Ink and Waterstains | part i | TNG/VOY

[oparu]

Title: Ink and Waterstains
Author name:
oparu
Artist name: touchdownpossum
Media Link (if applicable): book covers here and Romulan awesomeness here
Word Count: 25,817
Fandom: Star Trek: the Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Rating: Teen (implied sex)
Main Characters and/or pairings: Beverly Crusher/Kathryn Janeway, Deanna Troi/Will Riker, Tuvok, Gretchen Janeway
Genre: Space curtain fic romance/fluff/adventure
Summary: After the near disaster at Deep Space 5 Admiral Kathryn Janeway is offered a choice between a lateral change in authority or reassignment to Deep Space 6, the latter is more interesting but it requires asking Beverly to give up a prestigious place at Starfleet Medical. Kathryn struggles with her decision and Beverly with Kathryn's delay in telling her. Once they arrive in their new hom, they find a host of new challenges, most noticeably the Romulans next door.
Warnings: none

Author's Notes (if any): written for
scifibigbang.

set in (my pet) post-Nemesis universe where Beverly and Kathryn are married and expecting a child. This follows and (vaguely) mentions some of the events in Uncharted and the (fluffy) stories that follow.

huge thanks to
leyenn for the beta and her work with sophia_gratia being my cheerleaders when I needed them, and touchdownpossum for making such lovely covers and icons. Well done my marsupial friend!

There are random references to a certain time travelling TV show favoured by Romulans. Find them all and win a ficlet*







December 2379
Earth, San Francisco

With only a quarter hour before eighteen hundred, Beverly is late. No amount of sneaking can the living room could make up for that.

Kathryn raises an eyebrow, not looking up from her book. "You know, I get coffee in bed tomorrow because you're late."

Beverly shucks her uniform jacket and tosses it onto a chair. Amused by his gift, the Maestro leaves his comfortable window and begins to knead her jacket with his paws.

Her hiss of "dammit" carries to Kathryn on the sofa.

"You know he loves a fresh jacket."

"I'm going to have to take it into the sonic shower in the morning to get the fur off."

Beverly rips off her undershirt and dances out of her trousers. The first night they've tried to go out for three weeks and she's late.

"You knew that was a hazard of leaving it there." Kathryn calls from the other room.

"I know."

Beverly strips off her bra and panties and rummages through the drawer until she finds the red ones she always wears with this dress. Pulling them on as she sours her closer for her dress, she wonders why she never takes the time to set things out.

"How was your day?" She has to yell, so Kathryn will hear her, and her wife seems entirely content not to get up. Beverly drops her dress down over her shoulders as Kathryn answers.

"Quiet. The Ontinuri have stopped posturing and decided that it might be acceptable to have the Federation as allies instead of facing the entirety of our united worlds as enemies."

Her sarcasm is sharp, even through the wall.

"Well negotiated, dear." Beverly knows her well enough to recognise the pause as a roll of Kathryn's eyes.

"And you, save any star systems from ague today?"

"No." Beverly sighs and reaches for her jewellery box. Her hair will have to go the way it is, she doesn't have time to do anything else. She wraps her hand around the old wood, and feels paper.

There are some theatres on Earth that still have paper tickets. The Metropolitan Opera, and two antique ones in North America that prize themselves on their attention to historical detail. Beverly knows this because she's been to both of the antique ones, and she even dragged Kathryn last time.

There are more paper tickets in Europe, where traditions are more engrained. The Konzerthaus Berlin is still one of Earth's most acoustically perfect arenas. The United European Opera company has been running a sold out show of "The Marriage of Figaro" with authentic historical sets and it's absolutely impossible to get tickets.

Beverly has tried. She used all of her credentials and was only able to get on a waiting list for some time next year.

Completely forgetting that she meant to get earrings and that she needs to wear shoes, Beverly dashes out of the bedroom, tickets clutched in her hand.

"You have tickets--"

Kathryn sets her book down and leaves the sofa. Her cream coloured dress is just loose enough to show the slight swell of her belly when she stands. Three is as perfect now as she- or he- was conceived. Beverly's tricorder still hides the truth from her, just as she wanted and Three's gender remains a surprise.

