Interlude, Part 7

Posted on Mon Dec 28th, 2020 @ 11:04am by Ensign Evelyn Moro & Lieutenant Aemilia "Millie" Stepanova

A clap of thunder startled Millie to consciousness. She winced, her whole body feeling like it had been tossed about like a rag doll. Her head fiercely pounded. Through the darkness, she could hear the rain pound against the hull of the shuttle.

"Trish..."

Her plea was answered by the clack of metal teeth.

Millie swallowed hard as her eyes adjusted in the darkness. Crouched on the control panel, hovering over a limp Banks--one of those creatures. Blood dripped from its pointed teeth, down its face, and dripped steadily at its feet.

"Trish--" Her plea became louder, but Banks didn't respond. She sat slumped over in her chair, the moonlight glistening on the blood running down her arm.

Millie flinched as she felt the grip on her shoulders. She couldn't move. Was she pinned? Being held down? Her arms felt like lead. If only she could pull them free!

*crack*

"Ow!" James stepped back holding his nose. "The hell was that for?"

James' yell snapped Millie awake, and she gasped for air. "Trish--" the word came out as a strangled scream as her world came back into focus.

He flinched out of instinct, going into a defensive posture for a second. She wasn't the only one with shadows in her mind. "You were carrying on to the point you woke me up so I thought I'd check on you."

Millie sat up, pushing the hair out of her face. "I--" she never finished her thought. "James, you're bleeding."

He wiped his nose. "Tell me something I don't know." He looked down at her. "That dream sounded pretty vivid."

Millie gave a sigh as she slipped out of bed, grabbing a box of tissues and extending it. "Nightmare."

He took one. "Do you want something to go back to sleep?"

She shook her head. "If I could never have to sleep for the rest of my life--" Millie let the sentence trail off as she sat on the bed.

"We tried that for our elite troopers. Didn't end well."

The counselor made a sound between a laugh and a sigh. "When you go into counseling, you don't expect to be the one taking lives..." Millie passed him another tissue. "Trish started training me three years ago because she was afraid that I could not handle myself on away missions."

"And you made her proud in how you apparently defended both yourself and her."

"If she and my Klingon friend hadn't been so--so insistent on turning me into a warrior, I don't think we would have survived at all." Millie turned her shoulder showing the faint scar pattern that was just not quite as tan as the rest of her skin.

His eyes lingered on scar. "Listen," his tone softened, "you've been through a trauma. I can sympathize with that." He put a hand on her upper arm very gently with a small grin. "Maybe you need something to take your mind off it."

Millie raised an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

He took half a step closer to her but stopped when someone cleared their throat. He looked over his shoulder to see Marcy in the doorway.

"I was headed to the kitchen and heard voices. Is everything okay?"

His expression was deadpan. "We're fine."

Millie gave a gentle, if exhausted, smile. "I just had a nightmare. Nothing to worry about."

"Oh, okay, good. Sir, don't forget we have a departure window upcoming."

"Thank you Marcy." He turned back to Millie. "How about you give your notice and come back with me? I could use your talents."

It took Millie a moment to process what he was asking. "You--want me to come work for you?"

"Of course. You'd be a valuable asset."

A smirk appeared on Millie's face. "I'm not sure that you like the advice that I give."

"You're an...acquired taste."

"Craft beer is an acquired taste. I'm just observant." She grabbed a hair band off of the table and began plaiting her hair into a braid. "Give Marcy the job instead."

"Marcy has a job."

"Marcy is the greatest asset you have, and you have her scheduling your bedroom trysts." Millie shrugged. "You don't need me. You need her."

"She's a good assistant, yes. But she's no negotiator."

"Can I get either of you anything from the kitchen?" Marcy chimed in, as if to remind them she was still in the room.

"That's alright." Millie smiled, walking towards the bathroom. "I can make my own breakfast."

Lieutenant JG Aemilia "Millie" Stepanova
Chief Counselor, USS Mercutio