Ensign Natasha Cole - Unsent Words
Natasha Schell
((Room 05-0799 – Deck 5, USS Artemis-A))
((OOC: Hopefully part of this format makes sense.))
Natasha sat looking at the PADD, the cursor blinking, again and again. Sitting on the edge of her bed with her fingertips rubbing her temples the blank message window stared up at her, far more daunting than her post mission reports.
She'd already written "Dear Commander Solan" multiple times. Deleted it twice, left it once, and has been staring at it long enough for her tea to go cold.
oO Too formal, too much like a status report. Oo
She tried again. “Hey, Dad.” Nope that felt wrong. That was way too casual and presumptive. The silence in her quarters made way for the quiet press of memory. Of voices she hadn’t heard in years. Of expectations she’d never met.
Her eyes drifted to the old PADD beside her—a weathered one, its screen scratched and edges dulled by time. It held some of his old notes. Tactical drills, mostly. One of the few things he'd left behind after the divorce. She'd kept it, even if she would never admit why.
Natasha exhaled slowly, pulled back her shoulders, and tried again.
Dad,
I know this is overdue. Not just the message. All of it.
I’ve spent most of my life trying to prove I didn’t need your approval. And maybe I still don’t. But I think I want you to understand the woman I’ve become and not just because I stopped carrying your name.
She paused. That wasn’t bad. Maybe a little sharp, but honest. And honesty had always been hard currency between them. She could still hear him. “Tactics require discipline, not sentiment.” Maybe so, but this wasn’t a battle. Or maybe it was—but not one either of them were winning.
But he had sent a message after her Starfleet Academy graduation. A single line:
“You don’t do
subtle. Noted.” She hadn’t replied.
Her combadge chirped on the shelf next to a photo of her with her Mom and Juno from a family trip before she left for the academy.
Silveira: =/\= Silveira to Cole
Tapping it, as she eyed her letter.
Cole: =/\= Cole, here Sir. =/\=
Silveira: =/\= I have been meaning to reach out to you Ensign. I have read the mission reports and would like a word. But since we are on shore leave don’t feel obligated to accept, or consider it as an order. I just wanted to chat about the recent… Bridge action.
Her mind raced for a moment, did she forget something in a report. She was sure she accounted for every torpedo fired. She paused for a moment remembering she had essentially ‘sat’ in his chair, so he was probably just checking in.
Cole: =/\= Yes, Sir. I am free for a face to face. =/\=
Silveira: =/\= I am at my office right now. I don’t know if you like coffee, but if you do, my replicator is one of the best for that.
She looked down at her long cold tea, contemplating downing it as she slipped on her uniform top, clipping the combadge into place.
Cole: =/\= On my way, Sir. =/\=
Natasha picked the PADD back up; she didn’t know how to end the letter, not yet. Not without giving more than she was sure he deserved, or withholding something she might regret. Still. She saved the draft. Just in case tomorrow felt like a braver day than today.
((USS Artemis-A, deck 8, Chief Tactical Officer office))
Entering into the CTO’s office, Natasha had already checked her appearance, she didn’t want to look haphazard, even if they were on shore leave.
Cole: You asked to see me, Lieutenant.
He looked around her age, he must have had an early start or a prodigy to already be a Lieutenant and Chief Tactical Officer.
Silveira: Response
Cole: oO oh he was serious Oo
Cole: Black no sugar is fine Sir.
Silveira: Response
Cole: That is correct, the Lieutenant Commander ::thinking:: Jovenan requested I take over tactical after the departure of the Captain’s away team and shuttle team.
Details mattered after all, and she was almost certain she hadn't missed any in her reports.
Silveira: Response
TAGs/TBC
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Ens. Natasha Cole
Security Officer
USS Artemis-A
Writer ID A240205NC4