Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ara had been in the Jeffries Tubes for too long. Her shoulders ached. Her ration bar tasted like sawdust. But it was better than being trapped in cargo bay with the colonists. They needed her out here if they were going to survive this. 

The colonist ship, Jasper, was two or more days away from any message reaching the Federation. They couldn't count on their help. Not if they didn't want to be sold into slavery or killed by a bunch of pirates. So Ara did what she did best, and survived.

She had rewired panels. Booby-trapped bulkheads. Sent false signals. Taken phasers off guards who forgot to look up. And the pirates still hadn't found her.

You’d think a galactic crime syndicate would know how to sweep a ship. Amateurs.

Still, she was a long ways away from saving everyone, and she only had so much time.

Ara armed herself with a phaser and worked to access the ship's database to hopefully figure out a way to get them out of this.

—

“We’ve just picked up a distress signal from the colony ship, Jasper, on the edge Federation space,” Captain Pike briefed, as he stood in the Ready Room with his bridge crew. “It’s been two days since it's last transmission and Starfleet has asked us to investigate.”

“The distress call was unclear,”Cadet Uhura said, “but it appears the Jasper has been ambushed by pirates.”

“Pirates?” Una asked. “In Federation space?”

Uhura nodded.

“The sector is not regularly patrolled by Starfleet,” Spock says. “Though risky, it is logical to assume they thought their crossing into Federation territory would go unnoticed. Or that they would be gone before anyone appeared.”

“If that’s true, and they took the Jasper and the colonists, what do we do?” Uhura asked.

“We find the colonists,” Pike answered. “We’ve been cleared by Starfleet to enter non-Federation space to look for them.”

“Oh, so no unsanctioned trips this time,” Una teased.

Pike smirked and shrugged. “Can’t happen all the time. Nevertheless, we don’t know who attacked the Jasper or what they’ve done in the last couple days. We approach with caution and we will find the colonists and bring them back to safety.”

—

A few hours later they dropped out of warp to arrive at the last known coordinates of the Jasper.

“It’s not here, Captain,” Ortegas announced.

“Any signs of where they might’ve gone?”

“Negative, sir,” Spock said after the beep of his scans finished.

“Then we look,” Pike said, settling into his chair. “Keep an eye out for anything that might help us find them. And be on alert for any ambushers. Can’t have us end up like the Jasper, now, can we?”

The Enterprise proceeded with caution into non-Federation space, everyone intently looking for any sign of the Jasper or its crew.

“Captain, I may have found something,” Uhura announced, eyeing her screens and adeptly tapping away at them.

“What is it, Uhura?”

“There appears to be a weak pulse originating from an asteroid field. It seems to be an SOS.”

“Take us closer. Scan for ships,” Pike ordered.

“There appear to be 2 ships, sir,” Spock announced. “The Jasper is one of them.”

“Are there life signs?”

“There are 200 in the cargo bay of the Jasper, another 30 walking around the rest of the ship. 10 more on the pirate vessel.”

“Alright,” Pike said, standing from his chair and walking to the turbo lift. “Keep an eye on that ship. Shields up, try to keep us out of scanning-range. Spock, La’an, we’re going to board Jasper and free the colonists.”

Ortegas nodded, adjusting the Enterprises barring as Spock and La’an joined Pike on the turbo lift.

As the door closed La'an looked to Pike. “We will be severely outnumbered, Captain. How do you expect us to free the colonists with so many pirates aboard?”

“We take them out, one by one, free the colonists, and then...negotiate.” Pike looks to his companions with a smile as the turbo lift doors open and they head out for their mission.

—

Ara peaked around a corner as two pirates, dressed in traditional dirty pirate garb, scanned the hall. They chatted idly as they headed her way. Apparently their lunch wasn't up to standard. Sucks to be you, Ara thought vindictively. 

She listened carefully to their approach, stolen phaser in hand, pressed against a wall hiding her from view. 

Just as they passed her hiding spot, quickly noticing her in their periphery, she lunged. She kicked the nearest one's knees out from under him, sending him to the floor and swatted the next one's rifle away from her with a hand. She pulled him forward, twisting and throwing him over her shoulder. The pirate crashed to the floor, knocking into his buddy and sending them both sprawling. Ara took the moment to disable them with her phaser.

Quickly, she searched them, removing any weaponry or comms devices on their persons, before dragging them into the nearby storage closet and locking them in.

That was another two down, but she didn’t know how many were left.

Ara readied herself to leave, making sure evidence of their scuffle was cleared from the area. She turned down the hallway towards her exit and three people masked in yellow light beamed into the hallway. She wasn’t close enough to the maintenance hatch to properly hide so she slipped into a corner, adrenaline spiking.

She didn't know who it was, but if it was more pirates, she was in trouble.

She heard the tell-tale charge of weapons.

“Weapons hot, keep an eye out,” someone said.

They were getting closer. She’d just done this, but three people were much more difficult to ambush than two. There were just too many variables and she was already at a disadvantage with her tired, aching body. But she couldn’t afford be captured, not if she wanted to save the colonists. It was fight or die.

The sound of a door sliding open. A buzz of a tricorder. "Dead," said a deep voice. "They were downed by phaser fire."

"By whom," a woman's voice asked.

“Seems like one of the colonists must’ve escaped,” said the first voice. “Those are fresh so they might be nearby. Keep an eye out.”

Ara readied herself to strike as she listened to them approach. They knew where she was, but something nagged at her. They didn’t exactly sound like pirates.

She didn’t have time to parse out that line of thought though, as they closed in on her position.

As she caught the slightest movement from the corner of her eye, she struck, completely on autopilot. Adrenaline taking the reins.

—

Spock had his phaser at the ready, prepared for anything. And yet, not everything.

In the blink of an eye, a figure stepped into view, grabbed ahold of his phaser and swung under him, wrenching the weapon from his grasp and tossing him into the wall.

Pike and La’an spun around, training their weapons on the opponent. Spock regained his footing, raising his hand defensively as he saw the small red haired woman aim two weapons at them, her green eyes wide with intensity.

“Oh my god,” she said, lowering her weapons quickly in realization. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were Starfleet.”

The woman looked tired and strained. The two weapons in her hands and a couple more rifles hung about her frame, however, was enough to worry the Starfleet officers.

Pike lowered his weapon slightly while La’an kept hers trained on the woman. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Ara James, I’m with the colonists. I didn’t think anyone would come looking for us here. If I had known you were Starfleet I wouldn’t have—“

Pike smiled warmly and they both lowered their weapons. “No need to worry, Ara. I’m Captain Christopher Pike with the USS Enterprise, and these are Lieutenant La’an Noonien-Singh and Lieutenant Spock.”

Spock bowed his head silently in greeting.

“The Enterprise, wow, that’s a surprise,” Ara said, nervously, still coming down from her adrenaline high. “Sorry about your weapon. Here.” She handed the phaser back to Spock and he took it graciously.

“Thank you,” he said. “I am to assume you are the one who took out the men in the closet and sent the distress signal.”

Ara dirty and tried face grew into a cheeky smile. “Yes, that was me. I’m glad that thing worked. I didn’t expect anyone to be in range but I had to do something. The ship's systems are on lockdown and the only way to do anything is build it yourself. And let me tell you, I’m not the best with—“

“How did you escape from the pirates,” asked La’an, her hard voice causing the red head’s smile to fade.

“I, uh, I was never captured. When the ship was boarded, I hid in the Jefferies tubes and have been using them to get around the ship undetected as I tried to figure out a way to save everyone.”

“Impressive,” Pike nodded. “Looks like you’ve done a lot of work.”



“Yeah, and speaking of that, I suggest we get out of this hallway. Others are bound to be coming this way.”

They nodded and Ara led them down the hallway and into an adjacent room that appeared to be crews quarters.

“So do you guys have a plan, or what,” Ara inquired as she locked the door behind them.

“Our goal is to free the colonists and retrieve the ship from the pirates,” said Spock. Ara focused intently on him, as he spoke. “Open battle would greatly endanger the colonists lives, so we must do it stealthily.”

Pike nodded. “If we could take the bridge back and regain control, we can beam the colonists aboard the Enterprise, and force the pirates to retreat without any undue harm. Could you get us to the bridge, Ara?”

“I could get you there, but not much else. I’m not a crew member. I can’t disable the systems-lock.”

“Right, then we get someone who can,” La’an said. “We get to the cargo bay and free the colonists. Use them to retake the ship.”

“That’s too risky,” Pike said. “They don’t have the weaponry to fight back. We’ll just get them killed.”

Ara raised a hand with a smile, causing everyone to look at her. “I think I might just be able to help with that.”

—

Ara and Spock crawl through the Jefferies Tube, several pirate rifles hanging from their chests.

“It is impressive you’ve managed to collect so many of the enemy’s weapons,” Spock admitted.

Ara looked back at him. “There wasn’t much else I could do.”

“Even so, you’ve managed to evade capture and maintain a distress signal for two days as you attempted to save your shipmates. Your progress has been admirable.”

Ara sighed. “I appreciate that Mr. Spock, but I just hope to actually get out of this mess before it gets any worse.”

“Indeed.”

Ara crawls to a stop as she comes to a vent door that opens to the cargo bay. She turns back to Spock who raises his communicator to speak.

“Captain, we have made it to the cargo bay,” Spock said.

“Copy that. See you soon. Be careful.” Pike replies.

Ara removes the vent cover and the two of them crawl out of the tube, crouching stealthily on the floor, weapons raised.

From where they are, they could hear the grunts and scuffling of several pirates guarding the prisoners. On the wall nearby was a control panel for the forcefield holding the colonists. Spock approached and began to type in codes to disable the field. Ara guarded him.

Moments later, shouting echoed around the cargo bay with phaser fire. The sound of several bodies crumpling to the floor was followed by silence. Pike and La’an then appeared.

“How much longer, Spock,” Pike asked. “We’re gonna have more company soon.”

A couple more seconds tapping away and Spock said, “Now.”

The group moved over to the colonists who cautiously stepped out of their prison.

Pike stepped forward and introduced himself. “If any of you can fight, we ask you to help us take your ship back. Everyone else, we’ll beam to the Enterprise for your safety.”

The colonists split, those stepping forward being handed Ara's stolen weapons, the rest stood with La’an as she organized their transport off-ship. Pike stood with the Japser’s captain and discussed the plan.

Soon after, more pirates stormed into the cargo bay and were met with armed colonists who quickly disabled them. They made it to the bridge and, with the help of the Enterprise, leveraged the pirates into retreat.

With their success, Enterprise escorted the Jasper to their intended destination and helped with repairs. In the meantime, Ara was checked out by Nurse Chapel with the rest of the colonists.

Sitting on the red sickbay bed, Nurse Chapel scanned her thoroughly, and healed any cuts or scrapes she’d sustained over the last few days.

“Other than a mild concussion, you should be all good to go,” Chapel stated with a kind smile. “I suggest taking it easy for a few days and get lots of rest.”

“I’m gonna sleep for days once I find a bed,” Ara joked. “Thank you.”

At that moment, Spock walked in. When he spotted her with Nurse Chapel, he made his way over.

“The captain would like to speak to you,” Spock said.

Ara nodded lightly and followed him out the door.

Their trip to the captain’s quarters was silent. Ara chalked it up to her just being too tired to strike up meaningless conversation, or maybe it was the sense that Spock and meaningless conversation didn’t go well together.

When they entered the room, Pike, sitting comfortably his desk, looked up.

“Ah, Miss James, I’m glad you could join me.”

Ara nodded as she approached the table and took a seat opposite the captain. Spock took his leave and exited the room.

“I assume this is about my attendance on the Jasper,” Ara inquired tiredly.

“Not exactly,” Pile said, “though that is a curious tale I’m sure. A hitchhiker on a colony ship is unorthodox.”

“It wasn’t anything illegal. Captain Lane cleared me.”

“Don’t worry, I know. The captain and I have already discussed your circumstances.”

“Right,” Ara said, not entirely sure how to respond.

“I’m more curious to know why such a capable Starfleet officer left to hitchhike across the galaxy.”

Pike looked at her, brows raised. He seemed genuinely curious. It was opposite of what Ara expected. She thought she would be judged.

She stared at her hands as she spoke. “The war was hard. My parents died early on. They served as engineers on the Columbus when it was shot down. I knew I had to serve my time, but once it was all over…I couldn’t stay.” She shrugged and looked up at him. “I wanted adventure. And I got it, sure. Just not the kind I expected."

Pike nodded like he understood. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ara.”

"Thank you, sir," Ara said dimly. "It was a big change. Made things seem a little...less, you know. Hard to stick around after that, especially when I practically grew up on ships like these."

"Losing a parent, let alone two, will do that," Pike empathized. "And they were good people, your parents."

Ara frowned. "You knew them?"

"Not exactly," he said. "They were rather infamous at the Academy, just a couple years ahead of me. 'James and Vren', attached at the hip, geniuses and troublemakers." He chuckled. "Your mom was a TA in one of my intro courses. That was a wild class."

"I heard some stories," Ara said, simply.

"They were some of the smartest people I have ever met," Pike said. "And from the look of things, they managed to pass that onto you, too." He leaned forward on his desk. “Here’s the thing, Miss James. I want to offer you a job on my ship.”

“Sir, I can't—“

He held up his hands to stop her. “It doesn’t have to be anything permanent, but I thought you might also appreciate the ride. You being a hitchhiker, now, and all.”

“Thank you, sir, but you can’t just pick up hitchhikers. I’m not a Starfleet officer anymore. I—“

“Of course we can pick up hitchhikers. Do it all the time,” he said, dismissively, and getting up from his chair to walk around to her. “And as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got the skills to work on this ship. Think of it as an equal exchange. You lend us your skills, we’ll take you on adventures for however long you please.”

He stood next to her chair, smiling down at her with his arms crossed. Ara looked up at him in disbelief.

This was a Starfleet vessel. The flagship of Starfleet. She’d left for a reason…but accepting wouldn’t be her working for Starfleet, just lending her services. An equal exchange, like he said. And she knew she couldn’t stay with the colonists. She could only leech off them for so long. And what other chance would she have to leave? It’ll only be for a little while. She’ll get her fill of stories and adventures while on board then she can leave. Nothing will keep her here longer than she allows it.

Ara stood and faced Pike. “I will work for you, offer my services, but not as a Starfleet officer,” she clarified. “I can leave whenever I want and there'll be no convincing me to stay. Deal?” She held out her hand.

Pike smiled and held out his own to shake hers. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

When Ara left Pike's office, she was escorted to her new lodgings by Lt. La'an. She conked out as soon as her head hit the pillow, having gotten very little sleep while the Jasper had been taken hostage by pirates.

The next day, La’an collected her to clear her for duty, updating her file as necessary, and giving her limited security access to the ship's computers. La’an was thorough and strict about the rules. Ara had heard them all before, so it’d be easy to remember.

When La’an was done with her, she was given a communicator and told that all necessary supplies would be left in her quarters. 

“Thank you,” Ara said, getting up to leave the Ready Room. “And how will this whole job/assignment thing work?”

La’an looked at her with a blank expression that Ara had familiarized herself with over the last hour. “The captain has said he will be giving you assignments personally, as the situation requires. If you have any questions about that, I’d suggest taking it up with him.”

Ara then left, quickly walking back to her quarters, so that she could finally think through exactly what she’d gotten herself into. 

The room was a guest’s room, fit for dignitaries who traveled aboard the Enterprise. It was large, neutral, and very…Starfleet. It reminded her of her quarters on the last Starfleet vessel she occupied. She had been too tired to argue for another room last night, and now she doubted any push-back would get her anywhere. La’an was a force of nature. Ara admired that.

Ara was still feeling strained from the last couple of days so she decided to take out her personal computer and document her experiences. She’d started logging her adventures when she first left Starfleet, as a way to remember the places she’d been. It helped keep her in the present instead of the past where her mind tended to stray. It had become a handy tool. She wrote down the food she ate, people she talked to, places she went, and everything in between. She kept a separate record of her dreams for a similar reason. After nearly 2 years away from Starfleet, her story had collected several hundred entries. 

But now she was back, and she didn’t know how she would handle that. Of course, she was grateful Captain Pike was kind enough to ask her aboard, but the halls seemed too familiar. Same as the rooms and the hum of equipment, the thrum of the warp core. She was glad she had a ride but hoped she wouldn’t be here long. 

Ara lay on her bed, listening to a playlist of music she’d collected over her travels when a chime rang overhead. Ara sat up, hand automatically tapping her device to stop the music. 

“Miss James,” Captain Pike said, “I’m hosting a dinner tonight with some of the crew and I would love for you to join if you’re up for it.”

“Of course, Captain,” Ara said, automatically. “I’ll be there.”

“Great, see you tonight.” And with that, the room was silent again. 

Ara fell back against her cushions with a sigh. Parties weren’t her forte if you can believe it. Lots of people, and small talk; she didn’t like it. But she had agreed, and she couldn’t back out. Her pride wouldn’t let her. 

With another sigh, she resigned herself to getting ready for the gathering. But before that, she was going to lay in bed and listen to some more of her music. 

—

 Ara stood outside the captain’s quarters a few hours later, giving herself one last moment of peace before socializing. She’d opted to wear a casual dark blue sweater and pleated culottes that were very comfortable. It was a go-to outfit of hers that she felt safe in. A good feeling to have when you’re surrounded by strangers in space, she thought. 

She readied herself and approached the door, ringing the bell. 

“Enter,” Pike called from inside and the door opened. The smell of boiling water, chopped onions, and heated pans wafted by her as she entered. Was he actually cooking?

Pike’s head peaked around a corner. “Miss James, glad you could make it.”

 “Of course, Captain,” she replied as she rounded that corner to confirm that, yes, he was actually cooking. With a sous chef, as well. 

Mr. Spock in his blue uniform and apron stood with his back to her, seemingly cutting up some ingredients. When she spoke, he stopped and looked over his shoulder to see her, nodding a courteous hello. 

“I didn’t expect this,” Ara said to the captain as he moved to the stove to mix around the sweating onions in a pan. “It’s been a while since I’ve had any prepared food like this.”

“Really?” Pike asked. “I would’ve thought with your adventures around the galaxy, you would’ve had some.”

She shrugged. “At times sure, but it’s maybe been 6 or 7 months since anyone’s made food for me. Or made some for myself. Synthesizers are everywhere, and very useful at that.”

“You cook, then?”

“I guess. I mean, I’ve got some fundamental skills but I clearly don’t indulge very often. My parents were big with cooking meals when I was younger, though.” Ara bent over the counter to better smell what Pike was cooking. 

“You know, if you’d like to indulge those skills, I could always use another pair of hands in the kitchen.” At Ara’s hesitation, he added, “Think of it as part of our deal. Work with me, please.”

She couldn’t argue with that so she followed him as he pulled out an apron for her, and put her to work dicing parsley and other greens. Ara was happy for the work as other people joined the party chattering away in the background. 

Ara, Pike, and Spock moved smoothly around the kitchen as they prepped and cooked the extensive meal for the crew. Pike would stop occasionally to chitchat with his crew, but Ara stayed quiet. She noticed Spock also seemed very focused on his tasks, glancing away from his work only to greet others before returning. 

Ara finished popping her pan of chopped carrots into the oven and turned to see Spock listening to Pike discussing cooking pasta. He stood, hands behind his back, intently nodding as Pike explained the cooking process, what to look for, timing, etc. His brown eyes were focused, but not cold. He appeared genuinely interested and wanted to learn the process, which Ara found curious. With how anti-human so many Vulcans are, she wouldn’t expect one to partake so heavily in traditional earthen practices. But he was a Vulcan in Starfleet, so that might be of some explanation.

