Fancy Seeing You Here

Posted on Thu Feb 2nd, 2023 @ 3:14am by Lieutenant Ramat'iklan & Lieutenant Paisley P'rar

7,399 words; about a 37 minute read

Mission: No One Gets Left Behind
Location: MedBay

The young Carjoran, as she preferred to classify herself, had just arrived at Fed1, a nice break from the idiocy of the Romulan Republic exchange ship where she’d cut her teeth. After a check-in with the Captain, she went to find her office in the science labs. The layout of the station was similar to other Excelsior class ships, luckily, and she knew that meant it was close-ish to the medical bay. Science was science, after all. As the new CSO, she was in charge of said science but at least they already had a CMO so she’d not have to juggle that, too.

She pulled a cart of materials behind her, tugging at the tunic she wore. Since she was Starfleet, she had to wear uniforms; her departmental XO was a civilian, though, and he’d be in regular clothes. Lucky. It was a little small; she’d gained a couple of pounds in the week between assignments, which she blamed on hormonal changes as she was closer to thirty. Her mother had been busty, but Paisley didn’t inherit that.

Finally, she was getting closer, as the paneling changed-whomever did the original designs for these ships at least had the good sense to make the medbay and science areas in different colors and materials than the rest of the boat. A nice grey or white was calming as opposed to the ugly wood paneling that was everywhere else.

She passed the Medbay, her eyes glancing into the room, where biobeds and whatever other assorted instruments those people used were being set up. Her eyes flickered on a…being…and her mental cache of pictures went to work. Jem’hadar. Interesting choice of career. Interesting choice of DOCTOR. Something else niggled at the back of her brain, but she was a little tired so she didn’t take the moment to listen. She went on a moment, and then stopped, and took a step backwards. Peering back into the sick bay, she thought a moment, and then went into the room.

“Wait, I think I know you.”

Ramat'iklan's day had so far been incredibly, incredibly boring. No patients, nothing to do except, well, watch that one patient he was supposed to look after. The monotony of that work was mind-numbing enough - how he wished for something to make his day just a little bit different. The Cardassian hybrid's arrival brought him exactly that. It took him a moment to focus on her face and sift through memories to identify her. When he did at last, the tiniest smile cracked its way across his scaly lips. "Paisley F'rar. How could I forget." They'd written the occasional subspace letters back and forth in Kardasi, with patient corrections from her each time on his grammar and syntax, and so far he thought he'd gotten the language down, but so far he hadn't had to speak it - as such this was a test, in any sense.

"Fancy meeting you here. I suppose, as our human colleagues say, the universe is only so large."

Paisley smiled a little. “Ramat’iklan! It’s been a while.” Her letters had stopped when she got a little busier with the Breen battles breaking out in her quadrant back on the Romulan ship, and then…life. She’d dated, briefly, a Vulcan and when it ended, she wasn’t ok for a bit. Then she’d gotten the assignment to DS12, and mail calls didn’t reach that far.

“How did you end up here? “ Rude, Paisley. She tried again. “Kiba'avzayn. (Good tidings)”. See if he remembered. She looked to the nearby biobed. “Sorry to bother you. We can talk later if it’s better.”

"Kiba'avzayn. I hope I've said that correctly." Ramat'iklan replied, glancing at the currently sleeping Ash. "No, you have not inconvenienced me at all. If you would like the next doctor should arrive right about… now." He nodded to the Bolian doctor who emerged from the duty medical officer's office in a lab coat and spoke to the woman briefly, after which the two exchanged nods, and the former took his place looking after the Commander. "If you have the time, I would not be opposed to catching up with you over a meal. It has been quite some time since we've last spoken face to face."

She smiled. “You said it right! Good job”. She looked around. “A meal sounds nice, but I AM needing to go drop some stuff off in my office. If you want to give me ten minutes, you can help me find my quarters, we can chat there. I don’t officially start until tomorrow.” Some people might find it forward of her to suggest something like that, but they were friendly with each other, and of equal rank, so it didn’t matter to her. She didn’t care a lot about what other people think, anyway. “I am looking forward to a Kofyi,” she said. And a couple of Romulan Ales, but maybe later in the day. Her former team had given her a couple as a good-bye gift, and she’d been smuggling them in her bags around SF1 for a week.

"Ten minutes I can give you." Ramat'iklan said as he began to walk to the entrance of sickbay. "I hope you do not mind cats - I recall telling you about Kinaa when we first met, and the expression on your face at that very moment. I think you looked like you'd just seen a ghost, or you'd seen the most shocking sight you'd ever beheld in your life." The Jem'hadar had the faintest crack of a smile on his lips then. "I would advise you against drinking any kofyi, however, given the time of day it currently is - unless, of course, you like the decaffeinated variety." A medical officer will always be a medical officer. Call it force of habit, and possibly a sprinkling of Jem'hadar apologeticness.