Just to lodge her protest, Kathryn's made a point of alternating weeks. This week, Three is a boy, and on Wednesday, Three will be a girl. Beverly suspects it's more to annoy her than anything else, but she likes the frustration.

"How did you--?" She pauses, staring at her. Beverly crosses her arms over her chest, realising that no impossible opera tickets appear without reason. "What did you do?"

Looking wounded, Kathryn reaches for her shoulder.

"I did nothing."

Beverly frowns, tapping the tickets against Kathryn's chest. "These are absolutely impossible to get. Completely. I tried. Jean-Luc tried, I begged Deanna to have her mother try and no one could get them."

"I reminded my sister that you were instrumentally involved in getting our mother a grandchild, thus getting Phoebe off the hook for at least a few years. Somehow, Phoebe got them."

Kathryn stands on her tiptoes to kiss her cheek.

"Occasionally she is useful, and she does like you."

"Oh no." Beverly takes her hand and holds it suspiciously. "Three saving Phoebe from the pressure of when your mother was going to get grandchildren could have gotten you anything you wanted from your sister. You wouldn't use it now--"

Shaking her head, she purses her lips, realising what Kathryn must have done"You cheated."

"I most certainly did not."

"Yes you did."

Waving towards the bedroom, Kathryn grabs her handbag. "You need shoes."

"I'm not putting them on until you admit you cheated."

"Then we'll get kicked out the restaurant." Sinking back onto the sofa, Kathryn sets down her handbag again and picks up her book. "Some women would be ecstatic that their partners remember what they liked and went to all the trouble of getting them tickets to the one opera they most wanted to see and had raved about for the last few weeks."

Beverly sets the tickets in a place of honour on her dresser and retrieves her shoes from the closet. Slipping them on, she removes her coat from the closet and takes Kathryn's too. She calls through the wall, too disappointed to look at Kathryn while she teases her.

"Some women would respect their partner's wishes and not find out the sex of their baby."

When she returns, she keeps Kathryn's coat, and offers her a hand up. "I love the tickets. Thank you."

Accepting her hand, Kathryn meets her eyes, entirely earnest. She reaches up and strokes Beverly's cheek. "I would never cheat. I know how important it is to you. I disagree, but I'd never cheat."

Beverly slips Kathryn's coat over her shoulders and tries to decide what other reason Kathryn could have to use the best leverage she's ever had over her sister on something as insignificant as opera tickets.

"So you know Three's a boy. Well, I suppose you'll want to talk about Evan then, or Colin, maybe Andrew?"

Whirling in Beverly's arms, Kathryn laughs. "No, no, you can't have known all this time. You wouldn't do that. You'd never do that."

"One tricorder sweep, while you were sleeping."

"No, no. I don't believe you."

Kathryn heads for the door, stopping to pat the head of the contented cat, curled up on Beverly's well-kneaded jacket. "The Maestro doesn't either."

"Well, you cheated."

Kathryn sets both hands on her hips, draws herself up to her full height and glares. "I certainly did not. I have no idea if Three is Evan or Elsa because you won't let me find out."

"I love surprises."

Beverly shuts the cat into the apartment alone with a last mournful look at her uniform jacket beneath him. Maybe she has another in the closet. Maybe their next cat should be black.

Kathryn forgives her enough to wind her arm into Beverly's and they head for the complex's transport hub.

"Isn't Three's personality going to be enough of a surprise? Wouldn't it be nice to have a name all picked out and an idea what he'll be like?"

Beverly sighs, stopping their pace and kissing Kathryn's cheek. "I love you, but I need Three to be a surprise."

Kathryn nods, and smiles, relenting. "And Four?"

"If Four is mine, Four will also be a surprise."

"I could scan you while you're sleeping…"

"And that would be wrong."

Beverly gestures up on the transporter pad and searches for the restaurant. When Kathryn picks, they end up closer to home. Beverly has a flair for the dramatic and she likes crossing timezones for dinner and eating breakfast in India. Kathryn does tolerate it, but it's easiest to convince her on date nights because those are something special.

Finding Thailand in the menu, she calls it up and climbs up on the platform next to Kathryn.

“I forgot my bag."

