LtCmdr Connor Dewitt - Pale Green

[Tim]

((Captain’s Ready Room, Deck 1, USS Khitomer, Deep Space 33 Dry Dock))

Dewitt: ::softly:: A pinch of Bajoran moba leaf, Sir. They stand for life. They have to be cut fresh. Accompanied by Trillian honey crystals. It gives you warmth. Because anything that deserves drinking should taste like it cares whether you drink it. A sliver of dried Risian citrus, for clarity. And a small twist of Andorian rim root. My grandpa used to say it tasted like sand and salt. ::pause:: He was not entirely wrong.

Naxell: Quite the concoction. ::looking him up and down:: You're a man of ceremony, Commander.

Connor’s hands were already on the small silver spoon. He carefully measured the tea leaves into the first cup, then the second. The leaves smelled a little greener than they looked. He decided to take Naxell’s comment as a compliment.

Dewitt: My grandpa would have called in particular, Sir. Engineers tend to be.

Connor finished the cups off with the pinch of Risian citrus. The smell of the cups was extraordinary. Connor had not expected this palette when he had purchased the tea at the store on DS33. Everything came together.

Naxell: ::crossing towards the replicator:: I'm sure it served you quite well in Engineering, actually. Routine maintenance becomes ceremonial, almost. A ritual performed in accordance with the scripture of a technical manual.

Dewitt: ::nodding without looking up:: It did, Sir. ::looking up:: But I have also been taught that you sometimes have to think outside of the manual. ::pause:: But this uniform is not yellow anymore.

Connor set the spoon down on the rim of the tray and let the cups breath.

Naxell keyed the replicator, waited for a pot to form and walked it back to the desk. Connor watched him set it down without saying anything.

Naxell: Of course, you're not in Engineering anymore. ::sideways glance, setting the tray down:: Are you, Number One?

Connor stayed quiet for a moment. The way the question was asked, revealed a lot about how his commanding officer perceived him. The question had been put gently, like a lot that came from Naxell.

A month ago, he would have tried to hedge. He looked at the two cups on the tray instead of Naxell.

Dewitt: ::quietly:: No Sir, I am not.

Connor took the pot and filled the cups with the steaming water. Immediately, the smell of the ingredients became stronger.

Dewitt: In Engineering the ritual was clear, Sir. You went down the same corridor every shift and you knew what to ask, and what to ask next… and which seam to put your hand on to cure the problem. ::beat:: In this chair, the ritual is different. It is letting other people do their walks down the corridor. Trusting that the Chief Engineer is doing his and the Lieutenant in damage control is doing hers. ::pause:: I’m not good at that.

Naxell: Response

He glanced up at Naxell, then back down at the cups. He picked the left one.

Dewitt: I have caught myself, more than once this past week, halfway down a corridor I did not need to be in. ::looking up to Naxell with a thin smile:: I guess this is the first time I’ve said that out loud to anyone above my rank.

Naxell: Response

Connor watched the moba leaf on the surface of his cup turn into a pale green.

Dewitt: I think the tea is part of figuring that out, Sir. It’s a new ritual for a new job. ::pause:: How did you manage this transition? Have you been thrown into it like I feel I have?

Naxell: Response

TAG/TBC

LtCmdr Connor Dewitt
Executive Officer
USS Khitomer
A239901CD3