Atonement

Posted on Nov 08, 2015 @ 9:17pm by Captain Siobhan Reardon & Lieutenant James Barton
Edited on on Nov 08, 2015 @ 9:17pm

Mission: Civil War

“Atonement”
(Continued from “”)

=/\=


"Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest."
-Matthew 11:28

=/\=

Location: USS ZHUKOV
SD: [2.5]1023.0100
Scene: Ready Room


The Commanding Officer of the ZHUKOV was miles behind on the various reports that had been filed by her staff and the ‘rebel fleet’ that had made this their new home base and port of call.

Sio was leaning back in the seat, her lower legs crossed and propped on top of the desk, trying to absorb the vitals contained in the stacks of PADDs carefully arranged by ship unit and in chronological order. A stale, cold cup of coffee had been forgotten near the far left side.

She sighed and rubbed a spot on her forehead between her eyebrows. A tension headache was building as she tried to familiarize herself with the activity log of the PHOENIX as it had made its way to meet with the PENDRAGON. She knew the end of the story, but it was still impossible to put the record of their journey in the Hyperion Expanse down, even though she could use a break. But that wasn’t the likely cause for her pain.

A bad taste lingered in her mouth over the meeting between the Captains at large and the truncated Council. The solace provided by Kane’s opinion was ineffective, given that their protests hadn’t changed the situation. Michael Turlogh Kane himself was another point of interest. Being a semi-retired Counselor and erstwhile diplomat, rapport was something she still valued and searched for. Duty was a hell of a thing, though. You went where you were sent. You served where you were needed. You followed orders. Not every friendship could be followed and nurtured. Now, there was only a faint connection between the cocksure officer she'd once known and the Irishman who had led these people, his people, to rise against Edgerton and his cronies. She wondered, not for the first time, if she was the only one who considered these necessary personal separations and the passage of time contained within them as a loss.

Reardon read through a list of injuries and casualties, which was gruesome but could have easily been more extensive given the unwelcome energy beings’ innocent but destructive visit. Her eyes narrowed as she saw among the listings the familiar name of Thomas Varn, marked as deceased.

Flashes of the mentally broken man flying around Xana’s family villa came to mind. Sio then recalled following him into the orchard, and trying to free not only his giant gleaming wings from the tree he'd gotten himself stuck in, but also to loose his mind from the grip of his own instability. Sylvia Warren had pleaded with him for their future together and Siobhan made the woman Varn’s steward for as long as it took him to fully recover. Now all that was left of Reardon's efforts to help him heal was the empty hope that they had shared some sort of happiness before fate had intervened. Her throat felt tight as the inevitability and sadness smacked at her. Suddenly, she could sit no longer. She placed her legs on the floor and all but leapt to her feet, striking the report on her desk with her hip and knocking it to the floor.

The black curtain of the starscape glimmered, beckoning to her to lose herself in its infinite depths. She willingly complied, walking towards the view, stretching her arms and clasping her hands behind her back. At first, nothing was visible other than the field of stars. However, the closer she got to the window, the more the perfect round swirled allie appeared in the frame.

It wasn’t the first time a planet had been compared to a marble, in either thought or words; Elandipole IV proudly displayed the vivid blues of its nearly endless ocean, dotted with minimal land, as inviting as an oasis in the desert, shiny against the grimness of space.

Siobhan took a short breath, shifting her stance, standing more at ease, pressing her hand against the transparent aluminum. Her focus went to the incomplete reflection of herself in the Ready Room’s windows. With the reformation of the Council, and the knowledge that they were not alone in their efforts, her sense of equilibrium was returning, and she no longer felt that she was stepping out in faith upon a crumbling facade. The resistance had a platform now, small and rough, but built with honest hands.

The door opened, and the unassuming leader of the Federation stepped in. “Captain Reardon,” the Andorian said crisply. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No, Mister President. But please, if this isn’t an official visit, there’s no need for formalities.”

Thoris P’Trell, quite familiar with the ship he had spent months on, replicated some tea and brought it to a small conference table close to her vantage point. “Sio, then,” he said with a scrapegrace smile.

The redhead sank into the seat across from him, pouring a cup of a black tea over lemon and orange slices, and generously drizzling the brew with honey. Thoris had procured a tall frozen glass of Fridd and was sipping the chilled liquid as it melted.

