the time.

Now, in the aftermath of the meld, she was perhaps being overwhelmed by them. She spoke of regretting the loss of Triss, even as she claimed to have no longer desired to continue the relationship. Cross released her forearm and raised his hand to gently stroke the side of her face, the backs of his fingers coming away wet as they brushed against a new tear. Cross made no comment, instead simply brushing the moisture away from her face, an awareness of Hathev blooming inside his mind as he did so. That brief awareness brought with it the pain, regret, sorrow and loss which filled her. The sensation of those emotions caused Cross’ jaw to tighten, not due to any sort of conflict within him but rather in frustration at the fact that he didn’t know what to do.

”Tell me about her.” Cross suggested, his normally gruff voice low and soft. ”About Triss. It might help to talk about her.” Cross had no idea if that were true. He had never lost any family, as he had never had one, and so the former hybrid was simply grasping at straws. ”It can't have been easy for a Vulcan and a Human to build a relationship. How did you meet? What was she like?”

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Fife 

Hathev took in a breath and shifted in her place.  While the concept of ‘cuddling’ might have been out of place for a Vulcan, Hathev had over fife decades of practice and, other then finding the right place on Cross’s body, it was all but routine for her.  Over the years they had cuddled together hundreds of times often in silence while they read.

Triss.

Cross wanted to know about Triss.  It seemed illogical that he would ask given that he may know her better than she did.  Yet, being a counselor, she understood the purpose of the question.  Normally she might resist, but tonight she had not the will to protest.

“I first met Triss fifty-two years eleven months, and fourteen days ago during my tenure on board Starbase 313.  At the time, she was the proprietor of a bakery on board the station.  I preferred her baking and became what she called a ‘regular’.  As a conversationalist she was engaging, attentive, and surprising logical.  She found me intriguing and I found her refreshing.”

She paused to take another sip of her coffee. 

“Being human, she was an emotional being, of course.  Yet she did not impose those emotions and even though she often interpreted humor in my words where none existed, she did not begrudge my adherence to logic.  As such I…,” her voice trailed off as she searched for the proper word.  “I…enjoyed her company, though I would not have acknowledged that sense of emotion at the time.  She was the primary driver of our relationship as when she proposed marriage, I found it both logical and appropriate to grant her request.”

Again, she paused. Had she been the counselor she would have asked her patient if that was the only reason and it seemed appropriate that she consider the unspoken question.

She pulled that day out of her memory and replayed it in her mind.  The Damascus made port at  Earth Spacedock for a three-week overhaul.  Triss was waiting for her when she disembarked and despite the obvious excitement she picked up from her, Triss maintained her self-control and greeted her in the traditional Vulcan manner, they’d spent the night ‘on the town’ a night that ended in Rome with Triss proposing marriage in front of the Trevi Fountain.

"So you do love me," Triss had asked when Hathev had accepted.

"Love is an emotional construct that I do not experience.  I neither love nor not love you, Triss.  Formalizing our association through marriage is both logical and agreeable."

That response had satisfied her, but Hathev knew it was not what she had desired to hear.  Hathev could not feel it, could not say it at the time, but as she relived the memory in her mind with the benefit of hindsight and a new perspective, one not ruled solely by logic, she understood now what she could not then.

“I loved her,” she admitted aloud.  “I loved her warmth, the respect she showed to others, her talent, her passion.  She,” Hathev paused again.  “Triss, completed me in a way that I was unaware I needed, and we were well suited to one another.  We were…happy.”

Her voice wavered as the memories of everything falling apart around her returned unbidden. 

“At least we were until our son died,” she said.  Even after all these years she could not bring herself to say his name.  “I lost two people I loved that day.”

The tears continued, still slow by any human standards, but far freer than any Vulcan would wish to permit.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Cross) | Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]Hathev had taken a moment to shift her position slightly before she began to speak, leaving Cross to assume she was simply trying to get comfortable. He didn’t have to wait long for the diminutive counsellor to find a comfortable position, and he adjusted his arm around her as Hathev’s slight frame settled cozily against him. The former hybrid listened quietly as she began to speak, carefully reaching out with the arm which wasn’t supporting her in an attempt to retrieve his coffee from the table without disturbing the now comfortable Hathev. It took several tries before Cross managed to loop a finger in the mug’s handle, but he ended up successful in retrieving the coffee and taking a sip without shifting Hathev from her position or interrupting her narrative.

Hathev’s description of the development of her relationship with Triss was put forth in a very Vulcan manner, with Triss’ proposal described as logical and appropriate. It was only by virtue of the disastrous mind meld that Cross knew there to be a deep river of emotions attached to the proper and logical manners of Vulcan speech. He knew how much Hathev had loved, and how much she had hurt, even if Hathev herself had not known at the time.

”I loved her.” The outright admission took Cross by surprise, as did the fact that Hathev’s voice quavered slightly as she spoke. He had not expected such a frank statement of emotion from the diminutive Vulcan, despite his knowledge of her true feelings.

Cross was equally surprised when she mentioned the death of their son, stating that she’d lost two people she loved that day. Cross glanced at Hathev and saw tears on her cheeks, the former hybrid carefully balancing his mug on the arm of the couch to free up his hand, then gently reaching out to wipe the tears form Hathev’s cheeks. ”Haja…” Cross muttered to himself, ”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Cross continued softly, fearing he had prompted Hathev to talk about a subject which had only brought her more pain. ”I’ve never been good at this sort of thing.” Cross ceased his attempts to dry her tears and simply wrapped the free hand around her as well, unsure of how else to console the grieving Vulcan. ”Comforting others, I mean. There’s a reason people call me gruff and grumpy.” Cross tilted his head, resting his cheek on the top of Hathev’s head. ”I’m sorry, Hathev.”

Cross was silent for a moment, his mind desperately trying to come up with something to ease Hathev’s pain. His pale eyes rolled downward, staring at what he could see of the woman curled up against him, most of which amounted to the dark hair his face gently rested against. ”You know, Blue asked me yesterday if I ever wondered if people like us might be cursed.” Cross’ mouth twisted in a faint smile. ”I told her that I didn’t wonder, I knew.” Cross rolled his head slightly, angling it so that he could just see Hathev’s face. ”Perhaps you’re one of us. The cursed ones.” Cross chuckled slightly. ”However illogical you may think the idea...”

Cross lifted his head then, shifting himself somewhat so that he could meet her eyes. ”I’ve made you feel worse, and now I need to try and make things better.” Cross told her in a very matter of fact manner. ”But I’m no counsellor, and frankly I’m a bit of an idiot, so you’re going to have to help me out here.” He smiled as he spoke the words, hoping the self-depreciating humour might ease the tension a little. The fact was that his job primarily involved firing very large weapons systems at people, so he essentially excelled at causing them grief, not helping them deal with it. ”So tell me, counsellor, what can I do to help? How can I make this hurt less?”

---

Kardasi Translation:
Haja – Fuck

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Fife

Hathev wiped the tears from her eyes and pushed herself closer and tighter to Cross.  He was being too critical of himself as over half of her profession was to simply listen.

"Apologies are not necessary, Cross.  You need not be a trained professional to provide help.  You have given me the opportunity for catharsis which offers therapeutic value."

She then considered Cross's comments about his conversation with Blue and the concept of curses.  A flare of jealousy rose but she pushed it down just as quickly.  That was her own insecurity, she realized for the first time that she actually had an insecurity, at play.

She contemplated the concept of a curse.

"I lost my son to the Maquis and almost lost myself as a result. I lost his father to the Dominion and I lost Saren, my son's half-brother yesterday in the bombing.  Triss and I lost our connection when our son died.  Now Triss is likely dead as well."

She paused as she attempted to hold her composure together.

"You are correct that I find the concept of 'curses' to be illogical.  However, evidence may indicate that I am, indeed, cursed."

She shifted her own position, sitting up and shifting to allow Cross to shift his own place more easily.  She sat up  He criticized his own effectiveness and asked what he could to do make her hurt less.

"You have not made me feel worse.  You must understand and believe this.  As to what you can do…"  her voice trailed off again.  "You are already doing it by listening and offering your support."

Hathev sat in silence for a moment as the thoughts and, yes, the emotions circled in her mind.  She would heal in time, she knew, and eventually she would perform the funeral rites for Triss and, despite her newfound array of emotion, she would heal.  Yet…

She looked up and met Cross's eyes and found herself lost in them.  She could not, did not want to turn away.

"I've lived over a century," she said, her voice just barely above a whisper. "In that time I have lost almost everyone for whom I have cared on a deeper level."

She took in a breath, almost afraid of what she was about to say.  Her hand slid up his chest wrapping gently around the base of his neck, his shirt preventing direct contact.  Even so she pulled herself up toward him.

She lifted her head and kissed him.

I cannot lose you too.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Cross) | Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]Cross listened to Hathev as she countered his statement that he had made things worse, and quietly accepted the new role of quiet sounding board. Having never been a generally talkative individual, he felt this, at least, he could do for her.

As Hathev continued, stating that over the past century she had lost almost everyone she had cared for deeply, Cross found himself reflecting on his own past. He imagined it must be very lonely, losing all those you had grown to care for. For himself, Cross had never had anyone he'd cared deeply for until the past year or so. Kai, Blue, Ducote, and now Hathev. Those were the few he'd grown to care for. He doubted any of them were as close to him as Hathev's family had been to her, with the exception of Blue, whom he had unexpectedly bonded with over the past months.

All this passed through Cross' mind in moment, though his thoughts were once again derailed as Hathev's lips met his, her hand snaking around the back of his neck to draw them closer. Cross was startled for a moment, his hands reflexively moving to Hathev's shoulders as though he was about to push her away, though after the briefest pang of surprise he relaxed, returning the kiss.

Then he could hear her in his mind, a mixture of message and emotion.

I cannot lose you too.

That gave Cross pause.

His lips ceased their movement against hers, though he did not pull away at first. Concern filled him, and he knew that Hathev would feel it through their skin on skin contact. Finally, he opened his eyes, breaking the kiss but not moving further than a couple of inches from her. When Cross spoke, his deep voice was soft and gentle, their faces still close enough to feel her breath on his face.

”Hathev… it’s…” He began, though he paused to choose his words. After a moment, he decided the most direct approach would likely be the best one. ”It wouldn’t be wise to be dependant on my survival.” Cross took a deep breath, then continued. ”I owe Starfleet everything. When Starfleet liberated me from the camp, they gave me a life, a future, even a name.” She already knew this, of course, but the statement played an important role in Cross’ view of things. ”In the service of Starfleet over the seven years since I graduated from the Academy, I have been shot, stabbed, burned, partially crushed, and had my arm blown off…” Cross removed his left hand from her shoulder, holding it between them and flexing the metallic digits as though to emphasize the point. After a slight pause, he continued. ”I wouldn’t hesitate, even for a moment, to do it again should the situation require it.”

