LtCmdr Connor Dewitt - No Brush to Blame
Tim
((Connor & Ayemet’s Quarters — USS Khitomer))
The doors hissed shut behind him, but Connor barely heard them over the dull roar in his head. His legs moved on their own toward the couch. He did not bother stripping off his uniform jacket or ordering the lights to dim. He just collapsed onto the cushions like gravity had suddenly doubled.
The room smelled faintly like jasmine. It reminded him of Ayemet. The kind of small detail that used to comfort him. Now it only reminded him of how fragile everything seemed.
Something jabbed his ribs as he shifted. He reached under his side and pulled out a familiar object: a worn hairbrush, still catching a strand of copper-gold. Ayemet’s.
A small, rueful smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it. They had fought about this brush once. He had said something stupid about leaving it on the couch, of all places. She had rolled her eyes, he’d grumbled something sarcastic about her mess. It had spiraled briefly into a larger argument. It had been about boundaries, about space, and about their relationship. Connor was glad that it had ended how their fights had always ended so far. With apologies. A forehead against his. Her fingers in his hair. Silence doing the repair work words couldn’t.
He ran his thumb over the back of the brush, as if that could bring some of that comfort back. But today, there was no brush to blame. There was just the looming, impossible weight of a future that already hurt.
He didn’t know how long he stared at the thing, lost in memory and mental static, before the door opened again.
Ayemet entered.
He looked up slowly, blinking like he was waking from a dream… or maybe a nightmare. Her silhouette, haloed by corridor light, struck something deep in his chest.
Gods, she was here. Right here. Whole. Real.
He wanted to stand. Run to her. Wrap his arms around her and just breathe. But his body didn’t move. His muscles had locked in place, as if unsure whether the version of her in this room would let him. It was not her fault. He just was not sure what the rules were anymore.
A thousand unsaid things hung in his throat. He felt like he needed to apologize. He just did not know for what. For Kael? For the pain she had not even lived yet? For the choices he might make, or fail to make, and the timelines they might ripple into?
His voice, when it finally came, felt dry and unused.
Connor: Hey… How are you feeling?
Ayemet: Response
Connor: ::He let out a shaky breath, gaze dropping to the brush still in his hands:: Yeah. And I keep wondering if I’m supposed to apologize for something I haven’t done… or if I already did and just haven’t gotten there yet.
Ayemet: Response
((OOC: Kept things short, since I don’t know if Ayemet wants to scream at him or not :D))
TAG/TBC
LtCmdr Connor Dewitt
Chief Engineer & Second Officer
USS Khitomer
A239901CD3