Chapter Text
It had been a long shift. The Farragut crew had done a good job, maybe a little bit too good of a job, not just running the department but taking initiative in clearing a backlog of physicals and even restocking what they had used from their own stores, but they had rearranged the surgical tools out of their usual order, so Christine at least had something to get her teeth into during the quiet hours. She was actually enjoying the privilege of putting them back in their usual spots, enjoying the novelty of a mindless task, one of the kind that has been sorely missing from sickbay the last few months.
Her shift is coming to an end, but the early birds of the night shift are yet to show up, so it is just her and the background hum of biobeds a perfect third above the eternal purr of the warp core, the symphony of ship’s night. The other medics are on call, of course, in case of an emergency, but these shifts after a big mission tend to be the quieter ones, and in fact, with the exception of poor Captain Batel, sickbay is so empty the lights on the other side of the room have dimmed themselves to save power.
The ship is speeding back towards Federation space in formation with the Farragut and the Harvey like the ending credits of an old drama, and from what she's heard the three Captains have been in a call with command that has stretched into a fifth hour of pure, uninterruptible shouting.
Christine finally finishes sorting the laser scalpel attachments and, with the pleased sigh of a menial task well done, goes back to her desk. Checking the drawer she is surprised to find a bottle of whisky there, something real and heavy, tied with a bow. "Good luck with your fellowship. My best, Leonard”, is written in a remarkably nice hand for a surgeon on a slip of real, honest to god cardstock. She places the whole thing on the desk and gazes at it, contemplating the deeper meaning of the gesture.
She is interrupted in her reverie by an unmistakable burst of light that sets her brain alight as an emergency site-to-site transport deposits Spock in front of her, naked save for his underwear, holding the limp, fully nude form of Jim Kirk of the Farragut in his arms.
"He is not breathing," Spock says, and Christine leaps to her feet, grabbing a tricorder and slamming the emergency call button as she goes, pointing Spock towards the nearest biobed.
The tricorder immediately recommends a specific hypo, and the temporary prescriptive powers of the emergency call mean it's already waiting for her in the dispensing slot. She presses it to Kirk's neck as the biobed boots up, pulling his vitals and his medical file up for her to read. He's still warm, only half a degree off normal, which is a good sign. She pages through the file with one hand as the tricorder recalibrates. Some awkward allergies, but nothing they can't work with. Better hives and a beating heart than the opposite, as her old emergency medicine lecturer used to say.
She gives the hypo a moment to work, but she's already grabbed the resus by the time the biobed tells her to. Placing it on Kirk's chest, she calls clear and Spock steps back. Kirk's chest heaves with the force of it, and then to her great relief, his ribcage continues to move. She looks at the output of the resus to confirm it isn't breathing for him, and according to the biobed his rhythm is good. First crisis averted.
Joseph barrels in at that point still in his pyjamas, his feet bare. "What happened?" he asks Christine, who shakes her head in bafflement. Joseph stares at the biobed's output, frowns, and then grabs a tricorder and scans Kirk's head.
Then he turns to Spock, "What happened?" he demands, and the quiet fury is unlike anything Christine has heard since that Klingon was on board. "His psyche is cut to ribbons."
Before waiting for an answer he turns to Christine, "There is a box in my cupboard, go grab it," and then calls the computer. "Computer, release box M'Benga 12, authorisation M'Benga Alpha two", and Christine sets off at a full tilt.
In the meantime, Joseph turns to scan Spock, at the same moment Spock seems to shake, as if the ship has been hit by a portside barrage. "You have a broken bond," Joseph says, accusingly. "What did you do?"
"Jim and I had bonded. We decided to break the bond but continue our physical and romantic relationship. I broke the bond. Doctor, if I had known...he was fine."
"It is not fine," M'Benga says. "You are dying. An improperly broken bond is serious. It is fatal."
Spock just looks at Jim. "Will he be alright?" he asks, just as Christine returns with the box, and in that moment she has never seen him look more human.
Joseph doesn't answer, instead taking the box from Christine and wrenches it open. Inside are three probes and a small control device,
"This is not standard issue kit," he says, unpacking the probes and passing one across Kirk to Christine to apply, "you and Mister Kirk are incredibly lucky. I'm not even supposed to have this, it was supposed to be returned to Vulcan after the war."
"Can you fix him?" Spock yells, unravelling.