That was an understatement. The reason Cross had not hesitated to sign on with the Theurgy after being free of the Savi was that he truly believed that he owed Starfleet everything. Now the Parasites threatened the very survival of the organization that he believed in so fervently, as well as the galaxy. ”It would be all to easy to lose me too. And given what lies ahead of us, and how many we have lost already, I would even say it’s likely.” There was no sadness in Cross’ tone as he spoke, no anger, no hostility, no anxiety. He spoke calmly, simply stating a fact.

Cross angled his head forward, allowing his forehead to rest against hers. ”I’m not saying I don’t care about you, Hathev. But to depend on me… wouldn’t be a good idea.”

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Fife 

As soon as the thought entered her mind, Hathev knew she had mis-judged.  For a brief moment, Cross was there with her pulled into the moment.  In that moment she had let slip a thought, a desire…a weakness.

He pulled away from her, his concern and uncertainty flooding into her as he pulled away.  She listened as he explained his loyalty to the Federation, to Starfleet. 

“I’m not saying I don’t care about you, Hathev.  But to depend on me… wouldn’t be a good idea.”

The words hit her like a bucket of ice cold water dumped over her head.  What had she said?  What had she intimated?  What did he think she wanted?  Did she actually mean what she had said?

She sighed as she sat up, taking care to keep her movements natural, neutral, betraying no emotion as she processed the moment.  Hathev rose to her feet, her fingers curling around the Coffee as she padded over to the viewports to gaze out at the stars.

What had she come here for and what had this become?  Had she come for romance or, as Cross had intimated, co-dependence?  No.  She had come for companionship for company.  She had come for support and yet somehow that support had turned into a desire on her part for something romantic.  If this had happened to one of her own patient, she would have counseled caution that they not strive to replace the loss of one loved one and substitute another in their place.  She would have cautioned her patient on the risk of codependency and the dangers therein.

Hathev was slipping down the proverbial slope and despite his professed lack of expertise, Cross could see it.  What of the others aboard?  Could she do her duty, her job when she was at risk of falling into the same pattern as her patients?

She took a sip of her coffee and sighed. 

“I apologize,” she conceded as she continued to observe the stars outside.  “It was an…emotionally fueled thought, a moment driven out of a sense of loss.”

She fell silent as she considered her state of mind.

“It is logical to desire the company and companionship of those we care about and those who care about us.  I did not intend to imply that I wished to become dependent on your survival.”

Again she fell silent, wondering just how much damage she had done to their relationship.  Had she been trying to replace Triss with Cross?  Of that she could not be certain.

She set the mug down on his table and made her way back to the couch, her bare feet pressing into the carpet and lowered herself to her knees and sat back, her butt touching the back of her bare feet.  It was a standard mediation posture that also intended to humble those who adopted it. 

“I have inadvertently placed you in an awkward situation and I apologize for that as well.  I do not wish for you to feel as though I am trying to use you as a proxy to Triss.  That could not be farther from the truth.”

She looked up into his eyes.  “I care about you too, Cross.  I care for you in a way that I did not expect, but I do welcome.  Yet, I find myself uncertain and, I dare say, confused, especially now in the wake of the news.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Cross) | Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]Cross’ pale eyes followed Hathev’s movements as the other Vulcan sat up, took up her cup, rose, and moved to stare out of the viewports. His expression remained unchanged, though a sense of concern rose within him as his gaze followed her movements. He remained silent throughout, having already spoken enough, and instead waited for her to speak. After a long moment, she did so, apologizing and explaining that it had been an emotionally driven thought.

She fell silent for another moment then. Cross reached out and took up his own mug as he waited for her to continue, taking a long draw on the bitter liquid. He wasn’t sure what he had expected when Hathev had come to his quarters this evening, though he certainly hadn’t expected to be acting as the Counsellor’s Counsellor.

”It is logical to desire the company and companionship of those we care about and those who care about us. I did not intend to imply that I wished to become dependent on your survival.”

Cross regarded her with a neutral gaze as she spoke, her previous words echoing in the former hybrid’s mind.

I cannot lose you too.

The two statements were directly at odds with one another, her more recent and logical statement seeming to try and backpedal on the words which he had passed through their physical telepathy. The fact that she was contradicting herself, something very unlike Hathev, only caused Cross’ sense of concern to grow. As it was he remained seated, and after another long pause Hathev turned, set her cup on the table and returned to the couch. Or at least Cross had thought she was, though his brow climbing in surprise as Hathev knelt on the carpet facing him. As she began to speak, first apologizing again for the awkward position she had put him in, then looking into his eyes as she voiced the fact that she cared for him, but she felt uncertain and confused in the wake of Triss’ death. That, at least, Cross could understand.

”I can understand why you might feel confused and conflicted,” Cross began as he set his mug on the table once more, ”it must be a lot to take in. You’ve lost someone who was important to you and a major part of your life at one point.” Cross sighed, his seemingly unblinking gaze not leaving hers. ”Haja, I’m sorry Hathev, I didn’t mean to ruin the evening, or to make you uncomfortable. I just… what you said… I was concerned.” Words had never been Cross’ strong suit, nor had gentle tones, though he used a gentle tone now. Tonight was all too similar to the previous evening, when he had been talking with Blue about Ducote. Too many deaths, he thought to himself, and too many people left behind.

”First, let’s get you up.” Cross said, rising and offering Hathev his hand to assist her, ”I’m the last hajari person you ought to be kneeling before.” Cross understood the significance of the gesture, and it made him uncomfortable. Truth be told, a great deal of what was happening made him uncomfortable. Cross had always been more comfortable in his duties than in personal interactions, feeling more at ease growling orders, swearing and moving within the confines of rules and regulations than the niceties of social interactions.

”There we go.” Cross said as he helped her to her feet, though not releasing her hand yet. ”Now, where do we go from here?” Cross realized he might have misspoken as soon as he uttered the words, vague as the question had been. ”I mean, ah, what now?” Fuck, that was no better. ”I mean, I’ll understand if you wish to leave.” That just sounded like he was trying to kick her out. Fuck. ”Not that I, uh, want you to… I just… haja…” He was getting flustered now, mumbling idiocies as the all too familiar green flush crept up his features. Part of him was surprised it had taken so long. He had never been comfortable around women. Kai was always teasing him about this. There was a reason he usually just stood and glowered at those around him.

Sighing, Cross tried again. ”I’m sorry, I’m just… not good at this.” Truer words… ”I’m not saying I want you to leave, only that I’ll understand if you want to.” Cross dropped his gaze, staring at her hand held lightly in his. ”I want to help you, want to be there for you, but the truth is I don’t know what you need, or what I can do for you." Cross hesitated. "I’ve never had anyone to lose, so I have no idea what you’re going through. I’m not a proper Vulcan, so I can’t help you logic your way through this. The only real help I could be is if you had a problem I could blow up with a torpedo…”

---

Kardasi Translation:
Haja – Fuck
Hajari - Fucking

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev | Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn:

At first Hathev did not understand why Cross had been so quick to pull her back to her feet and onto the couch when she had knelt in front of him.  She certainly had not intended to present herself as supplicant to him.  She simply wished to sit on the carpet in a comfortable manner that would permit her to look him in the eye.  Adopting the traditional mediation posture seemed only logical.  But as her head cleared and she recalled his early life in the Cardassian prison camp, she realized just how it might have been interpreted.  He didn’t seem to dwell on it though, rather getting himself tongue tied over what he was trying to tell her about leaving or staying, wanting her to stay but understanding if she wanted to leave.

Cross, you are quite endearing when you are flustered.

She put her hand up to his lips and pressed gently against him.  To his credit he stopped rambling about his proficiency with torpedoes.

“You wish for me to stay.  I wish to stay as well.  Given that, the decision would seem obvious, no?”

She made a point to give him as much of a smile as she could manage.  It was a small thing she knew, but she was unused to the gesture as anything but an emotional construct she could not emulate…at least not until recently.  If she did it right, it would serve to relax the tension.

“You do yourself a disservice.  I have come to consider you as my otersu, my honored partner in life.  Regardless of the course of our lives, regardless of whether or not we ever chose to mate with one another, you will always be my otersu.  You have earned that not by being someone you are not, but being yourself.  Whether you realize it or not, you give me strength.  You show me your support in ways you do not even know.”

She shifted in her place, making sure to keep eye contact. “My earlier comments notwithstanding, I did not come here seeking a physical encounter.  I came seeking your companionship, your comfort, and yes your counsel.”

Hathev spoke the truth, she knew that.  But as she downplayed her desire for physical intimacy she also knew a part of her would have welcomed it.

“I respect your perspective and I am grateful for your warning as it pertains to emotional dependence.  I’ve counseled many patients against such a thing over the years.  But please do not be in such a hurry to ‘do it again’.  There are many of us on board, myself included, who care deeply for you as well.”

She shifted in place as a sense of unease set in.  It was as if the more she spoke, the more she risked making the situation worse.  His company and his embrace was all she desired.  But as she continued to process everything she found herself developing a new understanding  as to why some of her patients sought refuge through personal vices.

Hathev let a sigh escape as she sank into the couch wondering just what vice might get her through this.

---

Otersu - Honored Partner/Mate.  Used to describe a bond that transcends friendship, family, and even love.  A Vulcan version of "Imzadi"

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Cross) | Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]Flustered as he was, even Cross knew he was meant to shut up when Hathev placed her finger on his lips. Hathev spoke in the ensuing silence, stating that since they both wished for her to stay, then the clear decision was that she ought to do so. For all his ridiculous rambling to try and say as much, Hathev summed it up in a single statement. Hathev smiled at him then, the gesture seeming unfamiliar to both his eyes and her facial muscles, though he appreciated the gesture for what it was, and farced himself to relax, taking a couple of deep breaths to aid in the endeavour. She continued to talk as he preformed the breathing, informing him of the manner in which she had come to think of him.

Otersu.

Cross blinked as she explained what it meant, that it inferred that he was an honoured partner in her life. He blinked again and took another series of deep breaths as she used the phrase “whether or not we ever chose to mate…”, this time in an effort to fight down the colour that was threatening to rise in his cheeks rather than to calm the sense of flustered imbalance. The former hybrid was hardly a prude, but nor was he what Kai would have termed a “player”, and to have Hathev in his quarters saying such a thing seemed an alien idea. She was still speaking, saying that he had earned that title by being himself, and that he supported her in ways he did not even know. Pushing the mild embarrassment from his thoughts, Cross nodded as Hathev informed him of why she had come here, though what counsel she had expected was beyond him.