Kathryn laughs, shaking her bag towards Beverly.

“You'd better not lose me. You'll get stuck in Thailand and not make it back home in time to go to the opera."

Sighing at her own absentmindedness, Beverly relaxes into the transporter beam and allows the tickling sensation to envelop her. When the white and blue fades away, she catches a glimpse of the other transport stations as they are relayed through Asia and finish far on the north coast of Thailand.

Immediately the air smells different, still wet but warm instead of cool like San Francisco. She reaches for Kathryn's hand and with her fingers around Beverly's own they step down.

“I'd never miss that opera."

“Then I can trust you to stay with me?"

“I thought you trusted that already."

“Can hormones make me paranoid?"

Kathryn's curious look is the same one she uses when she is trying to weasel some piece of medical information out of Beverly. It's cute, even charming: a feigned vulnerability and the rare admission that there is something Kathryn doesn't know.

She definitely knows that Beverly is weak to this look, so she employs it at half strength.

“Probably not. Weepy, angry, irritable--"

“Oh that's going to be fun."

“Let me finish."

Kathryn rolls her eyes, unimpressed.

“Sentimental, empathetic, affectionate, easily aroused--"

“Now you're just teasing. No amount of hormones will make me sentimental."

She gives Beverly an appraising look, eyes lingering on Beverly's breasts before trailing down and following the line of her hem to where it exposes her legs. That look, a slow, predatory sort of glance, has been more common lately. It's certainly more fun than nausea, even if that wasn't so bad. Kathryn has far more patience than she gives herself credit for possessing. Being pregnant has made her pause, something rare for her and Beverly finds it achingly poignant. She remembers vaguely that kind of extra space in the day, moments that lasted longer than they normally would have.

It's sentimental; Beverly's even more so and her chest tightens. There's something sweet to it and Beverly kisses her, resting her lips on her forehead.

"I think the pot is calling the kettle sentimental."

Kathryn wriggles free, touching Beverly's nose with the tip of her finger.

"But you're sweet like this."

"Like what?"

"All overprotective and touchy-feely."

Giggling as they head down the warm, tropical path in the lazy sunshine, Beverly smirks.

"I'm touchy-feely?"

"You encourage me."

Backing her into a tree, Kathryn rests a hand on Beverly's solar plexus, feeling her breathe. Her fingers are small, yet the contact stops Beverly immediately. She shivers, even though it's hot in her jacket. Kathryn studies her lips, running her eyes over them with a covetous air.

"Do we have to eat?"

Pausing, Beverly toys with her, as if contemplating the idea. Kathryn starts lean in to kiss her and Beverly sighs.

"Yes, we have to eat."

Kathryn's eyes narrow and Beverly pulls her closer, incredibly relieved to be through the beginning of her pregnancy when everything revolved around trying to find some kind of stillness. In the past few weeks, Kathryn's head has descended from the clouds, and her dizziness has faded. Her headaches are more familiar, and therefore something she can put her mind to ignoring. Her nausea is slightly more stubborn, but she approaches it with the same determination with which she attacks everything.

It's that intensity Beverly's finding difficult to resist at the moment. Letting Kathryn convince her to make love on the beach before dinner is less than responsible, so she puts the idea away. There will be time after dinner.

Dinner is an incredibly classy affair, with a candlelit table deep in trees near a waterfall. It's tough place to procure reservations, and Beverly debated back and forth between which of their names might hold more sway before finally giving in and asking Deanna's help.

Deanna may not have been able to get opera tickets, but thanks to her mother, she has an absolute skill with dinner reservations. Beverly owes her a trip to the Admiral's spa on Earth; Kathryn's never gone, so she won't miss her time. There are more than a few perks to being Doctor Janeway.

Kathryn orders conservatively. Thai soups are bland, and the fish course is delicately spiced over fragrant rice. Beverly indulges a little in green curry and Kathryn steals two of her prawns. Last month both would have needed to be skipped, so this is progress.

Kathryn's left hand finds Beverly's knee during dessert, and the steady upward climb of it beneath her dress suggests that she has only a cursory interest in her mango custard. Beverly wants to finish hers, so she has to play coy.