"Yes." M’Benga says, already sticking the probes to Kirk's head. "Probably," before rounding on Spock and pushing him with remarkable strength down onto the next biobed and sticking a probe to him as well. "But he isn't the one I'm worried about."
When Jim wakes up it is with one motherfucker of a headache, the likes he hasn’t felt since the last time he went drinking off-ship with McCoy. Even before he opens his eyes he feels disoriented. Spock’s bed feels different, and his chest hurts, like he’s been punched in the sternum, and the noises are wrong, not to mention that sound, people talking…why would there be people in Spock's room -
He opens his eyes to find himself under the stark white lights of sickbay, on a biobed.
"What the..." he says, trying to sit up but finding himself too weak to move.
"Welcome back from the dead," Doctor M'Benga says from his left. He is tending to Captain Batel, and Jim can see that the Gorn infection in her arm has started to recede, before the meaning of the words hit him.
"Dead? I died? But I was..."
M’Benga rounds the bed and pulls out a tricorder and begins to scan him. "You allowed Spock to do amateur psychosurgery on you, which needless to say went poorly,” the doctor says, with the clipped, even tone of a man on his last nerve. “You went into delayed psychic shock which then degenerated into an empathic cascade through your major systems. You stopped breathing, and after we got you going again, you still found time to have three seizures and an allergic reaction to the seizure meds that was much more serious than what had previously been documented in your file. Congratulations. Multiple papers will be written about this fateful day."
Jim’s throat is sore, so sore, and his chest hurts, likely from the resus, but he manages to pull himself to seating.
"Is Spock alright?" he croaks.
"He is fine. Or at least, he will be. He also suffered severe neuropsychic damage, but we managed to catch it in time. He is currently in a healing trance."
"Can I see him?" Jim asks.
M’Benga glares at him. "No. Or more, yes, you can look at him through the window, but he must not be disturbed. Meanwhile you need tests and rest and then you will be discharged into the care of your named physician. Our ships are parting ways this evening, the Farragut has her orders and you have been recalled. 1800 hours. However, I am signing you off on medical leave for at least three days."
Jim nods.
“Now, I will get you some water and some clothes, and then I will show you where Spock is healing. If you go in there though, I will personally stop your heart again myself. And unlike Doctor McCoy, I can do it.” M’Benga smiles gently at him, holding his gaze for a moment too long for comfort, just so Jim knows he’s for real.
“Understood, Doctor,” Jim says, and sits back down to wait his turn.
Spock comes out of his healing trance feeling physically fine but emotionally feeling like he has been beaten up underwater. It is a strange feeling, but one nonetheless one that he can testify to be from experience, after that one mission with the dolphins.
Checking the chronometer, he is surprised that it is mid afternoon, ship’s time. He is also mostly naked and judging by his surroundings and the noise, in private treatment room A off sickbay. A set of standard issue pyjamas are placed on the end of the bed, and noting the chill in the air, Spock dresses himself.
There is a knock on the door, a delicate tapping of a hand.
“Enter,” he calls out, quietly, and the door slides open revealing Jim. He slips inside and engages the privacy lock, putting his finger up in front of his lips.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” he says. “M’Benga told me you were in a trance and you might die if I interrupted you. And that he might kill me if I did, and I’m fairly sure he could.”
“He could. Jim,” Spock says. “I must apologise. Had I known -”
“No, Spock,” Jim says. “Don’t. We were both stupid. I should have thought for half a second. I want to apologise to you.”
“We were lucky to survive,” Spock says. “If M’Benga had not kept that neuromodulator from the war -”
“But he did.” Jim says, taking Spock’s hand. “He did. We are fine. We are hale and we will be hearty.” He leans in, conspiratorially. “I have sent the form to my captain. I’m still in, if you are.”
“I will send mine to Pike presently,” Spock says, and he feels like he should be grinning ear to ear, but he remembers the last time he was that expressive, and holds back.
They hug, instead, and Spock feels the muscles and bones on Jim’s body with newly sensitive fingers, like it is the first embrace all over again.
The hug goes on for a long time, but eventually Jim pulls back just enough that his lips brush Spock’s ear.
“Next time we bond - it's for keeps.” Jim whispers, and Spock shivers. Jim presses a long, lingering kiss to his pulse point and then lets him go, and with a cocky smile and salute, lets himself out of the room.
