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Post by Nola on Sept 16, 2019 18:59:43 GMT
Debate (With Connor as Ensign Saleen)
Inala returned Saleen's stare, with Tocato watching intently. The wise course of action was to drop the subject, now, before it became a problem, but Inala was having trouble letting that statement go.
"And which dictator, exactly, are you referring to?" she asked, silently cursing herself in the process.
Saleen cocked her head in a motion that showed on her part an additional sense of confidence before answering. “Well, one of the most notable in Earth’s history was Hitler, from the early 20th century, but the galaxy has seen an enormous pool of dictators in every quadrant and in every historical period.” She paused working on her PADD for a moment before glancing at Inala, noticing her obvious discomfort. “Is this conversation making you uncomfortable, Lieutenant?”
"It is," Inala answered immediately. "For starters, your hypothetical is pointless. Many people expended many resources to try and kill Hitler for many years. Secondly, what you're talking about is a violation of the Prime Directive. The Federation does not carry out extrajudicial assassinations of foreign heads of state. Period."
“Until they start touching Federation interests, that is,” Saleen countered running her left hand on her hip.” Besides, imagine what humanity would have been if no one spent those resources trying to stop the Axis dictator out of ethical principles,” she added with a calm typical of her upbeat personality in spite of the controversial subject.
“The cold, hard truth is that the end justifies the means,” the Ensign concluded with a faint smile.
It took a great deal of restraint for Inala to swallow her next words, knowing there was nothing to gain from continuing this conversation, and that she'd regret saying what she really wanted to say. Enter Jeannine Tocato.
"Oh, so you're just a full-on Teffie sympathizer then," she quipped. Despite her tone, Jeannine was clearly livid. For her part, Inala simply froze, eyes wide at the confrontation.
“Excuse me?“ Saleen scowled, dismissing Tocato with a quick laugh. She then regained her composure for a moment, gently placing her PADD on a nearby console.
“Look,” the light-hearted woman said to the other engineers, “I believe that time and time again history has proven that there is no point trying to reason with these people. We should try to end this conflict before any more lives are wasted, but hey, I’m not the one making these decisions and that’s just my very humble opinion.” She gave another smile.
“Now, those supplies won’t materialise by themselves, and I wouldn’t want to anger the Chief. Should we get back to work?”
"No, you don't get to just casually advocate for assassinations and then just drop the subject," countered Tocato.
"Jeannine," Inala tried to interject.
"How can you not see that this is the exact mindset that started this war in the first place?"
"That's enough, Jeannine," Inala tried again.
"How are any of us now supposed to trust you when we know you think just like-"
"Ensign Tocato!" Inala barked, before clenching her jaw and staring at her friend. This seemed to be enough to stop her, Tocato looking to Inala like she'd just slapped her in the face.
"Take a break," Inala ordered. Jeannine huffed and threw her hands up, walking away.
Saleen limited herself to stare blankly ahead, not wanting to add anything to an already tense situation. She absolutely hated these moments, as confrontation and anxiety were foreign to her personality. “Well…that was awkward,” she muttered, almost feeling guilty for what happened.
“I didn’t mean to distress her so much, Lieutenant.”
Inala eyed Saleen for a moment before taking a long, centering breath, releasing it in a small huff.
"Let's just get to work, and save politics for off-hours," she suggested, ostensibly to everyone. "Agreed?"
The Ensign nodded. "Agreed," she simply answered, recovering her PADD.
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Post by Nola on Oct 21, 2019 18:06:05 GMT
Pressurized (With Paul as Ensign Volkova and Aoibhe as Niamh Danann)
Things had progressed entirely too fast for Inala to comprehend. Apparently, the Captain had been captured by Maquis, and apparently there was an operation to rescue him, and apparently she’d been recruited for it. She hadn’t time to ask why, either then or now, standing in a cramped locker room with two other women. She didn’t have the chance to ask whose clothes these were.
They consisted of a tank-top and skinny, stretchy pants, little more than leggings, really. Inala glowered, casting a look to Danann’s turned back. Her stomach tied itself in knots, her breathing erratic as the familiar stirrings of panic set in. She clenched her eyes and jaw, fighting it off as best she could, trying to remember the counselor’s tips.
“... Do I have to wear these?” she managed to ask, knowing immediately she’d regret it as Ensign Volkova glanced over and tilted her head at the comment.
