Lt. JG Natasha Cole - Rest, Attempted
Natasha Schell
((Natasha’s Quarters - Deck 3, Sector 14, Compartment 48 - USS Artemis-A))
Natasha’s quarters were quiet in the way shipboard quarters only ever pretended to be. Beneath the silence was the low hum of the Artemis, steady and familiar, the kind of sound a person could mistake for peace if they wanted to badly enough.
She had changed into comfortable clothes, let the sonic shower do what it could, and was halfway through convincing herself that sitting on the edge of her bed staring at the floor counted as resting when her terminal chimed.
Incoming personal communication.
Natasha looked up at the display.
MARA COLE.
Her mouth twitched.
oO Of course. Oo
For one brief, treacherous second, she considered letting it go to message.
Instead, she scrubbed a hand back through her hair, sat up straighter, and accepted the call.
The display resolved into the familiar image of her mother seated at what looked like her kitchen table on Luna. Mara Cole had the kind of face that always seemed one breath away from a smile, even when she was worried which Natasha could tell immediately, she was.
Mara: There you are.
Cole: Hi, Mom.
Mara’s eyes moved over her face in the quiet, devastating way mothers had of conducting entire medical scans without equipment.
Mara: You look tired.
Natasha gave the faintest shrug.
Cole: That’s because I’m cultivating a mysterious, windswept post-mission aesthetic.
Mara: Mm. And here I thought it was stress and sleep deprivation.
The corner of Natasha’s mouth lifted despite herself.
Cole: That too.
Mara leaned back slightly in her chair, studying her.
Mara: I was going to message. Then I thought no, I’m her mother, I’m allowed to be a little intrusive. So here I am being brave.
Cole: Heroic, really.
Mara: I thought so.
The easy humor sat between them for a moment, comfortable and practiced. It gave Natasha just enough room to breathe before the real conversation found her anyway.
Mara’s expression softened first.
Mara: I heard there was another difficult mission.
Natasha exhaled slowly through her nose.
Cole: That’s one way to put it.
Mara: Natasha.
There it was. The tone. Not demanding. Not sharp. Just the one that made evasion feel childish. Natasha looked down briefly, fingers threading together in her lap.
Cole: We made it back.
Mara said nothing. Which was, frankly, unfair.
Cole: We’d been tasked with taking the Karnack on its final run, and… it was bad. The order to abandon ship was given. We crashed, people were isolated, none of our tech worked. We did manage to get what was left of the Karnack airborne again.
Mara listened without interruption, face calm but intent.
Cole: We did. Eventually. Which is the important part.
She closed her eyes as she swallowed hard.
Cole: It brought back some hard memories.
Mara: And the less important part?
Natasha let out a breath that was dangerously close to a laugh.
Cole: I collapsed at a toast afterward.
That got her mother’s eyebrows up.
Mara: You what?
Cole: In my defense, I wasn’t awake for the full performance.
Mara: Natasha Helena Cole.
Natasha winced automatically.
Cole: See, that exact reaction is why I didn’t lead with it.
Mara pressed two fingers briefly to the bridge of her nose, then looked back up with the expression of a woman debating whether to scold first or worry first.
Mara: Were you hurt?
Cole: Not permanently.
Mara: Natasha.
Cole: It was syncope. Complicated by stimulants, exhaustion, and me being... me.
Mara’s face softened at the edges in a way Natasha didn’t entirely like, because it meant she was being seen too clearly.
Mara: Ah.
Cole: That is not nearly enough maternal outrage for what I just admitted.
Mara: Oh, there’s outrage. I’m pacing it.
That got a real laugh out of Natasha.
Mara: Were you alone when you woke up?
Natasha’s expression shifted, just slightly.
Cole: No. I wasn’t alone when I woke up.
Mara noticed. Of course she noticed.
Mara: Good.
A chime sounded on Mara’s end of the call, and she glanced aside.
Mara: Ah. Speaking of one of my favorite complications.
The display shifted to widen the channel. As Juno’s face popped into view, halfway into frame, wearing a loose paint-stained shirt and what looked suspiciously like dried gold pigment on one cheek.
Juno: I heard “syncope” and “not permanently” and decided to invite myself in before Mom staged a private emotional coup.
Cole: You make that sound dramatic.
Juno: I learned it from you.
Juno leaned closer to the screen, eyes immediately narrowing with sibling precision.
Juno: Oh wow, you look terrible.
Natasha barked out a laugh.
Cole: Thank you, Juno. That is devastatingly humbling.
Juno: You’re welcome. I believe in honest art criticism and family support.
Mara: Juno.
Juno: What? I’m being warm in my own way.
Cole: No, they’re right. I do look a little like I fought a meteorological event and lost.
Juno tipped their head, studying her.
Juno: No. Not lost.
Natasha blinked once.
Juno: You look like you survived it.
The line landed harder than either of them probably intended. Natasha looked away for a second, throat tightening unexpectedly, blinking back a few tears.
Cole: Yeah. Well. That part seems to be becoming a trend.
Mara folded her hands together on the table.
Mara: Tell us the truth, sweetheart. Not the report version. Yours.
There was enough quiet after that for Natasha to try lying to herself and fail.
She leaned back against the wall by her bed, one knee drawn up slightly, and stared at the small reflection of herself in the darkened viewport just off-screen.
Cole: I thought I was holding it together.
Juno settled, expression gentling.
Cole: I was doing the thing I always do. Keep moving, keep working, stay useful, deal with the crash when it’s allowed to be inconvenient. Which, apparently, my body took personally.
Mara’s eyes did that awful mother thing again, the one where they filled with feeling but did not spill over into pity.
Cole: I don’t know. I think… ::beat:: I think some part of me still believes I’m most valuable when I’m useful under pressure.