“You’re quite the cook, Mr. Spock,” Ara said as Pike turned away to greet another guest, sliding up next to the pointy-eared Vulcan. 

“Your compliments should go to the captain. I merely prep the ingredients,” he said, turning to her. 

“Prep is an essential part of the process,” she said. “It can make or break a dish.”

“I suppose you are correct.”

“How often does Pike host these things,” she asked, gesturing to the room full of chattering officers in various levels of professional and casual dress.

“Frequently,” he said. “The captain likes to connect with the crew. These gatherings boost crew morale.”

“That makes sense. And you help him cook every time?”

“Whenever I have the opportunity to, yes.”

“You’re very dedicated, Mr. Spock. Why?”

“I suppose you ask because I am Vulcan?”

Ara shrugged noncommittally.

“I wish to learn more about humans,” he said. “As the majority of my crew mates are human, I believe it is beneficial to learn their culture so I may better understand them.” He paused a moment before adding. “My mother is also human, so learning about humans is also an attempt to learn about my heritage.”

It’s not often you hear about a half-Vulcan with human ancestry, Ara thought. She had many questions but none she thought very appropriate for the moment. She decided on: “Do you like cooking, then?” 

Spock nodded. “It is enjoyable. Though I’m told I am missing a key element of the experience.” When Ara looked at him a bit perplexed he added, “The smell.”

“Oh,” she realized, “that is a shame. It’s because of the nasal inhibitors, right?”

“Indeed,” he said. “It’s curious that you know of them. Not many non-Vulcans do.”

“You’re not the first Vulcan I’ve met, Spock,” she said. 

Spock tilted his head in a nod of appeasement when the oven with Ara’s dish beeped. She excused herself and checked on it.

Cooking finished quickly after that, and soon everyone gathered around the L-shaped table near the kitchen. It was mostly wooden, which was an odd sight on a starship these days, but it definitely fit for Pike.

Ara ended up sitting on Pike’s left, next to a short-haired cadet, still in her red uniform, who whispered quietly to her friends. When Pike called for attention, everyone quieted and turned to him.

“I’m so happy to have you all here today,” Pike toasted. “I want to commend your success and bravery over the last few months as we’ve tackled exhaustive missions and discovered many strange new worlds and people. One such person is here with us today,” he continued, looking over at Ara who internally cringed. She disliked being singled out. “I know some of you have already met her: Miss Ara James, the key to our successful rescue of the Jasper. She’ll be stayingaboard the Enterprise for the foreseeable future, using her extensive skills around the ship in exchange for passage. So, thank you, Miss James.” 

Pike raised his glass in a toast, and everyone followed suit.

“Thank you, Captain,” Ara said as she raised her own glass, not looking at anyone looking at her. Despite this, she caught Spock’s gaze who gave her a courteous nod before everyone drank.

With that, everyone dug into the food, the delicious aroma wafting delicately around the room. Everyone broke off into small conversations as they ate, settling in as content eating began. When Ara took a bite she hummed in pleasure, savoring the balance of flavors and the warmth it brought her. A twinge of sadness hit her but she shoved it away.

“Ara,” someone said to her left. She adjusted her seat to look and saw Nurse Chapel leaning over and smiling at her. “Hi, I didn’t know you were staying with the Enterprise?”

“I go where the opportunities take me,” she replied. “As is the life of a hitchhiker.”

The young cadet next to Ara spoke up. “You’ve been a lot of places, then, right?” Ara nodded. “Do you have any favorites? I’m Nyota, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Nyota. I’ve definitely been around. This one time I was stranded on a desert planet outside Federation space. Was there for a week and I was totally sunburned by the end of it. But I remember whenever the sun would go down, and hit the sand at just the right angle, the ground would glisten with rainbows. Waves of sand would glide across the dunes so elegantly. I ended up keeping a jar of it for memory’s sake.”

“How’d you get stranded,” said a spiky-haired individual across from Ara. 

“A crew I traveled with ended up not liking me. Cast me out. Probably thought I’d die there, but I managed to talk to the locals and get another ride off-world. And you are?” she asked the woman.

“Ortegas,” she replied. “Erica Ortegas. Cast out, that’s rough. What did you even do?”

Ara hesitated momentarily and went for a shrug to fill the time. “Couldn’t tell you. Sometimes you piss off someone without realizing it. People are finicky like that.”

The trio chuckled. “So what do you all do here,” Ara asked them.

“I pilot the ship,” Erica said, proudly.

“Communication’s officer,” Nyota replied. 

“Nurse,” said Christine, with a grin. “But you already knew that.”

“And how long have you served on the Enterprise?”

“A couple years,” Erica said. “It's an exciting time aboard the flagship of Starfleet, let me tell ya.”

“Well, that’s good. I was worried I’d hopped on a boring ship. I hope to see some of this excitement while I’m here.”

“How long are you staying,” Nyota asked.

Ara shrugged. “Depends on how many adventures I get to see,” she said. “But not too long. I can only take so much Starfleet.”

The three of them looked at Ara curiously and she continued. “I was in Starfleet for a while. I was a communications officer, actually,” she said, gesturing to Nyota and her eyes shot up excitedly.

“Wait, you’re that Ara James?”

Christine and Erica looked at her, confused. Anxiety began to bubble in Ara’s chest.

“I read your dissertation on the development of Klingonese dialects and how the patterns reflect the cultures of each of the 24 Klingon Houses,” she said, and Ara let out a small sigh of relief. Nyota turned to her friends to fill them in. “It was revolutionary in helping the Federation decipher and understand the nuances of Klingon politics. It also aided with programming the dialects into the universal translators that allowed for better communications with the Klingons during the peace talks.”

“Oh yeah, only so much a communications officer can do when the enemy has no desire to communicate,” she joked. “Had to put my skills to use, somehow.”

“That’s very impressive,” Erica said. “I understand why you’d leave Starfleet after that. Too much Klingon.”

“Right,” Ara huffed out. “I decided to put my language skills to good use and travel on my own after that.”

Christine perked up. “Nyota here can speak 37 languages.”

It was Ara’s turn to be impressed. “Wow, and here I thought I knew a lot.”

Nyota gave her a timid smile. “I grew up in Kenya and learned that it’s just better to communicate in someone’s own language. And there were a lot.”

“That so many of those languages have managed to survive over the centuries is wonderful,” Ara stated. “I’m assuming you’re a xenolinguist, then?”

Nyota nodded. “I’ve encountered so many ancient alien languages since arriving on the Enterprise. I never feel like I know what I’m doing but I figure it out somehow.”

Ara smiled. “That feeling will never go away, I assure you.”

The conversation continued from there, Ara learning more about the people she’d be living and working with for the foreseeable future. She was eventually introduced to the other members of the table she’d yet to meet: First Officer Una Chin Riley and Dr. Joseph M’Benga. Pike told a few stories of his own and everyone enjoyed themselves. Captain Pike was a good captain, and his crew looked up to him. 

When all the food was gone and conversation died down, people shuffled out. Pike asked Ara to stay back so they could talk, so she helped him clean up. They worked quietly and when they were done, Pike turned to her  and asked, “How’s the ship treating you?”

“Good. It’s only been a day of course but your crew is very kind,” Ara replied. “I got cleared by Lieutenant La’an today so I should be ready to work tomorrow.”

Pike grimaced apologetically. “I’m not letting you work with a concussion.”

“What?”

“Standard procedure. Can’t have anyone working who’s not at their best.”

“Sir,” she protested. “I’m perfectly capable of working with a mild concussion.”

“You’ll be cleared by Nurse Chapel in a couple days and then you can work to your heart's content,” Pike stated. “But until then, relax, see the ship, do whatever you want. Just don't work.”

Ara wanted to say something but bit her tongue. She gave a nod of assent.

“Great,” he said. “And before you leave; your cooking was great. If you ever want to cook more, you’re welcome here. I’ve got all the amenities.”

“I appreciate that, Captain,” Ara said. “We’ll have to see if the fancy ever strikes me. Goodbye, Captain.”

“Bye, Miss James,” he said with a wave and she exited his quarters into the near-silent hall, quietly making the trek back to her room.

Today had been long and strenuous. When she entered her room, she fell against her bed, and nearly fell asleep right then and there. But her thoughts kept her up.

It was customary of her to trade her skills for passage. It got her around and kept her from owing favors to the wrong people. She didn’t like not working. Moments of relaxation had been few and far between the last couple of years, and she’d come to like it that way. But Pike and his Starfleet standards had to keep her still and resting until she fully healed. It’s just a minor concussion, it’s not going to affect me that much, she thought. 

She knew it was a silly thing to be annoyed about. She’d be back and working in a couple days and things would go back to normal. Well, as normal as they could get for her. She’d just have to wait it out. 

Chapter Text

The Enterprise was in orbit of Kepler 37C I, a moon of a fairly large gas giant in a system that hosted no local lifeforms. But that, apparently, was not always the case, as ancient structures were recently discovered on the surface.

The away team had to take a shuttle to the moon’s surface due to its dense, cloudy atmosphere, and interference from the gas giant it orbited disrupting the Enterprise’s transporter sensors. Through the atmosphere, however, scans were able to pick up previously undetected ancient structures that had, until recently, been buried in sand. Now Spock, Uhura, Kirk, and a few other science and security officers were going to investigate.

From the outside, the large stone structure had been severely worn and was still mostly buried by the dark green sand.From what they could see, there once were many intricate stone carvings adorning the exterior of the building. They were severely damaged beyond conceivable recognition at this point. The inside, however, was in much better condition. 

They entered into a large chamber with towering ceilings held up by pale green pillars. Old metal chandeliers hung from the ceiling with their glass bulbs half shattered. At the sides of the hall were several doors to other sections of the building. 

The crew made quick work of securing the building before going off to analyze anything they could find, staying within close distance to each other. Spock remained in the main foyer, heading to the far end of the room to scan a largesculpture of a humanoid that remained mostly intact, apart from a broken hand and cracked head. A statue of some religious figure perhaps.

“Lieutenant Spock,” said Ensign Greeneway, a sturdy security officer Spock had worked with on a few occasions, who stood before a wall near the statue. “There’s some sort of entrance here. You might want to stand back.” 

Spock moved out of the way, pulling a phaser to defend against anything that might be behind the door. The ensign looked to Spock for a go-ahead and he gave a brief nod. Greeneway pushed against the stone wall with his shoulder and, surely enough, one side swung slowly open to reveal a pitch-black chamber. Warm, dusty air flooded out into the relatively cooler foyer, picking up sand particles as it swept into the room. With that air, also came a smell of rot that made Greeneway cough. It was a bad sign.

There were no immediate threats, so they continued into the room after grabbing flashlights and a lamp to illuminate it. 

“Oh my god,” gasped Greeneway as his light fell onto what appeared to be a small, threadbare bed against the wall. 

As Spock closed in on his position he saw a corpse, decayed to a mere skeleton propped against a wall as it sat upon its rotting bed. Spock bent down to investigate a bit more as Greeneway checked the rest of the room, the lamp illuminating many more beds with many more skeletons. 

—

“No,” Christine exclaimed, standing across the table from her patient. “You are supposed to be resting.”

“But I can help,” Ara insisted, looking at Christine with desperation. “Please, I need to do something.”

“Then go do something that isn’t ‘working’. Give it another day and you’ll be good.”

“But I’ve got some medical training. I can help around here,” Ara said, gesturing around to the mostly empty Medbay. “Maybe I can help you with research. If you have any.”

Christine put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “There is no reason you need to be here. Just rest. It’s not a big deal.”

Ara slumped against the table, exasperated by her predicament. “I don’t like just sitting on my ass when I could be fulfilling the agreement which got me here in the first place.”

“From my understanding,” Dr. M’Benga chimed in as he walked out of his office, “your stay here is not contingent on your services provided. So logically, you shouldn’t stress yourself over it.”

Ara looked at him, trying to think of what to say. When she couldn’t think of anything, she hid her head in her arms on the table with a frustrated sigh. Christine looked between her and the doctor with a sly smirk. M’Benga went on his way to treat a patient while Christine and Ara sat in silence.

Ara eventually lifted her head from her arms and, more quietly, said, “Have you heard anything about the away team?”

“No, why?”

Ara shrugged. “It’s the only interesting thing going on right now. Gotta keep myself entertained somehow if you aren't letting me work. There's only so much I can do to help myself.”

“You seem like a relatively smart person, Ara,” Christine rebutted, with a smile. “I know you’ll figure something out. Now out, before I decide to sedate you so you stop bugging me.”

Ara stood and left Medbay with a wave, trying to think of something to do. 

Of her new companions, Christine was the most easily accessible. Given that Nyota and Erica work on the bridge, she couldn’t very well hang out there in her copious downtime. Christine was also in charge of clearing her for duty, which she’d spectacularly failed at so far. Christine, however, was a good person to talk to with her mischievous intellect and playful attitude. Ara found a kindred spirit in her. 

It had been two days since Pike’s dinner party and Ara had mostly waited in her room, hoping whatever remnants of her concussion would fade away quicker. They hadn’t, clearly, and she was stuck living vicariously through the ship-wide mission briefs Pike would give. Spock and Nyota were on the current away mission to investigate a previously undiscovered alien civilization. 

Which is so cool, Ara thought.

Ara didn’t get to go on many away missions in her tenure at Starfleet, but they weren’t great when she did. It was during the war, so every mission was under threat of Klingon attack. It was not a fun time. But now that the war is over, more general survey and exploratory missions could be done and she assumed those would be a lot more fun. 

—

“What did this to them,” Greenaway asked as he scanned the room. 

Spock knelt beside a skeleton, scanning it with his tricorder, coming up with nothing of use. “I am unsure, but it seems to have been some disease or contagion given the lack of skeletal damage and containment of this group in this room.” 

“Lieutenant,” Uhura said as she stood at the threshold of the room. Her eyes grew wide as she spotted the dead in their beds. She coughed at the smell, covering her mouth before speaking again. “I’ve got something you should see.”

Spock followed her out and Greeneway did so, too, eager to get away from the dead. Uhura led Spock to one of the rooms adjacent to the main hall that appeared to be a lab with 20th-century-level equipment. She walked to a desk where another skeleton lay on the ground next to it. On the desk were several rudimentary chemistry setups and a journal in some unknown script. On the desk and shelves nearby, were several carefully sealed containers of various periodic elements and decaying biomatter, presumably from ancient local plants and wildlife. 

“If you think some illness took everyone out,” Uhura explained, “then I think this person was the one trying to cure it.”

“Unsuccessfully, it appears,” Spock said.

“But look at this,” she said as she flipped a few pages back in the journal to a page with a detailed diagram that made Spock’s brows furrow.

“A bacterial spore,” Spock said. “If that is, indeed, what caused the death of all these inhabitants, it is fair to assume that we have been exposed as well.”

“What?”

“Spores can live for centuries as their biological makeup makes them resistant to harsh environments,” Spock said. “Thus, there is a high likelihood that they are here and that we’ve come into contact with them.”

Uhura looked at him nervously. “And that’s bad?”

Spock nodded. “Though there is a chance the spores would not affect us the same way as they did our hosts, it is not a chance we should take.”

—

“Miss James,” Pike’s voice announced from above. “Please meet me in Medbay.”

Ara looked up from her computer, surprised. “Yes, sir,” she said, hoping that this might finally be the work she was waiting for.

She was at Medbay in minutes and saw Pike as she entered, along with the away team, Christine and M’Benga wholooked frazzled and concerned. The away team was lying on the various red biobeds, and light coughs came from around the room.

“What’s going on,” Ara asked as she approached Pike, M’Benga, and Spock who looked a little pale around the face. She looked to Spock. “I didn’t expect you guys to be back so soon.”

“While on the moon,” Spock said, “the team was exposed to a virus that killed the previous inhabitants.”

Ara couldn’t help but take a small step back, away from Spock, very concerned. She didn't like diseases. They gave her the heebie-jeebies. “It’s not contagious is it?”

“It is not,” M’Benga assured her. “Unless direct contact is made with the spores, you are safe.”

Ara nodded, still uneasy. “So why am I here?”

“We need your help,” Pike said, pulling out a very old-looking notebook. “While Dr. M’Benga and Nurse Chapel work on a cure, I need you to go through this and see if you can’t find anything that might be of use.”

Ara took the journal he held out to her and slowly flipped through it, revealing the alien script. “What do you think that’ll help with?”

“We believe it was the notebook of a scientist looking for a cure. Their research on the disease and the cure might be of use,” said Pike.

“How do you know if there’s even a cure in here? Wouldn’t that have saved them?”

“Further analysis of the scientist’s corpse reveals that they died of something other than the virus,” Spock said. “So there is a reasonable chance that they cured themselves but were unable to save the rest.”

“Okay,” Ara said, gaze falling to the notebook pages again. “But if this has science experiments in them, I’ll need someone to help translate those. And while I’m at it, Nyota can help, right? Two heads are better than one, they say.” 

“Spock and Nyota can help you,” Pike said. “Stay here though, so they can continue to be monitored. You okay with that, Spock?”

“I will help as long as I’m able, Captain,” he said. He let out a small cough but quickly regained his composure as Ara moved to find Nyota and grab a free table.

—

Soon enough, Ara had the book scanned so that the writing could be seen on their tablets, and they got to work. They scoured through the pages, initially looking for anything they might be able to use as a code, something familiar to set them on the right path. 

Ara knew they wouldn’t have time to break down the entire language. Looking around at the sickened away team, she couldn’t help but grimace at the coughs that got worse by the hour, their lungs sounding like they were filling with mucus. As of now, however, everyone was still functioning, pacing around, and talking. But she knew that would stop eventually. 

Looking at her companions, they did their best to stay focused on the work. Nyota did her best to suppress her coughs while Spock remained almost as composed as ever. 

After a few hours, they’d made some progress, Spock being crucial in identifying various terms that linked to the detailed diagrams drawn out on several pages. Luckily for them, the building blocks of life and the universe itself were pretty consistent wherever you went which made it a useful code. Though a limited one.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Christine said as she came around with a hypospray in her hand. “I’ve got antibiotics for you.”

She went up to Nyota and then Spock, injecting them into their shoulder. “How’re you all holding up?”

Nyota shrugged, but her cough soon after sounded like she might eject a lung, making her nonchalance all moot. She looked drained and in pain. 

Christine went over to her and scanned her vitals.

“You’re running a fever, nothing too dangerous yet, and,” she leaned her head to the side, checking out Nyota’s neck, and grimaced, “you’ve got the same varicose veins that everyone else is presenting with.”

Nyota’s hand shot up to her neck. “Are the antibiotics helping at all?”

“It’s hard to tell,” she admitted, moving to check Spock who, still looked every bit like himself despite being infected. “We don’t know which antibiotics to use because we don’t know how the bacteria keeps multiplying. We’re testing some out, hoping to find something that helps for now. In the meantime, we’re trying to treat symptoms, hopefully keep everyone alive long enough for us to find a cure.” Her words came out quickly, clearly very stressed. “Have you gotten anywhere with the notebook?”

“Well, we’ve figured out how each test is structured on the page,” Ara said, throwing an example page onto a nearby screen for everyone to look at. “They’ve got something that looks like a procedure written on the right, with measurements of various ingredients next to it. And then what seems to be the results of each test is on the left. We’ve got the page for what appears to be the successful test, but we still need to translate what ingredients were used.”

Christine stared at the screen for a moment, taking in Ara’s words before nodding grimly. “Progress is something, I guess. Let me know if you figure out any of those ingredients, will you?”

Ara nodded. 

“And you two, let me know if anything new starts happening. I’ll be back around in a bit to check on your vitals.” Christine then went to check on her other patients, half of which were seemingly worse off than Spock and Nyota. They lay on the biobeds, mostly out of it, creating an echoing chorus of horrific coughing.