“Y’rather go naked?” Danann replied, her back still studiously turned.
Inala’s face scrunched as she bit back a small torrent of expletives, feeling a sudden revulsion. She set the clothes aside, her shaking hands moving to unfasten her tunic. Her fingers struggled for a moment before she huffed, whispered an annoyed ‘fuck,’ and willed her hands to move. Off came the tunic, and the undershirt after a moment of hesitation, leaving her torso in nothing but heavy binding around her bust.
This was only visible for a moment as Inala donned the tank-top with prodigious speed, though it still showed clear signs of the binding beneath. Trousers were changed just as quickly, a steady, whispered stream of swears spilling from her lips.
Danann waited for the hurried rustle of clothing to ebb then turned on a heel. “Deadman’s boots are better than no boots,” she told her charges, indicating a pile to the side of the locker room. “Take your pick. If you find a matching pair, count yourself lucky”.
She observed the two young officers. “And, we’re definitely gonna have to work on that slouching, ladies. Gonna havta get those sticks outta your butts.”
Inala’s glare was subtle, and not nearly as murderous as she wanted it to be, partially because of the implication that she was wearing a dead woman’s clothes, one whose measurements were awfully close to hers. Really, it was almost impressive how well Danann had measured with sight alone. Or creepy. Or both.
“I have my stick right where I want it, thank you,” she murmured, looking to the pile of boots.
“Yea you do,” Danann replied with a knowing smirk.
The Maquis leader sat down on a bench with an audible groan and observed her two new charges. “Any questions so far?” she asked. “I know this is bewildering, coming right from a Fed ship.”
"I think I'll manage," Volkova said as she took up a place next to Inala. The Ensign practically loomed over the Lieutenant and was unreadable as to what she was thinking though she looked focussed and confident, all the things Inala didn't feel.
Inala tried to think of something snide to say back at Danann, some biting remark to vent the anger and terror roiling in her chest. Mostly, though, she desperately wanted the tears welling in her eyes to go away. She needed to accept that this was happening. She was standing here, dressed in relatively little clothing - practically naked, compared to her usual outfit. Her ship had left, and, for decidedly worse, her well-being was in the hands of a turncoat.
“What do you need us to do?” she managed to ask, a faint quiver in her voice.
"I want you to look like Maquis, but right now I'd settle for you looking like semi-capable Starfleet officers…" Danann sniped before wincing and looking down at the locker room floor. "Stop fidgeting, for one, yea?" She stood and observed the women before her. Sidling up to Volkova, she tugged at her loose sweater, pulling the neckline off centre. "We'll be treking, on foot, to Traitor's Cave,” she explained, “That's where Tom will be. But it's at least day from here over rough terrain. I assume you've both at least got your Star Scout orienteering badges?"
Inala wiped at her eyes as discreetly as possible, which wasn’t very. She tried, very hard, to still her hands, to steady her breathing, to slow her heart. This wasn’t the time to be catty, or spiteful. This was a mission, and she was a professional, even if she didn’t feel like one most of the time.
“We’re Starfleet officers,” she said, surprising herself. “Not children. We can handle this.”
'We'll see." The full extent of Danann's cynicism flashed across her face in a moment. She realised suddenly how far from the fresh young officer of her youth she’d grown. “We’ll see…” she repeated as she took a moment to examine them both fully.
Inala knew better than to say the first thing that came to mind, that witty retort she liked to refer to as ‘the Tocato effect.’ She knew better than to respond at all, really - they would see, and Inala and Volkova would prove themselves far better with actions than words, but she couldn’t help wondering: what did they have to prove to Niamh Danann?
“I don’t know what you’re doubtful of,” she said, unable to stop herself. “We’re not the quitters, here.”
Niamh saw red and advanced on the Orion. "Not until the day you've sacrificed as much as I have for that becursed uniform do you get to judge me. Is that understood, lieutenant?!"
Inala visibly flinched as Danann neared, shrinking under the pointed words. Her mind screamed for her to apologize, to grovel, a reaction she didn’t immediately understand. Her gaze averted, she simply nodded, tears streaming down her deep green cheeks.
Volkova stepped in between them, blocking Inala from view of Danann's death-stare. "Step back…" was all she said to the Maquis.
