Capt. Shayne: We Can Put On Zeppelin And Eat Cheddar Cheese
Randal Shayne
((Dewitt Residence, Earth))
The Treaty of Algeron was a mistake.
Sure, it had been instrumental in keeping the Romulans and the Federation from beating each other to death across the cosmos for over a century, and yes, it had been one of the most arduous yet successful agreements made by two ostensibly hostile governing bodies in the Alpha Quadrant’s recorded history, and certainly, it was an enduring reminder that people, pointed ears or round, could hammer out the fluffy, cotton candy-esque nature of neutrality.
But it meant he couldn’t have a personal cloaking device, and that blew targ.
All he was needed for was actually officiating the wedding. He could, ostensibly, beam behind the podium, conduct vows, allow the couple to kiss as if they’d not been doing way more collegial extracurriculars behind the scenes, and then beam back up on affairs of state. State of affairs, you see. Can’t be helped. What matters of state? Affairs, of course. Why, the USS Khitomer is the single largest carrier of penicillin in the Alpha Isles. Care for a dose?
The reporter he offered it to rudely rebuffed him, primarily by disappearing. Well, of course she would disappear- the hypo in his palm was just a small oak tree stick, and he
really
really
really
needed some coffee.
He was at the edge of the Dewitt residence, where he’d remained, despite his brain leaving on an unauthorized day dream. He’d read the files on the medications- only after stopping them, ironically enough- and between the doses he was taking, and the symptoms that would follow for a while after the first withdrawal, there was no way to avoid this latent period. All he could do was keep it together.
…
…
…he could get another dose. Just for the ceremony. Just for this moment.
But if he used that as an excuse, he’d never truly quit. He’d be a complete stranger to himself in no time, and- perhaps worse- a stranger to everyone else.
Damn his crew and their unfailing humanity.
The sun was hot and emboldening, and its radiating welcome to life shoved some life into his gray-pallored skin. He flexed his fingers, preparing to turn and hobnob, all while making his slow way to the podium for the end of leave ceremony.
The wedding.
Not the end of leave ceremony. Not the promotions or the ribbons. Not the-
Semara: Captain? How do you do, sir?
The sun had, unkindly, magnified by a factor of 30 with those words. Sunlight herself was embodied in the molten warmth of courteous Southern charm, and not even the icy realization of what was about to happen could keep the blinding decency out of his eyes.
Slowly he turned, step by step, inch by inch…
To find the radiant smile of Ensign Semara giving him second degree burns.
Shayne: Ensign. Well, thank you.
Before her was extended a little plate of vegetable and plant matter, with a fork. In the hands of anyone else it would look like lunch. In her hands, it was like he was being handed the fruits of Tantalus, winning smile and all.
The dates burned holes in the plate, in her hand, passed through them both, sizzled menacingly on the ground, dug their way into Earth’s core…
Nope. Nope, the dates were still there, hovering. Just dates.
Did Semara always have mandibles?
Semara: I always eat lots 'a fruit high in potassium before somethin' that makes me nervous. It's a natural beta blocker. Perfect for the jitters. Thought you could use some.
She offered a sheepish, but still convicted smile, and Shayne smirked slightly and nodded a relenting, accepting headbob.
The fork was getting longer.
Out of nowhere, with no reason to connect to it, a blinding, red wrath exploded in him.
It disappeared just as quickly.
It left him baffled, and exhausted, and…
…what was he saying?
Shayne: Leave it to a scientist to find just the right thing to eat before a scary event.
The fork was getting longer.
Semara: Folks say to picture the crowd naked if you're nervous, but havin' been to plenty of Betazoid weddings... :: A big smirk, a shake of the head, then a sly whisper :: It doesn't help.
He tried it out. The hallucination-aided image of Ensign Ferentis’ unmentionables nearly killed him.
Shayne: oO You couldn’t have imagined Ash?! I know what she looks like! Lovely proportions, phenomenal curves, and no &#$#@%* cloaca! Oo
Shayne: Maybe Betazoids are more intimidating in the buff.
Did he say that? Or did he think that?
Shayne: oO Not you, Ensign. You’re intimidating now. Please stop smiling. You’ll bleach my eyebrows. Oo
Semara: Will you be staying after the ceremony?
He momentarily choked on a non-existent beverage.
Shayne: I…
He looked at her, sunk into her black gaze, and for an impossibly brief instant, felt safer and more secure than he ever had before.
Shayne: I don’t know.
He could hear a dozen former COs groaning and smacking their foreheads. How many times had he been told- don’t admit you don’t know! Don’t tell the crew, don’t tell the admirals, don’t even tell yourself! Don’t know is for scientists and unsuccessful private investigators.
But he couldn’t help it. In her pitch gaze, a gaze he’d found a perverse pleasure in denying, there was an openness and a tolerance that could only come from knowing the truth, and accepting it fully.
It didn’t matter whether he took the blockers or not anymore. She knew him.
And she was choosing to be kind regardless.
When you have eliminated the impossible…
Semara: Would you care for a dance? Just one. :: A smile :: I wouldn't usually ask, but I'd hate for you to be left out. :: Beat :: And 'fore you wring your hands what folks'll think, you should know a Betazoid lady's honor is above reproach. :: A bigger smile. :: And maybe it'll give you somethin' to be anxious 'bout 'sides the ceremony.
She smiled still. And he looked into it.
And that was when he realized what was different about her features, her svelte grin, her open, innocent, black eyes.
Out of everything before him- the sky, the ground, the topiaries, himself- she was the one thing that hadn’t distended, distorted, abandoned all reason.
She was real.
Whole.
Untainted by his mistakes, even if she’d been hurt by them.
Which she couldn’t have been. Because she didn’t know. But what if she did?
SO WHAT?!
It smashed above him like thunderclouds, as if God had gotten really very annoyed with this ongoing bit of internal conflict, and demanded swift and immed-
Shayne: I’d like that.
Who cared who was watching? Who cared who judged? They were all dissolving into penguins anyway. There was a purity here, a focus- and Ensign Semara, an anchor in the wilderness, did not deserve to be alone at such a festive occasion.
Semara: Response
Shayne: I have no idea where my legs are, but I’d like that. As long as you don’t float off. Or grow a second head. Or something.
He spoke earnestly, confiding in a trusted friend. Right? Semara was a friend.
His anchor smiled again. A single plum blossomed in her hair like a dandelion.
Semara: Response
Tag/TBC…
Captain Randal Shayne
Commanding Officer
USS Khitomer
NCC 62400
G239202RS0