Ego Reflection

Posted on 15 Jan 2020 @ 5:47pm by Lieutenant Lake ir-Llantrisant & Chief Warrant Officer 3 Alexion Wylde

2,852 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Episode 17 - Crystal of Life
Location: USS Galileo-A - Deck 3, Sickbay & Deck 2, Mess Hall
Timeline: MD 01 - 0630 hours

Previously on Star Trek: Galileo, several weeks ago:

“Lake ir-Llantrisant's Personal Log, Supplemental. What did I do? What was I thinking? What is even wrong with me?

“I smelled him. I leaned in close and I nuzzled against Ensign Callin’s neck and I drank in the scent of him. Helpless. I'm always hopeless and helpless. I was drawn into him as helplessly as a shuttlepod falling into a black hole. There was arousal in there, but it was more than that. There was safety and reassurance. There was an overriding sense of familiarity. As if I had done this all before, as if I already knew his body intimately. As if I already knew what his skin would smell like. And of course I knew. Because he looks just like Kellin. That Betazoid Ensign looks just like Kellin, before Kellin died. Really, he's younger than that. He looks like Kellin from before we were married, before I even met Kellin.”

And last time, on “Retreat (Part 3 of 5)”:

Out of the corner of his eyes, Lake ir-Llantrisant watched Luke's proclamation unfold in abject horror. Kneeling beside Darius Lamar, Lake's posture shifted, his body shrank into himself. He felt an obligation to do something, to say something. Luke Wyatt had just relieved the Captain of duty, and Lake was the ranking medical officer within earshot. More than that, Luke had questioned Lirha's fitness for duty due to his assessment of Lirha's mental health, and Lake was the Ship's Counselor. Say something, Lake; do something.

Except, Lake had so very little information to make a rational assessment. He had exactly no information. Since the last time he'd been on the Bridge, Galileo had some under attack by Tholians. Lake hadn't witnessed any of the choices Lirha had made. He had struck his head, and been suffering the effects of a concussion until terribly recently, and even since arriving on the bridge, his attentions had been pointed at his patients, not the command crew. Worse than that, Darius Lamar's throat was bleeding all over Lake's thighs, despite Lake's best efforts to save the man. Lake managed to repair one or two blood vessels at a time, with the vascular regenerator, only to realise another two had been shredded worse than he realised.

The lieutenant commander's calm demeanor and robust words further infuriated the captain. Saalm glanced back to the tactical display on the command chair console and noticed they had less than twenty seconds before they dropped out of warp at the convoy's position. Her head spun back to Wyatt as her personal stress started to consume her. He was trying to waste their time.

"I am the captain of this ship!" she yelled back in her Orion language, her words translated through the UT in a final and desperate attempt to assert her authority.

Before Lirha shrieked at Luke in her native tongue, Lake was figuratively stunned by what he saw. His body tensed up, freezing himself in place like a statue or a tableau. His breath caught in his chest as he watched Lirha strike Luke Wyatt, and he thought his chest might explode when she called him a coward too. Clearly, Lake supposed, she was just barely rational enough to aim straight for emasculating Wyatt. When Wyatt spoke, Lake finally realized he had backed the wrong horse here, but there wasn't terribly much he could do while he still had patients depending on him and Alexion. Without stepping any closer to the command well, Lake straightened his posture, raised his rib caged, and squared his shoulders.

Then Lake spoke up, and he used stage elocution to make certain his voice was being recorded for the logs, recorded by the Computer for its awareness of the ship's chain of command, and for anybody in earshot. "For the record," Lake declared, "You are not the Captain of this ship. Not anymore. As Chief Counselor, I hereby invoke Starfleet Order 104, Section C, to relieve you of duty, Captain Lirha Saalm. Having witnessing you strike a fellow officer and in support of the Chief Security Officer's earlier actions, I find you medically unfit for duty -- pending a full medical evaluation, a board of inquiry, or we're blown out of the sky by the Tholians. Whichever comes first."

ON:

Lake practically floated into Sickbay with a Vulcan-like air about him. It had nothing to do with his pointed ears. Lake ir-Llantrisant was walking on steps that were free of the weight of emotion. With his hands folded behind his back, his body language was unfamiliar to his usual determined march. The gaze behind his dark eyes was soft and unfocused, as if he had little interest in seeing the things he might see.

As Lake closed the distance to the biobed where Darius Lamar had been transported, Lake breathed in deeply and allowed his hands to fall to his sides. "Is he... alive?" Lake asked in a faraway voice, hardly better than a fugue state.