Nia’s focus instantly shifted to the Ensign, gauging her chances against this new target. She licked her lips in thought as she squared her shoulders, the old leather of her targskin jacket creaking softly. “I thought Starfleet Officers could handle this," she said as she held her ground and tilted her head to restore her view of Emeric.
This, of course, didn’t make Inala feel any better. She wiped her cheeks with a huff, trying to harness that anger, as she stepped out from behind Volkova's shadow.
“Good thing I’m pretending to be Maquis, then,” she quipped quietly.
"Better," Danann observed, her voice husky. She stepped back and nodded once. "I'll make Maquis out of you yet." She hopped on the balls of her feet and moved towards the exit. "Mess is down the tunnel, hang a left. Eat... you'll need your strength. It'll be light in an hour. That's when we leave."
Inala watched Danann leave, taking a moment to compose herself. She didn't want to admit Danann was right, at least about her: she wasn't up for this, especially if she was to be led by a bully.
Still, this was happening, and wanting it to be different wouldn't make it so. She was here, and she'd simply have to do the job. The Captain's life could depend on it, and possibly more.
She nervously glanced up at the Ensign next to her, and was surprised to see her smiling warmly. Volkova nodded slightly with deference and said a very deliberate "Ma'am", before making her way toward the Mess, and straightening her woollen collar.
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Post by Nola on Mar 30, 2020 21:06:22 GMT
Epiphanies
Inala continued to stare down at herself for several moments before it registered as weird. She felt different, somehow; invigorated, like she was seeing the world through fresh eyes. What was she doing with herself? Why was she so worried all the time? Why was she treating her body like it was something to be ashamed of? Why did she ever see the lechery of others as her problem?
The Half-Orion huffed and looked over towards Jeannine, who again looked up in her direction, brow quirked inquisitively. Inala only smiled before walking off, headed for the nearest restroom.
As the door slid shut, Inala stepped in front of the faucet and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She didn't feel the usual pangs of guilt and shame, nor did she immediately wish she saw something else. No, she only saw herself.
Her slender fingers slowly traced along her features: her cheeks, brow, and jaw. Her eyes locked onto themselves, marveling at the pale gold rings encircling her pupils before drifting down to her nose, admiring her somewhat wide nostrils. She smiled as she turned her head just a bit, seeing the gentle curve of her bridge.
Inala recalled so many of the times her mother called her 'pretty.' When she was younger, it would make her smile, and put a little spring in her step. After the Academy, it would fill her with revulsion, and again, she couldn't currently imagine why. She was pretty. Beautiful, even, and not just because she was green, or an Orion.
It was like a dam had breached somehow. All of the various words her friends and family had said to her over the last few years suddenly struck home. She was indeed more than just her looks. She was indeed more than some command jock's fantasy. She was intelligent and clever and good at her job, and so many other things, and here she'd been suppressing herself because why exactly?
The Engineer took a deep, uneven breath, squaring up to the mirror. Tears rimmed her eyes as her hands unfastened her tunic - not tears of shame, but of relief. Next, she untucked her undershirt, and then the under-undershirt, pulling both off to reveal her chest binder: a beige, ugly band of stretchy material that held her flat. So much of her misery seemed tied to the thing, so much of her self-loathing. Her mother hated it. Her father had been understanding, encouraging her to wear it as long as she felt it necessary.
She didn't feel it necessary any longer. Not in that moment, anyway.
A tear rolled down Inala's cheek as she unfastened the binder, the Engineer hesitating only a moment before peeling it off and letting it fall to the floor. Her jaw quivered as she looked at herself, bared from the waist up, for the first time in ages. She looked to the lines running around her bust from where the too-tight binding had dug in.
More tears spilled, Inala beginning to sob with mixed grief and liberation at this realization of what she'd been doing to herself, and how little reason there'd been to do it. She thought of all the times she'd stuffed her sweats and cried and shrieked at her figure, all the things she hadn't let herself do or be in order to minimize the looks, the suggestive winks, the smiles, the drunken hands.
Tears flowing freely, Inala shuffled over and sat upon the lidded toilet, holding her face in her hands as she let herself have this much-needed cry.
---
Jeannine was doing her best to monitor the intermix chamber, but boredom was getting the better of her. Sure, it was nice to not have klaxons blaring and things sparking all around her, but relative peace made for a boring shift. She'd gotten caught playing games on her console a few weeks prior, so she couldn't do that for the time being, and was forced to resort to using her imagination. Gross.