It had taken many hours and bottles of skin cleansing balm and detangling spray before Una could hand La’an over to Sam for ethnographic debriefing, and as a result Una has been asleep for most of the day. Unlike in other departments, Ortegas had done as little as possible over the eight hours she was second in command of the ship, and therefore there was nothing Una had to fix as a matter of urgency. She idly considers messaging Commander Kirk to tell him the benefit of having someone like Erica in the command structure, someone who has enough self-confidence to not need to prove herself every damn minute she gets to sit in the chair or have the Captain’s ear, but instead she is distracted by a beep of a high priority communication arriving in her inbox.
INTERNAL COMMUNICATIONS:
From: Lt Spock to Commander Una Chin-Riley
Subject: Personnel file update
Dear Commander Chin-Riley,
I am writing about a change in my personal circumstances that will need to be approved by you as my line manager. Please see details in form 76P attached. It should not affect my work due to being outside of my chain of command. However, due to our ships being in the same command cluster I am still legally required to register that I am in a relationship with Commander Kirk of the Farragut.
Best regards,
Lieutenant Spock
Chief Science Officer
USS Enterprise
Una grins to herself, and taps out a reply, (Congratulations, I have updated your file. UCR) with the trademark laconism of upper management everywhere, and updates Spock’s file (Significant other: Commander James Tiberus Kirk, USS Farragut), before she gives in and forward’s Spock’s email to Chris and lets out a celebratory hoot of laughter.
Almost immediately her communicator beeps with a comm.
Capt.Pike to Cmdr. Chin-Riley: fine, you win. I owe you dinner.
Cmdr. Chin-Riley to Captain Pike: you owe me far more than that, bucko. PAY UP.
Capt. Pike to Cmdr. Chin-Riley: my quarters, 1900. My famous burgers.
Cmdr. Chin-Riley has liked this message.👍👍👍👍👍👍
Una rolls out of bed and saunters over to the shower, to get ready.
“Hail the reigning champion,” Chris says, when Una turns up to his quarters a couple of hours later.
“Did I call it, or did I call it?” Una says, sauntering in.
“You called it. I was wrong. How many times am I supposed to say it?” Pike queries with mock anxiety.
“May I remind you, you said, and I quote, ‘Una, Spock is not going to shack up with the younger Kirk, I don’t care what you think, I was a first officer for ten years, I know a disastrous fling when I see one,” and yet here we go,” she snaps her finger against the case of the PADD, “Form 76P, the one and only.”
“You are, Una Chin-Riley, an amazing first officer slash personnel genius,” Pike says, bowing deeply, and then turns and pours them both each a glass of wine. “I bow to your excellence, your ability to sniff out gossip, and for your absolute knowledge that Spock loves paperwork more than basically anything.”
“Well,” Una says, clinking her glass to his. “Fresh scuttlebutt, but actually it was Kirk who filled it out. It's his metadata on the form.”
Pike sighs, shaking his head. “I just cannot get a read on that guy. Oh well, nevertheless it is my pleasure, Commander, to bend to your every whim this evening.” He bows again, obsequiously, putting on an accent somewhere between Vulcan and South African. “Would sir prefer her fries shoestring or frenched?”
“French, please,” Una says with glee, and takes a seat to watch the show.
An hour and a half later, both of them absolutely stuffed with fried food and more than half cut on the good wine, they’re splayed out on the couch, passing the whisky between them.
“What a fucking shitshow,” Una says, eventually. “That mission. The Gorn. La’an’s whole situation. Command are going to eat her alive.”
Pike hums in agreement. “She’s been through too much this last year. She’s done well, but she needs a lot of leave, not just of the body but of the soul. She needs something to distract her, once they’re done with it.”
“I think we all do,” Una says. “Oh, hey, did you know that Captain Shento and her first officer are married? To each other?”
“Mazzie? I knew she was married to someone, we did a course together, just before the last five year mission, but I didn’t know who to. Huh. Good for her. For them. Must have been a lot of paperwork.”
“I had a very weird conversation with him, Ch’Loren, when we were on the Gorn ship,” Una says. She’s very comfortable, feeling like she’s going to melt into Chris’ sofa. The combination of tiredness, good food and better alcohol are combining to drift the conversation into a dangerous sector. She rolls her shoulders so that she’s sitting half-sideways, and Chris moves to mirror her.