Sio blew on the hot liquid and drank, watching T’Prell’s face for any clue as to his intentions.

“Smiling isn’t against regulations,” he pushed gently.

The look she wasn’t aware she was giving him became more hostile. “Disagreeing with the President of the Federation Council isn’t either, the last time I checked,” she shot back.

“Unfamiliar ground,” he replied evenly. “For both of us.”

Siobhan Reardon had never seen this side of her traveling companion before. He had been eternally diplomatic, on the meek side if anything. Now, though his tone was still friendly, it was tempered with a confidence, an authoritative streak that had surprised her. “Well, I wasn’t exactly Starfleet anymore, and you were just an esteemed guest.”

P’Trell glanced at her. He didn’t recall any difference in how she or the crew had behaved. The only real change was their disagreement. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

“We *do* have a responsibility, Thoris,” she said plaintively. “Kane and I don’t agree on everything, but we both believe the best defense is a good offense. With our resources such as they are, it’s going to be a war of attrition. The Neo-Essentialists are always going to outdo us. We should strike while we’re as close to a hundred percent as we’re going to be.”

"A difference of opinion does not mean I am not listening to your concerns… I can assure you.” His blue eyes were sincere and unflinching.

Sio relented… a little. “We’re a small group. We need to stay nimble and flexible.”

“You don’t think I’m right.” His antennae twitched.

“I don’t want you to be wrong, Thoris. But I can’t lie to you.”

He reached out and squeezed her hand, then stood up. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

“I’m sorry.” She rose to her own feet, not only in respect to his position, but because she felt something in the conversation with the Andorian, something important, slipping away from her and she needed to pursue it. She didn’t want to be on opposite sides with the President. She only wanted to be against Edgerton. It had seemed only hours ago they had all been unified in that goal. Now even though the goal hadn't changed, the sense of unanimity was fading.

He shook his head. “There is no need to apologize.” He looked over at the workload, and back at the Captain. “I appear to have interrupted you.”

Her face reddened. Playing politics was aggravating. “No, Thoris. If you need to talk to me, we talk. No conditions.”

“I understand, Sio. But I think we’ve had our share for the moment. Have a good evening.” The dismissal was making itself harder to ignore.

“Good night,” she replied, deciding to pick her battles. She sighed, downing the rest of her cup of tea to shake any cobwebs loose as the Andorian left. Frustrated, Siobhan returned to her desk and reluctantly picked up the PADD she had abandoned there. She returned to where she had left off and lingered on Varn’s name for a few seconds more, then continued. Rounding out the injured report seemed to be a mix of personnel and refugees from the LIMBO Space Station: Major Kassandra Thytos, James Barton, Arthur Embry, Evangeline Montoya-

James Barton.

*Jim Barton?* she thought, the name reminding her of long ago times. *It couldn’t be,* The Jim Barton who'd served with her aboard the ODYSSEY had taken a leave of absence, failed to return, and finally been hastily listed as killed and swept under the nearest rug. She hadn't heard about it until more than two years after the fact, during a conversation with an intelligence officer who'd only mentioned Barton to make some point about security breaches by former officers. She hadn't said a word when the agent, a wormy blonde with greasy hair, had muttered thanks that Barton had been killed before he'd sold Starfleet secrets. She'd mourned him then, though she had to be honest and admit it had been several years since he'd crossed her mind, more of that distance created by years of following orders and keeping busy. Her eyes glanced upwards at Thomas Varn's name, and even as she thought of dead friends and opened her mouth to speak, she knew she was engaging in a fruitless, impossible endeavor. She felt a little reflexively embarrassed at herself, but not too much; once a counselor, always a counselor, so she was more than familiar with the stage of grief called Bargaining. “Computer, identify the James Barton in this report from the PHOENIX. On display, please.” She'd glance at the record, satisfy her curiosity, and move on with her business.

The system chirped with the request, and within a few seconds she had a picture, an old service record, and a rap sheet on her console display. James Prophecy Barton. Seeing the full name printed out, including that ridiculous middle name he'd taken so much teasing about, hit her like a slap in the face. It was the photo accompanying the report that hit her square in the stomach and drove the air from her. The lithe frame she'd known was gone, swollen into a nearly impossibly jacked pile of muscle. The mountain man beard covered his jaw and part of his cheeks, but for all of that, it was still like looking at a ghost. For as transformed as he looked, he was unchanged by time. Though the mischievous twinkle in his eye was gone, there could be no mistaking. “Holy shit,” she whispered. She’d guessed it had been a dozen years since she heard the name and probably closer to fifteen since she'd seen him but there he was, looking for all the world like he was still in his twenties.