Naturally, her thoughts moved to pranks and shenanigans she could inflict upon her friends, as she had earlier with Inala, good-natured ribs and the like.
Her gaze lifted towards the MSD, only to not see her friend at her station. Jeannine perked, meerkatting as she looked about, only to feel a presence behind her.
There stood Inala, causing Jeannine to jump and make her own startled noises.
"You're a quick learner," she began, though the rest of her friendly banter was stolen away. Jeannine was approximately chest-high to Inala, and - for the merest fraction of a second - she couldn't help notice the lack of binder. Her mind went blank with a mixture of appreciation and panic, her eyes darting upward a little too readily; Inala was sure to notice.
The roller-coaster continued as Jeannine looked into her friend's visage, seeing her puffy eyelids. Inala had been crying, which banished the whitewashing of her brain bits to draw forth her nurturing buddy instinct.
"Hey," said Jeannine, wearing a small smile. "You okay?"
Inala didn't answer verbally, instead simply wrapping her arms around Jeannine and pulling her into a hug. Jeannine hugged back, of course, gently squeezing the Half-Orion as she desperately tried to avoid thinking of the soft bits pressing in just below her neck.
"You're a good friend," murmured Inala, which caused Jeannine's shoulders to sag. Something seemed a little off about the whole thing, really, but she couldn't quite escape a small feeling of guilt: she wasn't exactly thinking friend thoughts just then.
"I give what I get," Jeannine replied, at least somewhat earnestly. The pair held the hug a moment longer before Inala kissed Jeannine's cheek and moved back to her station. Jeanine stared blankly ahead, thankfully in the opposite direction of the MSD. She didn't turn around again until she was sure the blush was gone.
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Post by Nola on Feb 19, 2022 9:39:58 GMT
Belief (With Paul as Captain Truman)
Inala should've just quit then and there. She should've quit a long time ago, in fact. Not only did she not feel up to being a Chief Engineer, she couldn't recall the last time she'd ever been truly happy aboard a starship. Had she ever? Why did she even go to the academy in the first place? Neither of her parents had been in Starfleet - what the hell had driven her to try?
In the moment, it was incredibly easy for Inala to look back on her life and feel like every step along the way had been a mistake, and to feel like she was a big dumb idiot who deserved to be miserable and if she went ahead and took the job everyone would be disappointed and-
It could've gone on from there, certainly, but that's about where she ran out of steam. That's where she heard the counselor's voice, telling her about cognitive distortions. Binary thinking. Catastrophizing. Discounting the positive. Overgeneralization. Using the word 'should,' like, ever, in any context (it's funny because it's an overgeneraliztion; I'm very good at this).
Of course there'd been times when she'd been happy aboard a starship. Inala loved her job, loved the complexity of it. She loved having to think on her feet, and problem-solving in general. It was rewarding, and of course she wouldn't have stuck with it this long if she hadn't enjoyed any of it - she wasn't a mindless tool. And no, it wasn't even the people. There were good people she'd worked with. Wonderful people, even. There was Jeannine.
The problem was her own insistance on torturing herself by trying to know what everyone thought of her - errant personalization was another distortion.
Inala wanted this job. Lieutenant Emeric wanted to be Chief of Engineering. She wanted a chance to run the department, to see if the ideas she'd kept to herself for fear of Gutey's ridicule had the merit she felt they did. It's just that she was now recovering from an absolute nightmare of a mission, and she wanted to crawl into a hole and never be seen again, and the thing she needed to learn how to do was accept that feeling as natural.
Who wouldn't want to hide away after all that?
Then there was the other thing.
Inala huffed into her pillow, lying in her childhood bed in her parents' house in Chicago. The thing would need to be taken care of soon, before she took the post. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, feeling like a lead weight was in her stomach. Then she got to her feet and walked across the small room to sit at her old desk, where she brought up the terminal.
"Tocato residence," she instructed. A moment later, Jeannine's face was on the screen.
"There she is!" shouted Jeannine, beaming that infectious smile that Inala couldn't quite resist. "Chief Emeric boutta roll up-"
"Jeannine," Inala interjected.
"Sorry, just excited," she answered, settling down a bit. She seemed to be dressed in sweats.
"Nervous?" she asked of Inala. The exitement told Inala what she needed to know about the thing.