She slips her foot out of her shoe and toys with Kathryn's bare ankle until the hand on her own knee squirms. They're barely out of the restaurant and down the path when Kathryn kisses her; this time, there's no reason to delay. The beach is quiet, one of the beauties of this restaurant is how isolated it is. Several of the coves go on for kilometres, and the warm sun is only just creeping towards midday. They walk for a while, far enough through the trees that even the idea of everyone else in the universe is gone.

When they finally head to the beach, Beverly's shoes are entirely impractical, and she stops, teasing them off with one hand. She has to carry her coat too, and smirks when Kathryn hands hers over and doesn't ask for it back. If Beverly had been thinking, she would have brought a blanket, or something, maybe a towel. She was late, and the tickets made her so distracted that she's lucky they transported to the correct little city on the Thai coast.

The water is the kind of crystal blue it never is in San Francisco, and she leaves the coats, her bag and her shoes in a heap on the sand and heads for the water. The warm surf caresses her feet and ankles and she wades happily almost to her knees. She closes her eyes, losing herself in the smell of salt and sand.

When she turns, Beverly's eyes find Kathryn just in time to watch the last of her zipper slide open on the back of her dress. Kathryn's bra strap is cream, just lighter than her skin. Her dress drops to the sand, sliding down her skin like lover's fingers. Beverly watches, pleasantly surprised that Kathryn looked into how deserted the area is. Holding her own skirt above the water, she stands, watching as Kathryn slowly takes off her bra.

When they first were together, Kathryn would snap her bra off, flinging it to some forgotten corner of the bedroom, and they'd both end up looking for it in the morning. Once she even had to replicate one. Beverly smiles at that while Kathryn's panties, surprisingly lacy because she had time to dress well, slip down her legs. She stands in the sunlight for a moment, soaking it in through pale skin.

Beverly sloshes out of the water. She probably can't get her dress off in the waves, and since that's the way they're headed, she might as well take advantage of Kathryn's nudity before either of them get sunburnt. Beverly pulls her dress over her head and tosses it at Kathryn's feet. Snapping off her bra, she adds that to the pile.

Kathryn stops her from taking off her panties with a hand on her hip.

"Let me do it."

Beverly smiles, pulling up her hands and cupping Kathryn's swollen breasts instead of sliding off her panties.

"Gently." Kathryn taunts her.

"When am I not gentle?"

Beverly kisses her neck, working her way up towards her chin and eventually her lips. Kathryn slides her panties down off her hips while they kiss, her cool hands dancing along Beverly's newly naked bottom. Her legs are damp, and her panties stick and Kathryn breaks the kiss to frown.

"You had to go into the water."

"It's nice."

"I can think of other things that are nice."

Taking her cue to remove her own panties, Beverly bends down, stripping them off gracefully. As she lifts her head, she pauses half-up and kisses the swell of Kathryn's belly. It's still not much, but enough to have frustrated Kathryn into new uniforms. Letting go of the part of her mind that reminds her exactly where the uterus is, and how the baby might be aligned, Beverly simply kisses them both.

Running her fingers slowly through Beverly's hair, Kathryn waits for her to work her way back up. Her eyes are soft, almost damp with tears, and she leans close. Her voice is soft, that one where it's almost caught in her throat and Beverly just wants to hold her.

"Saying hello?"

"I like knowing Three's in there, safe and warm. Maybe a little caffeinated."

Kathryn shakes her head, burying her face in Beverly's neck while Beverly surveys the beach and their pile of clothing. The coats are their best plan. She eases Kathryn's head up, kissing her before either of them can tear up further.

Beverly's coat is older, and she'll have to wash it when she gets home. She spreads it out, and Kathryn smirks down at her.

"When did we get so classy?"

"Maybe we're remembering our impetuous youth."

Patting the coat next to her, Beverly lays back, staring up at the faintly cloudy blue sky. Kathryn climbs over her instead of laying down, and for a moment, the sun halos her hair.

"Hey." Beverly whispers, tucking Kathryn's hair away.

Kathryn kisses her in response, letting the half conversation fade into sighs and murmurs.