She smiled but gave him a LOOK and headed back out to the hallway. She finished her tasks quickly-the contents of her cart could be put in their proper locations tomorrow when she had time, and introduced herself to the lone man in the labs, her Botanist, Josh Gates. Returning to the Sickbay, she found her old friend, and with a smile, waved.

“Lead the way.” She said. “Unless you want to go to mine? I’m on Deck 5; room 3. And I have started drinking coffee all day and night, a habit I’ve picked up from the Terrans. And I am OK with cats. And Caitians.” She wanted to chat with someone she knew; she had been feeling a little out-of-place and like she didn’t fit in being on the base for the week until she’d transported here. Paperwork and all took forever.

"Mine." Ramat'iklan decided. "As I recall I also promised you I'd show you Kinaa when we next met, if possible - and since we are now working together on this vessel I believe now is as opportune a time as any. Don't worry. She loves visitors. Apparently all Terran domestic animals do, and make no distinction between species when they do." Well, that much should've been obvious, of course. "I've been learning how to cook - I'm afraid Cardassian cuisine is not one I have yet gotten the hang of. I'm afraid any Cardassian dishes, if you fancy that, will have to be replicated."

“Yours is perfect. And yes, you did. I have heard that about Terran animals; one of the guys on the Romulan boat had a creature called a “dog.” It was kind of smelly but sweet enough, though it didn’t talk. Just laid around, mostly.” The concept of ownership over animals that were not for food was foreign to her, as that wasn’t something that happened in either Cardassian OR Bajoran cultures. “And whatever you make is fine; can’t be too picky out here.” She followed her old friend, at his side. His quarters were nearby-made sense to keep the CMO near the medbay in case of emergency, she supposed. “I’ll teach you to cook Regova someday. If I can get any out here.” Regova was a bird-like animal, and you could eat both the eggs and meat of the creature. “Besides lecturing folks about their coffee habits, how are you finding it out here? Anything I need to know?”


"I am… well." Ramat'iklan replied dryly. "I am alive, with all my limbs attached and functional so far, in spite of all the trouble we have faced since arriving in this dark future. I have a sparse few friends. Is there anything you need to know?" He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "I have an understudy, lieutenant Ragh. A Klingon woman, formerly of the Marine Corps before formally transferring to Starfleet. She and I celebrated my twentieth birthday together a few weeks ago. She and I get along well and that is all that matters." Yes, an utterly frank reply with a sliver of sarcasm. Classic Ramat'iklan. Classic Jem'hadar candor. "The Captain has me working on a project for her in sickbay, which has been… time consuming… to say the least. And frustrating."

Paisley listened as they walked to the transporter, and then as he let them in. “Indeed, you are intact.” She chuckled a little. “An understudy, huh? Nice! Moving on up in the world!!” She wasn’t *really* surprised; he was a hard worker, and fought even harder against the idea that all he was was a trained killer. “I will have five under me starting tomorrow,” she said, a little softly. It was a new thing for her, to be IN charge instead UNDER someone else’s charge. “You’ll have to tell me!” She looked around his quarters. They were as she expected. Without asking, she took a seat on a built-in couch the new ships all had, getting comfortable, extending her long, thin body upwards with a stretch.

No sooner had she sat down and stretched than a soft mewl was heard at the base of her shoes. From between them peeked the head of a small ginger tabby the size of a chihuahua. It blinked large green eyes and let out a mewl once again as it surveyed this strangely bumpy and long woman who had now entered its territory.

"This is Kinaa." Ramat'iklan picked the cat up and held it up for Paisley to see. "Would you like to hold her? As to dinner, I'm afraid we will have to settle for steak, or something else in that line if you want it freshly cooked. The few ingredients I had were mostly destroyed in the transition to the future."


She smiled, and took the cat. It was soft, and fluffy. And really cute, and something stirred in her. She had not wanted children of her own; indeed, while Cardassians and Bajorans were both capable of child bearing, she herself wasn’t cut out for it. She looked at Rama’iklan. “Whatever is fine. Is the steak Terran?” It WAS quite good, and it was better than what she had had in mind-some tea, cookies, and her book while she panicked quietly about the next day. “Whatever is easiest.” She said. She looked around the room again, this time, carefully paying attention to the furnishings and art and the like. `”She’s a pretty cat. You found her when you were on R&R, right?” She wasn’t usually one for small talk but she wasn’t exactly sure what to say; it had been three years since they’d spoken last.

"Acquired. From a pet store on Earth Spacedock. Nothing quite so grand." Ramat'iklan corrected gently as he fetched beef steaks from a small refrigerator and turned the stove on. "Domestic animals no longer need to be bought, as you know. I wanted to learn why humans prize their animal companions so much as pets, and the most logical way to do so was to own one myself. I did extensive research and consulted with some biologist friends and pet owners first before acquiring her. She was the smallest kitten in the shop, and the first to run up to me when I looked into her pen." He poured oil into the pan and began to cook their steaks. "She has never failed to demand my attention, my food and my time at all hours ever since. She is trained as a therapy animal, by the way. She was certified last year."