"Jean, you know what this'll mean, right?" asked Inala, not able to look at the monitor.
"Uhm," stammered Jeannine. By Inala's reaction, it was clear it wasn't a good thing.
"Just that we might actually be able to keep the ship in one piece for a while," she ultimately answered. "Why? What were you thinking it meant?"
Inala ran her hands over her face for a moment.
"Jean, I'm going to be your department head," she explained. She looked up at Jean with a brief, guilty look.
"So?" asked Jean, her brow furrowed. "Why's- oh."
There it was.
"Oh."
Inala looked up again, and saw the crestfallen realization in Jeannine's face. She felt the weight sink about half a meter more.
"Well, uh," murmured Jean. "Shit. What are we gonna do?"
Inala sniffed and tried to blink back the mist. She forced herself to look Jeannine in the eyes. What were they gonna do? What could they do?
"We should fuck," Inala blurted. Distant alarms sounded in the back of her mind, but she ignored them.
"Like, tonight," she finished. Jeannine just stared, her brown eyes slowly widening. She kept that expression as her cheeks darkened a shade, her mouth opening and closing fruitlessly.
"Ahm, I," she stammered, a brief, excited smile twitching the corners of her mouth. "I-I mean, uhm, like, uh, i-if you wanna? Guess that'd be fine?"
Jeannine brought her hands up to those burning cheeks.
"My place or-"
"Yours," Inala decided. Jeannine looked around the room in brief panic.
"Sure, sure, um, give me like 20 minutes?" she asked. Inala just nodded in response, her voice stolen by the dawning terror of what she'd just done.
"Okay," said Jeannine. "Right. Yes. Okay. See you soon."
-----
A little over 20 minutes later, Inala found herself standing outside a brownstone not far from downtown Detroit. It wasn't too late to change her mind, except it was, as her feet and legs decided to go ahead and propel her up the steps. Her hand and arm got in on the treachery as they tentatively knocked on the door, and Inala briefly wondered if this was what an out-of-body experience felt like.
Hurried footsteps were cut off by a brief crash and a string of swearing before the door swung open.
Jeannine stood gingerly on one leg as she leaned against the door frame.
"Well hello," she greeted in a mock-suave tone. Inala couldn't help but grin, despite the building terror in the lizardy portion of her brain.
"Well hey," she replied. Her hands fidgeted nervously at her sides.
"You, uh, wanna come in?" asked Jeannine, clearly feeling her own sense of fear, which took the edge off Inala's, if only a little.
"I do," she answered. Jeannine carefully stepped out of the way.
"Don't mind the umbrella stand, there - I like to keep it knocked over like that," Jean explained. "Keeps me humble."
Inala snickered.
It wasn't the first time she'd been to Jeannine's place, but there was still something weird about being there. Jeannine was a lovely girl, of course, but she seemed out of place in a home like this. It'd been left to her by her parents, though, so she could understand why she lived there, as much as any of them technically 'lived' on Earth.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" asked Jean, playing the hostess. "Hungry at all?"
"Do you still have that champagne?" Inala inquired. The last time she'd been there, Jeannine had acquired a bottle of actual champagne, like from Champagne, through means she opted not to disclose.
"I... will go check," Jeannine answered. She turned and hobble-jogged to the kitchen as Inala moved into the living room. She opted to sit on the overstuffed sofa - not for any planning reasons, but just because she remembered it being comfortable. As she waited for Jeannine to return, the dread migrated from the lizard portions to the non-lizard zones. By the time Jeannine moved into the room with the bottle and two glasses, Inala was sitting with her face in her hands, rocking gently back and forth.
"Oh," murmured Jeannine. She moved over towards a nearby seat and set the bottle and glasses on the coffee table and immediately ignored them.
"Hey, 'Nala, we don't have to do this," said Jeannine. Gone was the adorably awkward tone, the delightful goofiness. Jeannine knew when to be serious.
"I know," answered Inala, her tone more of a high-pitched squeal.
"How 'bout we just take it easy and watch a vid, huh?" offered Jeannine. Inala told herself that the disappointment she heard was imaginary, and correctly.
"I don't wanna watch a vid, I wanna make love with you," Inala answered through exhausted sobbing. She wiped her eyes with trembling hands, her expression one of frustrated rage.
