LtCmdr Connor Dewitt - What we leave behind

[Tim]

((Just outside the Captain’s Ready Room, Deck 1, USS Khitomer, DS33 Dry Dock))

Connor walked the last stretch to the ready room a little slower than he had to. He carried a small wooden box tucked under his left arm and a PADD in his right hand. The box was older than most of what he owned. It had belonged to his grandpa,, and he had only ever brought it out of storage for a few specific occasions in his career. He had nearly left it behind in his quarters tonight. He had not, in the end, been able to.

The PADD held his mission report. He had finished it twenty minutes ago. Connor had checked it twice and the he had stopped checking it, because at some point checking a report you have already finished was its own kind of avoidance.

He stopped at the door and stood a little longer than he would have admitted later. Then he chimed.

Naxell: Enter.

The doors slid open and Connor stepped through.

Dewitt: ::quietly:: Sir.

He let himself look around the ready room for a beat. He missed Shayne. Then he stepped further in. The dimmed lights made the paneling along the walls look almost warm. He had expected Naxell to look more tired than he did and had to remind himself about the features of being a Denobulan.

Naxell: Number One! I'm surprised. Up late, or early?

Dewitt: ::a thin smile:: Neither, Sir. ::beat:: Or maybe both. I have been finishing my report. I figured if you were going to be up, you might as well be up with some company. ::pause:: It is on this PADD.

The Executive officer stepped closer to the desk and put down the PADD on a corner of it. Then he put the box next to it.

Dewitt: I… ::glancing down at the box:: … I brought something I wanted to talk to oyu about, if you have a few minutes.

He let his hand rest on the lid of the box for a moment. He had not planned much of this. He had planned the report. Part of him had planned the visit. But he had not planned for the box. It was just something in him that told him that he needed to share this with Naxell. Maybe for advice. Or maybe to get closer to him. Or maybe because he just needed his Captain to know.

Naxell: Is there something I can do for you, Connor? ::standing, gesturing towards the replicator:: Herbal tea?

Dewitt: I… Uhm… Let’s wait with the beverages, Sir.

Naxell: Response

Connor opened the lid of the wooden box and took out the bottle putting it on the table next to the box. It was old. The label had faded into a sepia smear that had barely been a brand name when Connor had taken the first sip from the bottle. It almost looked antique.

Dewitt: ::quietly:: This was my grandpa’s, Sir. He gave it to me when I graduated. He must have carried it through a tour and a half before that. He told me that he kept it as a reminder and he wanted me to have it and drink from it after every hill I have climbed. ::pause, looking at the bottle:: I never asked him what it reminded him off.

He let his hand sit on the neck of the bottle before letting it go and sitting down.

Dewitt: I have my own version of this habit. I used to share a whisky with someone after every mission. ::beat:: Sometimes the same someone, sometimes not. The bottle emptied, but it has remained to be a symbol. That’s why I kept it.

Naxell: Response

Dewitt: I’m not sure myself… But tonight I almost reached for it and it felt wrong. It was supposed to be something that I shared at the end of the watch. Somewhere along the line it became the thing that meant that a mission went badly. It feels like admitting something went wrong. That is not how I want to mark the end of a watch anymore.

He stood up with the bottle in his hand and crossed to the replicator on the side wall. He set the bottle into the opening.

Naxell: Response

Dewitt: Missions tend to make me realize how unstable it all is. How fragile peace can be and how fragile a single life can be. A Chief Engineer can drink a whisky to that. But I’ve not stepped into Nolen’s shoes to have a drink that makes me beg that there’s no tomorrow. ::looking at the replicator:: Computer, recycle.

The bottle dissolved into a soft column of light and was gone. The tray cleared. A clean slate. Connor stood there for a second longer than the replicator took. Most of what he felt was relief. He turned back with a smile on his face.

Naxell: Response

He sat down across from Naxell and pulled the rest of the box’s contents out. A small foil-wrapped pouch. He had bought it at a place on DS33 this morning. He unwrapped it. The smell that came up from the foil was leaf and citrus with a low warmth underneath that Connor could barely describe.

He set two small ceramic mugs from the box on the table and started measuring the blend with a sppon.

Naxell: Response

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 drin 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: Response

TAG/TBC

LtCmdr Connor Dewitt
Executive Officer
USS Khitomer
A239901CD3