She poured over the information in the record, searching for answers and finding nothing but questions. He’d been hiding on LIMBO under an assumed name after some violent bombings on Vulcan that had killed at least 40 people, probably more, including school children, his adopted son, and his father, who may have masterminded the whole affair. Kane's notes filled in a few blanks. Genetic therapy. A criminal past. A life in exile for years.

None of that was the Barton she knew. But she was now very curious to know how much of that man might be left in this stranger who wore his face...


=/\=

Location: USS PHOENIX
Scene: Kane’s Office
Time Index: Ten minutes later

She was doing an inordinate amount of fidgeting for someone in a position of authority. Kane’s interest was piqued, but he was also content to sit back and wait for the reason for her request to see him.

“I understand you have James Barton, alias…” she looked down at her PADD, “...Jacen Barnes aboard? I’d like to talk to him, if he’s well enough and able.”

Kane furrowed his brow and looked confused for a couple of seconds, then thought better of it and checked the information Siobhan was holding. She must have been as mired in reports as he was. “That’s nearly a month out of date. But you’re in luck. *Lieutenant* Barton is on duty, but as soon as his shift is over, his time and how he spends it are his own concern.”

Sio blinked. Half an hour ago, he'd been dead and now he was not only back in Starfleet, but on duty. Impressive. “What department?”

“Security and Tactical. And no, you can’t have him.”

The redhead cracked a smile. “I want to talk to him, not poach him from you.” The Phoenix's captain gave her a curious look, and she assured him, “Purely a social call.”

Kane's expression grew more inquisitive. “I hadn't gotten much sense of him being a particularly social individual. Why the sudden interest in Barton, of all people?”

She looked flustered, not answering right away. “We served together once. I’d like to think we were friends. And, with everything going on, maybe he could use one right now.”

“Friends,” he repeated.

She nodded to Kane. “But, like a lot of others… I lost touch.”

Her indirect regret hung in the air between them. But Michael Kane didn’t seem angry. They’d all moved forward without looking back. Sometimes it was accidental, many other times it was on purpose.

Kane's expression eased, but didn't warm. “I see.” He paused for a moment, considering. “Honestly, Captain, I have reservations. Barton's making what's sure to be a difficult transition back into the crew, and circumstances are less than ideal. I'm not sure that reminders of what's come before are what he needs right now, but if you think it's important, I'll respect your judgment. I will, however, state that if you feel Mr. Barton requires a...professional touch, we have a slew of Counselors aboard. Hell,” he spat with a grimace, “we even have a therapy dog, a damned pug if you can believe it. I’ve heard he’s on the fast track for promotion to Commodore.”

“And I’ll bet a million bars of latinum that Jim Barton hasn’t seen any of them.”

If the notion was of great concern to Kane, he hid it well. “I don’t believe this is going to be a standing appointment, Siobhan.”

“I know that,” she answered back. “But we both know that things are going to get chaotic soon. I just want to take the opportunity while I have it.”


=/\=


Location: USS PHOENIX
Scene: Corridor

Emotions played openly across Reardon’s face as she walked. Any chance she had to be calm had evaporated as soon as she realized Barton was alive. It was impossible to rein herself in.

It was no secret she liked to pretend. First, there was the singing. ‘The crooning Counselor’ among other nicknames. The holodeck parties in her days at the Academy and occasionally on different ships of the line where she served. Next, there was the Intel side she had developed while still married to Dexter Marxx. There were countless characters that had paraded in places that no self-respecting Starfleet Captain would have ever tread, and on a couple occasions aboard the ODYSSEY, Barton had gone alongside her, putting his own background as a thespian to use. It became a game at times to see how far she could sublimate into someone else. But, when the missions were over, there was no one else she wanted to be but herself. Her authentic self was home. It was the star she steered by.

Her long lost friend, it seemed, was another story. If the sketchy information she found had been any indication, the man that until recently had called himself Jacen Barnes had spent years digging a hole so deep and wide, it was obvious he'd had no aspirations to leave it.