— 

A few hours go by and conditions worsen. Several patients had developed migraines and labored breathing. Ensign Greenway fell into a catatonic state, which they suspect was from his extensive and early exposure to the spores. Despite this, Spock’s symptoms were comparatively minimal. He suspected it was because of his Vulcan DNA that the infection’s spread was slowed. But it was only a matter of time before his symptoms worsened to such a state as his crew mates.  

The good news is that they made some progress in their translation. 

“We’ve managed to isolate several root words that appear prevalently throughout the book,” Ara told the crowd around them. Pike had come down for an update on their progress, and M’Benga and Christine gathered around for some hopefully useful information. “With that, we’ve managed to discern almost all of the ingredients used in our scientist’s successful test.”

“Almost,” Pike questioned. 

Spock then stepped in. “A particular ingredient is derived from a species of plant on the moon. Tests revealed it to be a primary contributor to the antidote’s success.”

“But the moon is a barren wasteland with no vegetation,” M’Benga added. “We won’t be able to replicate it without a sample.”

Nyota stifled a cough in her elbow before turning to face the group. Her voice was raspy as she said, “In the lab, there were several jars of ingredients sealed away on shelves. There’s a chance the plant could be there.”

“So we send a team down to collect it,” Pike said. “We can have it here soon enough.”

“It would be more beneficial to send people who know where and what to look for,” Spock advised. “The factor of time is too great in this case.”

“Spock,” Pike said in disbelief. “You can’t expect me to let you go on a mission right now. You’re sick.”

“I assure you, Captain, I am fine,” Spock said. “My condition is more stable than any other exposed crew member and I have the knowledge necessary for this mission. It would be prudent of you to send your most qualified officer for the mission, despite my condition.”

“I can go with him, sir,” Ara perked up. “I might not know where everything is but I know what to look for. It’ll be quicker that way.”

Pike sighed. “Fine, you two take a shuttle down to the surface, get what you need, and come right back. And Ara, keep an eye on Spock’s condition. Wouldn’t do us any good if he drops in the middle of a mission.”

“Yessir,” Ara said, with a cheery attitude.

“Let me know if there are any more updates,” Pike said, and then he left MedBay. 

M’Benga and Christine went away to monitor their patients and run some more tests for potential cures using the information they’d gotten from the book. Ara said some quick words to Nyota, who nodded with a small smile. 

“You guys get back quickly, alright,” Nyota said with an attempted smile on her face that appeared more like a pained grimace. “Don’t die out there.”

Ara’s smile was much more successful. “We’ll be back in a jiffy, don’t you worry.” She turned to Spock with the same attitude. “Lead the way, Mr. Spock.”

Chapter Text

In the shuttle, Spock concentrated on flying the ship while Ara, not a pilot, fiddled with her fingers as she gazed out the window, turning back and forth in her chair.

“Are you alright, Miss James?”

Ara focused her attention on Spock, her fidgeting ceasing. “Perfectly alright, Mr. Spock. I should be the one asking you. You seem to be doing remarkably well despite being exposed to a deadly disease.”

Spock spared her a place, his hands steady on the controls. “Vulcan physiology affords certain protections. My symptoms will likely progress at a slower rate than those of my human counterparts.”

Ara leaned back in her chair, studying him with a faint smile. “And here I thought it was your legendary Vulcan composure keeping you steady.”

“That, too,” Spock replied, his tone neutral. “It is illogical to allow emotions to impede critical tasks.”

“Must be nice,” Ara murmured, crossing her arms. “Humans don’t get that luxury. We just crack jokes and hope the universe doesn’t notice we’re falling apart.”

Spock’s eyebrow arched slightly. “A curious coping mechanism. Does it prove effective?”

“Sometimes,” Ara admitted. Her smile faded as she added, “Until it doesn’t.”

For a moment, only the hum of the shuttle filled the silence. Ara turned her gaze back to the window, her reflection flickering against the stars. Then, she spoke again, softer this time.

“When I was a kid, my dad got really sick. We didn’t know if he’d make it. He’d always been the one with the bad jokes, keeping everyone’s spirits up no matter what. When he couldn’t, I… picked up the slack. It was the only thing I could do to keep the fear from swallowing us whole.”

Spock listened intently, his hands still steady on the controls. “A commendable act of resilience.”

“Thanks,” Ara said, her tone lighter again. “It worked out okay in the end. But ever since, cracking jokes is just… what I do. Even when it feels like the wrong time. Guess it’s a habit now.”

“Humor, as a means of navigating adversity, is not without merit,” Spock said thoughtfully. “However, I trust you understand the importance of focusing on the task at hand.”

Ara smirked. “Don’t worry, Mr. Spock. I’ll keep my jokes to a minimum until we’re out of the woods.”

Spock inclined his head slightly. “A logical approach.”

The shuttle’s descent grew steadier as Spock adjusted the controls. Ara watched him for a moment longer, her nervous energy settling. Despite everything, she felt a flicker of reassurance in his calm; something she's always admired about Vulcans.

“Let’s get this done,” she said, turning her attention back to the viewport. “We’ve got a crew to save.”

…

The dark green sand of the moon buffeted the shuttle as they landed. Traversing the sands into the temple, Ara suited up to prevent exposure to the spores inside, she couldn’t help but smile in awe at the towering pale green building hidden under the sand for who knows how long. Inside the temple, dim light filtered through cracks in the worn stone, casting eerie shadows across the alien artifacts. Ara gazed at the intricate carvings adorning the walls and the towering statues that seemed to watch their every move.

“This place is incredible,” she murmured, running her fingers lightly over the smooth surface of an alien script etched into the wall.

Spock, tricorder in hand, was less entranced. “Focus, Miss James. We must locate the required materials quickly. The room is over here.”

“Right,” Ara said, snapping back to the task. Still, her eyes lingered on the artifacts as they moved deeper into the temple.

The alien lab they entered was lined with dusty shelves holding sealed jars, their labels faded and barely legible. Spock began scanning the containers, his movements deliberate but slower than usual. Ara glanced at him, her worry growing.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I am functioning within acceptable parameters,” Spock replied, though his voice lacked its usual strength.

Ara frowned but didn’t press further. Instead, she focused on helping him locate the materials listed in the notebook and taking time to find more samples of the language in books and pages lying around. Time was of the essence. One by one, they identified and carefully collected samples, placing them into a portable case, Ara sealing away anything else of potential use she could find.

As they worked, Spock’s movements became increasingly sluggish. His hand faltered as he reached for a jar, and Ara rushed to steady him.

“Spock,” she said, her voice tight with concern. “You need to sit down.”

“There is… insufficient time,” Spock protested weakly, but his legs buckled before he could finish. Ara caught him, lowering him gently to the floor.

“Okay, that’s it. We’re done here,” Ara said, her tone firm as she secured the case of samples. “We’re getting back to the ship. Now.”

Spock tried to argue, but his strength failed him. Ara hoisted him up, his arm draped over her shoulders, and began the arduous trek back to the shuttle. Each step was a struggle under his weight, but she refused to stop.

When they finally reached the shuttle, Ara eased Spock into the co-pilot’s seat and scrambled to the controls.

Spock’s weak voice emitted in a small puff of air. “Ara,” the sound of her name stopped her in her tracks, “the samples.”

She cursed herself. She’d left the boxes back in the lab. “We can leave them. You need help.”

He coughed as he lifted himself to look at her. “Those samples are our mission and only chance of helping the rest of the crew.”

Ara grimaced, wanting to argue, wanting to get Spock back to the ship as fast as possible. She was not going to let another person die on her watch. But he was right. She cursed loudly, bursting out of her seat. “I’ll be right back.”

She sprinted as fast as she could back into the temple, retrieving the boxes, and hurrying back to the shuttle. She unloaded and secured the boxes, closed the hatch, and moved back to the controls. She noticed Spock, then, sitting limply in his seat. Buckled up. Between her curses, she couldn’t help but be amused by Spock and his admirable helpfulness.

Finding herself in the pilot’s seat again, she hesitated, her hands hovering over the unfamiliar interface. “Alright, Ara,” she muttered to herself. “You’ve watched enough people do this. How hard can it be?”

The shuttle lurched as she initiated takeoff, the controls responding sluggishly to her unpracticed touch. The dense atmosphere buffeted the craft, and Ara gritted her teeth, fighting to keep it steady.

“Functional, if inelegant,” Spock murmured, eyes closed, his voice faint but tinged with the barest hint of amusement.

Ara shot him a look. “Don’t start with me right now, Spock.”

The shuttle broke through the atmosphere and stars greeted them once more. Ara let out a shaky breath, relief washing over her as she set course for the Enterprise.

Ara opened a comms channel. “This is Ara James,” she said, her voice brisk as she adjusted the console. “Spock is down. We’re on our way back, but I’m going to need medical assistance as soon as we dock.”

The static-filled response came quickly, Chapel’s voice sharp with concern. “Understood, Ara. We’ll be ready.”

Ara glanced at Spock. He was slumped in his seat, his breathing shallow but steady. The urgency in her chest didn’t waver as she turned back to the controls.

“Any updates on the crew?” she asked.

There was a pause before Chapel replied. “Uhura collapsed shortly after you left. She’s stable but not great.”

Ara bit her lip, her fingers gripping the console tighter. “Send me the translation work they’ve been doing. I’ll review it on the way in.”

“Already on its way,” Chapel said. “We’ve also got someone standing by to remotely pilot the shuttle the rest of the way.”

As the incoming data appeared on the console, Ara exhaled, forcing herself to focus.

“Got it,” she said. “Tell them to take over. I’m going to see what I can piece together.”

The shuttle jerked slightly as the remote pilot assumed control. Ara turned her attention to the translation work, her eyes scanning the alien text and accompanying notes. Her mind raced, drawing connections and possibilities.

Beside her, Spock stirred weakly. His eyes opened just enough to meet hers.

“You’re—doing well,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Ara smiled faintly. “You just focus on staying alive, alright? I’ve got this.”

…

Spock was rushed to the medbay as soon as they’d landed, Ara helping Christine move the samples and get to work as fast as possible. In the medbay, Ara hunched over the alien notebook, the translated pages spread out before her. Her fingers tapped anxiously on the table as she reviewed the symbols and notes again, as her new friends lay in distress on the biobeds behind her. She looked through the notes over and over again, desperate to spot something she’d missed. Around her, the low hum of equipment and muffled, arduous coughs of the afflicted filled the air.

Christine Chapel approached, carrying a tray of vials. “How’s it coming?”

“Slowly,” Ara muttered. “Every time I think I’m getting somewhere, I hit a wall. This language is so dense, and the scientist who wrote this… well, let’s just say they didn’t believe in keeping things simple.”

Chapel set the tray down and leaned over the table, scanning the notes. “Anything we can use yet?”

Ara sighed, rubbing her temples. “I think so. I’ve been trying to match these sequences to the chemical compositions Spock and I found in the temple. But there’s something… off about this one.” She pointed to a particular line of text. “The structure here—it almost looks like a bacterial spore. But it’s not quite right.”

Chapel frowned, studying the diagram Ara had sketched beside the text. “That looks… familiar. Almost like anthrax.”

Ara’s eyes widened. “Anthrax? Are you sure?”

“Not entirely,” Chapel admitted. “But if it’s even remotely similar, we might be able to adapt an existing vaccine.”

Ara grabbed a nearby stylus, her thoughts racing. “If that’s the case, then this sequence here might be the key. It’s like an activation trigger for the spores.” She scribbled notes furiously, connecting the pieces in her mind. “If we neutralize this trigger, we might be able to stop the infection from spreading.”

Chapel’s expression brightened with a glimmer of hope. “I’ll get started on synthesizing something. Keep working on those translations. If there’s anything else we can use, we’ll need it.”

“Got it,” Ara said, her determination renewed. She watched as Chapel hurried off to the lab, then turned back to her work, her focus sharper than ever. The pieces were finally starting to come together.

She turned to her new companions on their biobeds, Spock paler than she'd ever seen him, sweat glistening off his forehead. His coughs now joined those of the rest of the crew. Ara tapped her fingers and bounced on the balls of her feet, hoping the movement would shake the terrible energy from her bones. After a particularly bad cough from Spock, the pain of it almost reaching her, Ara turned back to her work.

…

Hours later, Ara was settled into her chair, surrounded by stacks of papers that towered above her like sentinels. Her eyes scanned lines of code and language samples spread out before her, trying to make sense of the intricate patterns.

Once Chapel had a possible antidote, Pike had come and told her to go back to her quarters, that she’d done good work, and that things were looking up. But she couldn’t stop working. In case the antidote didn’t work, she needed to be ready to provide any new information that might be helpful.

Her thoughts were consumed by worries about the crew – particularly Spock. What if they were too late? What if the antidote couldn’t help Spock? He was one of the first exposed to the spores. Even with his Vulcan biology, could it save him from this disease?

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing tired eyes with the heel of one hand. This language had been proving to be a challenge even for someone as skilled as herself. The symbols and characters seemed to dance across the page like hieroglyphics, defying comprehension.

Just then, Ara’s comms console beeped, the sound jolting her into high alert. Was there news? “Come in,” she said, moving to the door as it opened…revealing Spock standing tall and stoic as ever, if not still a bit paler than usual.

“Spock!” she said in surprise, stepping back to let him in. “You’re alright!”

He stepped in, glancing about lightly, lingering on the messy desk, before landing on Ara. “I am, indeed, Miss James. Thanks to you,” he said finally.

"It was nothing, Spock,” she said dismissively. She gestured for him to sit at her desk seat while she sat on her best a few feet away. “I’m just glad we were able to—"

"Save my life?" Spock finished, a hint of dry humor in his voice, as he took a seat.

Ara smiled wryly. "Something like that.”

“I see you’re still working,” he said, gesturing to the littered desk behind him.

Ara chuckled softly. "Just trying to make sense of this language. It's proving...fascinating."

"Indeed it is, Miss James,” Spock replied, his voice tinged with admiration. "Your skills in linguistics are impressive."

Ara smiled. “There’s progress, all be it slow,” she said. "But you're still not looking too good, Spock. How are you managing with...whatever it is?"

Spock's expression turned solemn, or as solemn as his nearly inexpressive face could, and he replied, "I am functioning within acceptable parameters, Miss James. The disease has left me...vulnerable to certain physical and mental stresses. But I will be able to adapt my duties accordingly."

“And the others?”

“They are all mostly recovered and should be back to normal in a few days,” Spock said.

“Thank god,” Ara said, her head dropping to her hands in relief. She pressed her palms into her eyes, wringing the tiredness from them. Then she chuckled. “I guess it’s your Vulcan physiology that has you up and about, huh?”

“That is probable,” Spock said dryly, which caused her chuckle to turn into an outright laugh. She wrestled herself into a grin after spotting Spock’s confused and waiting expression.

“I’m glad you’re all doing okay,” Ara finished.

A short silence settled between them as Ara released the last of her anxiety regarding the fate of the crew. She nodded, reassuring herself of their success. She wouldn’t lose any more people.

“We make a good team, Mr. Spock,” Ara said.

“That we do, Miss James.”

Chapter Text

Once the crew were all cured and back to normal, a couple more away missions were made for research purposes. This time, no one got sick.

But it did leave Ara with more samples of the language, which she happily perused in her extensive free time. The captain had told her to continue with it, and while she was suspicious that he was just trying to give her a free pass on work, she didn’t pester him about it. She was quite enjoying the peace and quiet. And with her mind not constantly searching for dangers, she was a lot more relaxed than she’d been in a while.

For the sake of everyone in the xenoanthropology department, Ara kept her workspace to her quarters. She was particularly messy when it came to deciphering something so vast as a language. She liked hard copies, and she liked seeing the full picture spread out before her.

Not that everything was hard copies. Several floating holograms and laid-out screens lit the room and gave her quite a headache.

The total of everything was laid across where her seating area had once been and onto the walls. With two chairs left (namely for her and Nyota when she came to help), the floors and walls were a collage of old and new papers, notes,  drawings, and photos, with colored strings tied across it all, connecting relevant pieces and potential theories together.

“This looks like a murder board,” Nyota had said when she’d first seen the mess Ara had created. She had a look of bewilderment on her face as she approached and scanned what was actually an intricately laid map of the language.

“They’re dead, aren’t they,” Ara joked. “It helps me think, what can I say?”

Once Nyota had gotten used to the sight, they had sunk right into work, Ara referencing various pieces of her collage, while Nyota kept to a tablet. After a few days, though, the ensign began to warm up to it, much to Ara’s pleasure. She’d begin pointing to relevant details on the map and before too long, she was even up and walking around it, integrating it into their vibrant conversations like Ara.

Ara was quite proud.

Nyota couldn’t be around all day, however. The woman had other duties, much to Ara’s disappointment. No matter. She kept on chugging at the work, making slow progress day by day.

“Computer,” she asks the room, as she rubs her headache at her temple, staring at the expanse before her, “do we have the artifact that this language was taken from?”

“Yes, it is being held in storage awaiting further study.”

“Great, can I have it beamed to my room?”

“Negative, you do not have the clearance for that action.”

Shit, that’s right. She doesn’t have a lieutenant’s clearance anymore.

Ara frowned at that. She’d forgotten where she was, slipped back into old memories. Not good.

I guess I’ve gotta go find someone who does then, she thought as she took her notes and left to find the xenoanthropology department.

She strolled into the department a few minutes later and ogled at the rows and rows of alien artifacts lining the walls behind glass panes. She made a note to herself to take some time and look over them when she got the chance. But right now, she was on a mission.

She scanned the room of blue-shirted officers looking for someone who she could talk to. Lo and behold, she spotted a pointy-eared lieutenant, looking much better than the last time she’d seen him, standing around a table talking to a blonde mustachioed man at the back of the room.

“Mr. Spock, fancy running into you here,” she said as she appeared next to him. She turned to his companion and held out a hand to shake. “Ara James, nice to meet you.”

He took it with a smile. “Sam Kirk.”

“Miss James,” Spock said, pleasantly. “How might I help you?”

“I was just looking for someone who could get me access to the artifact y’all picked up on the diseased planet.”

Spock tilted his head at her. “For what purpose would this artifact serve?”

“Oh,” Sam spoke up, “you’re the one helping Uhura with the translations.”

“That’d be me,” Ara said peppily. “I’ve been staring at them so long I see them whenever I blink. It’s terrifying. I think having something solid to look at might help me ground myself.

“Are the scans provided in your files not sufficient enough,” Spock inquired.

“Yes, they’re great,” Ara insisted, “but I’ve found that it helps to have the physical object there while I translate. In many cases, the translation correlates with the object it’s written on. You can only glean so much from symbols out of context.”

“You’ve worked in anthropology before, haven’t you,” Sam guessed cheerily.

“A bit,” she admitted. “It was one of my focuses at the academy but I haven’t gotten to work with it much since.”

“That’s a shame,” Sam said. “If you have the time, maybe you can take a look at the stuff we have here. But, let me get that artifact for you.” He turned to the computer behind him and began typing away.

Spock turned to her. “Though your reasoning is sound, I fail to see how the physical presence of it will help.”

Ara smiled. “If you’re not busy, I can attempt to show you?”

Sam turned around as a Federation-issued storage container appeared on the table in front of them. Ara moved open the box, glancing at Spock as he thought.

“I have my own duties I must attend to, Miss James,” Spock said. “But I must admit I am curious as to how your methods supposedly work.”

“Some other time then, Mr. Spock,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll be working with this for a while, and I’d be happy to show you. Drop by my room anytime.”

“Indeed,” he said. Hands behind his back, he nodded his head in farewell, “Miss James, Mr. Kirk,” before turning and leaving. Sam gave him a wave.

Ara stared after Spock for a moment, thinking of how she might explain to the Vulcan her odd methods of linguistic and anthropologic analysis. That’d be a fun time, for sure.