Juno: That sounds like someone we all know and would like to throw into a crater.
Mara gave Juno a look.
Juno: What? I said *someone*. Could be anyone. A hypothetical emotionally constipated Starfleet Commander-shaped cloud.
That pulled another small laugh from Natasha.
Mara: Your father taught you usefulness like it was morality.
Natasha was quiet.
Mara: I’m proud that you take your duty seriously. You know that. But duty is not the same thing as worth.
Natasha’s fingers tightened around each other.
Cole: I know that.
Juno: Knowing and believing are cousins, not twins.
Cole: That is deeply annoying and unfortunately true.
Juno looked smug for half a second, then softened.
Juno: Nat… you don’t have to earn being loved by surviving harder than everybody else.
That one went in clean. Natasha closed her eyes briefly.
oO Well. That was rude of them to be that accurate. Oo
Mara: What have you been doing since you got back?
Cole: Sleeping badly. Trying to be a person anyway. I went to a StarFlirt social event, felt more exposed than I expected, but I had a good time. I also signed up as a volunteer on an archaeological dig. That turned out to be more fun in unexpected ways.
Juno: Wait. You cannot just drop stuff like that into a conversation like it isn’t suspiciously promising.
Mara: I’m glad you went. Both of those sound like the sort of things that might help remind you you’re still a person, not just an officer.
Juno: StarFlirt and an archaeological dig? Nat, that is either recovery or the opening act of a very specific mid-season character arc.
Mara: Archaeological dig? That does sound promising.
Natasha hesitated, then glanced toward the shelf where the framed Challenger photograph sat beside the restored NX communicator.
Cole: Aunt Rea left me a gift.
Both Mara and Juno’s expressions shifted at the mention of Rea. Fondness. Curiosity. The usual complicated category she occupied.
Mara: Of course she did.
Cole: A photo. Corad and his bridge crew. And… ::exhales:: the communicator unlocked another recording.
Juno leaned in.
Juno: Oh, that’s unfair. Historic emotional damage from beyond the grave?
Cole: Exactly that, yes.
Mara smiled softly.
Mara: Was it good?
Natasha looked down, thumb brushing idly against the seam of her blanket.
Cole: Yeah. Too good. Corad giving some speech about courage and pushing toward the future, and somehow managing to sound like he was talking directly to every identity crisis I’ve ever had.
Juno’s eyes widened with immediate delight.
Juno: He’s related to us. Of course he was dramatic.
Cole: Then Aunt Rea had left an auxiliary message behind it.
Mara laughed quietly, not surprised in the least.
Mara: Of course she had.
Cole: She said… ::voice thinning slightly:: she said survival changes the shape of a thing, but that isn’t the same as diminishing it.
The screen went quiet.
Juno’s face softened first. Mara’s a half-second later.
Mara: That sounds like her.
Cole: It also sounded uncomfortably like she knew exactly where I was going to be when I heard it.
Juno: I continue to maintain that Aunt Rea is either a time traveler, a benevolent ghost, or the universe’s weirdest historian.
Natasha’s smile pulled at one corner.
Cole: Those all feel equally likely.
Mara watched her for a moment.
Mara: Did it help?
Natasha let the question sit.
Cole: I think it did. ::beat:: I think I’ve spent a long time believing my purpose was to be the shield. Just… stand in front of the bad thing and make sure it hits me first.
Juno and Mara listened without interruption.
Cole: And I still believe in protecting people. I always will. But I don’t think that can be the whole answer anymore.
Mara’s smile was very small and very sad and very proud all at once.
Mara: No. It can’t.
Cole: I’m starting to think maybe the point isn’t just surviving or serving. Maybe it’s… becoming fully yourself and protecting what makes life worth surviving in the first place.
Juno put a hand dramatically to their chest.
Juno: Well now you’re just showing off.
Natasha laughed, the sound loosening something in her chest.
Juno: No, seriously. That’s good. Annoyingly good. I’m going to steal it later and pretend I came up with it in a studio interview.
Mara: Give her credit in the dedication.
Juno: Never.
The three of them smiled at once.
The ache was still there. Callis I was still there. The collapse, the fear, the rawness of it all still lived in her bones.
But so did this.
Her mother at the table on Luna. Juno with paint on their face and too much insight for one person. The maddening, steady truth of being known by people who did not require her to be polished before she was allowed to be loved.
Cole: I miss you both.
Mara’s expression gentled further.
Mara: We miss you too, sweetheart.
Juno: Come visit when you can. I’ll make you food and aggressively critique your lighting choices.
Cole: That is somehow both a threat and an incentive.
Juno: It’s called range.
Mara: Try to rest tonight.
Natasha made a face.
Cole: I knew there’d be conditions.
Mara: I’m your mother. Everything comes with conditions.
Juno: I don’t know, unconditional love’s been pretty on-brand so far.
Mara gave Juno a sidelong look.
Mara: That too.
Natasha smiled, quieter now.
Cole: I’ll try.
Mara: Good.
Juno lifted two fingers in a lazy little salute.
Juno: Don’t scare us too badly next time, okay?
Natasha’s smile dimmed at the edges, but held.
Cole: I’ll do my best.
The call lingered another moment, none of them quite wanting to be the one to end it.
Finally Mara nodded.
Mara: Goodnight, Natasha.
Juno: Night, menace.
Cole: Night, both of you.
The screen went dark.
Silence settled back over the quarters, but it had changed shape. Less empty now. Less sharp around the edges.
Natasha sat there for a long moment, staring at her own dim reflection on the black screen.
Then she looked toward the shelf, toward the Challenger, toward the photo, toward the communicator, and let out one slow breath.
Cole: ::quietly, to the room:: Alright.
A beat.
Cole: I’m trying.
End Scene
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Lt. JG Natasha Cole
Security Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205NC4