She had a lot of questions. Too many to ask. She hoped she could pick the right few. *No time like right now* she thought as she approached her destination. A pert blonde with a nervous expression was pacing in a tight circle in front of Barton’s quarters. “Who are you.” the redhead asked as she approached.

The blonde officer, who clearly hadn't seen Reardon's approach, literally squeaked, starting and spinning in Sio's direction. “Who are-” Her eyes widened as she noted the rank insignia on Reardon's uniform. “Lieutenant Procter,” she barked, then hastily added, reddening, “sir.”

Sio couldn’t help but stare. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who'd resolved to visit Jim Barton but was feeling trepidatious about the visit. “Are you here to see Lieutenant Barton?”

“Yes, ma'am. I mean, No. Sir. That is... No. I should go.”

Reardon smiled. “At ease, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir. I'm easy.” Her color flared even deeper. “I MEAN-”

Sio held up a reassuring hand. “It's alright. Lieutenant. Starting over. You're here to see Jim Barton?”

Procter took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. But he's not expecting me. I just-” She switched to a new tack. “Do you know him, sir?”

“Ma'am,” Sio corrected.

“Sir?”

“I know the regulations, Lieutenant. But personally, I prefer ma'am.”

The young lieutenant nodded. “Yes, ma'am. I just wanted to- I mean, if we're going to be working together, I thought it would make good sense to...I don't know. So I thought, if you know him, you might be able to offer suggestions or constructive criticism or valuable insights into his organizational preferences... Do you know him, ma'am?”

Siobhan blinked, torn between wanting to laugh at the overly earnest officer, wanting to reassure her, and wanting to take her by the shoulders and shake her violently. She tried to remind herself that she had been so young once, but found it difficult to believe. With a glance at Barton's door, she said, “I did, once, but I really don't know. Why don't you let me head in first, and I'll find out.”

Procter nodded, visibly relieved to have been given a way out of this conversation and the meeting she'd ostensibly come for. With a smile of gratitude and a respectful nod of her chin, she turned away and marched down the corridor with a gait that suggested she was just barely containing the impulse to break into a sprint.

Sio watched her go for a moment, then turned back to the door. As she chimed the notice, she found herself envious of the other woman's escape. A moment went by without answer, and she thumbed the notice again. “Jim,” she announced to the intercom system. “It's Siobhan Reardon. Can I come in?” The pause stretched from one breath to two, and then to three. *This is stupid,* she thought, turning away. Then she thought of Lieutenant Procter pacing in front of the door, turned back and thumbed the chime a third time. “Jim. It's Sio. Please let me in.”

There was another pause, much shorter this time, and then the doors hissed open. Again, envy at Proctor's successful escape flared up within her, but she forced it down and commanded her expression not to betray her as she stepped inside.

=[/\]=

Psychological training told her what she might face in Barton's quarters. But it was instinct she relied upon more. He looked better than the picture she had seen. Cleaner, less scruffy. His beard had been trimmed and his long hair was pulled back neatly in an unbraided queue. “Hello, Jim. It's good to see you.”

He stood in the center of the room, but did not move to greet her, the difference in height even more impressive in person. “Hello, Sio. I'm glad to see you, too.” His voice was flat, lacking the cocky rhythm she'd once known, but as striking a backhand from the past as seeing his picture had been, nevertheless. His stance was strange, he seemed to be trying to maintain his posture and fighting off a persistent slouch.

Her eyes widened, slightly betraying the relaxed vibe she was trying to give off as she examined the man who was both familiar and foreign. After realizing the glances he cast her way weren't nearly as direct as her own, she continued to search his face and body language for some key to what was going on inside his head. It almost looked as if he was looking for an escape route. “It's been a long time.”

“Yeah.”

She let the pause hang, hoping he would say more, and when it became obvious he wouldn't, she crossed her arms, a mischevious look on her face. “I thought you were going to keep me waiting on the doorstep forever."

“I was asleep. I'm sorry.” She kept herself from blinking at his clipped tone. She hadn't known what to expect, but hostility hadn't even struck her as a possibility.

“It's okay.” She meant to sound sympathetic, but to her, instead it came across like the cluck of a mother hen.

"I'm sorry. I was asleep," he intoned, more urgently this time.

Sio took a half step back, apologetic. “It's okay. I was just teasing.” She took a shallow breath and sighed. There was no polite way to ask someone 'what the fuck happened' since you last knew them. So, she cast a diversion. “I met a young lady out there. A Lieutenant Procter.”