She finally turned back to the box, dawned some gloves, and pulled the intricate piece of pottery into the light. Sam bid her farewell to attend to his own duties and Ara settled down to study the artifact.

—

Ara spent some time studying it in the lights of anthro department before her headache got too much and she took a break, pocketing her notes, and packaged up the artifact.

“Can I take this back to my quarters for a bit,” Ara asked Sam, who was pouring over screens she couldn’t read.

He barely glanced up before he nodded and waved his hand dismissively, but not mean. “Go ahead, it’s your project at this point. Just don’t break it before the rest of us can get a look.”

Ara chuckled and gave a thumbs-up before carefully collecting the storage box in her arms and exiting the room.

Halfway back to the room, trapped in the elevator, Pike’s voice came over the comms. “Ara, when you get a moment, meet me in my office.”

“Yes, sir,” Ara said automatically before the anxiety of the enormous number of possibilities for why he wanted to see her flooded her brain. To be honest, it could be a number of good or bad things. No. To be honest, the bad things were more probable.

She quickly deposited her box in her room and shuffled quickly off to the bridge.

When the doors opened, heads turned. Spock’s dark eyes caught her, calm as ever, and gave her a nod of greeting. She nodded back as her gaze slipped past him to Pike who turned and greeted her with a smile.

That was a good sign.

Pike guided me to his office, and the bridge continued on.

As the doors closed behind them, Pike turned to Ara, moving back around his desk. “So, you’ve been here about a week now.”

“I guess so,” Ara said, as she sat across from him.

“How’ve you been settling in?” He leaned forward, hands clasped before him.

“Good,” she replied. “Starfleet does have better accommodations than most places I’ve found myself, so that’s been nice.”

“And have you been making any friends? Some of my crew seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Ara paused and squinted suspiciously at the captain. “Is this what this meeting is about? Just a check-in?”

Pike hmmed innocently. “I make sure to check in with all my crew.” As Ara moved to correct him, she coughed and continued, “And guests, of course. Hitchhiker, I guess is your preferred term. Maybe freelancer works better.”

“‘Guest’ works fine,” Ara acceded, with an exasperated sigh. “But if it’s just a check-in, a heads up would’ve been nice. Always happy to talk with you, Captain, but I was stressing.”

“Apologies,” he readjusted in his chair. “That wasn’t my intention. What were you stressing about? I’m not a stressful guy.”

Ara shrugged. “So many things that do not matter. It’s all good now.”

“So, back to my earlier question. Have you been making friends?”

“Yeah, as much as anyone could in a week filled with the chaos of a starship. Ensign Uhura and I have been working well together, too.”

“And how has your project been going? Any progress?”

“Minuscule,” Ara admitted. “But it’s going. Keeping me busy, I guess.”

“Great,” he said enthusiastically. “That’s great.” He paused and for a moment it seemed like that might be it—check-in complete. But he continued. “I heard you pulled an artifact from Anthro.”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Nothing. Just—” he smiled a little. “Most people don’t request alien pottery for fun. Let alone string it across their quarters like conspiracy wire.”

Ara couldn’t help a smirk. “You heard about the murder board, huh?”

“Uhura was very entertained.” He leaned back, more casual now. “You seem to have thrown yourself into it. That’s not a bad thing. But I wanted to make sure it’s something you want to be doing—not something you feel like you owe us.”

Ara blinked, caught off guard. “I—well. No, I mean. I do want to. But it’s also work for you, you know. Earning my keep.” She bit her lip contemplatively. “You can give me more work. I can tell you wanna help me slack but I’m serious. I don’t want to slum off you guys.”

Pike raised his hands in a placating motion. “You’ve helped save several of my crews’ lives this week. You’ve well-earned your keep, don’t worry. As for more work, there just hasn’t been any to hand out.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” she scrunched her nose in a frown. “I’m used to being in much more run-down places. You’ve got a fully trained crew for that, huh.”

“You’ve got the language stuff keeping you busy though,” Pike added. “I promise, if there’s anything I can call on you for, I’ll ask. Seems like you’ve kept yourself pretty occupied though.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had the time, space, and mind for anything like this,” Ara admitted. “I guess I had a lot of something pent up, and now it’s plastered papers across my walls and floors.”

“It’s really that big?”

Ara gave him a serious look.

“I just thought Uhura was exaggerating. Now I kinda want to see it,” Pike admitted.

Ara shrugged. “It’s not that impressive, I promise.”

“Eh, anyways, I should let get back to work on that, and I should get back to captaining,” he said, standing from his chair and coming to stand close to Ara as she rose to meet him. “It was lovely talking with you again, Miss James. I’m glad you’re settling in well.”

“Of course, Captain,” Ara said as they moved through the door.

She caught Spock’s gaze again as the captain moved on. Ara, hand low, waved a bit with a quiet “bye” and got in the elevator. Before the doors closed, Spock simply nodded goodbye. It made Ara smile.

—

Ara bustled around her room, tidying things up before Spock arrived. It was a mess. Much more than the last time Spock had been there. She wouldn’t clean it all up, but she made some space to sit and set down a table for the artifact she’d brought up from the Anthro.

She frowned as she noted the twinge of anxiety in her chest as she waited, but she brushed it off.

A chime rang out. “Enter,” Ara said, wiping her hands on her legs. “Hello, Mr. Spock.”

Spock, hands clutched behind his back, looking stoic as ever, stepped into the room with a gracious nod. “Hello, Miss James.” His eyes caught the mess beside Ara and his eyes raised questioningly.

“You came here so I could show you my process,” Ara chuckled. She gestured to the map. “This is my process.”

He contemplated for a moment, moving closer to get a better look. “It’s very…tactile.”

“That’s a good word for it,” Ara said, watching Spock. He crouched at the edge of the mess with a tilted head, just taking it all in. “I heard Nyota was talking about it. But maybe I still should’ve warned you. It can be a bit much to decipher when you first look at it.”

“Not much,” Spock assured, standing and turning back to her. “It’s quite impressive you’ve managed to encapsulate the whole of your knowledge of this language in such a visual capacity.”

“Thanks,” Ara said. “That’s nice to hear.”

“You constructed this without computational assistance?” Spock asked, still scanning a wall. “The logical pathways between root symbols are clearly laid out.”

“Mostly,” she said. “I mean, I reference the system a bit, but I like to have everything visible. Helps me spot patterns when I’m not really thinking about it.”

He hummed thoughtfully.

“You seem surprised,” she added, raising a brow.

“I am… intrigued,” Spock said. “It is rare for a linguistic process to be so physically mapped. It appears chaotic, but there is an underlying structure. Like a fractal.”

“That might be the nicest way anyone’s ever called me a mess,” Ara said with a grin.

Spock’s head tilted. “That was not my intention.”

“I know,” she said quickly, brushing hair from her face. “Most people just don’t really get it. It’s the best way for my brain to work but when someone doesn’t process like that, it’s hard. Nyota’s really taken to it, though,” she added, cheerfully.

“I find it… methodical,” Spock replied. Then, after a pause: “And familiar.”

She blinked at him. “Familiar?”

“Vulcan logic charts are not so different,” he said. “Though considerably more two-dimensional.”

Ara laughed softly. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

There was a quiet beat between them. Not uncomfortable—just full.

“Would you like to help?” she asked, motioning to the table. “I’m working on identifying a repeating structure in the glyph clusters. I think it might be a base-ten counting system, but I’m not entirely sure.”

“I would be honored,” Spock said, stepping forward. “Though I cannot promise to maintain the spatial integrity of the… strings.”

“As long as you don’t pull on the red one,” she said, deadly serious.

Spock glanced at the board. “Understood.”

They leaned in together, shoulders close but apart, as Ara began to explain her reasoning. The room was quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the ship and Ara’s voice.

At one point, Spock made a quiet observation—something about a symbol's recursion—something even she hadn’t noticed.

Ara paused. “You’re dangerous with a translation key, you know that?”

“I have been told similar,” Spock said mildly.

After a while, the active analysis of her murder board dwindled to something more companionable. The pair settled into the chairs Ara had placed down and had replicated some food and drinks for them to eat in the meantime. The artifact, the delicate piece of pottery, sat between them.

“So,” Ara said, gesturing to the artifact with her spoon, “this little guy? He’s everything.”

Spock glanced at it. “A decorative vessel?”

“Sure. Maybe,” Ara replied. “But you know how sometimes a word doesn’t make sense until you hear someone say it out loud? It’s like that. The way the symbols are carved, the texture, the wear—every part of this tells me something the scans can’t. It’s physical. It means something.”

Spock studied her, then the pottery. “You interpret language through proximity.”

“I interpret intention,” she said. “There’s always a little bit of the creator left in the thing they make. A scan is like… reading a letter through a window. This is opening the envelope.”

Spock was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. “T’Pring would find this approach familiar.”

Ara looked up. “T’Pring?”

“My betrothed,” Spock said, matter-of-fact. “Her work in neuro-rehabilitation often relies on tactile object focus. She claims that memory becomes clearer when anchored to physical form.”

“That sounds…right,” Ara said after a beat. “She a scholar too?”

“A specialist. Clinical and academic.” He looked at the artifact again. “I believe she would approve of your attention to detail—though she may question your storage practices.”

Ara snorted. “She’d hate the strings.”

“Most likely.”

Ara bit the inside of her cheek as she contemplated. “How long have you two been—“ she gestured vaguely with her spoon.

“How long we have been affianced, you mean,” Spock clarified. “We’ve been bonded since childhood, but only been engaged for a year.”

“What’s taking so long?” At Spock’s questioning look, she clarified. “Why aren’t you two married yet?”

“Our work keeps us occupied, and distance is certainly a factor.”

“Long distance sucks,” Ara grumbled sympathetically.

“Indeed,” Spock agreed.

“I haven’t met her, clearly, but it seems like you two are a good fit.” Ara looked down at her plate, appetite dulled. “T’Pring is lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, Miss James.” Spock waited a moment then added, “It is getting late. I should retire to my quarters.”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry to keep you here so long.”

As Spock stood he said, “It is no fault of your own. Your mind is a curious thing to dissect.”

Ara laughed. “That’s probably the nicest way anyone has described this monstrosity.”

“My pleasure,” he nodded and walked towards the door. As it opened he turned back to Ara. “Goodnight, Miss James.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Spock.”

As the door slid shut behind him, Ara sighed and looked about her mess of a room alone.

“That was fun,” she murmured as if trying to cheer herself up. Though there was no reason for her to be sad, of course. 

Chapter Text

“Approaching the signal, Captain,” Ortegas called out.

The Enterprise had picked up an anomalous signal in the Beta Quadrant, in a relative dead zone for space activity. The signal had appeared to be a distress beacon but was scrambled enough that they weren’t sure. So, they were going to find out.

“On screen,” Pike said calmly from his chair, and a moment later an image of something the size of a small spacecraft appeared, but it was obscured by some nondescript sphere. “Can we get a clearer visual?”

“Negative,” Spock replied. “There’s something around the vessel that is distorting the image, sir.”

“Do we know what it is?”

“No, Captain,” Number One answered. “Our scans can’t get a good read.”

Pike frowned. “Go to yellow alert. Phasers ready. Ortegas, take us in slowly. I want to know what it is we’re dealing with.”

The distortion around the object shifted around the object, slowly and gracefully, like a sphere of gentle waves.

A chime from Spock’s console. “It appears to be surrounded by a grav—“

The dark object came to life, bright yellow light distorting around it, and BOOM! Something shook the Enterprise enough to send those standing off their feet and into walls.

“Ortegas,” Pike commanded, and a whirring of engines sounded.

“On it, sir,” she said, locking in to get away from whatever hit them. But they weren’t moving and another shockwave hit, causing the engines to sputter and stop. “Uh…what just happened?”

“The object is surrounded by a gravity distortion field,” Spock continued, and two smaller jolts caused him to stumble. “Its pulses are disrupting and overloading our systems.”

“Shields are up,” La’an chimed in, “but we’re losing structural integrity across decks nine through twelve. It’s hitting us in waves.”

“Confirmed. The field is generating cyclical gravimetric pulses. Variable frequency, fluctuating intensity. I cannot establish a stable pattern.”

“What about the device? Can we disable it?” Pike braced himself in his chair.

“Negative. Its power core appears partially active, but communications are inert. Sensors cannot penetrate the platform’s shielding.”

“Alright. Let’s not provoke it until we understand what we’re dealing with,” Pike said as another wave hit his ship, causing a worrying groan to sound from below. “Red alert.”

—

Red streaked across Ara’s vision as the ship lurched again and the sound of straining metal reverberated around her. Are we under attack?

Abandoning her spot on the floor where she was working, she peered out of the windows to try and get a better look. She couldn’t see anything. Dammit.

The ship lurched again, and the lights flickered above.

Attacked or not, people were bound to be injured. She needed to go help.

She slipped on some shoes and headed to the door.  She nearly broke her nose when the door didn’t open. “What the hell,” she murmured as she slapped at it like that would do anything.

She moved over to the control panel beside it, tapping through the controls but they did nothing. “What the hell,” she said even louder.

The ship lurched again, twice and quickly, throwing her off balance. She used a nearby table to stabilize herself, but the ship kept shaking unevenly, making it difficult to be sure when another hit would come.

She stared at the door, contemplating her next move. If sensors and controls weren’t working, she’d just have to shock it into action. From under her bed, she pulled out her travel bag, unzipped it, and quickly found a small box of tools that would most definitely help her out of this little situation of hers.

She rounded on the control pad and slowly extracted the panel from the wall, exposing a collection of wires. It shouldn’t be too complicated. She’d jury-rigged enough panels like this to know how to get one to open a damn door.

With a long stick, she prodded and searched around for the components she needed, pulling them forward so she could better work on them. With a couple snips and a couple clamps she grounded them. She grabbed another tool from her kit and as she turned back to work, a large hit surged through the ship and sparks flew from the dissected panel.

Heat rained down on her arms as she raised them to protect herself. Then, when she could finally see again, she spotted the black char of an overloaded system. She stared at the smoking wires like they’d just spit in her face. Her knuckles were white around the tool still clutched in her hand.

“Great,” she muttered bitterly. “Just great.”

A shaky breath shuddered its way out of her body. She was not going to be trapped. Not again.

She’d pry this door open even if it took everything in her to do it.

—

“Every time I try to activate the engines, a pulse knocks them right out,” Ortegas said frustratedly. “If I don’t shut them off before the next pulse, they could be severely damaged. So, if I can’t anticipate the pulses, we’re stuck here.”

“Is there any way to disrupt it long enough for us to get away,” Pike asked the room.

“Attempting to fire during a pulse would likely result in energy feedback—damage to our own systems is probable,” Spock advised.

“I’m trying to isolate the pulse frequency—maybe we can jam it or spoof it,” Uhura said. “But it’s too inconsistent. I can’t get a good lock on it, not with it messing with our sensors every two seconds.”

“Keep working on it,” Pike said, bracing for another hit, one of the larger ones they’d encountered. “Do we have any other options?”

—

A discarded chair, several broken pieces of wood, and a couple bent screwdrivers lay discarded on the ground. They’d failed to open the door and with little left to do, it was starting to sink in that she might just be stuck.

She backed away from the door, contemplating her options. The odd shakes and surges continued, the lights flickering in unison with them, a familiar sound of bending and breaking metal the only other company to her ears.

The silences between were even worse.

With a bang, she lurched and her back hit the opposite wall. Shock rang through her body and she slid down it, hugging her knees to her chest. The cold of the floor bled through her pants, and suddenly her whole body was alert.

The smell of blood, iron, and smoke flooded her nostrils.

She glanced to the side and instead of her room aboard the Enterprise, the dark grimy cell of a Klingon bird of prey materialized. A body dressed in a Starfleet uniform slumped over, red trickling from the wall where his head had slid down. He was still.

His empty face stared back at her as she sat frozen against the wall.

Her hands found her arms, grasping tightly. The pain from her fingers digging at her consciousness as an older pain dug at her neck and wrists. The clank of chains rippled sharply against the booming explosions of the fight outside.

The lights flickered and she pitched to the side as another hit shocked the ship.

“Shhhh…shhhhh…itsokayitsokayitsokay…” The soft words she muttered did little to keep her mind from going where it shouldn’t.

The room around her pulsed. The lighting shifted again. The metal creaked. A far-off impact.

She pressed her forehead to her knees, eyes squeezed shut. Her fingers dug into her scalp.

“You’re not there,” she assured but it was getting harder to speak as new adrenaline and old fears pressed against her heart and lungs. “You’re not there…you’re not...you’re not…”

Another tremor rolled through the deck, and a sharp bang above made her flinch. She curled tighter.

It didn’t matter that this wasn’t the Klingon ship. Or the Valerone. Or the holding cell in Headquarters.

Her body remembered. Every sound. Every beat. Every time she’d been left to wonder if this was the hit that would kill her.

She wanted to move, to work, to do something. But her legs didn’t respond. Her muscles were locked in place by an old instinct: Stay still. Stay quiet. Stay alive.

She wasn’t there. It was just a memory. But old programming is hard to beat.

Deep rumbles of bending metal continued with the flashing red. She focussed on them. Because it was the only thing she could do.

—

“Status report,” Pike yelled as a quick succession of strikes sent sparks flying.

“Shields are weakening. We’re at 40% and dropping. There’s fracturing in the hull, but no breaches yet,” La’an said.

“Life support is stable and holding,” Una added. “There are multiple injuries across all decks. Dr M’Benga and Nurse Chapel are working on them.”

“Are we any closer to deciphering the pulse frequency,” Pike nearly pleaded. “Any way we can stop it?”

“The waveform shifts on a nested recursive interval—by the time we anticipate it, it has already shifted to a new phase,” Spock said and Pike sighed.

“If we don’t get out of here soon, it’ll tear the ship to pieces,” he grumbled. “Ortegas, time the pulses best you can and get us some distance. If it damages the engines, it does. We’ll get them back eventually.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, but the timing was nonsensical. Recursive-interval her ass. She couldn’t find a pattern to it. But she’d have to at least try if they were going to make it out of this alive.

—

As Ara waited, her breath still shaky in her chest, she forced herself to focus on the rhythms of shakes and lurches. Her hands were clenched too tightly in her lap, her fingertips aching. She made herself loosen them. Focus, not freeze.

There was a certain chaotic pattern to fights—she’d learned that the hard way. Hull strikes came in clusters. Shudders followed silence. You could almost feel them coming.

But this, whatever was happening, she was certain it wasn’t an attack. Not by people anyway. It was too rhythmic.

As a new focus pulled at her, curiosity driving back her thoughts, she listened and watched.

The lights flicker again—one long, one short. The hum in the wall follows suit. The floor groans, then stills.

Then again.

Her eyes shifted toward the ceiling. The dark grime had faded back to her clean Starfleet quarters. That was progress.

She starts counting. Quietly. Barely audible. “Three…two…one…now.”

The tremor hit.

She kept counting, forcing her voice steady, timing the hits. It kept changing, but it was one big cycle. With a few variations.

The realization finally allowing her to move, she scrambled over to the notebook she’d left scattered on the floor and wrote it down, timing it again and again. Making sure she was right.

It’s not random. She had it. Maybe she could help.

The terminals on her desk flickered and shook but they might still work. Her hands trembled—residual adrenaline—but she didn’t stop. She’d done harder things with worse. She could do this.

—

The bridge crew shouted back and forth at each other still, chaos raining down around them.

“We’re still getting nowhere, sir. Every pulse cycle shifts just enough to throw us off course,” Uhura said, tapping away at her flickering terminals.