Alexion glanced to him, half turning away from the computer screen. He nodded, pushing away from it to stroll over to him, sliding a hand into his pocket as he watched his face, taking in his unusual manner. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, he is...and he'll be fine," he assured. "Thanks to his excellent field medic...."

Lake titled his head back and he breathed in a deep, deep breath through his nose. Relief at the news of Darius' well-being washed over him, but it couldn't warm the chill he felt to his core. "If I recall," Lake said without looking at Alexion, "We made a good team."

"I wouldn't disagree," Alexion nodded lightly as he drifted closer to him, looking him up and down for a long moment. "Until that part when the bridge exploded into maddness with mutiny verses medical relief..." he watched him intently, his hands resting on his hips. "You were pretty vocal..."

Too, Lake's body swayed closer to Alexion; he moved on instinct. "Yeah, it..." Lake starting to say, his dark eyes widening, but his gaze was uncertain. His voice trailed off almost as soon as he started speaking. "It all happened too fast," Lake affirmed. "Wyatt was questioning the Captain's fitness based on what sounded like a strategic decision. I could hardly agree with that until she slapped him. Slapped him with her own hand? I don’t know which one was the mistake…”

Clearly, Lake was speaking about what was either the role he had played in a rightful medical assessment, or he had committed some light mutiny. Clearly.

Location: USS Galileo-A - Deck 2, Mess Hall

As with many ships, Galileo's mess hall reflected the mood of the crew. Half of the tables and chairs were overturned, one of the replicators was burned out, and the space was sparsely populated with people. Those crew-people who were free enough to enter the mess hall appeared in a hurry to get out. Food orders were given quickly to the replicator and refreshment was taken in to-go containers.

One of the few crew members milling about the mess hall, without urgency, was Lieutenant Lake ir-Llantrisant. Like many of others, he had replicated a hot tea in a travel mug and a fish sandwich wrapped in paper. Unlike the others, he hadn't scurried out of the mess hall. He still had another ten minutes before the senior staff briefing. He still had another ten minutes to breathe deeply. He still had another ten minutes to hope his hands would stop shaking.

Lake's body language reflected the disheveled state of the mess hall. After the battle for Galileo's life --and the battle for command among the senior staff-- Lake's hair was pointing in seven different directions and his uniform was splattered with blood. He had slumped in one of the chairs and had sat with his elbows on the table and his face buried in his hands. He still had another ten minutes.

"Can I help?" A voice asked softly nearby, pitched low to not attract attention, both hesitant and worried at the same time.

Callin helped himself to a seat at the Counselor's table before a response, maintained a white-knuckled grip on the handle of the mug in his hand. With the circles under his eyes - Callin had been up all night and morning during the crisis - he certainly looked like he needed a stimulant but he stared at the messy hair and top of the Romulan's head intently. He too looked the worse for wear: blood, soot, and burns stained his uniform, and though his hands were clean there was still blood in his hair, streaks of ash across a cheek.

He'd only meant to grab a coffee, something to keep his mind working on the problems the Tholians presented, but then he'd seen Lake. Lonely, forlorn, and hurting or so he imagined - he had avoided touching Lake's mind since... Callin wasn't sure what impact his presence would have on the man, but he also wasn't going to not try to help. Whether he was focused on the Tholians or someone else, it was the perfect way to ignore his own worries for the moment. He'd have time later to face his failure on the Bridge, and question what exactly his intentions with Lake were.

Lake offered no response; not at first. He remained poised with his face in his hands. It was only immediately apparent that Lake had even heard Callin because the sound of his breathing became sharper from behind his hands. He breathed in and he breathed out. Lake dragged the pads of his fingertips down his face and they lingered, if briefly, on his lower lip. Finally, he dropped his hands onto the table.

He breathed in and he breathed out. After arching one eyebrow, Lake focused his gaze on Callin, his dark eyes coming alive again. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, staring Callin down. Then, he nodded twice. Speaking softly, Lake asked, "What do you think could possibly save me?"

If Lake hoped to find an answer he might be looking in the wrong spot. Callin's face looked guilty, but he didn't look away either, "I'm not sure." Lake's body language was plain enough for anyone to read, so he figured. As he watched the man's movements, Callin's concern grew. This could be bad. "I'm still not sure how we survived-" No. That wouldn't do. He cut himself off and raised a hand as if to ask for a moment to rephrase.

It took an effort. This had been his first battle, the shock and fear were still present, let alone the blood that covered the both of them as a stark reminder to the danger. "How about you tell me?" Callin replied. "If a crew mate came to you, feeling like you do right now...what would you tell them?"