It seemed he had, however, given her good counsel in regards to his worry of her coming to depend on him, the Chief Counsellor admitting that she had issued similar advice to those she met with in the course of her duties, though she also requested that he not be in such a hurry to “do it again”. Cross cocked his head slightly at that comment, amused. ”It’s not as though I’m in a rush to get burned, stabbed or maimed again, Hathev…” he informed her with a chuckle, ”I just wanted you to acknowledge the possibility if such things happening. I don’t have any particular wish to have any more metal parts.” Even as he made the comment, the fingers of his mechanical hands flexed unconsciously. ”I was just saying… uh… haja, I don’t know what I’m saying half the time…”

Cross sighed, rose from where he was seated on the couch, and crossed the room to the replicator. ”I know you disapprove of my indulging myself when Blue and I ended up in the brig.” He turned his head as he moved, looking back at her with the hint of mischief in his eyes, then punched in a command and waited for the replicator to whir to life. Retrieving the two drinks, Cross returned to the couch. ”However, I think that the heavy nature of tonight’s conversation calls for something stronger than coffee.” Cross offered Hathev one of the glasses, which contained a dark, fizzing liquid in which floated a pair of ice cubes.

”Normally, if I want to relax, I drink kanar. It is, however, an acquired taste. One which I find few are interested in acquiring.” Cross grinned at the memory of several of his friends trying his beverage of choice, and the contorted faces they pulled upon tasting it. ”This is just a fizzy, Human drink with enough sugar to make Blue happy, so it should help take the edge off.” Cross sipped his own drink, the sweetness of the glass’ contents washing over his tongue alongside the almost burning sensation of the carbonation. Looking down into his glass, Cross wondered at the odd choice the Humans had made. The drink was a mixture of liquids and gasses, and with the addition of the solid ice cubes it contained the three basic states of matter. ”I’m sorry, I suppose we should drink to something first.” Cross hesitated a moment, then raised his glass between them. ”To Triss. Gone, like so many, but not forgotten.” He wasn’t sure if it was an entirely appropriate toast, nor if Hathev would appreciate it, but Cross was hardly one to give toasts, and it was the best he could come up with.

---

Kardasi Translation:
Haja – Fuck

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Fife

Hathev sat on the couch, her hand gently resting on her mouth and nose as she considered everything.  Cross had moved to the replicator but she did not concern herself with his actions.  Instead, she found her mind disorganized and uncertain over the conflicting thoughts and, yes, emotions that raced through her mind’s failing logic.

For the first time in her adult life, Hathev could not determine what it was she wanted.  Up until now, Logic had dictated her actions.  But now as emotional considerations seeped into her psychie, she had that complication with which to contend and the conflux left her uncertain.

One step at a time.

Cross was tongue tied again, trying to explain his comments about being injured and potentially having to go through that again.

“What you’re saying, Otersu, is that our mission is more dangerous than normal and that the risks of bodily injury and death are far greater than they usually are on board a starship.  Therefore it is logical to be prepared for the possibility if not probability that one of us will be among the ship’s casualties before this is over.”

Truthfully, she was uncertain of just how probable it was, but she had not been on board as long as Cross, had not seen as much as he had.  But she also had not seen the same strife and hardship he had in is youth and, to a certain extent, she considered the possibility that his perspective was colored by that experience even though this was a unique situation.

Cross returned to her side, offering a glass with a fizzing brown liquid inside.  She recognized the soda for what it was as Triss had occasionally consumed the drink itself.  She also knew what exactly was in the concoction.

“I remember the incident well,” she said.  “However, much has happened since then and I daresay the proverbial ‘stick up my ass’ as some of the crew have alluded to, is no longer as prevalent as it once was.”

She took the glass in her hand and recalled what Cross had said about himself and Blue Tiran a few moments ago.

“To Triss,” she agreed. 

She took a sip of the drink and savored the carbonation as it reacted against her tongue and the back of her throat, leaving the sweetness behind.  It was not as strong as she might have imagined, and she idly wondered if the soda was to Vulcans what beer was to Humans. 

Regardless, the drink agreed with her, which was a concern in and of itself, but one she chose to ignore.

She raised the glass once again towards Cross.

“And to you, me, Blue Tiran, and the rest of the ‘cursed’ aboard the Theurgy.”

Hathev downed the rest of the beverage and set the empty glass on the coffee table.  As she sat back, a belch loud enough to rival that of a Klingon drunk on blood wine erupted from her throat.

“Excuse me…”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Cross) | Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]Cross took a sip of his drink once they had toasted to Triss, then found himself clinking glasses with his companion again as she raised a toast to the two of them, as well as Blue Tiran and the other "cursed" aboard the Theurgy.

"To the cursed." Cross agreed, this time taking a larger sip.

That sip nearly ended up spurting out of his nose a moment later as Hathev let out a belch that would rival a Klingon. The laugh which tried to escape at the large sound produced by the diminutive woman nearly choked Cross who, after a moment of sputtering and coughing, broke down into a fit a laughter. "You're excused," Cross finally managed to say through his laughter, "though the people in the quarters next door might not be so forgiving!"

Cross leaned back with a sigh, a warm feeling of relaxation coming over him as the sucrose worked its way into his system. After taking another sip, Cross turned his head and regarded his companion with curiosity. "If I'm being honest, I'm surprised you're willing to indulge in something like this." He admitted, giving Hathev a slight smile so as to avoid her mistaking his comment for criticism. "You seemed not to approve of it when you saw Blue and I inebriated." Cross paused as another theory occurred to him. "Though now that I think about it, I suppose the fact that we were locked in the brig might have had something to do with that as well..." Cross gave Hathev a sheepish grin which bordered on apologetic, then sipped his drink. "Ducote wasn't too pleased with us either." He added, chuckling into his glass at the memory, his amusement at the predicament he and Blue had gotten themselves into somewhat soured by the fact that Ranaan Ducote was in stasis in sickbay along with Cross' close friend, Kai. Both had been victims of the bombing in the Spearhead Lounge, though Ducote had come out much the worse for wear, and the man would likely soon be joining the woman he and Hathev had just toasted, beyond Blue's reach just as Triss was beyond Hathev's.

Cross glowered into his glass for a moment, thinking to himself that he had thought himself done with war and casualties after the Dominion War. Instead he was now part of yet another conflict, though this time the rules were different, the loses were closer to home, and allies were few. As were moments of reprieve, such as the one he was currently enjoying with Hathev.

"Forgive me," Cross apologized, looking up from his drink with a guilty expression, "I'm afraid my thoughts were wandering."

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Fife 

Hathev allowed herself a quiet sigh as Cross again brought up Blue and her husband Ducote…again.  It…made sense and there was a certain logic.  The three had been shipmates back aboard the Endeavour and it was reasonable for them to have developed a kinship.  She herself had not developed any kinship with the Ballerophon survivors.  That had been due in no small part to the fact that she had been on board for little over a week and had not taken the time to get to know the crew as she had not expected to be aboard for that long.

Little did she know then where that would lead her.  A dead estranged wife.  A crew mate with whom she was closer than anyone else she had ever known, including her spouse, one from whom she wanted support. One whom now seemed more interested in taking about others than talking to her.  Yes, there was a certain logic, but that did not make it any less irritating.

“In my experiences, most individuals indulge in at least one vice.  It is not my place to judge those vices. Only the consequences of their indulgence. In short,” she took another sip of her drink.  “You are correct that I disapproved of the actions that resulted in you ending up in the brig.  If your inebriation was a contributing cause of your mutual incarceration then you may logically assume that I disapproved of that as well.”

There was a bite in her words, one she did not intend.  But as she considered her comments and the sucrose loosened her tight Vulcan resolve, she realized that she did… not object to the tone she had offered.

“As for us in this moment, I doubt anything we might do tonight would fall under the category of actions that would result in incarceration.”

As she took another sip, she felt her head go light.  It was a…welcome sensation and while she could have fought it, relied on her discipline and training to keep her fully grounded, she instead allowed herself to be relieved of the weight of her grief.  Perhaps now they could just be people, two people who cared for one another.

But they were not alone.  Sure they were the only two in the room.  But there were others here too.

“You…” she said, her speech slow but clear.  “Must be very close to your Endeavour crew mates…”  she paused.  “You speak of them quite often.”

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross (https://uss-theurgy.com/w/index.php?title=Cross) | Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring
[Show/Hide]Cross nodded his understanding as Hathev spoke of her disapproval at his ending up in the brig. Her mention of the fact that her disapproval extended to his inebriation as a contributing factor in landing him there made sense, though she also made a valid point in stating that she doubted their actions here tonight would have any such similar result.

"Let's hope you're right." Cross said with a chuckle before taking a sip from his glass, "I have no wish to find myself locked up in the brig again."

Cross blinked in surprise as Hathev spoke again, this time to state that he must be very close with his Endeavour crewmates, based on his habit of mentioning them often. A slight flush rose in his cheeks at the comment, the former hybrid realizing that such comments might cause Hathev to feel somewhat of an outsider.

"You could say that." Cross said after a moment, speaking carefully. "I think there is a sense of comraderie among those of us who survived the Borg attack on the Endeavour. We lost so many friends that I suppose we feel a bond in our continued survival. All the more so for those of us who went through the horrors of the Versant." Cross paused then, casting a sidelong glance at Hathev. "Kai Akoni was the first friend I made aboard the Endeavour. In fact, I think he's one of the first real friends I made in Starfleet. I... made a point not to grow too close to people for a long time. It made things easier... especially during the war when we were losing so many."

Cross shifted where he sat so that his body faced Hathev, his gaze fixed on her. "Have I made you feel uncomfortable by mentioning them so often? If so, I apologize. Social interactions have... never been a strong suit of mine..."

An understatement, Cross knew, just as he knew that Hathev would also be aware of the fact.

"I suppose I speak of them so often because they are the people I feel most comfortable around." Cross admitted. "Perhaps I feel more alone, now that several of those Endeavour crewmates are in sickbay..."

Cross leaned forward, eblows resting on his knees and his drink cradled in both hands. "Do you not feel any similar connection to the survivors from the Ballerophon?" He suspected not, given the fact that she had brought up his apparent attachment to his former crewmates.

---

OOC: Sorry for the extremely long delay in getting my reply up!