"Do you?" Jeannine asked probatively. Inala nodded, and Jeannine frowned.
"I do, it's just every time I think about sex I get sick to my stomach," Inala answered. Jeannine rubbed her cheek thoughtfully.
"Inala, are you, um," Jean faltered. "Do you think you might possibly be asexual?"
Somehow, Inala managed a short laugh at the question, though she was still crying, and still pouting.
"I fuckin' wish," she answered, before sniffling heavily. Jeannine opened a drawer in the coffee table and produced a clean handkerchief. Inala accepted it without question and dried her eyes.
"Make things a lot easier," continued Inala. "That's not why."
"Do you know why, then?" Jeannine continued.
"Yeah, but I don't wanna ruin this," answered Inala, as she raked a hand through her growing hair.
"'Nala," began Jeannine, as she shook her head. "If I have to choose between being someone you can talk to and someone who gets to have sex with you, I want the first one."
Inala gave a disgusted noise, though there was a hint of familiar playfullness.
"Of course you would," she replied. "Your just fuckin' wonderful, all the time, always and forever."
Jeannine flashed a brief smile.
"Tryin'," she replied. Jeannine let the next few moments pass as Inala composed herself. She dried her eyes once more and set the kerchief on the table. As she spoke, she kept her eyes on the floor.
"You know about how sensitive I get about the idea of people, like, looking at me," she began. "In that way."
"Yeah," answered Jeannine, who settled in to listen.
"I never told you the reasons," Inala continued.
"You mentioned there were some close calls," Jeannine recounted. "Are we talking about those?"
Inala shook her head.
"No," she replied. "They happened, but they're, um, secondary."
Inala wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes as she gently rocked.
"It started in high school. I went to prom with this guy called Derek Armstead. He was hot, and popular, and all that bullshit, and we'd have long talks about our future and all that sappy stuff. I really liked him, and he did and said all the right things. Got me a corsage. Danced with me the entire night, never slipped off to hang out with the boys."
Inala ran her hands nervously through her hair.
"We kissed, and he gave me a look and asked if we could make love later that night - that's the words he used, 'make love,' and apparently that was enough for me to say yes. But before we could, as the prom was winding down, he went and chatted to some of his buddies and I overhead him bragging about finally scoring with the green chick."
"Motherfucker," huffed Jeannine.
"Right? That absolute scumbag, and I felt like the biggest idiot. I ran home crying, and dad tried to get me to say what happened, but mom took over and talked to me about it and said that was something I was going to have to get used to. Earthlings love green women for some dumb fucking reason."
Jeannine grimaced lightly, unable to really argue, considering the circumstances.
"And then I went to the goddamn Academy," muttered Inala.
"Aw hell," sighed Jeannine, and Inala just nodded.
"Reinforced the fuck outta that idea real quick," she confirmed. "I just decided I wouldn't let anyone get close to me at all, and definitely not romantically, male or female. Even had to change roommates a couple of times, one of them being one of those close calls. Like, they were the sort of thing where a guy will just kinda walk into our personal space, and you'll try to get around them and they'd put out their arm to try and stop you, but they never, like, y'know."
"Close enough, though," observed Jeannine, to which Inala nodded again.
"Then there was fuckin' Zol Tradine," she muttered bitterly. Jeannine didn't ask the obvious question, letting Inala tell the story.
"Third year, both in the OpEng program. He was a holographic programmer."
Jeannine felt like she knew where this was going, and went stone-faced.
"Real nice, polite, never said a word that made me think he was into me, then one day I had to run back to the dorm because I forgot my kit, and I just glanced at his terminal he'd left open and I saw my name listed."
"Christ," whispered Jeannine.
"Fucker'd scanned me without me knowing and built a goddamn hologram of me. So of course I fuckin' run that shit because I have to know, and there's me, wearing next to nothing, asking me if I wanted her to suck my dick because he couldn't be assed to put a user customization subroutine in - he hardcoded this sexdoll just for himself."
"Please tell me you ratted his ass out," urged Jeannine.
"Oh the whole fuckin' floor found out immediately," said Inala. "They expelled him the same day, and that's the only reason I didn't drop out then and there. If I was guarded before, I was a fuckin' fortress after that, but I always knew. I knew that there were so many others who looked at me and thought of me that way that I wasn't gonna catch, and that just lodged itself in my brain and I never had a chance to get it out because once every few months or so, someone would say how pretty I am, or how much they admire me."