Spock adds, “Our projections remain unstable. We will not achieve escape velocity under current—”

A ring of comms above draws their attention. “Bridge, this is Ara James. I think I have something that might help with whatever it is that’s doing this.”

Everyone freezes. Pike turns toward Uhura, then nods. Uhura routes her through. “Whatever you’ve got,” Pike said, “give it to us.”

“It’s a six-wave cycle,” she said, “nested within a larger loop. Every third sequence shifts the silent window forward one position. That’s why it looks random—it’s recursive decay. Your sensors can’t pick it up because it’s degrading.”

Spock tapped away, looking to confirm, as Pike answered, “Can we use that?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Ara said with a nervous chuckle. “There’s a four-second lull right after the second short pulse—before the compression surge. If you boost output at 43.2 seconds into that window, you’ll catch the drop.”

“Ride the wave, instead of fighting it,” Ortegas answered.

“Exactly,” Ara confirmed.

Spock’s machine finally got him his answers. “Confirmed. The 6-wave oscillation is timed. Subharmonics suggest a decaying feedback loop in the field generator.”

Pike nodded. “I like it. But how can we time it? The pulses disrupt all our systems. If we can’t time when a pulse will hit, how can we ‘ride the wave’?”

“Just…” There was a rustle of paper over the comms as Ara paused. “Just let me guide you. I’ve got a sense of the timing already.”

Pike wasn’t the most assured but he shook his head. “It’s the best we’ve got. Guide us through, if you will, Miss James.”

As the cycle restarted, Ara began directing the bridge crew over comms, tuning into the rhythmic hits and shakes. Slowly but surely everyone began to anticipate the hits under her direction and they slowly and joltingly guided the ship away from the danger, timing the engines to the short down periods between.

The ship groaned and rattled, but less and less as they moved further away. They were almost out.

“Now,” Ara instructed and Ortegas pulsed the engines, pushing them along with the last surge from the device.

“Field density dropping—forty percent—eighty—“ Spock advised. “We are free.”

The bridge crew cheered as they checked their systems, making sure everything and everyone was alright.

In her room, Ara sighed in relief, cold waves washing over her. Part of her listened for the next hit, but it never came. They were out like Spock had said. She nodded to herself as feelings welled and her eyes warmed. She took deep breaths as she attempted to stabilize herself.

“Amazing work, Miss James,” Pike said through her room’s speakers. “Come join us on the bridge when you can.”

Her hands were shaking violently, as was her breath now, but she swallowed and composed herself enough for a sentence or two. “Unfortunately, I’m trapped in my room, sir. Some help would be appreciated.”

“I’ll send someone down,” Pike said and then he was gone, back to captaining his ship after a disaster.

The red alert was canceled and her room was still again. She nodded reassuringly to herself. It’s all good now. It’s done. You’ll be out soon enough.

A few stubborn tears fell down her cheeks and she quickly wiped them away. “Get ahold of yourself,” she scolded herself. There was no need for any of this. She would just have to wait a bit longer.

—

It wasn’t too long before Ara heard the sweet sweet sound of her doors sliding open, letting the bright hallway light slip through the doorway.

She’d been waiting on her bed, legs tucked in front of her, hands fidgeting with the paper that was key to their success. At the sound of freedom, she unfurled herself and moved toward the light.

In the opening appeared Nyota, rushing forward, Spock behind her.

“Oh my gosh,” Nyota exclaimed, stopping an arm's length from her. “You were amazing! I can’t believe you figured out the pattern alone!”

Ara smiled weakly. “It was nothing.”

Spock had stepped inside the room. “Ensign Uhura is right to be impressed. You were accurate in your calculations down to the millisecond. Such precision is a skill.”

“Listen to enough alien rave music and you get used to some odd patterns,” Ara shrugged. “Makes it hard to dance otherwise.”

Nyota frowned, looking Ara up and down. “Are you alright, Ara?”

Ara blinked at her friend before sending a wave of attention over herself. Her face was warm and tight, and most likely a little red from what crying she was unable to stop. Her muscles were tense, and her arms gripped each other by her waist to stop them from shaking still. She couldn’t imagine she looked anything other than jumpy and disheveled. Not a good look.

She forced a reassuring smile to her face. “I’m fine, Nyota, thanks,” she said as she restarted her path to the hallway, trying to relax her body language along the way. But as she approached Spock, and was basked in clearer light, she noted his look grow concerned. It wasn’t much by human standards but it was there.

A step away from the threshold she stops to look pointedly at him. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “Just coming down from the adrenaline high, is all.”

Spock started, “Your symptoms are uncharacteristic—“

“I don’t need a diagnosis,” Ara interrupted more harshly than she intended. But she continued, “There are other people and things we need to worry about more. So let’s go do that, okay?”

Without another second wasted, Ara was out the door and down the hallway.

Her friends lingered in her wake. Spock noted the scattered and broken materials by the door, the charred door panel. By her bed was a semi-crumpled piece of paper.

“Best get back to work, Ensign,” Spock told Uhura, who nodded, lingering a bit more in her friend’s room before disappearing after in the hall.

Spock went to the paper and picked it up. It was the pattern she’d discovered and relayed to them on the bridge. But instead of her usually neat handwriting, laid out in careful rows, her letters were jagged and uneven. Her hand had been shaking as she wrote.

Ara had shown impressive strength and adaptability in his short time knowing her. From surviving on a ship overrun by pirates to taking initiative while the crew, and Spock himself, were infected with spores, she’d barely been shaken. But stuck in this room, something had agitated her.

Spock set the page neatly on her desk. Ara was a friend and she had been rattled. But she didn’t want to speak on it. Still, Spock found himself wondering not just what had shaken her… but why she was working so hard to pretend it hadn’t.

He made a mental note to keep an eye on her in the days ahead. Some wounds didn’t bleed. They burned quietly, beneath the surface.

Chapter Text

The air was heavy with heat and metal.

Her cell was dim, the single light above flickering just often enough to make her uncertain of the shadows. The stench of old blood and rust clung to the walls, thick and unyielding.

She sat on the floor, back to the wall, collar cold and snug around her throat. Her knees were drawn up, arms wrapped loosely around them. Not defensive, just…still.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway beyond, steel against steel.

Her spine straightened just slightly. But not too much.

The door slammed open.

Kurragh entered like a storm. Towering, broad-shouldered, eyes sharp like knives dulled from too much use. Another Klingon followed, laughing. She didn’t look at either of them directly, not acknowledging their presence.

“There she is. Qauyoq,” Kurragh mocked. The name scraped against the walls. “The little bird. Say something.”

She didn’t respond at first. She had learned the trick of waiting until their patience almost snapped, but not quite. It kept them in check, and her safe, believe it or not.

“What would you like me to say?” she asked finally, voice flat in their rough language.

The other Klingon barked a laugh. “Say you like your cage.”

She stared at the floor. Her mouth opened, then closed.

Kurragh stepped closer. “You understand me. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

She did. It was her party trick. They liked it more than she did.

“Yes, I understand,” she said, voice tight around the collar.

His hand shot out and gripped the metal around her neck—squeezing just enough to make her breath wheeze.

“You think you’re clever. But clever things break easy.”

He shoved her back and she fell into a fit of coughs. Her eyes watered slightly and the lights blurred.

The quiet thrum of a Jefferies tube materialized around Ara. She blinked around confusedly as she struggled to push back the memories that plagued her.

“Dammit,” she cursed herself. Since her episode in her room, she’d been struggling to put the trauma back in its box.

She’d just wanted to rest. Just five minutes.

She’d been busy repairing the ship, along with the rest of the Enterprise. The gravity device they’d narrowly escaped had severely damaged most if not all of the ship’s systems, including the warp core and impulse engines. Without a fix, they were basically stranded. So it was all hands on deck.

She hadn’t been asked, but Ara had been doing as much as she could to help. She’d had plenty of experience in her Starfleet days to work and repair all around the ship.

It was a helpful tactic. Especially when she would rather not be thinking about certain other things.

Adrenaline continued to course through her and the weariness in her bones faded slightly. She wouldn’t be able to rest any time soon.

She’d just have to work it off.

—

The Enterprise’s hitchhiker was seen often over the next few days—but never for long in one place.

Spock noticed it first as an inconsistency. Ara James had a rhythm, a structure to her days, like a waveform he’d come to understand without effort. Now, that waveform was fraying. She’d become scattered—present in the ship’s anatomy like a ghost in the machine, turning up in diagnostics she had no business being in, hunched in tubes she had no reason to be in, always in motion.

At first, Spock had tried to dismiss it. The Enterprise had suffered severe damage; many crew members were taking on more than their usual load. But Ara was not a crew member. Not officially.

Still, she was everywhere.

Spock noticed the smudge first.

It was a long, thin streak of grime across the wall panel outside Science Lab Two—a minor, inconsequential thing. But then Ara ducked out from under the open console beneath it, wiping her wrist across her brow and blinking against the harsh lighting. She didn’t see him until he spoke.

“You’ve rerouted the ODN interface.”

She glanced up, brow furrowing. A piece of her red hair stuck awkwardly on her forehead. “I know. The primary feed was compromised. I isolated the backup conduit.”

“There is a minor delay in transmission flow.”

She already had her tricorder up. “Oh, yeah, let me fix that real quick.”

Spock stepped closer. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she adjusted the calibration. He watched her blink harder than usual—twice in quick succession, a flicker of frustration crossing her face as if she were dragging herself back to the moment.

“You appear fatigued,” he observed.

Ara didn’t look up. “We all are.”

“You have not eaten a full meal in two days.”

“I’ve had protein bars,” she said, tapping her tool more firmly. “Plenty of hydration. I’m functional.”

“That is not equivalent to healthy.”

She stopped. The silence stretched between them. Then she muttered, “What do you want, Mr. Spock?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He watched her. Her eyes scanned the readout again, even after finishing the adjustment. There was a sharpness to her that had begun to warp into rigidity.

“I am concerned,” he said.

“I don’t need concern,” she replied, voice tight. “I need to stay busy.”

“May I ask why?”

She looked at him now, jaw set. “I’m fine,” she said. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve only made three mistakes in the last twenty-four hours. And I corrected all of them.”

“You counted.”

“Of course I counted.”

Spock stepped back. “You are not yourself.”

That made her laugh—but there was no humor in it. “You just don’t know me all that well, Mr. Spock.”

And just like that, she turned her back to him, head ducking into the console again. Spock stood there, still and unreadable, watching her fingers press too hard against the tools, her shoulders drawn taut.

He did not speak again. And this time, he left first.

—

The corridor hummed faintly with power, flickering light spilling from open wall panels. Nyota stood stubbornly at the feet of Ara, who was shoulder-deep in a half-melted console.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” Nyota urged as she had been for what seemed like an eternity as her friend worked herself to the bone.

A loud snap! popped from the console.

“Shit—!” Ara yanked her arm out just as a lick of current surged through the junction. She rocked back on her heels, cradling her hand, knuckles pale. She growled at Nyota, “You jinxed it.”

“Or maybe you’re too exhausted to think straight,” Nyota shot back. “I can’t believe me of all people am telling you to back down. But here we are. You’ve exceeded my own level of workaholic.”

Ara moved to retort but a sound came from down the hall.

“Hey, guys.”Christine appeared, apparently having been on a stroll. She assessed the situation, eyes fixating on Ara and the hand she lightly cradled. “What’s going on? You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Ara said immediately.

“She’s too exhausted to think straight, and she got burnt for it,” Nyota answered.

Christine knelt, already tugging her med scanner from her belt. “Can I see?”

Ara hesitated but offered her hand. Christine gently scanned it, her face pinching at the readout.

“Second-degree burn. And a sprained wrist.”

“I’m fine.”

“The rest of you doesn’t say so,” Christine muttered, referencing Ara’s dark bags, pale cheeks, and several small scrapes and bruises on her exposed skin. She grabbed a hypospray from her belt. “Hold still.”

Ara winced as the cooling agent hissed over her skin. “I don’t need a lecture.”

“You’re not getting one.”

Nyota crouched on Ara’s other side, a worried look in her eyes. “Oh no, you’re getting one. You think this is good for you? Have you seen yourself?”

Ara didn’t answer. Instead, she reached for a tool—only to drop it. She quickly grabbed it, her fingers fumbling. Her jaw clenched. “I’m helping,” she said. “There’s still systems down on Deck 6 and—”

“It’s too much,” Nyota interrupted. “You’re pushing yourself harder than anyone else on board. And I get it—we all want to do something useful after everything. But you’re going to collapse if you keep going like this.”

“I’m fine.”

“You said that three times in the past minute.”

Ara turned sharply toward her, face shadowed with exhaustion. “And what? You’re suddenly a counselor now?”

“No,” Nyota said, calmly but firmly. “I’m your friend. And I’m worried.”

Christine straightened beside her. “I’ve seen this before, Ara. People who don’t slow down. People who try to outrun whatever’s catching up in their heads.”

Ara’s expression faltered. Barely. “I’m not outrunning anything. I’m fixing the ship.”

Nyota glanced down at the open console. “You reversed the flow current.”

Ara blinked, confused. Then looked. She had. Something that simple, and she hadn’t even noticed.

She reached in quickly to flip a few things around. “See? Fixed. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Christine said. “That kind of slip is what happens when your nervous system is maxed out. You’re not just tired. You’re crashing.”

Ara stood abruptly, backing away from them both. Her knees wobbled for a moment—just a moment—but she didn’t let it show for long.

“I’ve got it under control.”

“You don’t look like it,” Christine argued.

Ara rounded on her. “You don’t know what I look like when I don’t have it under control.”

A tense silence settled between the three women.

“Leave me alone.”

Nyota looked like she wanted to push further. Christine reached to step forward again.

And that’s when Spock’s voice cut through the hallway.

“She will not listen.”

Ara turned. He was there. Of course he was.

“I do not believe further confrontation will change her course of action,” Spock said. “She has made her stance clear.”

Ara scoffed. “I don’t need you chiming in, too.”

“I am not here to scold you,” Spock replied.

“Good.”

“I am here to observe and calculate risk.”

Ara’s hands curled into fists. She turned back to the console—still humming with light, still broken.

“You’re wasting your time,” she muttered.

“We disagree,” Spock said simply.

She ignored them all and returned to her tools. Slowly. Rigidly. Silently. She gathered them and left to find something else to fix.

Christine exchanged a glance with Spock. Nyota crossed her arms, clearly unsettled.

“She’s not going to stop,” Nyota said quietly. “Not unless someone makes her.”

Christine sighed. “I’m a nurse, not a telepath. If she’s not willing to talk, I can’t force her into medbay. I just… I think she’d listen to someone she trusts.”

Spock paused. Then nodded. “Perhaps.”

Nyota’s voice was barely above a whisper. “So, what do we do?”

Spock didn’t look away from the console. “We bring her someone she will listen to.”

Christine arched an eyebrow. “Who?”

“The captain.”

—

The wiring blurred before Ara’s eyes. Not from sparks. She’d long since adjusted to those. But from the tight, pulsing ache behind her forehead. Too many hours bent over open panels. Not enough water. No sleep.

She blinked hard and forced herself to refocus.

Keep going. You stop, you start thinking. You think, you start remembering. That’s not an option.

Her fingers hesitated at the conduit’s edge, eyes tracing the red strip that meant high voltage. She’d worked with worse. She could handle this.

Her wrist ached where she’d wrapped it earlier—too tight, probably, but that was better than letting it go limp and useless. Her boots were scuffed, her clothes streaked with something black and bitter-smelling, and the hum of the ship around her felt wrong—off-balance, like a tune played in the wrong key.

It matched her, honestly.

She jammed the cable in place, grit her teeth as a jolt shot through the relay—then hissed in frustration when the unit coughed and buzzed again.

Behind her, a soft footstep echoed.

Ara didn’t turn to look. Her arm was deep in a scorched relay junction, the skin on her knuckles stained with soot and dried coolant. The faint hiss of electricity echoed in the narrow corridor.

“Ms. James.”

She flinched, then immediately stiffened. She recognized the voice.

“Captain.”

Pike stepped into the cramped maintenance alcove. She didn’t move.

“You’ve been down here for hours.”

“There’s a backfeed loop between Deck 5 and 7. If it trips again, we’ll lose stabilizer redundancy.”

“I’m sure Engineering is aware.”

“Yeah, but I’m already here.”

Pike exhaled through his nose. “You’ve been ‘already here’ in half the ship this week.”

Ara pressed a connector into place. It sparked. She didn’t flinch.

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I know.” His tone was gentler now. “And we appreciate it. But this isn’t what we agreed to.”

She finally looked over her shoulder, face flushed, eyes tired but alert. “You said I could work for passage.”

“I did. But I didn’t say you had to burn yourself out to earn your spot.”
Ara turned fully toward him now, the bandage on her wrist grimy and half-unraveling. “I’m not burnt out. I’m capable.”

“I never said you weren’t.” Pike studied her a moment. “But even the most capable people need rest.”

She hesitated. “If I stop moving, I won’t start again.”

That admission hung in the air longer than she meant it to.

Pike nodded slowly. “I’ve read your file.”

Her shoulders stiffened.

“You served during the Klingon War. Records say logistics and support. Quiet routes. Nothing flashy.”

Ara didn’t reply.

“I’ve seen those kinds of records before,” Pike added. “And I’ve seen you. Something tells me there’s a missing piece.”

Her jaw clenched. “That doesn’t matter.”

“It does if it’s what’s keeping you going like this.”

Pike took a step forward. Not commanding, just present. “Look. You’ve only been with us for a few weeks. But you’ve made a hell of a difference. We trust you. That doesn’t come from punching circuits and pushing yourself until your hands shake.”

Ara’s fingers curled against her side. She didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see how gently he was looking at her.

“I’m grounding you,” Pike said softly. “Four hours minimum. Food. Rest. No arguments.”

She inhaled slowly. Then nodded once.

“Understood.”

“And Ara?” Pike paused at the doorway. “You don’t have to earn the right to take up space here. Not with me. Not with this crew.”

She looked down. Her throat was tight. Part of her wanted to believe it.

“Yes, Captain,” she said.

—

The swoosh of the opening observation deck door caught Ara’s attention but she didn’t move. She was slumped over a table, arms crossed, and head resting atop them.

As the steps approached she peered up and spotted her pointy-eared Vulcan friend in his dazzling blue science uniform. He stopped beside her table.

“You are in violation of your personal productivity trend.”

Ara huffed a small laugh. “Caught me.”

“I had not expected to find you idle,” he said calmly. It was a nice sound, she thought.

“I didn’t expect to be,” she mumbled. She peered up at him as he stood quietly by the table. “Come…sit.”

Spock nodded and took the seat beside her. She swore she could almost feel his warmth.

“I presume you spoke to the Captain,” he said, setting his tablet on the table.

“Indeed,” she said.

“He worries. As do others.”

Ara scoffed softly into her arms. “People keep saying that,” she muttered, not lifting her head. “Like it means something.”

Spock considered her quietly. “For many, it does.”

She exhaled through her nose, gaze drifting unfocused toward the stars. “I don’t get it. No one’s ever made it their business before.”

“Perhaps,” Spock said, frowning at the implications of what she just said, “that is no longer true.”

Ara’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “Then maybe I’ve done something wrong.”

“You are not an error, Ara,” he said gently. “But your behavior has shifted. To those who care, the evidence is clear.”

She was quiet. Then, with a dry edge: “Evidence, huh?”

“Yes.”

That got a weak chuckle from her, but it faded fast. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable now in stillness.

“I just…” she started, then stopped, her throat tightening. She took another breath. Her voice lowered. “I’ve always worked like this. When it gets bad up here,” she tapped her temple lightly, “I work. It used to be that no one gave a damn. It was easier.”

“You are no longer alone.”

That landed heavier than she expected.