“I just…I don’t know anymore,” Una says, eventually. “After all those years being scared of people finding out, after every part of my life being compartmentalised for fear of losing everything? It turns out that every rule I believed was unbreakable, other people are just out there breaking them, and despite that the world isn’t ending, the service isn’t falling apart. Illyrians can serve. Senior staff can find love. It makes me think…what other rules are there that I thought I couldn’t break, but actually are made of glass?”
Chris doesn’t say anything to that for a moment, just looks at her like something deep in his brain is processing.
“Una,” he breathes, and for a single, tiny half-second, he looks down at her lips, and Una feels her breath catch in response.
That is the moment that the Captain’s communicator chirps. Sitting up, he grabs it from the coffee table, casts her an apologetic look and flicks it open, his thumb heading for the silence button, but then he reads the message and instead leaps to his feet.
“Marie is out of stasis. They did it. I have to go -” he looks conflicted. “I owe you - raincheck, on everything,” he says, before toeing into his shoes and bolting out of the door.
Una rolls back to sitting, and breathes out a heavy breath, before she downs her drink, pulls her boots back on, and takes herself home.
Jim gets back to the Farragut with no plans but sleeping for three days straight, and after a check in with Captain Rubin, he steels himself and presents to sickbay for medical clearance.
“So you'd never guess who I spent a very nice crisis talking to”, McCoy says smugly, scanning him. “The head nurse of the enterprise, a charming woman named Christine Chapel. She told me all about the adventures of Jim Kirk on the flagship. You've been holding out on me, Jimbo,” he says.
“What happens on the flagship…” Jim tries to style it out.
“Nope. Christine also told me all about Spock. Who you also coincidentally did this mission with.”
“Ah.”
“Yes. Ah.”
Jim braces, mentally, for the cascade of disappointment, but instead McCoy just continues scanning.
“You know he was fucking her? Christine?” McCoy says casually. “You know he was engaged to a girl back on Vulcan? This Spock is a player, Jim. You should be careful.”
“I don't...it doesn't matter, Christ you never let anything go, you're like a dog with a bone,” Jim gripes. “I need sleep. Please. You can yell at me tomorrow. I’m on leave until Tuesday.”
McCoy scans him quickly and flips the tricorder closed. “Anything I need to know?”
“No,” Jim lies.
McCoy pats him on the shoulder. “Fine. The tricorder is happy, and therefore so am I. Sleep well, Jim.”
“Good to see you, Bones.” Jim says, and hopes no one asks why he’s walking like that as he scuttles away to his quarters.
“Good news,” M’Benga says, pulling Christine into a hug. “You’re officially done.”
Christine almost cries with relief. “Oh god. All my stuff. I just realised, it was all destroyed on the Cayuga.”
Joseph smiles at her. “It means it won’t take you long to pack, will it?” he says, and holds out a small package wrapped with a bow.
“What happened to ‘you’ll be back in three months, stop being dramatic’” Christine asks, fingering the ribbon. The box is heavy, and the thing inside goes clunk when she shakes it.
Joseph shrugs. “Things change. I know you will be back, but…things are changing around here. They can always change more. We should seize the moments, give the presents we know we should give at the time.”
Christine nods, and sets the box down. Opening it, she pulls back the tissue paper and pulls out…a trowel.
“For the digs,” Joseph says, glee on his face. Christine laughs, and taps him on the arm with it.
“I’ll dig up some new ancient medicine for you, promise,” she says, and then her communicator chirps.
“Nurse Chapel, please report to transporter bay two for transfer to the Francis Harvey.”
“I probably don’t need a bag,” she says, “but it feels weird to not have one,” but then she spots the whisky McCoy had left, and grabs it. “Never mind. I’ve got all I need here. The clothes on my back, my trusty trowel, and something for the long nights.”
“Get out of here,” Joseph says, and Christine salutes him and goes.
Walking the halls, even though she had already left the ship, had her leaving drinks, said goodbye to everyone - it hits her hard all over again. This beautiful ship, this shining beacon that called her home from her zero-gravity grave, that pulled her back for a second chance. She takes a moment outside of the transporter bay to collect herself, feeling the reassuring thrum beneath her shoulders, the warm composite, the sounds of boots moving quickly down the corridor.
“Christine.”
She opens her eyes and Spock is there. He looks like shit, but seeing as he was at death's door a few hours ago, it's all relative.
“Christine. I wanted to speak to you before you left to say…I am so sorry. I am so sorry for the way it ended.”
Christine feels her lip wobble, and instead of saying anything, just pulls him into a hug.
They stand there for a while, until her communicator chirps again.