Staring at Callin, Lake tilted his head back as he ran a hand through his hair. He winced at the circular logic of the question and he countered with, "Doctors make notoriously poor patients..." Lower his hand, Lake shook his head in frustration, perhaps confusion. "I would probably just tell you to kiss me," Lake said, looking Callin dead in the eyes.

Callin's cheeks flushed at the comment, and he didn't look like he knew what to make of it. Part of him felt a thrill of course. Lake was very much his type: tall, bulky, dark, strikingly handsome, brooding. Exactly the sort of man he'd pursue even if it wasn't a good idea. Maybe especially if it wasn't a good idea. As he looked back into the Romulan's eyes though he wondered, who was Lake seeing, him or Kellin? How did he compare - or compete - with a dead man?

In the end he decided he'd throw caution to the wind again. Uncaring of any eyes that might see, he leaned forward across the table slightly, enough that Lake would certainly notice, black eyes glittering with a light now had nothing to do with fear, "Do you tell your patients to do that often?"

"I don't usually tell my patients to kiss me," Lake said. He shook his head from side to side when he made the admission. He blinked once; his lids looked heavy from even that slight movement. Lake scraped his lower lip with his teeth, just for a moment, and then he leaned closer too. He shrugged and raised an eyebrow, when he said, "They usually kiss me anyway."

The table was in the way so Callin got up wordlessly and walked around it. As he stood there, looking down at Lake, there was a moment's hesitation, of doubt, and a vein in his neck pulsed rapidly. Callin still wasn't certain of anything really right now, but he did want some comfort himself. Then he reached out to hold the man's face with both of his hands, fingertips along his strong jaw, leaned down, and gently pushed his lips against Lake's.

Lake's body physically relaxed at his touch. His shoulders loosened and he leaned into the younger man. Lake's jaw had been tightly set into a grimace and then his face slacked when Callin's lips met his. The only hint of tension returned because of the necessary effort pushed into his kiss. Lake reached out and pressed a hand to Callin's chest. Lake felt the firmness of Callin's body and then he closed his fist, grabbing a fold of the uniform jacket, as if to hold Callin close and never let him run away.

With a heart that seemed to be doing Warp 9, Callin lived in the moment for as long as it would last. One hand rested fingers lightly on Lake's arm that had grasped his jacket, the other slid past his cheek the back of his neck, fingers moved up into his black hair. He felt a thrill to Lake's response as he kissed back, a pleasant shiver as the counselor's hand took hold of his uniform so possessively. Callin closed his eyes, let the feelings he could sense from Lake wash over him, through him.

A moment of bliss. A moment of time that was everything. To Lake, this kiss felt as if it had consumed the whole of the universe and left nothing behind but the bones. A moment. A moment until it ended. Lake broke away from the kiss, opening his mouth to shudder in a desperate breath of air. He broke away from this kiss, but he didn't let go of Callin's uniform jacket.

So maybe Callin cheated a little bit, he did reach out to feel what Lake was feeling as their kiss went on. It was instinctive, a part of who he was and how he felt, how he existed in this universe and to know that his own desires were reflected back...anyone would want that. What was left of it, this universe, had banished away some of his fear and exhaustion. Lake's being was every bit as potent as he'd expected, and more, and he felt his legs tremble. Then it was his hand holding on to Lake's wrist, his other hand on the back of his neck, to give him a little support as the moment ended. "That was..." Callin wasn't breathing quite right, but there was a very satisfied smile on his face as he opened his eyes. Nevermind the words.

Lake, on the other hand, wasn't any sort of mind-reader. He assumed Callin was still searching for the right words and Lake proposed, "Life-affirming," as one possible description. He loosened a grip on the uniform fabric and then he lay his hand on the back of Callin's hand. "Thank you," Lake added, looking up at him, his dark eyes gone wide.

The description brought an amused grin to Callin's face, and then the thanks brought a laugh from him, but neither were mocking in their intention. Lake was right, he did feel a bit more alive now than when he'd walked in here. "Thank you," Callin said, staring down for a long moment. Then, with a quick, bashful look around the rest of the mess hall, he took a step back to put a little distance, but even that didn't wipe the grin away.

That moment, that brief moment, had reenergized Lake. His posture had changed; there was a light behind his eyes; his entire je ne sais quoi had woken up. The vulnerable ball of neediness that had grasped onto Callin for dear life had retreated within his sharp, Romulan exterior. That said, Lake wasn't without warmth for Callin; his thanks had been sincere. He slurped at his tea and he searched for the energy to stand, to return to the Bridge. There were more hard choices to be made. This wouldn’t be the last.

OFF:

Lieutenant Lake ir-Llantrisant
USS Galileo-A
Chief Counselor

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