Gavotte

Posted on 10 Dec 2012 @ 8:16pm by
Edited on on 13 Dec 2012 @ 12:59pm

2,574 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Episode 02 - Resupply
Location: USS Galileo - Senior Officer Quarters
Timeline: MD 14 1730

[ON]

Jeremy battered the bag again, landing with a six strike combo ending with a knee strike. Absently flicking sweat away from his brow with the terry cloth back of one gloved hand, he took barely a breath before attacking the bag again. It was already wearing thin as he'd spent the better part of the last hour working it over, taking out frustrations of the last week.

Mulgrew wouldn't help me. Strike, strike, jab, duck, strike, jab, knee, knee, kick.

McFarlan yelled at me. Jab, elbow, uppercut, dodge, dodge, jab, jab, strike, kick, uppercut.

The door was slightly ajar, allowing some semblance of fresh air into the room, washing across him. It would have almost chilled him if he weren't already sweating through his undershirt and thick sweatshirt. Even the hem of his pants were soaking wet as he went after the bag.

That was another thing he though, attacking the bag as if killing it would end all the rage and turmoil in him. Ops said they couldn't fix the door. The programming that allowed them to remain open on the defiant class was a software bug that had been closed in subsequent iterations of the software. He twirled the bag, locking it into place to have a fresh side to work.

Criminals getting away with murder. Jab, elbow, elbow, backkick, front kick, jab, jab, uppercut, body blow body blow. Losing control with his superiors. The bag wheezed as a split formed. The beige surface starting to tattoo crimson. And that noise. Shoulder grab, knee, knee, headbutt.

"Wait," he said, stepping back. His chest heaved while he breathed. "That's not noise."

It was faint, certainly, but...blood trickling down his fingers from the torn up knuckles underneath, he began tapping out a rhthym against his thigh. It was...it was...

He attacked the bag again, the crimson tattoos becoming larger as he glared at the object in front of him. I DON'T REMEMBER! The bag suffered as renewed fury swept through him. His blows came in time to the measure of the faint music and it was something that his body responded to. That he liked that he should remember! but he didn't. Because he was broken!

He was broken and he didn't remember how not to be. How to be anything but what he'd had to become to survive. There were memories - he continued to strike the bag, recognizing the full rich tones of a piano, not a track from the computer's library but a piano. A real, live piano.

He had memories of another time, another place. With people and a piano and...

It was gone! The memory fading out just as the last note faded away.

"NO!" Jeremy yelled. "Please, no!" He listened for a minute but it didn't resume. He only realized that he'd been hearing it, in some form, for the last hour. Someone practicing a piece - something...his fingers tapped out a measure. "No," he said, "that won't do." He threw the soaked sweatshirt and ruined gloves on the bed and stepped out of the gi pants to change into the uniform he discarded upon return to his quarters.

Within minutes he approached his door, glaring as it opened at his approach but wouldn't remain so. There has to be a way he thought as he passed through it and to the next set of quarters over. He reached down and felt the comforting reassurance of his PADD in the pocket.

Hitting the door chime, he stood back, holding his still bleeding hands behind his back while he waited for the door chime to be answered.

Maenad left stellar cartography many hours ago, found Kiri and updated her on the department's progress, then eventually returned to her own quarters. If someone had asked her how long she had been there in her quarters, she wouldn't have been able to answer - time seemed to blend together to Maenad, especially when she was playing music. And, sometimes regrettably, she paid little attention to what time it was. Being somewhat of a loner did that to you. The first thing she did when she got back 'home' was undress, leaving a trail of clothes from her doorway to her bedroom, where she found and put on the navy blouse that she had worn that morning, carelessly buttoning it and even missing a few. She rolled the sleeves up so that they were tight around her elbows. Maenad then went into her kitchen and poured herself a glass of red wine before she returned to her piano - bringing the bottle with her. She slipped on a pair of black flats so that she could work the pedals without hurting her feet, of course, and sat on the bench.