“Thanks. Look after yourself,” she says, and goes.
Later that night, Leonard's in the Farragut’s sickbay, trying and failing to not compare his facilities to those on the Enterprise, and considering sending a strongly worded letter to the Admiralty about the definition of a ‘sister ship’. He’s half way through the first edit when the computer beeps with a message.
Enterprise.Medical: AUTOMATED URGENT FILE RECONCILIATION UPDATE for one of your patients, Commander James Tiberius Kirk.
ANY ISSUES PLEASE CONTACT CORRESPONDING PHYSICIAN: JOSEPH M’BENGA, USS ENTERPRISE.
It must be late, Leonard thinks, opening the file curiously, the database only updates at midnight usually. He skims down; these kinds of updates are routine, usually just details of the tricorder metrics and any blood work results post-mission, but this one is longer than the cursory one-pager. He frowns delicately as he scrolls…and scrolls…and scrolls, until his eyebrows hit his hairline. "What the..."
He calls the Enterprise CMO immediately, midnight be damned.
Ten minutes later, Leonard is running through the halls of the Farragut with a fury he has not felt for a long time. He reaches Jim’s suite and begins banging on the door. He is half way through putting his emergency override in when he hears a voice call indistinctly from inside.
"Jim, let me in or I'll make a scene,” he bellows.
Eventually, the door opens, revealing a sleep-mussed Jim who looks even more exhausted than he did earlier. "Bones, you know I'm XO? I could have you sent to the brig."
"I'm here to apologise," McCoy says, and at that Jim just sighs and lets him in.
“Okay, this I gotta hear.”
Leonard doesn’t really know how to put it, so as soon as the door closes, he just says it. “The CMO of the Enterprise sent over your files and I saw the damage that Vulcan bastard did to you,” he says. “Your psyche shouldn't look like that. Humans, for all we pretend otherwise, we're vulnerable to psychic damage, more vulnerable since we don't naturally experience it. If you need my support pressing charges, you have it.”
Jim winces. “Look, Bones, it's not like that. M'Benga fixed both of us up. We talked it out. Made it right.”
“I don't care -” Leonard says, pressing it, stepping close to Jim to grip him by the shoulders, “do you hear me? This is a crime, Jim, you died for an unknown number of minutes, you cannot let him get away with it.”
Jim sighs, twisting out of McCoy’s grip and sliding his PADD over. "We form 76'd, Len. I need you to respect this. You don't know everything about me, you don't know anything about him."
Leonard takes the PADD and reads it, even though form 76 is one of the most simple forms in the pantheon of starfleet bureaucracy, but the names check out, and everything seems to have been approved by the captains. But if they don’t know…
He looks at Jim and the exhaustion on his face makes him bite his tongue. Instead he says, "you have to have a physical. I wasn’t looking for it earlier. Please."
"Scan me. You'll find that there is no bond. No psychic damage. No physical damage. I’m fine. Just exhausted."
Leonard does, and finds that Jim is right; that M’Benga does good work, because he cannot find any trace of the horrible things he had seen earlier. Even Jim’s heart looks good. Len has to really look to see any signs of it being restarted, let alone any damage from his time spent dead.
Placated but not happy, McCoy holsters his tricorder. "Still,” he says, “this...hobgoblin," he says. “It isn’t right. Vulcan’s think they can do anything to humans-”
"I'm in love with him." Jim sighs, rubbing his hand over his face.
McCoy’s face falls. "Oh, Jim. Jim. No."
Jim looks at him and McCoy sees his face shutter, go hard and unpleasant. "Thank you for your concern, Doctor McCoy, but I have an early start tomorrow, so I must be getting back to bed. Please see yourself out."
The Farragut and Enterprise jump away, and Captain Shento turns to her newest visitor with a grin.
“Now, let's get you back to civilisation, Ms Chapel,” she says. “Loren will escort you to the guest suite. Please meet us for dinner this evening. It won’t be as fancy as Pike’s table, but I have all the latest forbidden replicator recipes.”
“Looking forward to it,” Christine says, and follows Commander Loren off the bridge. “Oh, hang on. I haven’t got anything to wear. At all.”
“It wouldn’t do for you to be the only one underdressed for the Macaroni Cheeze fest later,” Loren says, chuckling. “I’ll find you something of Mazzie’s for tonight”, he says, with the reassurance of a good project manager faced with a simple question, “and we can fire up the matter synthesiser tomorrow. We’ll have you kitted out for when you get back to Earth, no worries. Atelier Francis Harvey is at your service.”