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Fife 

Hathev took another sip of her soda as she pushed the tendrils of frustration back down.  She had come for support and, yes, Cross had provided.  But he still seemed more interested in taking about his shipmates.  Perhaps it was selfish, and it was certainly illogical, but there it was.  Even so it was not as if she had even had the opportunity to get to know her shipmates aboard Bellerophon.

So much had changed since then.  When she left Starbase 84 she had been stable, her career on an acceptable track, and while her marriage was certainly failing, she at least knew where things stood. In little over a month time since she had come aboard, her marriage had collapsed, her ship had been destroyed leaving her presumed dead, her wife had presumably also died in an act of war, her abilities to fully suppress her emotions had been damaged, and she was tripping over her words with the one person she probably trusted most aboard ship.  All of it because of the arrogance of one person.

“I was aboard the Bellerophon for little more than a week.” There was a bite in her words, she knew.  Even so, she did not try to hide it.  “I had little time to make ‘friends’ and what few colleagues I might have considered ‘friends’ were lost when Commander Trent exceeded his mandate and ordered the attack that ultimately destroyed my ship.”

She felt the sucrose working its way through her, clouding her head and her perception.  But she did not care and took another long pull.

[Lt Cmdr Cross | Cross's Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Well…fuck…

Cross reached up and scratched at his scalp with his left hand, wincing almost immediately when he’d forgotten to pay closer attention to how much pressure he was using. He still hadn’t gotten all the kinks worked out, though he appreciated Blue’s spectacular “hand job” nonetheless. Cross counted it lucky that he could recycle all the shit he’d broken because of this damned hand, otherwise, he’d have a corner of his quarters best left unexplored, filled with an embarrassing amount of broken and ruined items.

Glancing back to Hathev, Cross inwardly cursed himself every which way. He was absolute shit at this, and while technically Hathev would’ve known that from their earlier meld, that didn’t excuse his utter lack of courtesy in the face of her pain. She’d come to him seeking out his company and assuredly she had NOT done so to listen to him gab on about his shipmates and friends. If he’d been alone without her as an audience, Cross would’ve given into the near overwhelming desire to bang his head against the wall for his stupidity. But as it was, he swallowed the line of curses he wanted to throw at his mirror, and opened his mouth to try again, this time hopefully with less foot insertion.

“Look, Hathev, I’m sorry for-“ he blinked, suddenly at a loss of what the fuck he was supposed to apologize for, at least aside from how dense he could be, “for cocking this up. I know you didn’t come here to listen to me talk about other people, at least not in the sense of how great they are and, oh surprise, they’re alive, unlike-” Cross grimaced as he cut himself off. Most likely his sarcasm was missing the mark as well. He schooled his features into as neutral an expression as he could muster during a moment of utter ignoramousity…shit was that even a word? “How about I just shut up about all the living breathing folks and we change the subject?”

Cross eyed his glass and suddenly wished for kanar. A little liquid courage to get him through this shuttle wreck of a conversation. Looking back at Hathev’s glass, he raised a single eyebrow.

“Another drink? The same? Or something else? Something more…adventuresome?” He felt nervous energy creep into his body, starting at his feet, and moved to stand, intention on the replicator for more drinks. “I became a scotch sommelier through my mentor in Scotland, then later developed similar adept abilities for whiskey. Too bad we don’t have the real stuff here.” He glanced towards his bedroom area, then back at Hathev. He DID have some stowed away, but he wasn’t sure if now was the right time to offer. “Though, I don’t know, have you ever had scotch or whiskey?” He pivoted on his heel to stare down at her and taking in the image of Hathev sitting so vulnerable and alone on his couch made his gut clench even more at how ignorantly absurd he was with women. “I’m babbling.”

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

Hathev let out a sigh as the sugars seeped their way into her blood stream.  Cross was, indeed stumbling over himself like an adolescent human.  Yet he was trying to help her, clueless though he might actually be.  Yet it did not care. 

She finished the last swallow of the soda she had in her hand.

“As the humans would say,” she responded when he asked about the next round of indulgence. “Surprise me.  I’m content to continue with our current course of sucrose intoxication.  I would prefer to stay away from human alcohols as they do not agree with my stomach.”

Hathev had not immediately responded to Cross’s suggestion about not talking about living folks.  If she were being honest with herself, (which she decided she ought to be since she demanded the same from her patients) she could sense the deterioration in her own state of mind.  If she were susceptible to human emotion, she would call it depression, and that she was spiraling.  But she was impervious to such things.

Or was she?  Ever since that mind meld, her sense of control had been muddied.  Yes, that was the word for it.

“Not talking about the living breathing folks,” she mused aloud, casually repeating Cross’s idea. “What should we talk about then?  The dead perhaps?  I’ll start…”  There was a slight slur to her speech, her tone driven by intoxication more than a sense of emotion.  “My son defected to the Maquis,” her voice faltered at that and for the first time since Kiriel had left she could peak of him.  “He died when the Cardassians and the Jem’Hadar engaged in their wholesale slaughter.  My son has a half brother who is currently in stasis here on Theurgy.  Their father, the Vulcan I offered myself to in order to satisfy his Pon Farr, a decision based solely on the logic of necessity with no sense of affection, was killed in action during the War.  My estranged wife is presumed dead in Paris.”

She took another sip of her drink, only to realize it was empty.

“That says nothing of those who died aboard the Bellerophon, or the crew who have died aboard this ship.  Yes,” she slurred. “Let us help me process the statistical probability of my wife’s death, by speaking of more death.”

[Lt Cmdr Cross | Cross's Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross eyed Hathev then turned to the replicator. How to surprise a Vulcan woman without having the surprise completely backfire? Sucrose…sour situation…sucrose…sour…Cross smiled as he snapped his fingers. Bingo!

“Two honey lemon twists. Chilled.” The golden-colored liquid always reminded Cross of liquid sunshine, and he figured something of a more cheery color may help the mood lighten again. Turning back to Hathev, he held up the glasses accompanied with a shy smile, “Learned of this drink from a roommate back at the Academy. He preferred to drink it with green tea as a base, but he told me you could use simple carbonated water instead and make it decaffeinated. Hope it's an agreeable surprise.”

He handed the glass to Hathev but remained standing by the couch, his fingers tapping against the almost slippery glass now that the condensation was forming. Cross had never quite felt the intoxicating effects of sucrose before the Versant, or at least never to the degree that full-blooded Vulcans felt it, and yet now that he was standing still, or close enough to it, Cross realized that his own sense of balance was compromised. He felt a near giddiness build up in the back of his throat that threatened to spill out as a laugh, and for no reason whatsoever. Looking back to Hathev, it seemed she was faring no better. Or, perhaps, she was faring worse. Her words were slurring, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it seemed that actual emotions were also beginning to surface. Perhaps the additional sucrose had been a bad idea.

At her revelation about her son, Cross rocked back on his heels and quickly took a long sip of his honey lemon twist to keep from saying something stupid in an effort to comfort her after such a confession. The vulnerability staring at him through Hathev’s eyes had him twitching, making him want to yell at whoever it was that made her like this, punch something, or run the fuck away as if his pants were on fire. Strange how all that could be felt in equal measures to the sudden awareness of how her nightclothes clung to the curves of her body, her skin looked like it would be soft in his hands, and he wondered what she’d look like with hair messy from a night of fu….

Cross choked on his drink around the same time Hathev mentioned the Pon Farr. Quickly brushing at his chin and neck, Cross set the glass down and moved to a set of drawers to retrieve a towel.

“I’m sorry about your son, Hathev.” He spoke to her with his eyes downcast, concentrating on cleaning up the mess he made. It seemed coordinated movements were getting harder to make now. “Cardassians are…” he paused and looked back to her in confusion. It wasn’t the first time he felt conflicted when it came to exactly what he felt towards Cardassians. He’d known so few and of those one had been kind(ish) and the others no-nonsense but not brutal. Yet, at the same time, the reality of why he existed, coupled with the truths of the other heinous acts committed in the name of Cardassia, Cross was no stranger to hating them. “A half-brother? On Theurgy?” Realizing he had no descriptor relevant for what he felt towards Cardassians, Cross continued with Hathev’s confession. “Surprisingly small galaxy.”

Cross sighed when Hathev spoke of her estranged wife and then descended into almost sardonic humor regarding the loss of those on the Bellerophon and Theurgy. He’d tried distracting her and got chastised for speaking of his friends instead of focusing on her, so he’d tried distracting her by speaking of the dead to praise them, and that seemed to have backfired, too. Just what the fuck did she want from him?

It took him exactly .127 seconds to realize he spoke the last aloud, and it was with wide eyes filled with regret that he looked back up to Hathev.

“Fuck me…” his whispered words leaked out into the silence between them as he continued to process his blunder and brace himself for her response. "I didn't mean that. I mean," he coughed, "I do mean that," Cross pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, "shit. I'm sorry, Hathev. What I mean is I don't know what you want from me right now. Everything I'm doing seems to be making this worse." His s's were growing elongated and Cross inwardly sighed. It seemed the sucrose was catching up with him double time now.

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

Hathev took the offered drink and held it in her hand as she explained what had happened to those she would have called family.  After she finished speaking, she took the first sip of the new drink, she concluded that the bite in the drink and the bite in her words was roughly the same.  That was appropriate, she concluded, even though it was not logical.  Yet it was… right.

Her thoughts swirled around her intoxicated mind, as chaotic and disorganized as the countless patients she had counseled over the decades, fueled by her species’ natural proclivity towards intense and, in many cases, violent emotions.  Emotions that generations of Vulcans before her had learned to overcome, to control through logic. A control she once had.  A control now damaged since a mind meld with the man in front of her, further complicated by the intoxication he had provided her this night.  A control she now realized, perhaps for the first time… that she might never regain.

Her stomach turned on her, in a way she had not expected, as Cross began his futile effort to console her while at the same time pontificating uselessly on the size of the galaxy.  This, she knew was nausea brought on by intoxication.

“Too small if you ask me,” she chided.

“Fuck me…”  Was Cross’s only reply.  Less of a proposition, she knew, and more of an exclamation.  Even so, those two words grated on her essence.  Logic told her the statement meant nothing.  But something else within her screamed in protest.  How dare he even suggest that at a time like this.  But he wasn’t suggesting it.  Or was he?  Hathev did not know, nor did she care.

“Everything I’m doing seems to be making this worse.”