“I just don’t want to be still,” she said at last, her voice thinner now. “It lets my mind wander.”

“In my experience, you cannot stop thoughts through action. They will continue until they are heard. But you also do not have to bear that burden alone,” Spock said quietly.

When she didn’t respond he amended his statement. “You do not have to speak on it.”

Ara turned her head to him. The two sat in silence for a while.

“You ever feel like your own mind has betrayed you,” she asked.

“Yes.” She hadn’t expected him to answer. He was quiet and composed as they peered at each other. “There was a time when my mind was broken. Those pillars that once grounded me had failed. As much as I attempted to fix it, it was not until I relied on others that I found peace.”

Ara let his words sink in. “I don’t do well with ‘others’,” she said slowly. “I was on my own for a long time. I couldn’t rely on anyone for help. And even afterward, those that were willing…I guess they weren’t up for the task. So I deal with it myself. Seems logical enough.”

“But your thoughts still plague you.”

Ara shrugged tiredly. “I doubt they’d go away anyway. They’re just tough sometimes.”

“Indeed,” Spock said, resolutely.

He knew. He understood. He was here. Ara looked over him, sitting calmly beside her. He didn’t need to be here. He was Chief Science Officer after all. He had many more important things to handle right now. But here he was. He cared, if Ara was so bold to think. Something about that pulled at her exhausted brain.

“I…I was—“ Ara fumbled over her words, her weariness and lack of experience in this area weighing on her. “I was trapped. Back in my room but also…earlier. I was helpless. I thought it was behind me, but I just found myself right back there. Exactly there. So I was helpless again. And now, it’s like a door has opened and I can’t get it shut.”

It was hard to speak on her experiences. There was a thin line to tread. But Spock listened to her intently.

“That moment has passed,” he said softly. “You are no longer there.”

“Tell that to my nervous system,” Ara murmured with a dry laugh. It faded quickly. “But yeah…I know.”

A silence settled between them. Not awkward, just…necessary.

“I keep thinking,” she added after a moment, “that if I keep working, if I stay moving, it’ll all stay away. The memories. The panic. But it doesn’t. It’s just lurking around the corner.”

Spock inclined his head. “And when you stop?”

“I remember everything,” she whispered. “And I feel…everything. And that’s worse.”

Spock didn’t offer empty comfort. He simply said, “I understand.”

Ara exhaled shakily, leaning back down on her arms. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“I know.”

“But if I do…” she hesitated, voice thin, “…will you stay?”

“I will remain,” he said, without hesitation. “You may rest without fear.”

Her eyes didn’t open, but her breath slowed. “Thank you, Spock.”

She let her weight settle against the table. Her thoughts still stirred, but the presence beside her made them feel quieter.

Chapter Text

So she slept, for the first significant amount of time in three days.

Not long, and not dreamlessly, but the rest had been real, and deep. When she woke a couple hours later curled up awkwardly at a table in the observation deck, Spock’s quiet presence still beside her, she hadn’t bolted upright in panic. Just breathed, slow and even. 

The days since had been calmer. Pike had grounded her, per orders, and Ara, against all instinct, had obeyed. She slept. Ate. Even sat still. She didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

So when an invite went around for dinner—one of Pike’s now-infamous crew meals—Ara surprised herself by saying yes.

—

The hum of conversation greeted her as she stepped into the captain’s quarters.

Real food was already in the air—simmering garlic, something rich and savory baking low and slow. The overhead lights were softened to a golden glow. Pike liked atmosphere, apparently. Ara approved.

She spotted Spock first, in his crisp blue uniform and an apron. He was tending to a pan on the stovetop like it was a scientific experiment.

“Ara,” came Pike’s voice from across the room. “You made it.”

He was stirring something in a heavy pot. A towel draped over his shoulder like he was born for it. Ara smiled faintly.

“You drafted me. I’m pretty sure that’s different.”

“Semantics,” he said. “Hungry?”

She nodded, moving toward the kitchen. “Anything I can help with?”

He smiled as he handed her a knife and pointed to a mound of vegetables. “Julienne these for me, if you will.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, gripping the knife in one hand and playfully saluting with the other.

Spock inclined his head toward her as she took her place beside him. “It is agreeable to see you recovered.”

She smirked, eyes on the carrot. “Define ‘recovered.’”

“You are not actively dismantling the ship.”

Ara chuckled under her breath. “Give it time.”

They worked in a comfortable rhythm, with Spock organizing ingredients with precision and Ara adapting on the fly. Christine passed through with a tray of drinks, and Nyota and Erica laughed beside her, recounting some story involving a stuck turbolift and a very red-faced ensign.

As the rest of the crew filed in, plates were passed, seats claimed, and the room slowly filled with the kind of chatter only close-knit teams knew how to build. Ara didn’t speak much at first but the laughter came a bit easier as the night wore on. She found herself listening, engaged, and even jumping in with a quip or story when prompted.

“Alright,” Pike said eventually, standing at the head of the table with his glass raised. “To good food, strange missions, new faces…and to the people who make this crew what it is.”

Everyone lifted their glasses. Ara hesitated a beat, then joined them.

“To the people,” she echoed softly.

—

Later, Ara leaned back in her chair beside Nyota and Christine. Her plate was empty, her limbs loose, her pulse steady for once. The ache behind her eyes was still there—but dulled, distant. She could breathe.

Christine nudged her lightly with an elbow. “Nice to see you out in the wild again.”

Ara arched a brow. “Didn’t realize I’d gone extinct.”

“We were starting to wonder,” Nyota said with a sip of her drink. 

Christine eyed Ara with a smirk. “Yeah, you were everywhere, and then boom. Nowhere to be found.”

Ara shrugged, reaching for her glass. “Took a nap.”

Christine gave her a look.

“A long one,” Ara clarified. 

Nyota chuckled. “We were just about to send out a search party.”

Ara shrugged. “Doubt it would’ve been that hard to find me.”

“Erica had bets going,” Christine added. “She figured you’d pop up in Engineering, chewing through a bulkhead panel like a feral cat.”

“Bold of her to assume I haven’t already.”

They laughed, the kind of soft, familiar sound that came from people who’d earned it with shared space and half-finished conversations in passing.

Across the room, Spock moved through the cleanup with his usual surgical efficiency. Pike passed him a plate and said something that made the corner of Spock’s mouth tilt just slightly.

She watched for a moment too long before turning back to her glass.

Christine nudged her. “You good?”

Ara blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. Just...out of practice.”

“With food?”

“With sitting.”

Nyota smiled, careful and not too wide. “Well, for what it’s worth, it’s nice to see you.”

Ara didn’t answer. Just took a sip from her glass and let the hum of the room wash over her again.

It was easy. Unfamiliar, yes. But not… unearned. And for the first time in a long while, she felt like she was standing in the middle of something good, and not just observing it from the periphery.

—

The stars outside shimmered softly, warping now and then as the ship drifts through space. Ara sat curled into one end of the bench, a journal open in her lap, pen idle between her fingers. She wasn’t writing, though that had been her intent in coming here. Her mind had yet drifted until she found herself mindlessly watching.

Spock’s footsteps were nearly silent as he approached. She didn’t look up, but she shifted slightly, enough room for him to join her.

He did.

“You seem…more still than usual.”

“Don’t get used to it.”She meant it as a joke, but it landed a little too flat. Spock watched her carefully.

“The observation deck has a certain clarity. I find it a logical place to think.”

“That’s why I’m here. Though clarity doesn’t always help.”She glanced at her journal, sighed, and shut it with a soft snap. “You ever wish you could just…float? No orders. No expectations. Just stars and silence.”

“On occasion. Though I suspect that would not suit you for long.”

“No. Probably not.”

There was a pause. It was comfortable, but laced with a quiet charge.

“What made you join Starfleet,” Ara asked without looking at her companion. “I mean…your father wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea, right?”

“No,” Spock answered. “He believed the Vulcan Science Academy was the superior path.”

“And you didn’t?”

“I believed it was a path designed to mold me into someone I already was not. Starfleet did not ask me to disavow my differences. Only to apply them.”

Ara huffed. “That sounds almost romantic.”

“Perhaps. But it was not without conflict.”

She turned to him with genuine curiosity in her gaze. “Is it still? A conflict?”

He took a moment to think. “At times. But I have made peace with duality. Belonging does not require a perfect fit. Only presence.”

Ara looked down. That landed harder than she wanted to admit.

He glanced toward her. “Why do you ask?”

She hesitated, just a bit, a shadow of tension in her jaw. “Just curious.”

—

The mess hall hummed with low energy. It wasn’t rush hour, but enough people lingered around to fill the space with a comfortable buzz. Ara sat alone at a corner table, posture relaxed but food untouched. Her mind was wandering again.

It wasn’t the kind of wandering she’d been plagued with the last several days though. It was more nebulous, softer, and aimless. It was a nice change, she thought, but it was still unlike herself. Maybe she was still recovering from sleep deprivation.

“You’re gonna get space-sick if you stare that hard.”

Ara turned just in time to see Erica Ortegas sliding into the seat across from her, grinning and armed with an aggressively large mug of something steaming.

Ara lifted an eyebrow. “That a threat?”

“Only to your appetite.” Erica jabbed a thumb at her tray. “You gonna eat that or are you in mourning for root vegetables?”

Ara glanced down, then shrugged. “I was thinking about it.”

“Dangerous habit. Thinking.”

Ara smirked. “You would know.”

They shared a small laugh. 

Erica leaned back in her seat, sipping from her mug. “So. You’ve been suspiciously quiet lately.”

Ara blinked. “Suspicious?”

“For you, yeah. Even before you were attempting to rebuild the entire ship, you were always up to something or talking about something you were up to.”

Ara poked at her fork. “Trying a new thing. It’s called rest.”

“Sounds fake.” Erica leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Seriously though. How’re you doing? You’ve been off the grid.”

Ara hesitated. Then, “Just…getting used to things again.”

“You mean like existing?”

“Pretty much.” Her tone was light, but her eyes flicked away. “It’s weird when you’re not just surviving, you know? When things are actually pretty good.”

Erica nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. Good can be freaky.”

“I think it freaked me out.”

“Did it again,” Erica said.

“What?”

“You thought.”

Ara gave a soft laugh.

At that moment, Christine appeared beside their table, plopping down her tray with casual flair. “Well, well, well. The delinquent corner.”

Ara raised her brow. “Pretty bold of you to assume you weren’t already in it.”

Christine grinned. “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

She took a bite of her sandwich, and then pointed her fork at Ara. “By the way, the med bay misses you. M’Benga and I were missing your distracting chats.”

Ara chuckled. “Tell him I’ll drop by and haunt the halls if he needs balance.”

“Noted.”

“You’ve only been here for, what? Three weeks,” she said, skeptically. “Feels like way longer.”

Ara looked up, slightly caught off guard. Christine nodded in agreement, eyes wide.

“Has it been that long,” Christine said, incredulous. “You really have settled your way in, Ara.”

“You make me sound like a pest,” she teased as an uncomfortable knob formed in Ara’s chest but ignored it best she could as she looked at her two companions. “It’s just too easy with you people. So much nicer than some of the others I’ve traveled with.”

“From the stories you’ve told us,” Erica said, “I don’t doubt that. We’re glad you’re here, too.”

—

The lights were set to Vulcan-standard dim. Spock sat at his desk, his PADD open to a set of astronomical coordinates. At the soft trill of an incoming call, he straightened and tapped the console.

T’Pring appeared on-screen, poised and composed in formal Vulcan robes.

"Spock," she greeted.

"T’Pring." He inclined his head in greeting. "It is agreeable to see you."

"And you."

There was a brief pause, an evaluation, measured and familiar.

"I wished to inform you," T'Pring continued, "that I have recently been assigned to an investigation regarding one of the V'tosh Katur. His movements suggest he may be on or near Starbase 92."

Spock raised an eyebrow. “The Enterprise is en route to that very location."

T'Pring's voice remained even, but there was a subtle lift to her brow. "A fortunate coincidence."

"Indeed."

There was a contemplative pause.

"If time permits," T'Pring said, "I would find it agreeable to spend time together during your station leave. Perhaps a match of kal-toh."

A flicker of warmth passed through Spock's chest. "I would welcome that."

Their eyes held for a moment across the distance, familiar and steady.

"You appear…" T’Pring observed, tilting her head slightly, "distracted."

Spock hesitated only a beat. “My apologies, T’Pring. I do not mean to be. I have recently found myself reflecting upon the concept of belonging."

T'Pring studied him with that piercing Vulcan focus, not judging, merely witnessing.

"Such reflection is logical," she said finally. "And valuable. Your time aboard the Enterprise continues to inform you?"

"In part," Spock admitted quietly.

T'Pring nodded once. "Growth, even when unexpected, is still growth."

There was no censure in her tone. Only acknowledgment.

"I look forward to seeing you in person," Spock said.

"As do I."

The call ended.

Spock sat back slightly, his hands steepled in thought, the darkened hum of the ship soft around him.

Growth, even when unexpected, is still growth.

He was not certain if it comforted him or made the knot in his chest tighten just a little more.

—

Ara eventually made her way down to Engineering. It was quiet there, a place that she’d spent a lot of time in, if not recently, then all the times when she sat around them as a kid while her parents worked. It felt like ages ago and yet so close at the same time. 

She’d come up with a tradition back then. Her parents had never been stationed on a ship for more than a year at a time, she’d found a way to leave a mark of herself on each ship she’d lived on. Even now, she didn’t understand why she kept doing it years later. 

There was a part of any ship that was just empty space. For what profound engineering masterpieces spaceships were, there were always spots that had no use except to be space between useful places. In starships like this one, there was a darkened alcove under a staircase that was never walked on. 

She went there.

She made sure no one saw as she slid into the shadowy corner, crouching neatly in the small space. From a pocket, she grabbed a laser cutter and raised it to the wall.

With a few short strokes of light, Ara left her mark. It was a cute little thing, an A in the shape of a star with the J trailing off like the tail of a comet. Her signature. She stared at the strokes as the glowing metal slowly shifted back to grey.

“What are you doing down there?”

Ara jumped, banging her head lightly against the bottom of the stairs. To her side, a woman with large blonde curls stood with her hands on her hips. She was the Chief Engineer. Ara had seen her around but had never spoken to her. 

The woman knelt down and peered past Ara to the wall where her mark now lay. “What are you doing to my wall?”

“Nothing,” Ara said quickly. “I’m just hanging out.”

“Come out of there,” the woman said, and Ara complied, sliding out of the corner and unfurling herself. The woman stood with hands on her hips and looked her up and down. “Oh, I should’ve known.”

Ara shifted, uncomfortable with the open scrutiny. “Known what?”

“You’re James and Vren’s kid,” she stated. “They were always up to something. Always had a look in their eye. You’ve got their same look.”

Ara blinked. “You knew my parents?”

The woman let out an exasperated chuckle. “Oh yes. They were my students. Some particularly brilliant ones, too, though they tried their best to fail my class with all the stunts they pulled.”

“Oh, you’re Professor Pelia,” Ara said, remembering the many times her parents had recounted in great detail their escapades at the Academy.

“That is me, yes,” she said. “And you’re the one who was all up in my ship, fixing everything without a care for yourself or anyone else.”

“Yes,” Ara confirmed. “Sorry about that. I’m Ara.”

“I didn’t expect to see you back down here,” Pelia said. “Thought the captain must’ve finally banned you, or maybe some sense knocked you into sleep. You’re not even Starfleet, and here you are fixing my ship.”

Ara shook her head. “I’m just here to help while I can.”

Pelia hummed curiously and briefly peered back into the alcove Ara was found in. “Yes, the hitchhiker. I’ve heard as much. And writing on my wall does…what?”

“It’s just a little thing I do, leave my mark on ships I’ve been on,” Ara explained. “Not helpful, just tradition.”

Pelia tilted her head, thoughtful. “And how many marks have you left now?”

Ara’s lips twitched. “A lot.”

“I imagine.” Pelia stepped back, gave a soft sigh, and leaned against the nearby wall. “Your parents did the same thing, you know.”

“They did?”

“Mm. Not literally. But they had their own way of making sure they were remembered. One time, they rerouted the sonic showers in the senior dorms to play Bajoran folk music if someone used the wrong soap.”

Ara snorted. “Yeah, heard about that one.”

“They were brilliant and a nightmare.” Pelia paused. “But they loved people. They loved this work.”

A silence followed, companionable but expectant.

Pelia looked back toward the alcove. “So, what is it? You saying goodbye?”

Ara didn’t answer. Because saying no would be a lie. And saying yes felt like a betrayal.

“I’m old, dear. Not stupid,” Pelia added, kindly. “You’ve been doing all the classics: the nostalgic stare-downs, the fixed door panels, the wandering through the places that made you soft.”

Ara’s throat was tight. She didn’t speak.

“You were never going to stay,” Pelia said softly. 

Ara looked down. “I don’t like to linger.”

“And yet.” Pelia raised a brow. “The quiet. The company. The dinners. It suits you more than you thought.”

Ara crossed her arms, hugging herself in the silence.

“I know what it feels like,” Pelia said. “To be rootless. To never know if you’re running toward something or away from it. But you know what I’ve learned in my ridiculous number of years?” She waited for Ara to glance up. “Eventually, the running gets old. And the people who make you want to stop… that’s worth paying attention to.”

Ara didn't reply.

Pelia pushed off the wall and gave her a warm pat on the arm. “Don’t leave just because it’s easier than staying.”

She turned to go, then added over her shoulder, “And clean that soot off your face. Makes you look sentimental.”

Ara wiped at her face and then stood alone in the quiet of Engineering. The alcove behind her glowed faintly where her little star-trailing-initials shone on the wall. 

She stared at it for a long time.

Chapter Text

Ara was prepared when the Enterprise docked at Starbase 92. 

With the Enterprise in need for some larger repairs the crew couldn’t do on its own, they were set to be at the starbase for at least a week. In the meantime, that meant all non-essential crew were given shore leave, able to hang aboard the starbase and enjoy a much needed break. Everyone was excited and it buzzed around the hallways as people chatted about plans or complained about still being needed for repairs. 

Ara hadn’t been chatting. Just packing. She hadn’t wanted to cause unnecessary drama with goodbyes, so she’d kept a low profile.

She didn’t keep much with her on principle. It’s hard to carry much around when you have nowhere permanent to keep them. But the items she did have, her journals, clothes, and souvenirs, were all carefully stowed away in the well worn duffle that’d seen her through so much already. She left the murder board up, lest Nyota find anymore use in it, and on her desk she left the communicator and PADD she’d been given when she’d arrived. Then she left with nothing but what she came here with and a few new stories.

The way to the transporter room was crowded, but quickly dwindling, as the crew made their way off the ship, dressed in casual clothes and bags in hand. For once, Ara actually looked like them. It made it easier, with a cap upon her head, to blend in. 

Up ahead, Christine and Erica chatted animatedly. Nyota was nowhere to be found, either running late to leave or already left. 

Good, Ara thought. She didn’t want to explain herself and see their anger at her deception, keeping them in the dark while she tried to slip out from under their noses. It was easier for everyone this way. She tucked herself against the wall, using the surrounding bodies to shield her from unwanted gazes.

Once Ara reached the transporter room, she paused as she noticed Una and La’an standing there, recording all the departing personnel. That wasn’t in her plan. They usually had a lower crewman do that sort of record-keeping. Not on this ship, apparently. 

Una smiled when she saw Ara enter, bag slung across her back. “Ara, nice to see you. Are you leaving?”

Ara hadn’t spent much time with the First Officer, or La’an, as their duties never really overlapped. They’d merely chatted lightly at Pike’s dinners or when they crossed each other in the hallways. Still, Ara felt a ball of guilt rise in her chest. She shoved it down best she could and returned an innocent smile. “Yeah, been a while since I stretched my legs, you know.”