Inala practically spat that last sentence out, her expression one of disgusted shame. For her part, Jeannine also looked ashamed with that last bit. She didn't understand how she could have been stupid enough to say similar things to Inala, let alone tried to kiss her in the first place, regardless of how it ended up.
"I've never had sex," Inala admitted, shaking her head. "Which just made it worse, because I'd get so horny, and then I'd imagine like giving into it, and letting whoever wanted to to have their way with me, and then I'd hate myself for that, too."
Jeannine shook her head, tears welling in her eyes now.
"That's okay, you don't have to be ashamed of that," she promised. Inala fell silent as she reached for the kerchief again. She let herself cry for a few minutes, which Jeannine just watched, feeling both sympathy and shame that she would ever say or do anything that would dredge all this up.
This would be for the best, she told herself. They'd forget the whole girlfriends thing, and just be friends who worked together, and that'd be good enough for her.
"You're not the first person to tell me they love me," Inala whispered, which just drove the knife deeper into Jeannine's gut. "You're not the first person to tell me that I'm the most beautiful person you've ever seen."
Jeannine closed her eyes, now crying in earnest herself.
"You're just the first person I believe."
One of the things Jeannine loved about Inala was her ability to express things that were as devastating as they were comforting. She had a poetic command of language, coarse as it may be in private conversation - a kindred spirit in that aspect, at least - and it got so lost in the shuffle of her justifiable anxiety.
Jeannine took her turn to break down, and reached blindly for the drawer. Inala quietly handed over the handkerchief, which Jeannine took and cried into for a moment.
"I meant it," she squeaked. "I really did. Still do."
A hand gripped Jeannine's wrist and pulled the dampened kerchief away, allowing Inala to press a firm kiss to her lips. She wrapped her arms around Inala and clutched her tightly, and in the back of her mind she knew she didn't want to have to choose.
So she wouldn't.
-----
Jeannine was just slightly terrified as she stepped off the turbolift and onto the Zorya’s bridge. It wasn’t technically the first time she’d been on the shiny new bridge, as she’d been part of the team to make it the shiny new bridge, but it was the first time she’d been on it when actual command staff were present. She drummed her fingers nervously on the PADD in her hand as she approached the ready room door.
’s’Okay Jeannine, just your career on the line,’ she thought to herself. The lowly Ensign drew a sharp breath and pressed the chime to Captain Truman’s office-slash-lounge thing.
“Enter, please,” the Captain’s voice echoed from the comm terminal with the usual gruffness everyone had come to expect from him.
Jeannine strode in as confidently as she could manage as the doors opened. She stepped up to Truman’s desk and held out the PADD with an only somewhat-trembling hand.
“Captain Truman, sir, I’d like to formally request a transfer, sir,” said Ensign Tocato. A faint wince followed as she counted one-too-many ‘sir’s.
The Captain looked up from his desk and produced a look of mild annoyance as he had a PADD in one hand and a fork tucked into a bowl of brown noodles in the other. With a sigh he dropped both and reached for Jeannine’s transfer request, swiveling in his chair to turn away from her as he read it.
“At ease, Ensign,” he said almost absently as he continued reading.
It may have been absent, but it was accurate, as Jeannine was definitely standing stiff as a board. As he gave the instruction, she glanced down to make sure her feet shifted shoulder-width apart, and then clasped her hands behind her back - the appendages clutched each other in a vice grip, as if they were each others’ sponsors in Fidgets Anonymous.
She’d interrupted the Captain’s meal, which didn’t bode well, but on the other hand, she might’ve turned right around and walked out without a word if she'd noticed. This was her thing, though, right? Feel uncomfortable, deal with being awkward, and just push right on through. Definitely the Tocato way. Yes. Good.
He put her request down, squaring it in front of him on his desk as he turned back towards her. He gestured a hand towards the chair next to her before folding both hands together on the desk in front of her request.
“Please sit a moment, Ensign,” he said, his tone switching to the kind one would expect from a marginally overworked guidance counselor rather than a Captain, “I’d like you to explain this request for me. Why do you want it?”
Jeannine glanced to the indicated chair at least twice, as if it might spring to life and devour her. After that, she got over it, sat lightly in the seat, and just kinda stared at him for a moment.