Again, he was making it about him.  She was the one hurting… yes hurting.  A Vulcan HURTING.  How insulting.  And he was trying to make it about him and his needs.  His need to be useful.  His need to fix things.  His need to make her feel better.  She was a Vulcan!  She should not need to be made to feel better.  She ought not feel anything at all!  Logic should be her guiding principle.  Nothing else.  These paltry emotions- Human, Bajoran, Trill, Klingon, Cardassian, Betazoid… especially Betazoid emotions…were nothing to her, were nothing to her people.  Vulcans had evolved beyond such petty needs.  Logic was their mandate.  Nothing more.  Nothing Less.  Logic and only logic would carry her through these troubled times.  She would fight her emotions, push them back down, mediatate and re-center herself.  Her tool was logic and it would carry her through this battle with her emotional self.  That was the Vulcan way.

But in this moment and for this particular Vulcan, logic lost.

“Then don’t try to make it better,” she finally said.

“Can you not understand,” she seethed through her slightly slurred speech, “that I am angry?”

The words came far easier than they should have.  Had she not been intoxicated already she never would have acknowledged her anger.  Not to herself and certainly not to anyone else, even Cross.

“Everyone I have ever known.  Everyone I have ever…cared for,” she stumbled over the words.  Yet more acknowledgment of emotional attachment.  If they didn’t think her dead, her parents would surely shun her now.  “Everyone I have ever…l…l….”

She stuttered, not so much because of her intoxication but because of what it would mean to say it out loud…  She knew she should stop.  She knew she should bury this.  But she did not care.  The fire of her Vulcan heart ran so hot and so repressed for so long that it would be suppressed no more.  It was not wrong to say the word.  Even Ambassador Sarek himself had admitted the same for his human wives.

“...loved…” 

The word came out as a whisper, so quiet it was almost inaudible over the background hum of the ship’s engines. 

“…is dead.”

She let the it hang here for a moment.

“This,” she began again, “distresses me.  It makes me…angry.  It…insults me to have to speak of these emotions, these feelings.  If I were human I might say it embarrasses me.      I do not want your pity, Cross, and you can not make it ‘better’.  You can not ‘fix’ this.  You can not ‘fix’ me.”

She had the good sense to not remind him that it was he who had inadvertently broken her emotional control in the first place.  It would serve no purpose to be cruel, but the thought was not lost on her.

[Lt Cmdr Cross | Cross's Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring

The logical side of his brain understood certain elements of this exchange that the more readily used emotional side of his brain ignored or lacked the current capability to decipher. For one, Cross understood logically that to admit to an emotion, for a traditional Vulcan such as Hathev, was a cardinal sin, a huge chink in the armor of logic, and a hellz no-go if you were expected to operate as a respected Vulcan. Cross also, normally, logically, would’ve understood that a woman didn’t come to a man and tell him her problems because she wanted a solution; it was because she wanted to be comforted and heard. After more than a few misunderstandings and slapped cheeks during his Academy years, his mentors had taught him that.

However, Cross, so recently rendered a full-blooded Vulcan with nary the control mechanisms over logic and emotion that a child of his race might have, and currently succumbing to sugar intoxication—a new and quite unexpected feat—gave no attention to the logical side of his brain. Instead, he focused on the irrational, emotional side, and in response to Hathev’s obvious distaste of admitted emotions, and her claim that he felt pity for her, only fueled the frustration he’d earlier been feeling. Only now, it wasn’t mere frustration. It had built into irritation, borderline anger, and for a split second it dumbfounded him how they’d ended up from her earlier request to see him to here with both of them just seconds away from blowing a fuse. But that rational second left almost as soon as it came, and Cross reacted on instinct, not logic.

“Why does every Vulcan treat emotions as if they are the plague?” Cross set his drink on the table before throwing up his hands and taking a step back. “Even the ancient Buddhists on Earth, who believed in purging all desires for earthly possessions, knew when to smile and laugh and have a good time.” He shook his head, clenching his fists by his side, “Emotions are not an enemy, Hathev. At least they don’t have to be, and sitting here feeling sorry for yourself that you’re now experiencing them is only going to make a shitty situation shittier.”

Cross moved around the table to sit next to Hathev once more, only his equilibrium didn’t allow him to make a clean corner, and he clipped his shin against the side of the table. He fell back onto the couch, tumbling against Hathev’s side. He pushed out his arms to catch himself, grabbing hold of the armrest on the other side of Hathev and wrapping the fingers of his prosthetic around the back of the couch, trapping her between his body and the couch, their faces close, their bodies even closer. She was warm, soft. Cross blinked her image back into focus when it registered what had happened but spoke in a rumbling whisper before pulling away completely.

“You want logic, Hathev? It is illogical to think that any life is a guarantee. That any relationship will continue to exist. It is illogical to think that we won’t FEEL the loss of someone when they’re not there, that we won’t FEEL anger when their death could’ve been prevented. The degree of feeling may vary, but even Vulcans FEEL emotions. I know that firsthand, now.”

Finally, Cross pulled away, albeit almost reluctantly. He stared at her for a moment before lightly putting his prosthetic on her shoulder, taking care to keep the touch light.

“I don’t pity you, Hathev. Wanting to help someone when they’re in pain is not always pity; it is often compassion. You, of all people, should know the difference.” He shook his head and began to pull his hand away, “And there’s no use me trying to fix you when I’m fucking broken myself. That’s the blind leading the blind.”

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Ellen Fitz 

“Why does every Vulcan treat emotions as if they are the plague?”

Hathev made to stand, but Cross crossed and fell on top of her. Essentially trapping her.  She did not feel threatened per se but is proximity to her did not help her deteriorating state of mind and she had to stop herself from retaliating.

“…even Vulcans FEEL emotions.  I know that firsthand, now.”

His words hit her, each like a hammer strike to her heart and mind.  He thought he knew.  But he did not.  He could not.  He could not possibly know just how violently savage the Vulcan race truly was.  He could not know that the anger induced violence, the assault he had committed against her just a few days ago on the Holodeck was but a drop in the proverbial bucket that was the depth and intensity of Vulcan emotion.  He could not know just how brutally savage their people had been nor could he know how the embrace of logic over emotion had been the only thing that had saved her people as a race, to say nothing about their society as a whole.

“…That’s the blind leading the blind.” 

She felt his prosthetic on her shoulder but did not pull away.  Despite it’s mechanical nature, it felt warm and through her anger she found it unexpectedly comforting; a physical reminder that she was not as alone as she felt.

“I reject your implication that one must be ‘perfect’ in order to help another.  But I take your point.  You want me to embrace my emotions and give in to my feelings?”

She paused.

“Fine.”

Her right hand shot forward and wrapped tight around the back of Cross’s head and neck.  With a burst of her rarely used Vulcan strength she pulled him onto her.  She met him half way, she pulled him into a kiss and as her left arm snaked around his side, she let the loneliness and the affection pour into the gesture.  Her right hand’s grip loosened only slightly as she felt her nails pierce the outer layers of his skin.  She did not desire to hurt him. 

She only desired him.

[Lt Cmdr Cross | Cross's Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Warm hands, strong, clinging to his neck and anchoring against him at his side. Supple lips pressed against his own, searching for satiation in their movements. A moment of pain against his neck, Cross wincing into the kiss, fingernails having raked against his skin, then retreated in their frenzy. Somewhere in his mind, distant and echoing though the thought was, Cross recognized the danger signs of the present clasp of bodies. Neither he nor Hathev were sober, though he was arguably more so than she, and neither he nor Hathev were in the right emotional state to engage in this sort of physical intimacy without there being hell to pay. But as it was earlier, when the logical and illogical sides of his brain toed the line of which he would take action with, Cross fell face first into the illogical side.

His right hand moved of its own accord to palm the doughy flesh of her breast as his prosthetic moved to cup her head, turning his body to fit more firmly against hers. All her curves angled perfectly against the hard planes of his form and in one shifting move she was half lying against the couch with Cross bent over her, his body moving on lustful instinct. He felt a growing power sift through his belly, pulsating through his veins, fueling the desire that Hathev’s touch had ignited. Suddenly, it was not enough to merely kiss her lips and touch her breast through her clothes. He needed skin. Cross pulled his lips from hers and immediately set about licking, kissing, nibbling a trail along her jawline, down her neck, to her shoulder. Here, as his arms pulled her even more securely against his body, Cross bit down. Not hard enough to draw blood, but, as he lapped at her skin, alternating between nips and kisses, his attention to this area would assuredly leave a mark.

Cross shifted his weight to the left, using two fingers of his right hand to hook under the collar of her nightclothes, his movements deliberately slow as he pulled the clothing over her shoulder. He stopped when, with just one more inching movement of his fingers, her breast would be exposed to his view. His eyes sought out Hathev’s, a small portion of his rational thought returning enough to recognize that whatever happened next, he didn’t much care. If she grew angry and stormed out of his quarters, so be it. If she gave in further to the “emotion” of the moment and they shared his bed, so be it. He’d deal with the consequences either way tomorrow. Tonight was for action, tomorrow for thought.

“Embracing emotions isn’t such a bad thing,” he leaned forward and kissed her, drawing her lower lip between his as he drew out the kiss.

It took every ounce of his willpower not to rush again, to strip her bare and thrust into her warmth. Though untried in the such matters, Cross knew enough and had a strong enough imagination to envision the sensations, which only furthered his desire. She would feel it now, pressing insistently against her, demanding attention. And yet, Cross displayed some restraint in his pausing, his soft kisses, holding her clothes just shy of a full revealing.

“Tell me, Hathev,” he spoke against her skin as he rained more gentle kisses across her cheek to her ear, where he stopped speaking long enough to draw the tip of it lightly between his teeth, tracing his tongue along the edge until he pressed a kiss on the delicate skin just below it. “Are these emotions shared between us so bad?” Cross shifted his hips just enough for her to feel him fitted snugly between her legs, the only barrier: clothes and willpower. “Must we shun them and instead embrace the chill of logic?”

Another undulating thrust against her, his right hand tightening its grip on her arm, his lips moving back down to her shoulder, and now he spoke against the smooth skin of her upper chest. “Is this not warmer? More pleasurable? Isn't this what you wanted when you came here tonight?”

[Lt Cmdr Cross & Lt. Cmdr Hathev | Cross’s Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring  @EllenFitz

A Joint Post

The warmth of his lips on her flesh were a welcomed sensation and she offered no resistance as he drew her still closer.  The pinch of his teeth biting into her a brief but sharp spike as if a concerned strike across her face to pull her out of a trance, a welcome sensation.

