((Brig, USS Gorkon))
::As politely informed, Bear appeared in the Brig two hours later, noticeably lacking his Starfleet uniform. A surreptitious glance at the cells lining the wall revealed the mop-haired Johns looking sorry for himself in one and the other containing his charge. The diligent and committed brig officer visibly absent. Good. That would make things easier.
::Bear's hand fisted into his hair, boots crunching heavily on the deck, the sound rousing the Russian from his reclined position and straight into standing. Face like thunder, the two men stared at one another, equally remembering their previous visit to the brig together, what had been the end result, and unbeknownst to Chris, Bear had been counting on it..::
Johns: Marshall? What---
::Ignoring him, Bear deactivated the forcefield and beat his fist on the side of the cell containing the Admiral and Valesha, glancing over his shoulder at the door back into the corridor.::
Reynolds: Perfect timing, Frorr. I've just— ::She stepped into view, her expression shifting as she laid eyes on him.:: What are you doing here?
O. Marshall: Escaping. ::A dispassionate blue gaze connected with hazel for a solid second.:: Sorry, Admiral.
::That was all the warning she got as his fist connected with the side of her face; punch pulled just enough, but it would still cause a killer of a bruise. The woman staggered backwards into the cell. Reacting quickly, Bear managed to catch her with a hooked arm around her waist, unclipping the combadge from the front of her uniform, before lowering her down to the bunk.::
::She mumbled the beginnings of a sentence she didn't seem able to finish, her fingers clumsy on her jaw, her eyes dull with the unfocus of the dazed. Valesha pressed herself into the wall of the cell, staring for a heartbeat as the admiral tried to get back to her feet. Then her attention flicked over toward him.::
::He exhaled heavily through his nose; not a task he was happy to do, and switched from her eyes to Valesha's, flaring with the unpleasantness of having to do it in the first place.::
O. Marshall: Seriously. Let's go.
Reynolds: ::Muttered,:: Don't you dare.
::It wasn't an order she could follow through on, stunned and lacking any means to call for help. Valesha grimaced, not just at the sight of the seemingly semi-concussed Admiral, but at the realisation that it had already been assumed she would fall into line with the plan. Her expression and tone souring, she jerked her head in a nod.::
Sienelis: Fine. Let's go.
::Stepping backwards out of the cell, Bear tossed the combadge on the floor of the main brig. As Valesha followed him, he tapped the control for the cell again, amethyst field snapping back into place, sealing one reeling Quinn Reynolds inside.
::He darted a glance to the cell next to Valesha's — the stare from Chris that had greeted him on his entrance now fully ablaze as the man stood behind his forcefielded view of exactly what was transpiring in front of him. While never one to pass up an opportunity to goad the young Petty Officer into a slanging match, this time it felt more than a little unkind.::
Johns: What the hell are you doing? ::His hazel gaze fired on all cylinders towards the Romulan.:: Vee? What's going on?
::She'd had no time to think about this, to what she was going to say to him, what possible explanation she could offer for her actions. Valesha wanted to tell him everything, and was well aware she could tell him absolutely nothing — for his own good, as much as her own. Reluctant to meet his eyes, she did so anyway, trying not to linger on the thought that this could be the last time she saw him.::
Sienelis: Einstein's parable.
O. Marshall: There's no time for this.
::The phrase, however, seemed to resonate with the Russian, whose glare only softened as he looked at her, but his stubbled face turned pallid with cold steel as it returned to Bear. Was that fear in his eyes? Anger? Bear couldn't tell from the distance and he didn't think he wanted to know either. Gripping Valesha's upper arm, Bear tugged her toward the door.::
O. Marshall: We've got to go.
::She looked at Chris for a few moments longer, stubbornly refusing to move while she desperately searched for some way to tell him more without telling him anything. There wasn't one, of course, and with a muttered curse, she dragged her gaze away and looked toward the door.::
Sienelis: I know.
Johns: Go? Go where? ::If his face was pallid before, it slipped into ashen easily. The clenched ball of his fist hammered hard on the forcefield, so much so it shimmered.:: If you harm her, Marshall, I swear I'll—
O. Marshall: What, Chris? Shout out petty threats from a prison cell?
::Clearly at the end of some kind of tether, chains thoroughly rattled, Bear huffed a frustrated laugh. Drastic measures it might have been, his heart drumming hard in his chest at the thought of being caught. He had to make it believable. Tightening his grip on Valesha's upper arm, he pulled her to him and kissed her for enough of a second to see the colour drain from Chris' face and the man stumble back, as though he'd been physically shot.::
O. Marshall: We're going and we're going now. Say goodbye, e'lev.
::That close, enough to feel her breath on his face, Bear could see the venom in her eyes as she held his gaze. From a distance, the lingering look had a different read. She swallowed, pushing down every instinct she had, and answered. It was as cool as she could manage, barely a tremor in her voice at all. Daddy would be proud.::
Sienelis: I think I just did.
::If Chris was attempting to say anything, it died on his lips, jaw shaking visibly, the hot sting of emotion threading through his eyes. Eyes focused not on Bear, but Valesha — rejection and heartache so manifest on his features, it was unmistakable.
::Guilt wavered deep in Bear's gut; the material observer to the crime at hand bearing more than an eyewitness account, but it was necessary. It had to stick and lodge under Chris' ribs. Bear held onto that as he glanced up at where the recording device would be, offering up a two-fingered salute from his temple, and pulled the Romulan toward the double doors as they shunted back into the recess.::
::The Russian's lilted voice sounded small and distant in the pounding of Bear's ears. With a roll of the eyes, he looked back over to the man who had sank onto his cell bunk, asinine misery plain, but something else there. Something stronger he was holding onto.::
Johns: Be safe.
::She glanced back toward him, without the heart to answer, nor able to trust herself to do so even if she had. Instead she pushed on with Bear, letting the doors close behind him without another word exchanged.::
Lieutenant JG Orson Marshall
Logistics and Communications Officer