Jim's head snapped back a little. “Outside my quarters?”

The redhead nodded, still in full-on observation mode. Was that irritation? Or interest? “Yes.”

“Why was she there?” The question came at her fast., more like interrogation than a polite query.

The CO of the ZHUKOV shrugged. “She didn't say. She seemed very eager, and at the same time, very nervous to talk to you.”

“Did she?” Now it was sarcasm.

“Are you seeing her?” She nudged eagerly. A relationship would have been a good sign that he was recovering from his past.

“No.” It might as well have been 'hell no'. Barton lumbered over to the replicator. "Water." He paused for only a fraction of a second, before spitting out. "Belay. Bourbon, neat." He looked at the redhead as an afterthought. "Do you want something?"

She waved him off. “No, that's okay. But about Procter, I just thought that maybe-”

“She's on the Security team. She's mad that she wasn't tapped for the Chief of Security spot. She's even madder that I made one of my guys from Limbo aSec. I'm sure she was just coming up here to bitch. She'll get over it.” He picked up the glass and regarded the amber liquid within for a moment.

“Wait- you're the Chief of Security on the PHOENIX?”

“Yeah." He looked up from his drink at her suddenly. "You didn't know?”

“I knew you'd been put on the Security detail after your commission... I knew you were on Security but I didn't know you were heading the department.”

He set the drink down, untouched, on a table within easy reach. “Well, I am.”

Reardon thought better of the hospitality offered to her and crossed the room towards him and the replicator. She couldn't help but notice him stiffen as she approached. "We drinking bourbon," she asked as she approached. "Computer, bourbon. Neat." When the drink materialized, she raised the highball in his direction. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” He moved to reach for his drink, seemed to think better of it, and let his hand fall.

"Don't make a lady drink alone, Jim," she said with a smile. He looked chagrined and halfheartedly returned her gesture, then touched his lips to the bourbon within, taking less than a sip. Sio tossed her firewater down in one gulp. “I'm sure you'll do a fantastic job. Your work on the ODYSSEY was...excellent.”

“Okay," he said. It may have been agreement, or it may have been a dismissal. She was growing frustrated. It wasn't so much that her one-time friend was sending her mixed signals as he was making a furious effort to not send any signals at all.

For what felt like the tenth time, she tried a different approach. “So, are you going to show me around?”

“They're quarters. They're all the same. Probably not as nice as Captain's quarters, but I'm sure you remember what they're like.”

She crossed her arms and moved to sit at the edge of his bed. She noticed, all at once, that the bed was neatly made. So much for *I was asleep,* she mused, wondering why he felt the need to lie to her. Her hands were balled into fists, and she forced them to relax, desperately trying to physicalize her frustration. “Humor me, Jim. It's what friends do.”

The word 'friends' didn't seem to register on James Barton's radar. He became the largest example of an annoyed human weather vane, spinning in one place and pointing. “Living room. Bed. Replicator, you already know. Refresher.”

“Is that all?”

The flatness in his tone gave way to a flippant sarcasm. “Well, I'd love to show you the wine cellar, but we're doing some repairs down there-”

She cut him off, choking off her initial rejoinder with one more professional. God, he was starting to piss her off. “I don't see a lot of personal items. I remember your quarters were always kind of a mess. You were on Limbo a long time, weren't you? Weren't there things there that you wanted to bring?”

Jim had picked up his glass and was rolling it between his hands while she spoke, though still not drinking. He was staring into the glass. “My quarters were a mess because Michael's toys were always everywhere. …" It was the first thing he'd said that wasn't crusted in bullshit. She flushed, and was about to speak when his eyes darted up to hers. Now there was no mistaking the hostility in them. "I didn't have much. I brought what I did. I have a knapsack. You want to see it? It still kind of smells like shit.” The last was said as a malicious selling point, as if she'd come to revel in his misfortune.

Siobhan got up and walked over to the replicator, this time opting for two shots of something called 'fireball'. She pointedly ignored his judgmental eyeroll. She was getting tired of the bullshit. She downed the first and spun towards him. “How have you been, Jim?”

He grinned in the most disingenuous way possible. “How have *you* been?”

The second shot was sent speeding to join the first. “Me?”