His fingers traced up her body, pulling at her crop and she released her left arm long enough to pull back and let the crop come off her shoulder entirely and slide down her arm, she reached over her head, pulling the right side off as well, but before the crop could come off her body entirely.  It caught in the fabric of her button down.  She pulled her right arm back, but the fabric caught at her elbows, gently binding her arms together in the tangle of fabric partially pinned between her shoulders and the couch  She would need Cross’s assistance to free herself.  Whether he chose to do so or chose to take advantage of her quasi-restrained state remained to be seen.

The feel of his breath on her ear aroused her in a way she never thought possible, a way that just a few days ago might not have been possible.  However, with the dam that was her emotional restraint cracked, probably for the rest of her life, she found a new pleasure in everything he said and did.  She could not answer his questions as he posed them, but only the last one lingered in her mind. 

“I sought comfort….”  Her voice trailed off as her breath escaped her for the briefest of moments.  “I was concerned less about the form of the comfort than I was about its function.”

She turned her head to meet his eyes as best she could.  “As to your prior queries, I cannot say.” 

A certain playfulness entered her conscious thoughts, one she never would have permitted under other circumstances and one she suspected would not have presented itself but for her intoxication.

“I believe more data must be gathered before I can provide an accurate assessment.  That said,” she tilted her head to kiss him, “I approve of your current approach.”

For all its trite clichés, the sentiment, she realized, was accurate.  In this moment, there was no where she would rather be than under Cross’s tender care.

Cross hoisted the weight of his torso away enough to watch Hathev’s efforts to disrobe with a mixture of awe and amusement.  Here was a beautiful woman just shy of being flesh against his flesh in his quarters with no threat of interruption, and Cross could no longer remember how in the hell they’d gotten here.  He was vaguely aware of something serious being connected to their being together like this, even more than one something serious, but what did that matter now?

When her arms got caught up in the material of her nightclothes behind her back, Cross watched her eyes flash with the awareness of her state.  He felt a fresh wave of warmth, like fire, flush through his body, and for a moment, Cross felt an almost irrational need to dominate, to take what was being offered, and to stop with the niceties.  But Hathev seemed undisturbed with her vulnerability before him now, speaking once more of her desire to seek comfort.  Her words, her sense of almost calm yet incessant need, cooled the fire, and Cross felt more himself again.  Her next words, surprisingly playful, made Cross laugh, his hand reaching out to trace light caresses over the angles of her cheek, along her jawline, then with his thumb, Cross smoothed a touch over her lips.

“More data gathering, eh?” his voice was lower, influenced by his want, and there was no mistaking the want.  Not in his voice, his eyes, or his body.  He ran his fingertips down her neck and over the sensitive skin near her collarbone.  All his senses were finely tuned upon the woman in his arms, and that was not likely to change anytime soon.  “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

Wrapping his arms around her to take hold of the clothing, Cross momentarily took advantage of her “restraint” by pulling her tight against his chest, his lips pressing against hers in an achingly slow and passionate kiss. While his lips moved against hers, his hands went to work in assisting to free her arms again.  Once free, Cross’ hands took a definite detour and ran over the contours of her back, and, using the position to his advantage, he continued to embrace her as if in fear of her transporting away without warning.

His warmth flushed into her body as he freed her arms and embraced her.  As his arms swept under her shoulders, she felt her body lighten.  The sense of the couch fabric on her bare back fell away and as he lifted her into his secure embrace, her now freed arms reached up and wrapped gently around the base of his neck, offering her own assistance to supporting her own weight.

Gone was the aggression, the need to draw blood, replaced by sensual desire; the need for physical contact, the need for companionship, the need for a sense of security, the need to have someone and know they would not become lost to her.  The thought was, of course, illogical.  In the grand scale of the universe the momentary desires of one or two individuals could not inherently change the course of galactic events.  Logical interactions still occurred, the continuum of cause and effect persisted.  She was thinking about it too much.  That was the flaw in her people - their inability to turn off the analysis and simply experience any given moment for what it was.  But that was one flaw that might no longer ever apply to her.  And for the first time, she welcomed that potential.

Cross continued to lift her and she felt him trying to straighten.  Hathev submitted, wrapping her legs around his waist, securing them behind his back, crossed at the ankle, moderating her strength enough to keep her in place, but not so strong that it cut off his ability to breathe.  Lifting herself on him as he returned to an upright position, she pressed his head into her bust, throwing her own head back, giving him unfettered access to whatever of her he wanted.  Her long raven hair hung freely from her head.

As Hathev pulled his head towards her chest, Cross slid his hands under her ass.  The soft material encompassing her flesh was not a thick enough barrier to keep him from feeling the pliant muscle flex and roll under his touch as she shifted in his arms.  His face pressed between her breasts, Cross paused to inhale, memorizing the scent of her flesh as he relished the naked warmth of it against his skin.  Turning his head, Cross paused once more, listening to her breaths, and feeling her heartbeat through her skin, doing his best not to rush through this.  Beyond the fact that this was his first time holding a half-naked woman, there was also the reality that far too much in their life went by far too quickly.  There was no reason for them to rush this, to make it only about a momentary comfort fuck.  In fact, Cross closed his eyes and moved one hand from her ass to the small of her back as he tightened his hold, Cross feared that this might only be a comfort fuck.  If he hadn’t been screwed with by the Savi and their paths thrown together, would Hathev have even “lowered” herself to consider him?  If they hadn’t both gotten more than a little tipsy this evening…if her spouse hadn’t died…so many fucking if’s and all he wanted to do was feel the moist warmth of her wrapping about his length as he sank into, forgetting everything else in the universe for that brief moment.

He held her tight, and through their touch telepathy, she sensed his fear… a fear that she might vanish on him, a fear she shared.  She could not lose him.  Not now… not ever.  Hell, she could not stand to suffer any interruption.

“Computer,” she said as her breaths started to grow shallow.  “Secure the doors and engage privacy mode.”

Somewhere in her perception, she heard the door locks secure, and the computer confirm in its own way that nothing short of a ship wide emergency would be permitted to interrupt them.  She thrust her head forward, her hair flipping around in a wild yet elegant display and nibbled at his neck and the tip of his ear.

“It’s just us, now.  And I offer myself to you.”

Cross shuddered as her lips played with the sensitive skin of his neck before whispering next to his ear, her lips tickling over the tip of it in an obviously seductive fashion.  He felt that fire build again and this time he let it loose, albeit only a little.  With a rumbling growl of approval, Cross moved his head enough to draw one perk nipple between his lips, moving the pad of his tongue over its hardened tip, then lightly brushing his teeth over it, not enough to hurt but enough to draw attention.

Hathev hissed in a breath as pain lanced into her from her breast.  Just as quickly it was gone, and her breath shuddered along with the rest of her body as she exhaled, and a new sense of arousal took her while Cross teased her nipple.  Too long neglected, the gentle raking of Cross’s teeth over the sensitive skin was enough to evoke a reaction far more intense than it ought to have been but for the months it had been since last time anyone had attempted to touch her in this manner.

Relying on his natural strength, and trusting her agility, Cross moved the hand that been pressed against the small of her back.  Reaching up, he first massaged the supple breast left neglected before his hand moved further until his fingers wrapping around her neck.  It was not a harsh grip, or even a threatening one, but the pressure from his hand upon her flesh was enough to still her movements and keep her gaze centered with his own.  Neither moved for the span of a few heartbeats.  Her legs around his waist, his arm bolstering her weight under her ass.  Her arms maintained their grip around his neck while he now held one of his own against her neck.  Cross was deliberate in his slow pace as he let his gaze move from taking in the beauty of her loosened hair, the flushed nature of her skin, her shapely breasts, and on further to see where she pressed intimately against him, all but riding him already.

“That is an offer,” he moved his hand around to cup the nape of her neck, his fingers wrapping in her hair and tugging ever so slightly as he pulled her face close, “I will gladly accept.”

The warmth of his hand wrapped around her neck, holding her head secure and preventing her from looking away, not that she would if she could.  Until now, she had never allowed anyone to put their hands on her neck like that, but she did not resist or complain.  His grip firm enough to secure her, but not so harsh as to be abusive or dangerous showed a brilliant finesse of his Vulcan strength if she did say so herself.  His cybernetic hand tightened just enough that she knew she was not going anywhere.  He had her well in hand and she would have it no other way.

Cross angled his mouth over hers, opening himself to her and tasting her in return, willing his tongue, as it delved into the sweetness of her mouth, to mimic the movements of their imminent lovemaking.  It was a mixed blessing maintaining spartan quarters as Cross had little to worry about running into when he moved across the room until he had Hathev pressed between the cold dividing wall that led to his sleeping area and the heat of his body.  Holding her like this, and with her legs still around his waist, allowed Cross greater freedom with his hands, and he took full advantage.  One hand traveled from the mound of her ass down the side of her thigh, smoothing over her knee, before traveling back up again.  The other maintained its presence against her neck, his fingers massaging against her scalp as their kiss continued.  Cross brought his own breath to a stuttering halt when he angled his hips against her and rolled himself forward.  He wanted her so badly.  And they were both wearing too many damn layers still!

Her back slammed against the wall, a violent action that invigorated her ever more so as the bulkhead absorbed the heat radiating off her bare back.  Never had a partner handled her in such a way, and as she found herself sandwiched between Cross and the wall, she found that it agreed with her.  Hathev *wanted* to be handled like this.  Unlike some of her past patients (and more than a few aboard ship), the counselor did not desire to be submissive under the domination of a sexual partner.  No… there was something else…something basic… almost instinctual.

She desired to be protected and cared for.

That was more submissive than she would otherwise admit, but she did not care.  Knowing Cross had her and would care for her fueled her, quickened her heart and her breathing.  She pulled his head to her again, kissing him as though drinking a fine Vulcan brandy and as he reciprocated, her hand tensed as it slid down the side of his head and over his shoulder as she took a fist full of his shirt and when the next wave of arousal took her, she pulled.  The fabric tore off in her hand with a loud ‘RRRIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPP’ as the shirt shredded, exposing his left pectoral.

Cross smiled against her lips, his body tightening against her in direct response to her actions.

“How are you with the mending?” He whispered against her skin when he pulled away to press open-mouthed kisses along her jawline and down the erratic pulse he easily found in her neck.

Hathev allowed the corners of her mouth curl upward at the question.  She tipped her head away from Cross, allowing him unfettered access to her neck.  “I was never the domesticated one,” she whispered back at him.

As much as he wanted to drink her into his soul, knowing that only then would the thirst he felt now be quenched, the tearing of his shirt acted as another calming agent.  It would be much too easy to rush through this and come out on the other side only barely aware of the details, so entirely consumed with the climax that all else fell by the wayside.  Cross had no interest in that.  Even if it meant driving Hathev far past her boundaries of careful control, he had every intention of enjoying her offer to its fullest.

