(no subject)
"Lieutenant Felix Gaeta?" says the unfamiliar woman escorted into the CIC. He turns around immediately, back lifted and shoulders squared; she keeps close to the Marine guard, a thin white envelope in hand.
"Ma'am," he acknowledges.
"If you'll come with me, please."
Thin furrows cross his forehead, but after flicking a quick glance to the Admiral -- he nods his permission, barely perceptible -- Gaeta lifts himself from his seat smoothly and without hesitation, walking down the short flight of stairs to fall in step beside her. The three of them exit and shut the door behind them with a thump.
Three minutes pass. The bridge resumes its work as if nothing transpired at all.
When Gaeta re-enters, he's alone, pale, and stony-faced as he crosses the floor to return to his post.
"Ma'am," he acknowledges.
"If you'll come with me, please."
Thin furrows cross his forehead, but after flicking a quick glance to the Admiral -- he nods his permission, barely perceptible -- Gaeta lifts himself from his seat smoothly and without hesitation, walking down the short flight of stairs to fall in step beside her. The three of them exit and shut the door behind them with a thump.
Three minutes pass. The bridge resumes its work as if nothing transpired at all.
When Gaeta re-enters, he's alone, pale, and stony-faced as he crosses the floor to return to his post.