“Yeah. I haven't seen you in as long as you ain't seen me. So...give. I see the fourth pip, but other than that, what's the news?” He drew out the final word. Then he looked at her, past her clear voice, the almost non-existent midwestern accent that had been tempered by years of being a citizen of the galaxy, beyond the crisp uniform, to the way her nostrils flared when she pressed her lips together in some kind of restrained disapproval, and breathed through her nose instead.

"I have a son," she offered, thinking about Drey.

"How old?" The question came back fast, like a tennis serve returned with prejudice.

"About six Terran years, but he has the physical and mental development of a nineteen year old."

"How?"

"He's half Supai."

"That must be an interesting story."

"A Supaiian scientist stole genetic material from my crew and created test-tube children in an effort to augment their own lifespans. We didn't find out until over 3 years ago."

He blinked, and paused. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. The important thing is he's with me now. And he's a great kid- I mean young man."

"How's Marxx?”

*Long gone,* she thought. The bitterness was a faint memory, but the heartache still hazed her when she wasn't expecting it. "I... haven't seen him in a long time. Last I knew, he was alright.”

“Okay.” He nodded once, and looked away. Siobhan couldn't shake the infuriating feeling that somehow she'd given the wrong answer.

That was enough. She'd tried, dammit, but a woman could only be pushed so far and she wasn't going to let anyone, old friend returned from the undiscovered country or not, use the people she'd loved as a weapon against her. She stood and began to step towards him. It was time for yet another new tactic in this conversation: full on attack. "Don't look smug at me, Jimmy Prophecy."

He blanched. "What? No. I wouldn't-"

"No, I'm tired of walking on eggshells, Jim. What the fuck made you think you had the right to throw your career away? I was your friend! You owe me some kind of explanation!"

"I don't owe you anything, *Captain*" He was on his feet now, too. "If that's the only reason you're here you can kindly show yourself the hell out."

"No." She walked up to him and got in his face... well actually it was his chest. She craned her neck to look up at him. "I'm not going until we talk about real things, not discussions limited to the weather and how divorced I am."

"We can talk about the weather. I'm fine with-," Jim cracked.

"No!" She maneuvered around him pushed his tree trunk arms until Jim sat on the bed, him easily giving way underneath her. He didn't look happy about it, but he wasn't fighting her either. She was glad about that; if he'd wanted to resist she wouldn't have been able to do much to impose her will on him, and it was time he sat and did some listening. "We never discussed the hole you crawled into while the rest of the world moved on without you."

"Is that what you're looking for Reardon? You want the whole story with all the ugly details? Can I please be your cautionary tale? I can be the wasted wreck and you can be the consumate professional who moved on from all your embarassing friends. Except the only problem with that is that people who have 'moved on' don't usually feel the need to visit old ghosts."

She reached out, faster than she knew she was going to do it and slapped him, not hard, but squarely across his cheek. She could feel the coarseness of his beard on her palm. As his eyes went wide, she turned away in a fury, pacing away from him. "Don't you *get* it?! You're not a ghost. You're a man, Jim! A man who deserves his chance to prove himself, and by God and the All-Father, with Michael Kane as your CO, I think you're going to get it! But you can't just padlock your demons away and go on as though nothing happened. You tried that when Vulcan seceeded and it drove you out of Starfleet! You obviously tried to do that on Vulcan and people died! And you've tried to do it the entire time you've been on LIMBO! How did it work?!" Her voice broke. She was trembling now and there wasn't anything she could do to fight it. She wheeled around on her heels to stare at him, only to discover that he wasn't sitting on the bed anymore.

Her heart fluttered as she realized he was towering over the top of her, his eyes wide and his face contorted in a rage. She suddenly had the sense that she'd made a terrible mistake. She'd come to him, knowing how many years had passed and how he had spent them, but still expecting to have the same mutual respect they once had. She'd seen just how large he'd grown, but hadn't given much consideration to the strength that would come with that size, and how he could utilize it. She'd come into his quarters, alone, and poked the bear until she'd gotten a response. Now the response was standing inches from her and a foot taller and she wouldn't be able to defend against it.

Except...

"Sio," His lip was quivering, and his eyes were unfocused. It seemed as if there was something he desperately wanted to...NEEDED to say, but couldn't, because it was too large to get past his throat and his teeth. His control was gone, his pretense was gone, and before her she saw him manifest more sides of himself than he knew were there: the lost child, the young man full of forsaken potential, her old friend, the broken father, the betrayed son, the living wreckage who'd resigned himself to LIMBO, and the repentant warrior slouching towards atonement. She was taken aback and moved by the naked emotion on his face, and his need, and his closeness...