"You knew the Enterprise was damaged, that most of the ships in your fleet had all but imploded their warp drives to reach Deep Space 5 before the station was lost. Your fleet contained civilian vessels, which you knew were without defences. Deep Space 5, a station full of Starfleet technology." Admiral Nsomeka rolls the words angrily over his tusks, resting his hands on the desk in front of him. "You all but handed the Romulans a fleet of Starfleet and civilian vessels, and a space station."

"To be fair, Nsomeka, the Romulans could not have landed on the station without risking exposing themselves to the tevalalam ak virus." Rossa is more moderate and one of Kathryn's better chances of leaving the hearings with her rank and position intact. Kathryn can't smile at her, not now, but she does appreciate her presence.

Necheyev's said the least. Nsomeka seems to want Kathryn's pips on a platter, Rossa's airing on the side of reassignment and Necheyev has said no more than a few words in the last three days.

"That may have been a risk the Romulans were willing to take. Sacrifice a few to better understand their enemy: that fits with Romulan tactics."

"Have any of you considered that Romulan Vice Admirals have a similar amount of autonomy to their Starfleet counterparts? That Vice Admiral Toreth's actions were not for Romulans, but a selfless humanitarian gesture?" Kathryn grinds her teeth together, forcing her voice to remain level and even. She's been standing for the last three hours. Her feet ache, and the extra weight of Three in her belly is wrenching her spine out of place, but she refuses to let them know. She won't sit until the inquisition is over.

Nsomeka snorts at the idea of Romulan charity, but Rossa nods.

"The psych profile of Toreth written by Commander Troi suggests she is a competent, rational commander."

"Commander Troi wrote that Toreth was deeply loyal to her empire." Nsomeka drops his PADD from fat fingers.

Necheyev folds her fingers over her PADD neatly, a soft contrast to Nsomeka's Tellarite fervor. "Her empire had just as much to lose from a deadly pandemic as we did. One ship carrying tevalalam ak to a populated world could have decimated the galaxy. What would we do differently if a Romulan commander asked for our help?"

"We are not the Romulans."

"Nor are they our enemy."

Nsomeka swivels in his chair, turning to glare at Necheyev. "The absence of declared hostilities does not make the Romulans our allies. They have invaded our space, plotted to kill our leaders and violated the Neutral Zone numerous times since its implementation. Only this year, a Romulan--"

"Reman," Nechayev corrects. "Shinzon was a Reman outcast who took power by force. He no more represents the Romulan people than the Founders who infiltrated Starfleet Command represent the citizens of the Federation. The Empress has been more cordial than previous Romulan administrations. She even provided humanitarian assistance the Enterprise herself before she rose to power."

"Which makes her position all the more tenuous." Nsomeka fills his barrel chest, ready to launch into a full argument on the nature of Romulan political thought.

Rossa clears her throat. "Admiral Janeway's actions are not reflected in the nature of Romulan politics. She may have allowed Romulans to violate sovereign Federation territory, but that action prevented the death of thousands and the destruction of our space stations. Though we do not commend the means, we can certainly recognise the favourable outcome."

Nechayev doesn't have to look at Nsomeka to make her point. Instead, she turns her icy gaze on Kathryn. "Kirk defied orders and saved the galaxy on numerous occasions. He even travelled through time to protect the Federation. Captain Garrett went to the aide of Klingons, our sworn enemy at the time, and paved the way to peace with the lives of her crew. The Klingons chose to honour her sacrifice and consider us as more than we were before. Surely we can extend the Romulans and this Toreth the same courtesy. They entered our space to provide aid and left without quarrel."

Though her lips do not move, the hint of a smile glints in her eyes. "Admiral Janeway acted without orders, but she acted in the best interest of the lives entrusted to her. We can hardly punish her for that."

"Nor can we reward such behaviour." Nsomeka rolls his head on his shoulders, settling his decision. "You will not be demoted, Admiral Janeway. However, in light of your independence and inability to follow the orders of Starfleet Command, I do not believe that this is a good place for you. I recommend reassignment."

Rossa nods, her eyes almost sad. "Reassignment may be best."

Nechayev lifts a PADD, checking the list.