Pulling away from the wall as he lightly bit her neck where it curved to meet her shoulder, Cross traversed the final corner into his sleeping area and, without preamble, tossed Hathev onto the bed.  Before she could react with more than indignant cries at the sudden separation, Cross finished what her desperate fingers had started and pulled the remains of his shirt over his head.  He held it in the air between them with a mock look of judgment before tossing it over his head into the shadows of his room.

It would be equally quick work to shed his pants in one fluid motion, and yet, Cross slowed his movements when his eyes caught hers.  There was such wanton desire mirrored in the depths of her gaze that Cross felt he could conquer planets and destroy empires just to have such a look on her face again.  There was no disguising her desire, her need, and Cross knew his own reflected back to her.  His movements were deliberate as he ran his fingers along the waistband of his pants, maintaining an unwavering gaze with Hathev as he slowly teased the waistband down one inch at a time.  Cross was curious how long he could tempt her without reaping the consequences, and yet, he also wondering how much longer he could tease himself without losing control entirely.

Hathev uttered little more than a grunt as he thrust her off him unexpectedly and tossed her unceremoniously onto Cross’s bed.  Despite her diminutive size, she bounced twice as the bed took her mass and she came to rest flat on her back, her legs askew.  She ran her hand through her long raven black hair, now a mess from her unexpected flight and rough landing and gathered herself as she propped herself up on her elbows.  Cross already had his shirt off and she watched, momentarily entertained as he discarded the tattered garment.

He stood before her, and she allowed herself the indulgence of taking in his well-toned, though scarred light olive skin.  He radiated strength and the primal woman within her recognized his dominance while demanding he take her, fast, hard, and aggressively, and throw away any sense of propriety, (as much as it existed in the act of copulation).  But the rational, emotionally damaged Vulcan appreciated the show, and that he was taking the time to savor the moments and enjoy their time together.  But she sensed something else, a hesitation on his part. 

Why was he uncertain?  Was he having second thoughts about what was to occur?  Was it their mutual intoxication?
Hathev quieted her mind.  She needed to know, but to address it directly might be a mistake.

She pulled her arms back a little more, forcing her upper body to angle higher and offered Cross an unobstructed view of herself.  Her muscle tone was well-defined yet subtle; a side effect from her hours she spent each week swimming laps, her breasts firm in their shapeliness yet supple to the touch, as Cross had discovered only moments ago.  Her curves were not as dramatic as those of a young woman just grown into adulthood, but through the years of near daily exercise, she had managed to age and still retain a shape that most sentients would find appealing.  Hathev had never considered her body in this way before, had never permitted herself to do so, but as the moment came, she realized for the first time that she was, as some might say, quite the catch.

“Do you like what you see, Mr. Cross?”

Cross answered with swift movements.  Letting go of the hem of his own pants, he leaned forward and shucked Hathev’s off her hips and legs in one breath.  They joined his shirt somewhere over his shoulder in the darkness.  Only once she was clothed in the glory of her nudity alone, did Cross take an assessing step back and feigned a look of contemplation.  But before she could be led to believe otherwise, Cross leaned forward and rested his warm hands on each of her ankles, maintaining eye contact.

“I do, Ms. Hathev.  I very,” leaning closer still, Cross placed a light kiss just above her ankle bone on her right ankle, “very,” he moved further up and placed a kiss on the inside of her left calf, “very,” higher still, and Cross gave a light nip to the fleshy interior of her right knee, “much like what I see.”

He now knelt on the edge of the bed, between her ankles, and the view of her goddess-like body splayed open before him had his ears ringing with a blood rush.  And yet Cross surprised himself with the amount of control he exhibited as he ran his hands up the sides of her legs until they took hold of her hips, and his lips trailed an alternating line of kisses along the interior of her legs, stopping just shy of her sex.  Once he was hovering over her torso, Cross again made sure he caught her gaze before he dipped down and placed an open-mouthed kiss on her belly just above the triangle of curls that begged for his attention.

“What do you want now, Hathev?” his voice was deeper with arousal.  The warmth of his breath as he rumbled the words was hot against her skin.  He watched as her skin reacted to the temperature change, with telltale bumps flashing outwards from the point of contact.  He smirked, a primal part of him satisfied with the visual confirmation of her sensitivity to his actions.

Hathev shuddered as the cool ship’s air hit her naked body for the first time.  Having lived on Vulcan for as long as she had, she always felt cold.  Normally the warmth of her uniform or an extra blanket was enough to push the chill away, but as she lay on Cross’s bed, nude and exposed her skin hardened into tiny goosebumps.  She shuddered again as he set his legs, between hers forcing her to expose herself to him, his phallus hovering just out of reach as it grew longer and more erect before her eyes.  His warm lips on her legs and then her belly fueled the fire within, warming her once again as her hand subconsciously found her right breast.

“What do you want now, Hathev,” he asked. 

As with so many things in life, words were insufficient to describe what she wanted… what she desired.  She had offered herself to him, an offer she would not rescind.  Never had she experienced sexuality in this way, and somewhere in her disciplined compartmentalized Vulcan mind she understood why.  This was the first time she had been with someone when her logic could not fully suppress her emotions and for the first time in her life, she understood why other species partook in this uncivilized act of copulation. 

Words were not enough.  But a single word might just be.

Her legs bent at the knees, wrapping and closing around his, anchoring him to this spot as she leaned forward, her long, slender fingers sliding around his hips, taking firm grip on the flesh of his ass, pulling him off her belly, up her body and giving his mouth free and unfettered access to her breasts, chest, and anything else of which he might wish to partake.

“More…”

Cross pressed smiling kisses across the sensitive flesh of her chest, lingering his attention on the peaks of both her breasts.  He moved his prosthetic hand up to the side of her body, using it to brace his weight just to the side so he could have greater access to her body.  With his other hand, Cross moved his fingers slowly up and over her hip, tracing light crisscrossing figures over the hypersensitive flesh in the crease where her thigh met her torso.  He firmly cupped her sex while simultaneously pulling a pert nipple between his lips.  He inwardly smiled at the noises his actions elicited from her throat, a sense of pride at her undoing settling itself in his belly and fueling his desire yet further.

“My pleasure,” Cross murmured the unnecessary words against her skin as his fingers slowly explored her slick folds.  The evidence of her arousal again made him feel like pounding his chest and shouting in victory. “Or should I say,” he lifted his head just enough to catch her gaze as he slipped two fingers inside her, his movements far more confident than his inexperience should allow for, “your pleasure.”

Leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from her breasts up to her neck to Hathev’s ear, Cross took up a steady stroking rhythm with his fingers. As he positioned himself half lying beside her, his erection insistent as it pressed against her hip, Cross watched her responses, absolutely fascinated with his ability to cause such a normally pristine and collected woman to come undone like this.

She shuddered as he penetrated her, the attention awakening a piece of her left dormant far too long only to rouse now with far more energy and vigor than could be contained, a piece of her being dying to be tended to, one that would not be contained or restrained for much longer.  Soft, yet intense moans escaped her breath and as the counselor permitted herself to fall into the whims of the sensations yet to come, a piece of her Vulcan discipline found its way to the surface.  Cross continued to fulfill his role intending to her needs, but as she had allowed herself to be swept up in the moment, she was neglecting her own responsibilities to him.

He had shifted to her side amid servicing her, an act that had pinned her arm between them as he pressed into her.  It was that hand, her right hand, which snaked its way between them, defying his weight, and found it’s mark as her fingernails scraped lightly along the length of his erection and back again before playfully teasing with his tip as they traced small circles of their own.  Cross gasped when he first felt her fingernail trace along the length of him.  Involuntarily his hips rolled forward, giving her more access.  Her other hand, her left reached for him as she herself turned on her side to face him, and cupped his ass, pulling him closer to her as her leg slid on top of his, granting the double benefit of not only pinning him into her embrace, but also making herself a bit more accessible than even just a moment ago.

Leaning forward, Cross captured Hathev’s lips in another deep kiss, his tongue mimicking his fingers as they delved in and out of her moist warmth. His hips began to rock, his length sliding between her fingers, as instinct took hold of the edge of his mind, demanding he increase the pace, demanding he find release.

“I want you, Hathev,” Cross leaned into her as he pressed his lips against the pulse point in her neck, lightly raking his teeth over her skin despite the intensity growing within his body.  “Now.”

Using his superior weight and strength, he moved their bodies until she lay atop him, straddling him, all the control of when and how they were to come together in her hands, so to speak.  “But you determine the pace.”

The quick motion and change of position proved a bit disconcerting as she had not expected Cross to make such a bold move and she was unsure as to whether she welcomed the literal and physical position change.    The last time she had been with a male partner had been onboard the Damascus and even then, it had been a more traditional Vulcan encounter.  Tonight, she had welcomed Cross’s lead, welcomed his control over her and, to a certain extent desired that arrangement between them.    At the same time, if she was to give him what he wanted, and this was what he wanted, was it not logical to assert the control he desired?  Yes.

Shifting her weight to kneel she sat back, rising to her full height, diminutive though it was and permitting him to see her without obstruction as she threw her head back and ran her hands through her hair.  Then, without verbal warning, she leaned forward, allowing herself to fall on top of him, but her hands came down, clamping around his wrists and pinning them near his head.  Hathev lowered herself, her breasts hanging free, teasing and tantalizing, but momentarily out of his reach as her nipples brushed lightly against the skin of her chest and her hair cascaded around her, enveloping both their heads in a curtain of her raven black locks.

Cross couldn’t help the smile when it played at his lips, his hands coming up to lightly move through the dark tresses that hid the room from his view as she leaned over him.  Looking down, his smile turned more predatory at the sight of her breasts hanging free and tempting in the air between them.

“My pace, you say?”

She shifted her hips backwards, until she felt his erection against her rear. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth when she rocked her rear against his erection. His hands immediately moved to her hips, not to still her or to pressure her to move, but for the security he needed. The security of having her warm flesh beneath his fingers, the weight of her body pressed so intimately against him.

“I dare say, Mr. Cross, I am skeptical you have the discipline to be that patient.”

Her words belied her intent.  The heat within her impatiently demanded it’s satisfaction and his words described her desire as well as his own.  Still, she saw no reason not to play this out and see where things went.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

Her challenge-laced comment made Cross smirk. To prove her wrong, Cross forced himself to pull his hands away from her hips and laced his fingers beneath his head, laying splayed on the bed for all the world as if it was an everyday occurrence to have a beautiful woman straddled nude across his lap.