Their lips met. Their bodies pressed against each other, hands caressing, Siobhan tilting her head to one side as Jim grasped the back of her neck. They pushed against one another, forgetting to breathe, consumed by a neediness that had been unexpressed.

Once she realized what was happening, she had an impulse to pull away. It was awkward. There had never been anything between them other than a friendship between them. Still, she admitted to herself as she melted into his embrace, it felt nice. He was large and sturdy, like her ex-husband and it had been such a long time since-

Her thoughts were interrupted as she found herself whirled and flung towards the bed. On the one hand, she appreciated the enthusiasm, but she'd have to coach him on tempering his methods. Righting herself on the bedspread, she turned to him, her coy smile evaporating as she saw him standing stock still, hands held out in front of him as if he was afraid of them, and a quivering look of abject horror on his face.

"Jim?"

"No. No. Nooooo..." It came out in a desperate whisper, like panicked mantra.

She stood and approached him slowly, reaching her hand towards him, trying to reassure him. The heat of only moments before had chilled, as if the entire room was soaked in evaporating panic sweat. His eyes lolled in their sockets as she approached, and he looked as if he wanted to bolt, but couldn't. She'd seen a terrified stallion before, and the similarities were striking. "Jim? What's wrong?"

As she touched his hand, a sound escaped him that was almost inhuman. It was a groan of anguish and pain that sounded as if it had hidden within him so long that his body had grown to accept it as part of him. Now, as it escaped, it ripped away at his guts and at his heart, tearing away from them and leaving bloody wounds behind. It went on and on, as he collapsed to his knees, almost pulling her down with him.

One of his hands clutched hers with the fervor of a drowing man, and his other arm wrapped around her legs. Her buried his face between her knees and howled muffled sobs into them. She felt her own tears of empathy begin to stream down her face. She realized he was repeating something she couldn't understand into her thighs. "What is it," she encouraged. "What is it, Jim?"

He pulled away from her, his face red and soaked, snot sticking to his moustache. As he looked up at her, she didn't know if she'd ever seen anyone look so *lost* before.

"Why not me, Sio? Why aren't I dead? Why aren't I dead, too?"

Unable to answer, she did her best to maneuver to the ground beside him without shaking him loose or falling off balance from his grip. It wasn't graceful, but she doubted that he'd notice or care. She held him has he wailed and shook, and she held him as his sobs quieted, and when they turned to whimpers, then to snores, she continued to hold him.

=[/\]=

Time Index: The next morning.

The foreign noise in his ears was like a fly buzzing: small, but impossible to ignore. It took a few seconds before he recognized it as his alarm. He subconsciously reached to turn it off, and realized two things in quick succession. The first was that he was lying on the floor, not in his bed. With a start, he wondered what he'd done in the span of lost time, and as he scanned the room for signs of destruction or law enforcement, he had his second realization: he was not alone.

She had fallen asleep sitting up, propped up against the wall. One hand lay on the ground, stetched out towards him reassuringly, the other relaxed at her side. She had unfastened her uniform tunic, and her hair had been undone, falling in a russet tangle over her shoulder.

Jim sat up quietly, surprised to find a blanket covering him. His mental processes were beginning to quicken now, and instead of wondering how he'd ended up here he remembered the uncomfortable conversation he'd had with Siobhan Reardon. He'd been so stunned when she'd announced herself that he'd simply sat dumb for several moments staring at the door. Embarrassed, he'd given her the ridiculous story about being asleep. *Because everyone sleeps in their uniform, right?*

It had gone downhill from there. He couldn't remember how to talk to his old friend and he'd done his level best to beat her with his discomfort until she'd left him alone. But she hadn't. Thinking back on their time aboard the ODYSSEY, he shouldn't have been surprised at her obstinate refusal to be put off, but his memory had faded some, and he was simply unprepared for her tenacity.