Kathryn's been dreading the assignments written on that PADD. Civilian transport control was bad enough. Logistics management on a remote planet would be worse. Perhaps she should try and get herself busted back to captain. There must be something she can say to provoke Nsomeka.

Rossa does not need to look. "Admiral Whfayllnzk has earned a promotion. Deep Space 6 is in need of a commander."

Nsomeka glances at his PADD before his dark eyes bulge. "You want to send her to the fringes of Romulan space?"

Nechayev's smile breaks her control. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Janeway's already proved she has a way with the Romulans and she survived the Delta Quadrant, if she's spent too long making her own decisions, perhaps it's time we let her get back to it. Deep Space 6 is remote, crowded, poorly resourced and on the edges of both the Federation and the Romulan Empire. It is a difficult, demanding command."

"Nearly a punishment in itself," Rossa adds, soothing Nsomeka with a frown. "You know how much you despised your time on Deep Space 4. Deep Space 6 is worse. It's a dismal outpost full of eccentric long-range explorers and pioneer families."

Kathryn rests her hand on the arm of the chair she's been shunning for the last three hours and lets it take some of her weight. A space station on the edge of the universe: it could be worse, she thinks.

"Admiral Whfayllnzk will be leaving to return to Earth in three days. We will make the announcement then, unless you wish to object to the posting?"

Rossa's question hangs, leaving Kathryn seconds to decide if she wants to be shunted into the least important, most irritating realms of Starfleet or sent into the outback.

"Can't be worse than the Delta Quadrant." She shouldn't be glib, but Kathryn wants to go home.

"That's the spirit, Kathryn." Nechayev checks with her colleagues and makes a note on the PADD. "Start assembling your command team. We'll make the formal handover in three days and you'll need to be underway in two weeks."

Two weeks to pack up everything she's built on Earth and explain to Beverly that she has to leave the most prestigious position in her field and start treating snakebites and space-sick engineers. Kathryn nods, still standing perfectly erect.

"Acknowledged, Admiral."

Only when the members of her tribunal have filed out does she sink into the chair. First she leans back, then she puts her head in her hands. Deep Space 6 is Uluru station; the station on the far edge of the Federation. She's only been there once, on the Bonestell and she's not even sure she spent more than an hour off her ship. She's traded life at the heart of the Federation and that little cottage she had her eye on in South America for scientists, families and life weeks from Earth.

Her mother's going to kill her, if Beverly doesn't do it first.

When she lifts her head, ready to face the world again, Nechayev stands there, arms crossed and waiting.

"Uluru station really isn't that bad you know. Plenty of scientists full of new discoveries and lots of strange galactic weather patterns."

Kathryn watches her, surprised by the smile on the other woman's face. "I never talk about science now."

"We don't, do we?" Nechayev takes a step towards her. "I'm sorry."

"I didn't get busted down to captain."

"I already apologised."

Smiling down at her knees, Kathryn pushes herself out of the chair. "I knew I was away too long."

"If I'd been out there as long as you were, I'd expect to have my own part of the Federation when I came back." Nechayev falls in step with her, walking slowly as if they weren't just on the opposites of an inquiry.

"You did come up with some bizarre rules about not letting the Romulans drop by while I was gone."

"Protectionism is a recurring theme lately. Everything and everyone's a threat after Shinzon and the Borg."

"So, if I'd crashed a ship into the station to save it--"

Nechayev's eyes light up. "You'd get a medal. I had to give Picard one for stopping Shinzon."

"I'll remember that."

"Repairing our ships keeps the corps of engineers busy."

They walk in silence for a while, passing aides and other officers on the way out. Kathryn stopped in the cloakroom, collecting her coat before she braves the winter rain.

"Doctor Rickon would certainly be ready to rotate off of Uluru-"

"Why is it called Uluru?"

"Big rock in the middle of the desert in Australia, big station in the middle of the space desert." Nechayev shrugs. "Scientist humour."

Kathryn nods, barely hearing. Doctor Rickon is the chief medical officer, which is a position far down the ladder of prestige from the head of medical, but if she's going, Beverly has to come with her. Kathryn refuses to even contemplate leaving her on Earth.

Kathryn fiddles with the corner of her coat. "How do you tell your wife you need her to give up the most important position in her field to come with you into the space desert?"

