Commander Jo Marshall - Preliminary Research
Jo Marshall
((Cochtois Lagoon, Deluvia IV))
Beautiful places always seemed to be bookends, in Jo's experience. The story between them was written in guts, glory, valour and the occasional Purple Heart for the privilege. Not to mention fun, sometimes heartbreaking moments filled with wonder and often a hard-won victory at the end. Sometimes they did everything they could, made no mistakes, and still lost. Therein lay the beauty and the beast of Starfleet service.
Ahead of them, Sami and Maezel had pulled forward, their conversation was a warm murmur Jo caught fragments of on the breeze. There was a special kind of pleasure in walking behind a conversation rather than inside one.
Jo's thumb traced a slow arc across Erin's knuckle unconsciously, her thoughts running ahead. Rubin had discovered the surf and engaged herself in a philosophical negotiation with a wave, charging at it with tremendous conviction, losing her nerve at the point of wet contact, retreating at speed, only to repeat the motion.
Marshall: I was thinking, ::said carefully, the way one handles fragile plants,:: about retirement spots.
E. Reynolds: Oh yes?
Marshall: You mentioned it. ::Lightness was a skill she practiced and her voice held it.:: Scoping out spots. Every shore leave.
E. Reynolds: Right...
Marshall: You said "I".
Her pulse drummed for a heartbeat. Despite a thoroughly planned campaign to never say the words in her head and to let the whole thing fossilize into a stone she could toss into the ocean, it happened anyway. Then she exhaled in a wave and shook her head. Too many drinks and not enough food.
Marshall: Ah, ignore me. Forget I said anything.
E. Reynolds: Jo.
With one word, Erin Reynolds could do more than most managed with a prepared address and visual aids. As if pulling her back from the edge of a cliff, Erin tugged Jo's hand until they stopped walking on the warm sand in the warm evening. Jo could feel her cheeks warming up, the flush creeping from collarbone up around her neck, wishing she'd never said a thing, especially when Erin took hold of her other hand and squeezed like she was about to say…
E. Reynolds: Every possible permutation of my future that I want to imagine is our future. I'm a researcher, that's all. I'm researching. One day we'll sit down ready to have a serious conversation about retirement, and I'll come pre-prepared with a three-hour holographic presentation complete with qualitative analysis, statistics, citations, and enough snacks and coffee to get you through it.
…not that. This time, Jo's cheeks warmed for an altogether different reason, the threads of their conversation tying up in knots and holding fast. That had been, in fact, the exact opposite of everything she'd been afraid of, delivered without drama.
Marshall: Snacks would be important.
Rubin made a pass around them at speed, skimming their shins with her deep fur as she carved out a sand ring before darting back to resume her philosophical debate with the ocean. Above them, birds conducted their twilight song about who owned the sky as the light shone gold.
E. Reynolds: I'm yours, Jo Marshall. Now and forever.
Marshall: You could've just said "shut up".
She meant it as a joke. Tears pricked at the corners of Jo's eyes—ones she would've sworn were a result of the sandy and salty sea breeze, which were present and frankly not doing Jo any favours. She managed to blink them away in time as Erin stepped closer, rose up on her toes, and kissed her, which accomplished the shutdown without the words. As Erin's forehead settled against her own, Jo felt the relief in her shoulders, the tension sagging them down.
Anxiety habitually did its finest work quietly.
E. Reynolds: ::Gently,:: You don't worry about this often, do you?
Marshall: Only when I'm in overthinking mode and everything gets… ::She searched for the way to phrase it, lips thinned, and exhaled a calming breath through her nose.:: Several sizes too big. Like I'm wrestling the Taniwha in the dark and I'm not sure which one of us is more confused.
She joked again with a breath though the usual mirth wasn't in it.
E. Reynolds: Response
Up ahead of them, Sami had slowed her pace with Maezel to let them catch up, perhaps not realising the couple had planted their feet in the sand and become their own island in the middle of the beach.
Marshall: It's harder to find the words when there's nothing specific to point at. When it's just become background noise until it's too loud to ignore and it latches onto something.
E. Reynolds: Response