“Um,” she began - strong start. “I feel like I’ve done all I can in Engineering, and I think, uh, I would be more useful in Operations.”
There was an interesting structure to the obvious lie, in that it started unsure, got even less sure, and then picked up to the point where, had it started that way, it might’ve been half-way convincing.
“I think Operations plays more to my strengths, and the parts that don’t will prove to be an interesting challenge.”
The nervous swallow and clearing of Tocato’s throat kinda served as a cherry on top of the pile of bullshit she’d just offered to her new CO. She couldn’t help a small, rueful smile at her own expense.
His thumbs tapped together a few times as he looked at her. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something more but he cut her off before she could add anything.
“Ensign, I am new to this ship,” he said slowly, “As I understand it from Commander Feyna and the other senior staff this crew operates very well under the current structure. While I’m more than happy to discuss making changes to that further down the road I’m afraid that right now you are in fact the most useful where you are. Especially as Lieutenant Emeric transitions to the new Chief in Engineering.”
He stared at her for a long moment. She saw his pupils move about her as though he were examining her expression and her posture. She suddenly had the horrifying realisation that she had no idea if her new Captain wasn’t perhaps part telepath…
“Is there anything else you feel I should take into consideration?”
Jeannine closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she tried to make her shoulders relax, an attempt that met with middling success.
“I love Inala,” the Ensign admitted quietly, before clearing her throat. “Chief Emeric. I, um, I love her, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure she loves me back, and I don’t, um, I don’t have it in me to pretend otherwise.”
Jeannine felt like perhaps she could say more, but nothing came to mind that would be any more clarifying than that.
He looked down at his hands and for a moment she thought she could feel a brewing lecture on personal distance between colleagues coming up, but when he looked up he was smiling. It suddenly made him look warm, approaching fatherly.
“I see,” he said, “And you feel as though working under-” he caught his words as he said it, not unlikely due to the small smirk twitching the corner of her mouth. He corrected himself quickly. “Working for Lieutenant Emeric will be uncomfortable for you both?”
Jeannine gave a small shrug.
“I’ve never been in an engineering crew where it wasn’t seen as a problem,” answered Tocato. “The Chief doesn’t fraternize within the department. Brings up the favoritism thing, and the last thing you want on people’s minds in a crisis is whether the Chief’s personal feelings are gonna get in the way.”
Something about explaining it like that seemed to calm her down. She was doing the right thing here, so there was no need to panic about it, she felt.
He nodded, his smile remaining sincere.
“Quite right too,” he said in agreement with her, “I agree, Ensign. And while I am not completely opposed to fraternization among the ranks it is more difficult for a head of department. Let’s see…”
He switched on his desk terminal and keyed in a search. She couldn’t see the screen, but she could only assume he was looking over her service record.
“You’re lacking some experience for Ops,” he said, pausing for a moment before continuing, “But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have the ability.”
He tapped off the screen and picked her PADD back up, adding his signature to her request before moving it to a pile off to the corner of the desk.
“I’ll need you to get at least an eighty-five on the Operational Service Test and you’ll need to pass the Bridge Officer’s Exam if this is to be long term. But in the meantime you can move to Operations on a provisional training basis.”
Jeannine closed her eyes, her jaw quivering purely from relief. The Ensign drew a deep breath and brought her gaze back to the Captain.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied. “I won’t let you down.”
He nodded again.
“You’ve handled this very professionally, Ensign. I’m proud to have you on my team,” he said. He stood and offered his hand to her.
Finally, a genuine Tocato smile found Jeannine’s face as she stood and eagerly shook his hand.
“I think that’s the nicest thing a CO’s ever said to me, sir,” she noted.
“I’ll have Commander Feyna work out the particulars of the transfer,” he said as their hands parted, “You’re dismissed.”
She turned to walk out, reaching the door before he spoke again right before they could open for her.
“One last thing, Ensign,” he added.
Jeannine skidded to a halt, turning to face him with some hint of horror in her eyes, despite the grin still plastered to her face. Gave her a somewhat manic look.
“Yessir?” she asked.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a look of amusement in his face.
“You said you were ninety-nine percent sure the Lieutenant loved you back,” he said, “If I were you I’d get to work getting that to a hundred.”
Jeannine stared at him a moment longer before just chortling, which she continued to do as she slowly stepped out of the room.
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