Still proud of her performance earlier, Maenad was feeling confident with herself. Not tiring of the Saint-Saens piece, Opus 65: Septet in E flat Major, she began from the top. She told the computer to play along with her, minus the piano part for herself. Being about fifteen minutes in length at the proper tempo, Maenad had performed it four times over the course of an hour and polished off a good three quarters of the wine she had gotten out. It was not until her fourth attempt that she felt pleased again, but it still did not compare to her performance that afternoon - or was it morning? She didn't know.

She stood from the piano and sighed, a look of disappointed defeat hung on her as she trudged from the bench back to the kitchen, holding the near-empty bottle by the neck in one hand and the empty wineglass in the other. She thought about getting rid of the rest of it, but in the end replaced the cork and slid the bottle back into its cabinet, leaving the empty glass on the counter. She then turned around, her arms crossed against her chest, and stared across the room at a painting by Barnett Newman, Who's Afraid of Red, Yellow and Blue (IV).

The sound of her chime disturbed her from her unblinking stare. Then came the sudden panic of realising she was wearing practically nothing at all. She ran into her bedroom and found the white with black polka dot skirt she had stripped of that morning and quickly put it on over top of a pair thin black tights. She hopped into her bathroom and rinsed out her mouth and splashed her face with cold water, then dried with a hand-towel. Knowing she had already kept whomever was calling waiting for too long, she hurried back to the door and opened it.

Jeremy frowned as he saw the visage of the horrible, shrieking harpy from the brig yesterday. For a moment he believed he had the wrong room but noticed the piano behind him and knew he hadn't. Sighing deeply, his shoulders slumped. "Nevermind, you won't...this was a bad idea." He half turned but stopped to look back at her. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

The sight of Stone actually frightened Maenad more than she had thought possible. He was a bit taller than she was, which was a rarity in itself. His face was somewhat flushed like he'd been exerting himself, his hair was damp with what she imagined to be sweat, and when he turned around she saw that his hands looked bloody. Had he come to kill her and then changed his mind? She could feel her heart in her throat. The man looked deeply troubled and, having already deduced that he was unstable if he were anything, he made her anxious. "Mister Stone?" she heard herself call after him, noticing the pulse in her neck. "Is there something I can do for you?" her voice was quiet, sounding almost worried, and she couldn't believe that she had asked.

Jeremy sighed as he shook his head. "Again, proper protocol requires you to address me as Lieutenant Stone," he said then closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry...that was...not what I wanted. I..." He decided to take the plunge. "I heard music coming into my quarters," he gesture toward his door, the one down from hers. "A piano with computer accompianment. I...I'm sorry. I was going to make a request but I understand that it would be only another shouting match and...that would be bad."

Maenad closed her eyes for a second as impatience began to tremble deep inside her. But, had she heard him correctly? He wanted to make a request? Whatever she thought of him, she liked to show off the things she could do. "Neither of us are on duty right now, so I think I can call you whatever I like," she said back to him. "And given that we're equal in rank, I think I can call you mister just as you can call me miss or doctor." She felt her pulse slowing back to normal, thinking that Stone seemed less inclined to strangle her with his bloody hands. Picking up right where she left off, hoping she could get by this ridiculous squabble over whether she could call him mister or not, which she had no intention of changing even if she were proven wrong, Maenad changed the subject. "You could hear me playing?"

We are Starfleet officers, we are never 'off duty'. he thought, as well as the recall of the Starfleet Protocols Manual for proper address of personnel as subordinates, superiors and equals. But none of that was the point. As he thought about it, his entire attack on the bag had been punctuated to the rhthym of her playing. "Yes," Jeremy answered. "I..." he looked away from her. "I had my door open and it came into my quarters. Then...it stopped. I wasn't aware it was you and I'm intruding. I'm certain that any request I made of you would only be met with derision and further scorn. I'll go with an apology for having bothered you."