Christine laughs politely, takes the spare regulation pyjamas, and excuses herself. He’s nice, but just too much for right now.
The guest suite is basically just a room opposite the Captain’s quarters, but it's got a functioning lock and it's only two days to Earth, and they are now back in the heart of safe federation space. She can breathe easy, now.
Sitting down on the bed, Christine takes out her PADD and looks at her personal messages. She sends one to the fellowship, giving them her ETA and then emails her mother and her brother to update them on her status and tell them she’ll see them soon.
She checks her starfleet medical account out of habit, even though now she is on sabbatical she should find nothing there, but is surprised to have a message all the same.
“Dear Nurse Chapel,
We have only met briefly, and I hope that this message is not an imposition. I understand that you and Lieutenant Spock entered into a romantic relationship after he and I ended ours. Due to the nature of Spock’s and mine’s betrothal bond still being in place, I am aware that he has recently broken a bond in a way that has left him badly injured. I can only speculate as to the damage that this improper break has done to your mind, as Human-Vulcan bonds are rare and understudied.
While it may seem improper by human standards, as a Vulcan mental health practitioner I am bound by my professional safeguarding standards to offer aid once becoming aware of a level four telepathic injury, as well as reporting this to the authorities on Vulcan.
Best wishes,
T’Pring
Senior Rehabilitation Specialist, Ankeshtan K'til
Surprised, but pleased, Christine settles in and after a moment’s though, starts her reply.
Hi T’Pring!
Thank you for your message! I hope you are well. Fortunately, Spock and I actually ended our relationship a few days after you left the enterprise, and he instead had bonded with someone called James Kirk. It was this bond that he broke. Kirk went into an empathic cascade which stopped his heart, but we were able to get him patched up and he is doing fine. It was pretty shocking though. I had no idea that humans could be so badly affected by this, I would have assumed that as psi-null we would be immune, but this has opened up some questions I am considering researching as part of my fellowship. Do you know if this is an issue with other cross-species relationships?
Spock was able to heal because Joseph had a device left behind after the war, which allowed him to enter a trance and as far as we know he is now healed. I recommend you contact Joseph M’Benga of the Enterprise and Leonard McCoy of the Farragut (Kirk’s CMO), if you need any further information and if you have anything you can share. I am about to start a fellowship in archaeological medicine at Starfleet Medical, so I will be based on Earth for the next three months.
Thank you for reaching out,
Cheers,
Christine
ps. We both dodged a bullet with this one, I think.
Pleasingly, it takes only ten minutes for T’Pring to reply.
Dear Christine,
I am pleased to read that you are well and that Spock’s capricious disregard for his health and the health of those he purports to hold in regard has not caused you direct damage. I will contact Doctors M’Benga and McCoy for further information.
I have accessed the records of Mister Kirk of the Farragut. He seems to be a well respected officer. I am sure that he and Spock had much in common.
It is fortunate that we are messaging, for I studied the impact of bonds across species for my professional qualifications. I attach several interesting papers that should be a good foundation to your further studies.
I would be interested in learning more about your research, so please update me when there are any developments.
Further, I will be on Earth for a conference in a few weeks time. Perhaps we could connect over tea?
Best wishes,
T’Pring
ps. I believe you are correct.
PADDCHAT is encrypted end to end.
All messages are property of Starfleet and are subject to monitoring.
Starting chat between James T. Kirk and Spock
how was your day?
It was productive. How was yours?
mccoy and I still aren’t speaking, but otherwise fine.
I am sorry to hear that. Lieutenant Noonien-Singh is currently glaring at anyone who comes near her.
The bridge is not a pleasant place to be at the moment.
ugh
I hate that.
so…I was talking to someone in the mess and they mentioned there’s this place about 90ly from earth that’s really up and coming. I was wondering if you’re going to be shuttlecraft distance from epsilon ceti b anytime in the next few months?
I believe the enterprise will be in that sector in three weeks time.
Thats great, sooner than I even hoped!
I promised you the delights of a dirty weekend
I intend to deliver.
I am looking forward to it.
I must get back to my meeting.
Your brother is glaring at me more than usual.
Tell him I say hi.
It’ll really piss him off.
…
Indeed. Fascinating.
Chess later?
I will be there.
Prepare to lose.
You too <3