He couldn't find the words to tell her how sorry he'd been about the time with her son that had been stolen from her. He wanted to feel only excitement for her that now they'd been reunited, but his abhorrent envy and the looming uncertainty of the Civil War wouldn't allow that. She'd broken his heart when she told him that she and Marxx had split up; he'd always been a big fan of them as a couple. He'd hoped they'd beat the statistics and stick it out, and he chastised himself for feeling disappointed that they hadn't. He half-grinned as he thought of the Vegan, who had once been his closest friend, and of the many times they'd butted heads before they'd come to appreciate each other. The memories of those arguments with his CO reminded him of his new captain, and he wondered if he and the Irishman would ever reach such accord.

*Not likely,* he concluded.

The kiss had stunned him, though he couldn't remember whose idea it had been. He remembered crossing the room to her, about to shove his finger in her face and let her know what she could do with her demands for explanation, when something inside of him broke. Then she was there, as beautiful as she'd ever been and a breathing reminder that someone still remembered a Jim Barton he and the rest of the galaxy had given up for dead. Then she was in his arms and she was so soft, and so warm.

But he couldn't, and he couldn't make her understand why because he didn't exactly know himself. He just knew that he couldn't. And when he'd tried to explain, what had come out instead was...

He shook off the memory with a soft snort of derision and rose to his feet.

Siobhan stirred, and stretched languidly. Apparently, she had ears like a cat. *Too bad for the 19-year-old 6-year-old,* he thought. She'd be tough to sneak past after returning from a late night out.

"Is there coffee," she asked without opening her eyes.

"There can be," he replied.

She smiled, still with her eyes closed. "There should be coffee."

"I'll replicate it. Do you want the shower first?"

"I want coffee."

He smiled at her. "Okay. Give me a minute," he said as he moved to the replicator.

=[/\]=

Time Index: 20 Minutes Later

His shower had taken only a few minutes. Hers took considerably longer. But the shower seemed to have completed the job that the coffee had begun when he'd returned from the refresher, and she looked fully awake. He was sitting at the table, putting away a second cup of his own as she stepped into the room.

"Ugh," she grunted as she entered, rubbing her tailbone. "I swear when I was in the Academy, I could sleep anywhere and feel like a million bars of latinum the next morning. 'Two weeks of jungle survival training? Bring it on!' Now I spend a night on the floor and I feel like I need to see a chiropractor."

He grinned. "You could visit our CMO. I'm sure he could work you in."

"Cade Foster?" She grimaced. "I've read the personnel reports. One pain in the ass this morning is enough, thank you."

Barton chuckled. "Coward. You want breakfast?"

"No, thank you. I've got to get back to the ZHUKOV. No one was expecting me to be away."

Color rose to his cheeks. "I'm...sorry about that. You didn't have to-"

She stepped to him and leaned down, placing a gentle, friendly kiss on the top of his head. "It was my pleasure, Jim. I'm glad to have the chance to spend some time with an old friend. My crew can spare me for a night." When it became obvious he didn't know what to say, she spoke again, her voice taking on a different quality. "So, you've met Foster, then?"

He hesitated. She wasn't even hiding the fact that she was laying a trap for him, but he wasn't sure what it was. "I have," he said, trying to not commit himself.

"So we know there are doctors on board. That's good."

"Of course there are doctors on board, Sio. What are you-"

"So, if they have doctors... do they have counselors on this rust bucket of yours?"

His shoulders hunched under the weight of her question as he felt the snare tighten around him. "You know damn well they do."

She looked him dead in the eye, and while her gaze was friendly, it was also profoundly earnest. "Promise me you'll see one of them. Soon. Please."

"Look, Sio. I know what happened here last night was... I know it wasn't..."

Her face flushed at her own lack of inhibitions. "Jim? Please. I'm asking as your friend."

He sighed heavily. "Okay. I will."

"Good," she said, fastening her uniform and heading for the door. "Because if you wouldn't take my request as a friend, I was going to order you as your superior officer. And if you made me do that, I was going to order you to sit with the pug." She tossed him a smile as she reached the door. "Welcome back to the galaxy, Jim Barton. We missed you." Then the door hissed open and she was gone.

He smiled for just a moment, then registered what she had just said. "Wait... What pug?!"

=[/\]=

Brought to you by...

Susan Ledbetter

sometimes writing for
Captain Siobhan Reardon
CO
USS ZHUKOV
who perhaps should take some of her own advice

and

Dale I. Rasmussen

~writing for~
Lt. James Prophecy Barton
Sec/Tac USS PHOENIX

and a Thoroughly Well-Adjusted Individual