Maenad just looked at him, not saying anything for several seconds. "Is everything all right?" she asked him softly, ignoring that he was making it rudely obvious that he didn't like her. Her expression was blank, but faintly sympathetic too.

Puzzled by the question, Jeremy glanced around the corridor as he pulled out his PADD. "We are not at red alert," he said as he checked his PADD. "Ship systems seem to be running at optimum for being in 'port'. Security is reporting a minor problem with attempts to bring contraband back aboard the ship by crew. There are no alerts nor anything requiring the immediate attention of the Captain, Commander or the remainder of the senior staff at this moment. While I am unable to say that 'everything' is alright, I can specifiy with a high degree of certainty that there does not appear to be anything that would cause alarm or danger to the ship or crew at this time." He replaced the PADD, still seeming unaware of the blood drying on his hands. "Security does not indicate reports of disturbances in crew quarter sections at this time. You should feel free to resume your normal activities," he said, not wishing to mention that whatever those activities were, it left her dress in a state of disarray. It was also the closest he could come to asking her for a favor.

If Maenad had ever thought that her own social skills were bad, or even Kiri's for that matter, Stone made her look like the most popular kid on the block. She couldn't help but crack a smile. "No," she shook her head affably, "That's not what I meant. Are you all right? Look at your hands, they're all bloody."

"What?" Jeremy asked, looking at his hands and noticing the blood. He stared at them far longer than he should have for someone who would recognize the problem immediately. "I...I'm fine, I was..." he looked at the door to his quarters. "I was working out," he said, sounding somewhat deflated and unsure of the reason for the damage to his hands. He'd been wearing gloves but it still looked as if he'd tore up the flesh around the knuckles. He brought out his PADD, staring at the screen. "I am fine, thank you for asking."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically, wanting to argue. People who were fine didn't look like he did, and they especially didn't have bloody hands. "But, what happened to your hands?" she managed to say. "Come in and wash them," she stepped aside and tilted her head to one side to usher him in. She couldn't believe she was doing this. Blood had always made her a little queasy. "And then I will play you a request, that is if I can play it," she smirked a little before adding, "Derision free."

"No," he said immediately stepping back as he hid his hands behind his back. He glanced past her into the room and shook his head. "I...I was just, the playing was beautiful and I just wondered when you scheduled to practice, or play." He looked down at the floor as he admitted, "I'd like to be in my quarters listening when you did."

Maenad flushed a little at the compliment. "It was Camille Saint-Saens' Septet in E flat major," she whispered to the floor, as if it were no big deal. "I have been practising all day," she added, looking back from the floor and into what she thought were his troubled eyes. "Please, come in. I insist. Wash your hands and I will make us some tea, then I will play my favourite part for you."

"No," Jeremy muttered, once again looking at his hands. "I'm...not fit company at the moment. Thank you for the offer, but perhaps another time? I just wish for you to not stop your regular scheduled practice." He turned to look down the corridor. "I should...Medical. I should go see the doctor to get..." he looked at his hands again. "This problem taken care of." With that he turned to walk down the hallway.

"But I thought---" Maenad took one step after him but stopped herself, "You wanted to hear something," she finished with a saddened mutter. The idea that Stone disliked her that much, which she had just fully realised despite how obvious it was, startlingly bothered her. He had certainly set her off the day before, but she thought that was just departmental pride, not actual hatred. Was she that hateable? she wondered. Did he really not want to hear whatever it was he had had in mind simply because it was her who'd be playing it? The corners of her thin lips fell as she made a pout and frowned.

Maenad closed her door and went back inside. She made a growling noise through her clenched teeth, irritated that she had been forced to redress for absolutely no reason.

[OFF]

Lieutenant (JG) Maenad Panne
Chief Science Officer
USS Galileo

Lieutenant (JG) Jeremy Stone
Chief Security/Tactical Officer
USS Galileo

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