La’an turned to her after dismissing a couple officers and narrowed her eyes. “Is this departure permanent or temporary?”

Ara couldn’t help but chuckle. La’an was the kind of vigilant soul that Ara admired. She understood her demeanor even if they acted like opposites. She should’ve known the steely-eyed woman would’ve picked up on something. But it wasn’t like they were close, and lying to them wouldn’t matter. They’d figure out she was gone soon enough. 

“Permanent,” Ara said nonchalantly. “I already filed the necessary paperwork for you, so everything should be in order already. Didn’t want to be a hassle.”

Una frowned, tapping at her PADD. “Did the captain clear you?”

“He said I could leave whenever,” Ara said, which wasn’t technically a lie. Part of their deal was precisely that. 

La’an looked at her curiously, recognition upon her face, but she evidently elected to remain quiet on the matter. 

Una nodded as she checked over the files. “Well then, it looks like you’re good to go. We’ll miss you, Ara, safe travels.”

“You, too,” Ara said as she walked atop the transporter pad. 

She sighed and bowed her head resolutely as yellow light swallowed her and she finally left the Enterprise.

—

Spock waited by the transports, poised, arms clasped behind him.

The Enterprise had docked at Starbase 92 and was undergoing final repairs and resupply. In the meantime, due to the fortunate proximity of T’Pring’s work, the couple would be able to spend time together. 

In a whirring of light, T’Pring appeared, dressed in elegant Vulcan robes, a blue scarf tied around her hair, and turned to Spock. “Spock, parted from me, and never parted. Never and always touching and touched. We meet at the appointed place.”

Spock stepped forward and repeated the customary phrase with the calm reverence it deserved. Then he inclined his head slightly.

“You are well,” he said. It was not a question.

“I am,” she replied, stepping forward so that they were a mere arms length from each other. “And you?”

“I am… pleased by your arrival.”

A faint tilt of her head—affection, by Vulcan standards.

They stood in companionable silence a moment longer until the soft footfalls of Captain Pike approached.

“T’Pring,” Pike greeted warmly. “Welcome aboard, again.”

“Chris,” she returned with a courteous nod. “It is agreeable to see you.”

Pike smiled, clearly knowing he wasn’t the reason for her visit. “Spock’s been looking forward to this for days.”

Spock did not contradict him.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” Pike said. “We’ve got dock briefings and department checks most of the afternoon, so Spock’s off duty until tomorrow. Enjoy your time.”

T’Pring watched him go with polite stillness. Once they were alone, she turned back to Spock.

“I have brought kal-toh, in case we find ourselves with more extensive leisure.”

“That was a logical assumption. I would enjoy a game.”

They began walking through the corridor toward Spock’s quarters. Spock noticed her eyes scan the Enterprise’s familiar halls—not with scrutiny, but with awareness. She catalogued everything.

“You seem lighter than when we last spoke,” she noted.

“I have found a degree of balance, recently,” Spock answered. “Events have been complex, but manageable.”

She inclined her head. “That is good.”

After a brief silence, T’Pring continued: “I have elected to have my colleague, K’Tyll, continue our search for Saren while I am here with you,” she stated as they found themselves outside Spock’s door. “With that, I hope our time together can be spent productively.”

“I appreciate your sacrifice,” Spock said. “I, for one, plan to spend this time you quite…productively.”

“It seems we are in agreement, then,” T’Pring said pleasantly.

—

Erica and Christine had found themselves in a neon decorated lounge for some much needed shore leave drinking. With a platter of some alien appetizer between them, reminiscent of fried shrimp, and a few empty shot glasses beside them, the two enjoyed the ambiance of the lounge and the light jazz music. A couple neon drinks, just started, sat with them, bringing the aesthetic of the room to their stomachs. 

They laughed uproariously as Christine tried and failed to stuff as many bits of their appetizer in her mouth as she could, several of them falling out onto the table and her lap.

“I thought as a nurse you would know better,” Erica said through her snorts. She picked up one of the pieces from Christine’s lap and took a bite. 

Christine shook her head, cheeks stuffed full as she tried to chew what hadn’t fallen out, a smile curling the edges of her lips. “Affawenwy nah,” she said, and her butchered words only sent the pair into further giggles. 

“Hey guys,” said someone from the other side of the table. They turned and it was Nyota. The ensign blinked a bewildered smile at Christine, momentarily pausing her words. 

“You never seen a woman stuff her mouth so full of alien appetizers that she can’t speak,” Erica said, as Christine did her best to quickly finish her mouthful with a shamed hand covering her face. “Well, here you have it.”

Nyota huffed a laugh. “Well, I…um…have either of you seen Ara?”

Christine shook her head and Erica spoke for the both of them. “Not since yesterday, no. You guys have plans, or something?”

“No, but I didn’t want her to feel left out.”

Christine managed to swallow most of her bite and replied, “Ara’s got her own way with down time. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“Yeah, she’s probably found herself in some crazy little adventure already,” Erica added. She paused thoughtfully. “In that case, she might want the company.”

“You think she’s in trouble,” Nyota asked.

“I say 50/50,” Erica said cheerily. “Either way, you make a great point. We should find her, and join in on the fun.” She looked to her blonde friend who smiled and shrugged. 

“I’m down if you are,” Christine said, moving to slide out of their table. 

“We still have no idea where she could be,” Nyota said.

“Then we look,” Christine said. “A starbase can only be so big.”

Nyota took in a deep breath as her two tipsy friends locked arms with her and marched out of the lounge determinedly. Her unease at her friend’s disappearance didn’t quite leave her, however.

—

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have room for you,” said a gruff captain who really didn’t look sorry at all.

“I literally just watched you fire a guy,” Ara argued. Her frustration was getting the better of her after having close to twenty such conversations but she kept going. “Look, I can do any routine maintenance you need. I can help with security or comms. Anything you need, I can do. And you’ll barely know I’m there.”

The captain looked Ara up and down. “You do travel light, it seems. That’s not always a good thing.”

Ara gripped the strap that pressed against her chest, pulling and feeling the weight of the items at her back. “I do the work, and I do it well,” she countered. “If you don’t like me, you can throw me off at the next stop.”

The captain hummed then shook his head. “Like I said, we don’t have the room. Now be on your way.” He turned his back to her and walked away. 

“Thanks,” Ara grumbled under her breath. Another ship crossed off the list, and it was only getting shorter. 

Ara turned and slipped back into the throng of the terminal, letting the crowd blur her into anonymity. She’d gotten good at hiding for survival. But there was something…off, now. Almost like she wished she could be seen—by a few particular eyes.

She hadn’t expected anyone to follow her, hadn’t even given them the chance. No goodbyes. No explanations. No time to look anyone in the eye and say why.

But now, surrounded by noise and bargaining and half-understood alien dialects, she found herself straining to hear their voices. Nyota’s easy laugh. Christine’s quick wit. Erica’s steady strength. Spock’s... something quieter, harder to name. She wondered if they’d noticed yet. If they were looking. If they cared.

She shoved the thought down. Thinking about them wouldn’t help her find a ship. Wouldn’t get her off this station, out of range of whatever trackers might be hunting her. Wouldn’t make the sudden silence any easier to sit with.

This was the price of running. She’d paid it before. She’d pay it again.

The docking terminal was bustling with people as they crossed on and off of ships. Unloading and offloading cargo. Selling and bargaining. It was a chaotic space and a type that Ara had found herself in many times before. 

She had been walking around the terminal for hours now looking for passage off base and her luck was running out. Her options were growing increasingly thin. And if she didn’t find passage off with this lot and had to wait for new arrivals, well…she didn’t like hanging around, especially on starbases. A lot more chances for trouble came to those who wait, she’d found. 

Her options weren’t through yet though. She just had to keep looking. There were a cluster of larger, rusted cargo ships outfitted with extra shielding and weapons. Those would be the people she needed. And needed her, hopefully.

As she got closer, she paused to take in the people around the ships, hiding herself in the shadows of a nearby ship. Who were crew? Who was in charge? What was their business? Was it good business? As much as she needed a ride, she didn’t want to be caught off guard by funny business going in. She needed to be careful about who she approached and how. 

A man in dressed in a long deep red trench coat with a PADD in his hand barked orders she couldn’t hear at the surrounding crew. They were in the process of loading crates into their large, reinforced hauler. The crates were marked with that of the Andorians. Didn’t look like too bad a mark.

“You used to walk straight into places like this,” said a voice from behind her.

Ara froze, recognizing the baritone as it sent chills down her spine. Her heart began pounding against her ribcage like an echoing drum. Cautiously, she turned to spot the owner of the voice. Dark cropped hair, pointy ears, deep, searching eyes. 

She stepped back as they came fully into view. “Saren—I…”

The Vulcan leaned against the bulkhead of the ship, arms crossed, with a casual grin. It met their eyes as they scanned Ara up and down and sighed like they just got their first breath of fresh air in years. “Nice to see you, too, Mischief.”

Ara twitched at the nickname. It’d been two years since she’d heard it and part of her hoped never to hear it again. And yet another part of her sang as the words reached her ears, like morning had finally come after a sunless winter. Her gut twisted, and she growled low in her throat—half warning, half self-reproach.

“What’re you doing here?” She struggled to keep her voice even as her thoughts raced, trying to reconcile that the person she was once closest with had finally reappeared.

Saren shrugged, shifting his wait nonchalantly and stepping a bit forward. “Same as you, I presume. Trying to leave.”

“No. What are you doing here,” she asked, jabbing a finger to the floor between them. 

Confusion flashed across their face and their smile faltered. “I spotted you—thought I would say ‘hi’. It’s been a long time.”

“Two years without so much as a word and you just wanted to say ‘hi’?”

“I also considered ‘sorry,’” they said sheepishly. “But I assumed it might provoke violence.”

“Smart,” Ara muttered, crossing her arms over her chest like makeshift armor.  

Saren’s eyes narrowed. “Your humor was never so dry, Mischief. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I used to think you suited me,” she bit out, the words escaping before she could stop them. 

Saren huffed out a sour laugh. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“Oh, you suppose?” Ara could feel her barriers crumbling as feelings that had been locked away for the last two years finally had a chance to surface. “I trusted you. I thought we were a team. You had my back. Then you were gone. No message. No explanation. Just gone. So forgive me if I’m not throwing a welcome party.”

“I never wanted to leave you,” they insisted and stepped forward with pleading hands.

She tensed. Even now, his proximity felt like gravity—familiar and inescapable. “And yet…”

They hesitated before responding. “I thought it was the right thing.”

“You always think you’re right.” She exhaled, short and tight, avoiding his gaze. “You don’t get to decide what’s right for me.”

“I know.” Their voice dropped, quiet now. Sincere. “I’m trying to make it right, now.”

She looked at them again, unsure which emotion to settle on. “By what? Showing up like nothing happened and calling me a name I never liked?”

“You didn’t hate it,” he said gently. “You just didn’t want me to know you liked it.”

She stared at him, jaw clenched. “You think you know me better than I know myself?”

“I do know you,” he said, low. “That’s why I’m here.”

“No.” Her voice dropped to match his. “You’re here because you need something. What is it?”

That stopped them. Their expression shifted—only slightly—but enough.

Instead of answering, they glanced toward a nearby ship. “You looking for a ride?”

“Depends,” she said. “You offering?”

“Maybe.” His eyes returned to hers. “If you’re not too much trouble.”

Ara gave a humorless smile. “I’m always too much trouble.”

“I know,” he said softly. “That’s why I want you with me.”

Ara held his gaze. The knot in her chest tightened. She hated the way those words curled into her like old melodies, sweet and dangerous. He always knew how to speak to the softest parts of her—the parts that still wanted to believe.

“I don’t owe you anything,” she said quietly. “And I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t need you to trust me,” he replied. “Just come with me.”

She hesitated. The exit was behind them. Her freedom was behind them. They knew it.

“Then show me,” she said, “before I change my mind.”

Chapter Text

Christine rubbed her forehead. “Okay, I think the buzz officially died. I can feel my thoughts again. Unfortunately, most of them are screaming Where the hell is she?”

The search wasn’t going well. The alcohol was wearing off, and with it, any illusion that this was just a game. All three women were growing more uneasy by the minute.

It had only been a few hours, and Starbase 92 was massive. Logically, Ara could just be off the grid. But something about her silence was pushing all the wrong buttons.

“We’ve checked the pubs,” Nyota recounted, ticking the list off on her fingers. “The restaurants. Every shop on this side of the base.”

“You’ve called her, right?” Erica asked. “Before we started all this?”

“Yes,” Nyota insisted, pulling out her communicator again for emphasis. She tapped in the signal. “She didn’t pick up.”

They stood in silence as it rang. And rang. And rang.

“See?” Nyota said, shutting it. “Nothing.”

Christine exhaled. “Okay. So maybe we’re thinking too much like us. We’ve checked everywhere we’d go on shore leave. But Ara? She’d be somewhere… less obvious.”

“Somewhere wild,” Erica agreed, snapping her fingers. “We need to find the shady spots. The weird little corners she'd end up in without trying.”

Nyota gave them both a skeptical look. “You really think she’d go to those kinds of places?”

The three exchanged a glance. Then, two simultaneous shrugs.

Erica muttered, frustrated, “If I wanted to disappear on this base…”

Nyota filled in the thought. “You’d go somewhere unlit. Unregulated. Off the visitor map.”

Christine nodded slowly. “Service corridors. Back channels. Maybe maintenance zones. Places security doesn’t patrol unless there’s a fire.”

“Exactly,” Nyota said, falling into step. “Off the books. If she ran into something down there, that’s where the trail will be.”

Christine stopped short. “We’re really doing this?”

Erica cracked her knuckles, smirking. “What are we, not Starfleet?”

Nyota rolled her eyes and kept walking. “Just try not to get arrested.”

—

The crowd thinned a little as they walked farther from the busy port, into the quieter merchant quarters of Starbase 92. Ara found herself easing into the stroll without meaning to, like her feet remembered this pace beside Saren before her brain did.

“So what’s this ride you’re offering me,” Ara asked peering over at Saren and taking in their profile.

“Nothing spectacular,” Saren said, “but it’s a job and bed. I was recently offered a position and they are looking for more. You should suit their needs.”

“It’ll be like old times then, huh?” Ara couldn’t help but smile little. Now that the shock had worn off, the old comfort crept in.

“Indeed,” Saren said. “It will be nice to have you at my side once more.”

She almost snapped back—almost reminded them that they’d left her side, no warning, no goodbye. But she swallowed it. Things between them weren’t fixed, not really. The hurt still lingered like an echo, and she couldn’t tell if Saren felt it too. But the future looked... possible. If this job worked out, maybe it was worth avoiding unnecessary waves.

“So what’ve you been up to these last few years,” Ara asked nonchalantly.

“Same as before. Traveling. Meeting like-minded people. Keeping a low profile.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you had a low profile.”

“You taught me,” Saren said with a grin. “It’s one way I have kept you with me despite our distance.”

That twisted something inside Ara, a pang of disbelief and affection. She deflected with a smirk.

“Never knew Vulcans could be such saps,” she said, jabbing her shoulder into theirs.

“Only for you,” they said. They looked at her deeply, longingly. Ara looked away. “And what about you? Where are you coming from?”

“I ended up on Starfleet’s flagship, if you can believe it,” Ara said.

“I thought you were done with Starfleet,” Saren said, “after everything they did to you.”

Ara shrugged defensively. “It wasn’t that bad, honestly. It’s only been for the last few weeks and it’s not like I re-enlisted. Just the standard affair, work for shelter.”

“How did you end up with them in the first place?” Saren asked more intensely than she expected, like they were worried on her behalf.

“They saved the colony ship I was on when it got hijacked by pirates,” Ara laughed. “The captain offered me a ride and now…here I am.”

“You speak like you miss it,” Saren said, a note of accusation threading their voice.

Ara bit her lip in pause. Did she miss it? Maybe. It had been a nice change of pace. The people were admirable. The adventures and stories she’d had were worth it. Even now, she felt a pang imagining the crew’s faces when they realized she’d vanished. Spock’s face, however un-emotive it could be. They didn’t deserve that. Part of her wished she could stop it altogether.

But that was it. She was gone and she couldn’t—wouldn’t go back now. It wasn’t her way.

“It was just a convenient ride,” she dismissed flatly

Saren didn’t respond immediately. They studied her, then said quietly, “You’re different now.”

Ara bristled. “That’s what time does.”

“No,” Saren said. “You’re closed off. Tired. There’s a weight on you I didn’t see before.”

She looked away. She felt raw and exposed.

Beside her, Saren’s footsteps stalled and she looked to them concerned. Their gaze tracked over the crowd to somewhere she couldn’t see from her lower vantage point. She could see the tension in their shoulders and the defensive shift in their stance.

“What is it,” she asked worriedly.

Saren didn’t answer immediately. Their jaw tightened. “We need to move.”

That was all the warning Ara got before Saren grabbed her wrist with bruising force and pulled them both into motion. She followed without resistance, her instincts already flaring even as her mind scrambled for context.

They sprinted through the crowd, weaving past crates of imported goods and startled vendors. People cursed and shrieked as they passed.

“Who—” Ara started to ask, breath quickening, “—are we running from?”

Before Saren could answer, a voice rang out behind them—cool, commanding, and Vulcan.

“Saren. You will not get far.”

Ara’s blood ran cold. She didn’t recognize the voice, but there was something clinical in it. Inevitable.

She twisted mid-run, catching a glimpse over her shoulder. A Vulcan—tall, shrouded in a neutral-toned robe, cutting a path through the crowd with mechanical precision. Not Starfleet. Not any familiar uniform. Civilian, maybe, but the way they moved—with unerring focus and trained grace—told a different story.

Ara cursed under her breath. “You really don’t want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Later,” Saren said, pulling her into another corridor. “We cannot let her catch us.”

That was enough.

They broke into a sprint, dodging through foot traffic and sharp turns. But the other Vulcan was gaining, their pace relentless. They needed to find a way out of here, but clean escapes would be few and far between.

They reached an open corridor—sleek floors, high ceilings, too many witnesses. Ara hated it.

Then she heard the heavy footfall behind them changing tempo.

“She’s closing in,” she hissed.

Saren was already slowing. “We split. Divide her attention.”

“No way,” Ara snapped. “I’ve got a better idea.”

She turned sharply, catching the edge of a column to pivot back. Before Saren could move, she shifted directly into the path of the approaching figure.

The Vulcan barely blinked before swinging—a calculated strike meant to disable. But Ara had spent years surviving brawls in worse places with less space. She ducked the blow and slammed a knee into their side, fast and close-range. They staggered back a step, just enough for her to slip behind them.

“Go!” she shouted to Saren. “I’ll catch up!”

She didn’t wait to see if they obeyed. The Vulcan came at her again, this time with more force, strikes aimed with unnerving precision. She blocked one, deflected another, but a third caught her shoulder, knocking her back several paces.

“Dammit,” she growled, catching her footing.

They traded blows—Ara dodging, the Vulcan pressing forward, cold and mechanical. She wasn’t winning, but she didn’t need to. She just had to buy time.

Then, just as her back hit a wall, the other Vulcan faltered—eyes flicking to the side.

Saren.

Ara surged forward and tackled the attacker, driving both of them hard into the ground. The impact jarred every bone in her body. She sent a blow into the Vulcan’s face, stunning them momentarily and giving her time to scramble onto her feet.

But she felt the strap of her bag yank tight. She stumbled.

The Vulcan’s hand had it.

“Let go,” Ara hissed, wrenching her body away and kicking, but the Vulcan’s grip was ironclad.

For a breath, she hesitated—panic blooming as her fingers scrabbled at the strap. She could feel everything inside: her journals, her souvenirs, the photo…

She couldn’t lose it.