"Carefully. Maybe from across the room." Nechayev smiles and shakes her head. "I don't know if I could, too much of a coward. That's why I never married."

"Does save some of the trouble."

"And here I thought you loved trouble, Kathryn."

Kathryn tugs her collar shut. She hates the rain here. It's cold and thin, just a step above fog. She's not going to miss weather out on Uluru station.

"I like to think it's the other way around."

"Don't we all?"

"Doctor Janeway, am I disturbing you?" The deep voice is male and not immediately familiar.

Beverly looks up from her work, but the light is brighter in the corridor and she only catches a silhouette.

"Not at all." She offers to the shape, smiling. "I'm nearly done. What can I do for you?"

"I was in the vicinity of Starfleet Medical and it was logical to offer to accompany you to your apartment." As he approaches, she recognises Tuvok in voice and manner just before he comes into her light.

"Thank you. I appreciate the company." Beverly softens her smile and watches him nod. Vulcans are quite sociable, when they wish to be.

"Humans often do."

He hovers behind her in that entirely polite Vulcan way and she gestures at her work: an epidemiological map of the sectors bordering the Neutral Zone.

"The collapse of the Romulan Empire left many of the border worlds unprotected from border raids and poorly served with medical care. Cuperic fever broke out here, on Rishkun Four and spread to the neighbouring worlds, three weeks later it started showing up in Federation outposts."

She waves her hands over the map and it responds with more ominous red dots on tiny holographic planets. As time passes, they spread, showing the movement of the virus from planet to planet.

"We have a vaccine for some strains of cuperic fever, but it mutates often, like the influenza viruses of Earth."

He eyes the map, then turns his gaze to her. "You are determining how to efficiently distribute resources?"

"As efficiently as I can." Beverly shuts down the map and sighs, shaking her head regretfully. "I'm only human."

He acknowledges her half-smile with another polite nod. "Humans frequently far exceed their own expectations."

"Thank you." She organises the PADDs and sets them aside. She'll be back tomorrow, perhaps she'll find her breakthrough then. If not, there's always the next day, and the rest of the week.

Tuvok raises an eyebrow and Beverly realises she must be frowning.

"Sometimes I get nostalgic for a ship of one thousand." She doesn't have to offer much more, and true to his species, Tuvok watches her without emotion marring his dark features. "It seems like a big number when they give you all the records, all those names. Now I have planets, not names. Sectors, whole solar systems--"

"I am certain you are up to the demands of your position."

"Thank you." She pushes back from her desk. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."

He nods, waiting for her at the door. "Your wife can tell you my confidence is not something I distribute without cause."

Beverly takes her coat from the hook. Tuvok hasn't even removed his. Winter in San Francisco is cold for a Vulcan. She slips it on over her uniform. She extends her arm and he studies it for a moment before taking hers.

"Kathryn hasn't been telling me much lately."

"Her debriefing is not proceeding well."

"That's the kind way of putting it. Jean-Luc did what he could."

"The word of Captain Picard carries great weight with Starfleet Command."

"Sometimes more than he'd like." Beverly sighs. "Not as much as we need this time."

The gardens between Starfleet Medical and the block of Starfleet apartments are green and quiet. The air's cold and there's more fog than sun. Some of the Andorian summer irises are blooming. They stop and Tuvok examines them with a practiced hand.

"These have been transplanted here, on a new planet from thousands of light-years away. Andorian summer irises only bloom during the warmest parts of their summer. Here, they thrive."

Beverly crouches next to him, caressing the pale blue petals. "Are you saying we might need a transplant?"

"I am remarking on the remarkable ability of some individuals, like this flower, to thrive in varied conditions and survive."

She grins weakly, patting his shoulder. "Admiral Janeway survived the Delta Quadrant, logically she'll survive Starfleet as well."

"Though the two are not immediately comparable, you have grasped the idea."

"Crudely."

"You are human, Doctor."

"And you are a good friend, Tuvok."

He inclines his head and Beverly grins.

"I consider you one as well."

"I'd hope so."

onto part ii

*a story of your choice of approximately 500 words, happy hunting!

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