Vice Admiral Quinn Reynolds - Fresh-Faced Recruit
Quinn Reynolds
((Personal Quarters, USS Gorkon))
Adamas glittered through the windows of Quinn's quarters, a dark crescent dusted with diamond light in geometric patterns; lines, squares, circles, all following the lines of the urban sprawl below. The view, stunning as it was, held no interest for the hybrid that evening. She sat on the edge of the sofa in the living space of her quarters, listening to her son's voice as it floated through his open bedroom door.
D. Reynolds: Don't be weird.
Reynolds: I make no promises.
A huff of annoyance — one that sounded suspiciously like an inheritance from Walter — escaped through the doorway. She smiled, and the expression wavered when she swallowed down the following pinch in her throat. Time crept ever onward, and it wouldn't be long before that bedroom stood empty.
And then Dylan stepped out of his room.
Reynolds: Oh.
He had been taller than her for quite some time now. That wasn't news. But stood there in fitted, perfectly pressed grey and gold, he somehow seemed taller still. There was no combadge pinned to the uniform yet — that would be issued at the academy itself — but it was unmistakably a Starfleet cadet standing before her.
D. Reynolds: ...well?
It was oddly hard to catch her breath. Quinn stood slowly, as if trying to ease herself into the reality of it, and stepped closer. She raised her hands to straighten his collar and then thought better of it, letting her arms fall back down to her side. Dylan's answering smile was knowing and grateful.
Reynolds: You wear it very well.
D. Reynolds: Yeah?
Reynolds: Yes.
She nodded, her smile a little tight as she fought to keep her composure. Some part of her had hoped, perhaps unfairly, that he would change his mind. Decide to become a marine biologist, just as he'd wanted to be as a child. As he stood there, wearing that uniform, it was hard to reconcile him with the baby boy who'd hurled peas across her quarters on the Eagle, who'd been unable to sleep without his stuffed targ, who had spent an entire year obsessed with Bolian sugarsharks.
She still had one of those drawings framed in her ready room.
D. Reynolds: Mum, I... ::He paused, picking his words with care, and for a second she saw herself so clearly in him it was uncomfortable.:: I don't want people there to know you're my mum. Or that Dad's my dad.
If she hadn't expected it, it would have hurt. Last year, once the Academy acceptance had come through, both she and Walter had guessed it might be the case. Starfleet brats were common enough, but having not one, but two high-ranking parents was baggage that few earnest cadets wanted to announce. So she smiled, shook her head, and watched something ease. His shoulders dropped a few millimetres, and the caution fell away from the corners of his eyes.
Reynolds: I get it. Mum's an admiral and Dad's a captain. You want to stand on your own merits, not ours.
He nodded, a little guiltily, and she was reminded of the little boy she'd once caught red-handed at the replicator gone midnight. She should have been angry. Instead, she'd replicated them both sticky toffee pudding, and they'd sat up late and talked about... oh, she could barely remember. Only the laughter, and the bright smiles that followed.
Reynolds: No interfering. We'll make sure not to call through Starfleet channels. And if we visit, it'll be out of uniform.
D. Reynolds: Thanks, Mum.
His relief was visible and complete. It was her turn to nod, and as much as she wanted to seem perfectly at ease, she couldn't shift the tension from her shoulders. Dylan read her quickly and took up a frown that was so like Walter's, it was startling. His own man, with a few things borrowed from Mum and Dad along the way. She hoped it was only useful things, and not any of the little disasters that littered her and Walter's personalities.
D. Reynolds: You're not mad, are you? That I'm going to the academy?
Reynolds: No. Not at all.
She exhaled, the answer having arrived fast. Of all the things she could tolerate, her son thinking she was angry at him for pursuing his dream was far from among them. She smiled then, her throat a little raw as she handed him the truth of it.
Reynolds: I'm a little terrified. But mostly proud. Of all your hard work, and very much of who you've become.
Another pause, while she reined in the ache in her chest. There was one more thing, of course, and it seemed like the time to say it out loud.
Reynolds: And I'm really going to miss you.
Despite her care with the words, her voice cracked toward the end. In a small act of mercy, Dylan dropped his gaze. He was quiet long enough to let her know it was as much to get his face under control as it was to give her the room to rearrange hers.
D. Reynolds: Yeah. I know. Me too. You, Dad, and Millie-moo.
Reynolds: ::A chuckle slipped free.:: I don't think your sister is ever going to forgive you for that nickname.
He looked up with a grin, not the least bit sheepish, and it made her laugh again. Then, in a gesture that made her hopeful that she hadn't passed on all of her neuroses, he stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. She smiled against his shoulder, squeezed him tight, and tried not to think about how the academy would impose on the time between such moments.
Reynolds: Go get changed. I want to take my son out for lunch while I still have the chance.
D. Reynolds: Okay.
He let her go, smiled again, and ducked back inside his room. Quinn stepped back and sank back down onto the arm of the sofa, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. Being a mother was a life she had never intended for herself, and the one she was most grateful to have stumbled into. But here, on the precipice, her heart ached like little else she'd known. She'd spent Dylan's entire life trying to prepare him for adulthood, and now it was here.
Soon, he'd be leaving, and there was nothing she could do except let him go.
--
Commanding Officer
USS Gorkon
T238401QR0 & Dylan Reynolds (Almost a) First Year Cadet Starfleet Academy