“Never underestimate undisciplined determination, Ms. Hathev. I never back down from a challenge.” His grin widened, his eyes remaining on her face as he purposefully shifted his hips, his erection rubbing against.  “In fact, I typically rise to the occasion.”

[Lt Cmdr Cross & Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Cross's Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Hathev was far more taken by the position in which she now found herself to react to Cross’s obvious pun. This was not something she was accustomed to, so she took a moment to slow down and see if Cross was as good as he boasted. She sat back on his pelvis, his erection pushing against her gluteals, serving as a constant reminder of his arousal. She stretched, arching her back as her hands came up, first to sort her hair back behind her head and then back down to her breasts, giving them a gentle massage. More for his enjoyment than for hers. Then she looked at him as if for the first time she had seen him in the midst of the encounter.

“Oh,” she said flatly before allowing the teasing tone she had heard so many times from others to enter her voice for the first time. “Did you want these for yourself?”

Cross smirked. Though his hand twitched to replace Hathev’s in the massage of her supple flesh, Cross held back. There was something heady in watching her pleasure herself while feeling her pressed so intimately against his member. Nothing quite so intoxicating as watching a woman enjoy herself, feeling confident in her own flesh, finding pleasure as she gave pleasure. Cross had heard such sentiments before, but he had put little stock in them, having had no previous experiences in the bedroom. Yet, as he lay beneath her front-row seat, so to say, of the show her movements gave him, Cross realized the weighty truth of those sentiments. Of course, he wanted to move forward with their lovemaking, and yet he understood on a personal level, now, why it was men became voyeurs to their partners: watching their partners’ hands glide over flesh and curls, seeking a resolution to the tension their own fingers created.

Finally finding his voice, as roughened as it was with arousal, Cross spoke with a smile, “My entire body is yours, Hathev, to find pleasure and comfort.” Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her down, chest-to-chest, faces close. “And I take yours in return.”

His words fueled the fire, already a roaring flame but still building within her. Never would her rational mind have appreciated the idea of being ‘taken.’ It was provocative, erotic, and to a certain extent…desirable. She offered no resistance as he pulled her down on top of him and let her breasts press into his chest, an ever-present reminder to him of just how aroused she had become in such a short amount of time. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled his head into her cleavage, allowing him to sample her bosom before withdrawing just enough so they could make eye contact again. Her hand cupped the side of his face, a poor technique for a proper mind meld, but good enough to reinforce the touch telepathy and open the door so he could hear in his mind, as well as his ears, what she was about to say. “Well then, Mr. Cross. I think it is well past time you take what is rightfully yours.”

Warm. No. Burning. The emotional fire that flowed through Hathev's touch forced a guttural gasp from Cross. He was falling. No. He was cradled against her chest, the softness of her breasts pressing against his skin, the pounding of her heart echoing through the touch. Cross threw his arm to the side, cybernetic fingers breaking through the surface of his bed; he'd not trust his prosthetic while in the throes of such passion. The scent of her skin, a unique blend of natural musk, and whatever womanly accessory she regularly applied post-ablution branded itself to his brain. As Cross allowed the combined power of their desire to overtake him, he bucked his hips and followed through with an assertive push against her shoulder until Hathev was beneath him again. There were no more words to be spoken. No more gentle caresses to be traded in the shadowy interior of his half-lit sleeping quarters. Cross pulled one of Hathev's legs up with his flesh hand, braced it against his side, and entered her in one thrust. No hesitation, and assuredly no regrets. The immensity of his pleasure, combined with hers, the newness of the sensation of being sheathed in her warmth, was all that kept Cross from falling off completely into the wanton abyss of pleasure. Through the haze of it all, Cross brought his gaze up to meet Hathev's, his voice broken when he spoke.

"Are you all right?" On the coattails of rational thought came the reminder of his inexperience. Bracing his weight on his prosthetic, Cross moved his hand up over Hathev's breast to touch the suppleness of her cheek. "Do I need to do anything differently?"

Hathev gasped as he penetrated her. In her years of experience, her various intimate encounters, she had never been entered in this way before, as her previous male lover had engaged with during his Pon Farr, and they had mated in the traditional Vulcan way. Conscious thought left her as she arched her back and dug her hands into the mattress, her fingers finding purchase where her lover had previously torn through. Her legs curled around him, welcoming his entrance but also preventing his exit. On some level, she heard him speak to her, but as her head swam in the rush of endorphins, neurotransmitters, and sensory input, she offered no verbal reply as her instinctive self took control, and she began gyrating under him, riding what he had offered, her own juices offering natural lubrication. Indeed, no more words needed to be exchanged, their telepathic connection now stronger than ever. No more words to exchange, but Hathev needed no words. For as the rush coursed through her ordinarily calm, organized, and controlled psyche, she knew she now had a new way of communicating. She had her emotions.

He felt her shudder beneath his touch then, whatever momentary pause the initial penetration had caused ended, and Hathev’s body took to undulating against his. Cross dipped his head down, placing lips and teeth against the flesh of her shoulder. Panting out incomprehensible words against her flesh, Cross drove his hips forward to meet her, his shaft sinking further into her warmth. Every sensory nerve was aflame with pleasure. Cross felt the build in his belly, the incessant NEED that invigorated his movements with fierce passion and burned away conscious thought. Cross moved together with Hathev on instinct alone. Their bodies entwined and writhing as one, seeking out pleasure as pleasure was given, the room filled with the sounds of their lovemaking. She gasped as she fell into rhythm with him, and the world melted away around them, leaving no concept of time or place. Only Hathev, Cross and their shared pleasure...building...building....building even more. His thrusts grew faster, more intense, continuing to drive the moment until, with a guttural cry that reverberated off the walls, Cross emptied himself into Hathev. Reaching her own apex, Hathev threw her head back, her mouth open in a silent moan of ecstasy that devoured them both. Their minds swam with not only the euphoria of their own releases but also the lingering echoes of that of their partner.

Lowering his head to rest his cheek against hers, his breath still came out in pants as his heart began its slow return to a regular rhythm. Arms and legs wrapped around him as she pulled him into her embrace, their heads swimming with a haze of fulfillment, but for each of them, enough conscious thought for them to know they had found much more than physical companionship. For the Counselor, it was the realization that her newfound emotional state, while potentially volatile, did have merit worth further exploration. For his part, the Counselors Counselor found himself feeling at home and at peace for the first time in years.

[Lt Cmdr Cross | Cross's Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross roused himself enough from the residual haze of pleasure they’d just rocketed through to shift his weight off Hathev’s body and fall to the side. His heart was still racing, and his breath was still coming out in pants, but he felt the fingers of normalcy start to creep back into his post-coitus mind. His mouth was dry. He was thirsty. And, after glancing at Hathev a moment, he could only assume that she felt much the same.

With a grunt, his body protesting movement when it wanted to remain a puddle on the sheets, Cross rolled further until he could slide his legs off the edge of the bed and stood. He moved on silent feet to the replicator, where he quickly ordered room temperature water for them both. Cross sat on the edge of the bed, sipping at his own glass as he held the other out for Hathev.

Brand new at the whole “after sex talk” Cross rolled his shoulders and slowly inhaled. The room smelled of their lovemaking. While the scent stirred a response of desire within him, Cross knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything physically for some time yet. He dipped his head back down, feeling his cheeks color slightly, as he continued to drink his water. Cross tipped his head back, finishing the water in one go, then looked back to Hathev. If possible, she was even more beautiful now, with her skin flushed from the exertion of sex, her hair mussed from his grip, and her lips swollen from their hungry kisses. Cross didn’t bother hiding his appreciation of her looks, reaching out with lazy fingers to draw a path down the side of her thigh as his lips pulled back in a half-smile.

“While that was not what either of us planned,” Cross began, the smile lacing his voice with a playful lilt, “I for one do not regret it.” A small voice in the back of his head added a “not yet,” but Cross firmly shifted his attention away from that noisome voice and kept his focus on the beautiful woman in his bed. “I’m not certain what you’d prefer but,” Cross scratched the back of his neck with his prosthetic fingers, “if you wish to stay, to, uh, sleep, you are welcome to. I know we both have early morning meetings before tomorrow’s missions but, uh…” Cross inwardly sighed but somehow managed to keep what he hoped to be an easy smile on his face when he brought his gaze back to Hathev’s. “Not sure how you feel about a sleepover.”

[ Lt. Cmdr Hathev| Cross's Personal Quarters | Deck 07 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

On a conscious level, Hathev was only barely aware of the world outside of her body.  Her head swam in the euphoria, as her legs and groin twitching with the lingering echoes of stimulation.  Her limbs were little more than weights extending from her body, paralyzed as she lay there spread eagle.  Cool air rushed across the bare skin not covered by the bedsheet, drying out the sweat that had accumulated.

Then as though someone inside of her had figured out how to engage her motor functions, she slowly pulled herself back together.  Again, her chest heaved  as she took in a breath that, for the first time, since she had stolen that kiss from him, served to calm her.  She ran her hand through her hair; a vain effort to neaten the rumpled and tangled mess her locks had become. 

Cross padded back into the bedroom and as she watched him move, exuding a calm she had yet to see in him, the only thought more pleasing to her than the desire of wanting him, was the reminder that she had just had him.

She turned onto her side as he sat, and propped herself up, accepting the water from him, taking gentle sips while making no effort to cover her nakedness from him.  Had her ears not been pointed, one might have thought her a human or Betazoid given how little attention she paid to the matter of modesty. 

“My only regret,” she said as moisture returned to her throat, “is the anger I displayed earlier this evening.  It was unwarranted.  Despite it’s spontaneity… or perhaps because of it, I did enjoy our coupling as well.”

She finished her water as Cross asked about what she might prefer.  She offered no answer as she let the glass drop gently on the floor next to her side of the bed and turned back to her paramour reaching for his shoulder and gently pulling him back into the bed with her.

“I see no logical reason why I should vacate this bed.  Do you?”

Cross’s silence was all the answer she needed and the counselor waited patiently as Cross settled in to position before she slid up next to him and stretched herself out over his side, her naked breasts pressing gently into him, reaching across his chest, as he wrapped his arms around her back and over her outstretched hand. 

As they settled, Hathev let a contented sigh escape.  Her mind was clear.  For the first time since the Paris attack, she was at peace.  In it’s own way their discussion and resulting coitus had proven a more effective mediation than any of the techniques she had practiced for decades.

“Thank you, Otersu.”

She reached up, planting one last gentle kiss on his lips before settling back, closing her eyes, and allowing sleep to finally take her.

-FIN-