Her attacker’s grip tightened, twisting the strap. Ara’s arm jolted with pain.

Her bag. Her past. Her only real tether to the life she’d built since the war.

And none of it would matter if she was caught.

With a ragged breath, Ara let go.

The weight of it vanished instantly, yanked from her shoulder as she kicked away and sprinted toward Saren.

She didn’t look back.

—

Spock and T’Pring had agreed on a walk—neutral territory aboard a starship, a way to recalibrate. No one was around and Spock decided to take them to the observation deck.

The doors whispered open, revealing the quiet expanse of stars stretching beyond the curved glass. Spock led the way in, the low lights casting faint reflections of them both on the polished floor.

“This location is underutilized,” Spock noted, glancing around. “It possesses both silence and perspective—qualities I find... beneficial.”

T’Pring joined him at the window. “You always did gravitate toward high places with quiet views. As a child, I recall you preferred the roof of your family's compound. Despite the risk of sunstroke.”

Spock allowed the corner of his mouth to lift, very slightly. “The probability was calculated. I accepted the consequences.”

“Of course you did,” T’Pring said, mildly amused.

They stood together for a moment, watching the stars wheel slowly in place.

Spock broke the silence. “There is something particular about this space. It offers the illusion of detachment... while remaining irrevocably bound to the ship’s core.”

“Is that a metaphor, or a scientific observation?” she asked, a single brow arched.

“Both,” he replied, folding his hands behind his back. “I have observed a human colleague of mine find rest here frequently. It seemed illogical considering it’s public nature but I have found myself returning to it for similar reasons.

“A poetic indulgence,” T’Pring said thoughtfully. “Unusual for you.”

“Unusual does not always denote error.”

“No,” she agreed, her voice quiet. “Sometimes it denotes growth.”

They stood in silence for a moment longer, the stars blinking beyond the glass.

Then T’Pring glanced sideways. “You’ve not mentioned this colleague’s name. Is it someone I know?”

Spock blinked. “No. She has only been with the ship a few weeks.”

“And yet you speak so highly of her.”

Spock hesitated. “Her name is Ara James. A civilian... of considerable aptitude.”

T’Pring considered that. “You admire her.”

He looked at her, unsure if it was a question or a statement. “I find her... perplexing.”

T’Pring’s eyes held the faintest glint. “A familiar pattern, then.”

Before Spock could reply, her comm chirped.

T’Pring. I require your attention on Deck Seven. There’s been an incident involving the fugitive.

T’Pring frowned faintly. “What happened?”

He escaped. An unexpected variable was introduced. Your expertise is required.

She sighed gave Spock a long, quiet look. “It appears my time here is up.”

Spock inclined his head. “Duty rarely keeps polite hours.”

“Nor does introspection,” she replied dryly.

She turned to go, then paused. “When I return, I will expect an introduction to this Ara James.”

Spock bowed his head. “I will see to it.”

T’Pring gave the faintest nod, then exited—her steps brisk, her thoughts beginning to shift.

Spock lingered.

His reflection, dim in the glass, looked back at him as stars blinked on, steady and unaware.

He hadn’t seen Ara for a while now. She’s been distant the last few days. She’s out with the crew on shore leave, he suspects. He was sure, whatever she was up to, is as chaotic and unexpected as she is.

—

They ducked into a dim service corridor that smelled faintly of coolant and metal, the noise of the crowd fading behind thick bulkheads. Ara leaned against the wall, catching her breath. Her heart was still pounding, and not just from the run.

Her hand hovered at her side, instinctively searching for weight that wasn’t there.

“I lost the bag,” she said, the words half-whispered, as if speaking them would somehow undo the truth. “My bag…why did I do that?”

“Because it was slowing you down,” Saren said coldly.

“You know how much that bag meant to me,” Ara accused. “Everything meaningful to me was in that bag. How am I going to get it back?”

“You don’t,” Saren snapped. “It’s gone.”

Ara blinked at them, knowing they were right but hurting all the same.

They stood across from her, the thin corridor keeping them close to the point Ara swore she could feel the heat radiating off them, almost like it clung to her skin. They looked composed, but their chest rose and fell too quickly, betraying whatever calm they pretended. Their eyes stayed fixed on the corridor entrance, like they might bolt.

“So, you wanna tell me what the hell that was?” Ara said finally, voice low but sharp.

Saren didn’t answer right away.

“That wasn’t just some pissed-off ex-client,” she added. “That was a Vulcan. And not a civilian one, either. They fought like security, or worse.”

Saren’s jaw worked once before they responded. “They are…an associate of someone I once studied with.”

Ara raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like a reason to run.”

“It is, if that someone disapproved of my choices,” Saren said, quieter now. “And would rather see me silenced than let me continue.”

Ara stared at them. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

Saren hesitated. “I left the Vulcan Science Academy before I completed my training. I did not agree with their view of emotional suppression. I found others who felt similarly. We shared knowledge. Beliefs. Ways of thinking that are considered...radical.”

Ara frowned. “You’re V’tosh Ka’tur?”

Saren’s eyes flicked up to hers, searching for a reaction.

“I’ve heard of you,” she said, slowly. “Emotions without chaos. Logic without repression. Starfleet calls it unstable.” Her voice dipped, bitter. “I always thought you a little emotional for a Vulcan but this? Really?”

“We call it freedom,” Saren said and their voice cracked just slightly. A note of desperation, or conviction, or both. “But not everyone agrees. That was a warning. They know where I am now.”

“And me,” Ara stated. “There are people after me, too. I can’t be doing things that draw attention.”

Saren’s expression faltered. “I did not mean to involve you.”

Ara laughed—sharp and tired. “You never mean to. But here we are.”

They fell into silence. The hum of the station filled the gap where sense should’ve spoken up.

Softly, Saren said, “You didn’t have to fight. You could’ve run. Let me deal with it.”

Ara looked away, her expression tight. “Yeah. I could’ve.”

Saren stepped closer. Their voice softened in a way that twisted something in her gut. “Why didn’t you?”

Ara met their gaze. “Because you were mine once. And maybe you still are. I don’t know. But I protect what’s mine. Even when I don’t know what I’m fighting.”

Saren blinked, slow and stunned, like she’d opened a wound and invited them to crawl into it. Their hand lifted, tentatively, and they toward her.

“I missed you,” they said with a grin, a longing sigh escaping them.

Ara didn’t respond—didn’t have time to.

Because Saren kissed her.

Ara froze, stunned by their closeness and the rush of memory clawing up her spine. But when Saren’s hands touched her—tentative, reverent, needy—she caved.

It was like she’d fallen back to that time years ago when this was the most natural thing in the world to her, and now the empty ache of the time apart burst open and wished to be filled.

Her hands climbed up their chest and over their shoulders, wrapping around their neck and pulling her into them. Her fingers threaded through their soft hair, gripping tight. Her grip in their hair wasn’t just desperate; it was a silent accusation.

She pulled them closer, kissed harder, like maybe she could shake the past loose with enough contact.

It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t gentle. It was long, deep, and unapologetically self-indulgent. A years-long ache pressed into a single breathless moment.

Her back hit the wall, cold steel behind her, heat in front, and somewhere in the middle—regret, wrapped in want.

A large hand wrapped around the small of her back as the other gripped the base of her head, tilting her head up and into their own, guiding the kiss deeper, letting Saren gasp her in like they’d been suffocated for years.

It was messy. A little clumsy. Hungry, like they were both trying to make up for everything that had been lost between them—with mouths, with closeness, with heat.

When they pulled apart, their chests heaved. They remained close, allowing their breaths to mix, to still feel the other. Their foreheads touched. The air was thick with what neither of them dared to say.

Ara’s voice cracked the silence. “That…does not help me think clearly.”

Saren smiled. “I know.”

Ara blinked and tried to steady her thoughts. She looked down, breaking the moment. Something in her chest rattled with an old warning that had never stopped ringing. It was difficult trying to focus on it. Not when she could feel their breath on her skin still.

Saren pressed their hand against the wall behind her, pushing themselves away enough to take her in fully. Their gaze was questioning but Ara didn’t want to answer.

Her arms wrapped around her center and her shoulders drooped. “You said something about a job?”

“Yes.” Saren didn’t move, as if any shift might shatter what had just passed between them. “A freighter in Cargo Wing Three. They’ll be leaving tonight.”

Ara nodded, her fingers brushing her lips before dropping to her side.

“Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

“T’Pring, what can I help you with?” Pike asked, surprised at the two Vulcans in his doorway. He stands and moves to greet them properly.

“Chris,” T’Pring gestures to her partner. “This is my colleague, K’Tyll. She and I have been in pursuit of a dissident who led us to this starbase. Earlier today, K’Tyll began pursuit after our suspect and was stopped by an unexpected companion. After further investigation, we identified this individual as a passenger of your ship.”

Pike frowned. “Who was it?”

“Ara James,” K’Tyll answered. “Transfer logs show her leaving your ship and boarding the starbase at 0900. Between then and 1300, she met up with our suspect and subsequently helped him evade capture.”

Pike was stunned. “I imagine there must be some kind of misunderstanding. Who’s this person you’re after?”

T’Pring gestured to the ready room screen as K’Tyll put a file up. “Their name is Saren. They’re a member of the V’tosh Ka’tur, and are wanted for numerous crimes, including a bombing that resulted in the death of a child. He has lost all sense of logic and has managed to evade our capture for months. As it seems, he found yet another way to escape in the form of your passenger. Who is she?”

Pike stared at the face of Saren and the list of crimes, associations, and more. He was a bad guy. Pike couldn’t understand why Ara was apparently helping them. “Ara’s an ex-Starfleet officer we picked up a few weeks ago. She’s been working aboard the ship in exchange for passage.”

“Well, Chris, it looks like we both have a problem,” T’Pring said, watching Pike’s concern grow.

…

La’an, Una, and Spock gathered in the ready room as they discussed the situation with Pike. The Vulcans had left to continue their own pursuit of Saren.

They all sit around the table to discuss. La’an skimmed through security footage as they worked.

“We need to figure out what their relationship is,” Una said. “If we’ve been harboring a terrorist, or an ally of one, who knows what she’s been able to do aboard the ship.”

“The probability that she would knowingly endanger the Enterprise is low,” Spock argued. “She has consistently shown her willingness to risk herself for the safety of this crew.”

La’an looked up from her screen. “Except saving the ship is saving her own skin. And she’s been crawling around almost every system on the ship for the past week. If her intentions were malicious, who knows what she’s tampered with?”

“She’s ex-Starfleet, though,” Una said. “Her values wouldn’t be so easily swayed, right?”

Pike sighed, frowning at his clasped hands on the table. “She grew up in Starfleet and was an exceptional officer, according to her file. But that doesn’t really tell us anything.” Ara’s file overtook the security footage from the earlier fight.

A young Ara in a red Starfleet uniform, a soft grin, and hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail appeared on screen. She looked very different from the woman they knew now—softer, optimistic. Her eyes were curious instead of the sharp analytical ones they’d become used to.

Her file showed a relatively short but intense service record. Graduated a semester early from the academy. Commissioned as a Lieutenant Junior Grade Communications officer aboard the USS Valerone for 9 months before she was reassigned to a remote starbase as a communications analyst for 14 months during the war. She published her Klingon dissertation soon after, and then left Starfleet. It’s been two years since then.

“She was a top secret analyst,” Una noted, confused, looking at the line next to Ara’s communication analyst assignment.

Assignment Classified SI-Z / Project: BIRDIE

“She was barely out of the academy,“ Una continued. “And she was assigned a classified remote intelligence op?”

“Even in her short time aboard the Enterprise,” Spock answered, “she has shown a great aptitude for such subjects. Her extended participation in the project shows success, as does the dissertation. The information was likely derived from the project. It’s her sudden departure and unknown actions thereafter that should be of more concern.”

“It says she searched out and was granted an honorary discharge ‘due to post-conflict reassessment, ’” Una said. “That’s it.”

“The war was hard on a lot of people,” Pike reasoned. “I suspect with whatever her assignment was, as young as she was, she needed a break. It’s understandable.”

“So she leaves Starfleet, begins making her way across the galaxy, and ends up partnering with terrorists?” Una couldn’t see the picture with all the missing pieces.

“There’s a chance this is a new relationship,” Spock answered. “Ara is a protector. She may likely be unaware of the dangers of who she’s associating with and simply protecting someone in trouble.”

“By helping them run from the law,” Una said skeptically.

“Unfortunately,” La’an said with a hard edge to her voice that made everyone’s heads turn, “there’s no chance of this being a new or misguided fling.”

With a flick of her hand, security footage of a long, empty maintenance corridor replaced Ara’s file on screen. There was no sound. The room watched as two figures, Ara and Saren, ran in, who paused as the door latched behind them. Ara, usually so controlled, seemed frayed at the edges, her hands animated in the air as she argued with Saren. As his gaze turned from the door to the redhead, Ara’s motions stilled as they stared at each other, speaking small words they couldn’t hope to identify. Then, Saren closed in on her, hands pulling her toward him, and kissed her.

Something lurched inside Spock, and he frowned at the image as Ara momentarily froze. Who was this man to assault her like this?

But then she moved and pulled him even closer. They were wrapped around each other, lost in their touches. Ara’s back soon met the wall behind her and was closed in by the Vulcan.

Spock stared, at a loss for words. It appeared he was incorrect. The new data was far more complicated to process. And with that came a pang in his chest he elected to ignore.

La’an paused it, leaving a moment of silence for others to take it in. “This kiss…is not new,” she said. “It’s a reunion. She’s tied up with this of her own volition, and we’ve got to bring her in for questioning.”

…

“I swear if I get another mystery rash from one of these back-alley alleys…” Erica grumbled, looking around the latest dinghy location they’d found themselves in. It was an unkempt part of Starbase 92, dark and dirty around the edges, gleaming lightly with neon signs above the back-alley businesses. The air hummed with low, suspicious conversation.

“You say that like it didn’t clear up last time,” Christine chided, as she pressed herself against a wall momentarily to let someone by. It was a surprisingly crowded alley.

Erica huffed. “Barely. That stuff you gave me smelled like radioactive lemons.”

Nyota shushes them both with a slight gesture, her eyes darting seriously to the group of shady characters to their right, talking gruffly amongst themselves. They were decked out in combat gear, weapons brandished in their hands.

“She was on the upper level,” said the tallest of the group. “Slipped off with some Vulcan-looking bastard.”

“You sure?” questioned another, a large scar cutting across his face. “If we grab the wrong girl, I don’t wanna have to explain that to the Klingons.”

“Facial recognition scans identified her,” said Tall Guy. “Ara James. She really don’t look like much, though.”

“She gave that Vulcan baddie one hell of a fight,” Scarface chuckled.

“She won’t be fighting much once we get ahold of her,” Baldy laughed.

“Come on,” Tall Guy said, “I’ve got a tip that whatever bloke she’s running with got a ship on Deck 3. We can intercept them there.”

Scarface and Baldy nodded, and the trio dispersed.

“Well, I guess we found Ara,” Erica said lowly, looking between her friends.

“A Klingon bounty,” Nyota said, incredulously. “How?”

“I don’t know, but she’s in danger. We need to get to her before they do,” Christine said, pulling them into a quiet back alley away from people.

“And probably tell the captain,” Erica added.

Nyota pulled out her communicator. “Uhura to Enterprise. Priority communication for the captain. We have a problem.”

…

Ara and Saren moved with their heads on swivels, looking for cameras or anyone who might spot or find interest in them. It was an altogether familiar task for the two as they ducked through maintenance shafts and back alleys to keep hidden. But with the near silence of their pursuit to safety, tension grew.

As Ara stared at the back of Saren’s head, her thoughts and emotions coiled tighter. It was a familiar feeling, one that let her know just how stupid she was being, that this was just going to get her into worse trouble. She often ignored it, justifying it for the sake of her own survival. But this time, a pit of unbidden nausea grew in her stomach as hope, an alternative, told her for once that maybe this wasn’t the only way to survive. Maybe she could go back to the Enterprise. Get their help instead of Saren’s.

Saren was familiar. An old flame that was so quickly extinguished that flickers still remained in the char it left behind. When she was with him before, so early in her hitchhiking career…so soon after everything with Starfleet…she had been longing for connection, for something better. She has been trying to remake herself. So when Saren had shown up, okay with the secrets she kept, wanting the two of them to live together in the present moment, to move forward and survive together, she had thought she’d found her person.  

In the time since, she’d tried reconciling their time together. Like now, she justified their actions for survival's sake. It was a whirlwind of months together, and surviving with Saren was fun. But as she looked back, she couldn’t help but feel ashamed of what they had done. While it had seemed necessary and even fun at the time, she imagined herself two years before being aghast at her choices. And being with him again would only bring back those same thoughts, those same actions. She was sure of it.

When they turn into a quiet alley bordering a busy street, Ara takes a deep breath and asks quietly, “What’d you do in the V’tosh Ka’tur that’s got these guys on your trail?”

Saren’s head whipped around to stare at her, pausing them in their tracks. “I thought we’d cleared that up,” he said lightly, his voice smoother than his movements, “or are you forgetting already, Mischief?”

She held herself back at the name but pressed forward still. “You never told me what you did. Something happened. You say I’m different, well, so are you, and I’ve got a feeling it’s got to do with whatever has them hunting you.”

“Oh, so you’re listening to your feelings for once,” Saren chided, brows raised with sarcasm. “How about keep that arrangement going?” He turned back around and slunk to the edge of the alley, assessing the crowd.

Anger boiled beneath Ara’s skin, growing with each deflection. She stared daggers at his back, and she followed closely behind. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“We don’t share our past, Mischief. We never have. Let’s stick to what’s in front of us.” He spared only a light glance over his shoulder.

“This affects our future,” Ara hissed. “I need to know what I’m getting into. What did you do?”

Saren turned back around to stare at her with narrowed eyes, contemplating. But then he dropped the hard edges of his expressions with a sigh and a light smile and shrugged. “I haven’t done anything you should be so worried about. The details don’t matter. Anyone at Ankeshtan K'til would pursue me for simply presenting a theoretical argument against their values and deem capture and rehabilitation necessary.”

A hand came up to brush her shoulder, but she shrugged it off harshly as she stared him down. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He looked at his dismissed hand with mild shock, then turned back to her, her face growing darker as his fist fell to his side. He leaned forward. “I’ll tell you what I did to get the Vulcans on me, if you tell me what you did for the Klingons to want you so badly.”

Cold ran down Ara’s spine at those words. It was a stalemate. He wouldn’t tell her, and she wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t, and he knew that. And with that, she knew that whatever he’d done was worse than she could abide by.

Maybe it was better that she stop this here before it went any further.

“Come on,” he said, coldly, as he grabbed her wrist and pulled them into the throng of people.

Ara pulled back as the sights and sounds hit her. She didn’t want to go. With a strong hand, she aimed a strike at the hand holding her. With him focused on where they were going, the strike landed, and he let go.

He turned and faced her with pure, angered shock as people buffeted around them. “What’re you doing?” he hissed. He tried to snatch her hand back, but she stepped away just enough for him to miss.

“I can’t,” she said, surprising even herself. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She’d figure it out. Find some other crew to take her.

Stomping boots to her right stood out against the light patterings of tourists and locals. Her head whipped around, and through the crowd, she saw several figures decked out in combat gear, very conspicuously making their way towards them.

She’d been spotted.

Ara whipped her head around to Saren on instinct to find them already heading off into the crowd on their own.

A hollow laugh left her. They’d abandoned her. Again. When she needed help. The bastard.

“Good riddance,” she muttered to herself as she started hurrying through the crowd, the stomps behind her beginning to hurry as well.

One problem gone. Another on her tail.