Paisley smiled. “That’s right!! I DO remember now.” It had been in one of his letters. “It smells good in here!” She exclaimed; she hadn’t realized how hungry she was, but she’d skipped lunch in her onboarding, and other prep work. Relying solely on coffee and the occasional pastry wasn’t very good for her health. “That’s a cute story, too, about Kinaa. Does Kinaa mean something in your language?” Jem’hadar were former military foes of the Cardassians, but she, admittedly, didn’t know much about the people as a whole, only what Rama had shared. “And that’s good. Even animals have a job, I believe. Do you find her to be a good companion?” They were falling back into a familiarity as they went on; Paisley was happy about that because it was sometimes hard to think of topics to discuss. While she was intelligent and Cardassians valued communication, she was still trying to figure herself out that evening.

“‘Fiery.’” He responded as the room began to fill with the meaty scent of cooking, sizzling steak. “I thought it was appropriate for the color of her fur back then. As it turns out fire runs deeper than her fur. She hisses fiercely at anyone she doesn’t like. Obviously she likes you.” He flipped her steak then and tossed in a knob of butter. “She is a wonderful companion otherwise and insists on sleeping in my bed when I am not around. I currently have crewman Dalich from Tactical stop by and feed her when he is available, once a day. He likes her very much - if only she shares the same amount of affection for him.” A tiny smirk worked its way across his scaly lips. “She scratched him once when he gave her less food than normal, would you believe it.” Following a brief pause he commented, “You seem more sure of yourself now. I recall you weren’t so at peace back when we first met.”

Paisley smiled, and stood up, setting the cat aside carefully as she did so. She crossed to the kitchenette in the suite, and to the replicator. “Something to drink?” She opted for some sparkling water; he was right, she probably shouldn’t have coffee this late. “She sounds like her and I can be best friends.” Paisley herself was a bit fiery; she had, after all, left her home on her own, to find a better way of life, snubbing everything she’d been raised and taught to do. She turned to him and handed him a drink. “Here you go,” she said, and stood there to watch him work.
“I FEEL more sure of myself now. I was…still worried too much about what people think, about what would happen if someone knew my father and told him, about…everything. The past few years have really been ME relying on myself, and it’s been nice. I’ve really learned a lot about who I TRULY am and what I really want. You and I both were raised to kill-each OTHER, even-and look at us. If WE can overcome that, and be friends, maybe…I don’t know. Maybe our people will learn, too, some day.” She shrugged again. “Want to hear something funny?”

“Sure.” Ramat’iklan moved their steaks onto two plates; her steak was somewhat larger than his. “What is it?”

“Aww, thanks, you gave me the big one! Anyway, you know how my name is kind of…NOT Cardassian? Nor Bajoran? I figured it was after one of my father’s mistresses or something. NO. It was from a really old Terran cartoon that my Dad saw somewhere! He said he liked the name, and the actress who played the character was pretty, I guess.” It wasn’t that funny, she supposed, but at least it was less weird than what she had assumed. “I understand my mother wasn’t exactly a willing participant in their marriage, but you figure she’d AT LEAST have vetoed that!” She took the plate, and settled in across from him. “Thank you.”

Ramat’iklan’s lips twisted with displeasure as he sat and handed her a set of cutlery. For someone who had no family to speak of he certainly had rather strong views on the subject, and Paisley knew this. They’d talked about it at some length. “I’d meant to ask you about it - but it seems you’ve answered the question for me.” He remarked. He still hadn’t touched his food; perhaps he was waiting for her to take the first bite. “You were named after a Terran actress your father found attractive? A strangely sentimental decision made by a man who you said was quite overbearing with his expectations. I would expect a man like that to be somewhat more… utilitarian. After all a name is just a name if all he’d wanted was a daughter who’d give him excellence, is that not so.”

She shrugged as they started to eat. “He was younger then, it’s the only thing I can think of. My brother was called Ut’ek, so he became utilitarian in two years’ time.” Ut’ek and her mother both died within days of each other after Ut’ek’s birth. “It’s better than some Cardassian names. I grew up with girls called Tikbet and Norr. Both of them are just mothers now; don’t even work in science or engineering or anything!” Paisley wasn’t trying to be judgmental, just that it was one more thing piled on top of rest of the crap her father had put her through. If SHE had been named, say, Team like her grandmother had wanted, maybe she’d have been ok with the status quo.

Kinaa padded up to the table from her position at the sofa and mewled at the pair, begging for food. As always. Ramat’iklan sighed and tossed her a small piece of steak, which the kitten devoured readily. “Whatever I eat, she wants a piece of.” He remarked as the kitten ate her fill. “As is the case with any domestic Terran canine or feline or so I’ve found. Have you ever seen a borzoi from the Russian region of Earth? Those are the worst in my experience.” Tall, slender and with ridiculously long noses you had to stare down to meet their eyes. Somehow that always made him feel slightly guilty. “But of course, you should not need to worry about what anyone thinks of your name. You are free of your father now aren’t you? Take it, make it yours. Perhaps someday, assuming we have to stay here in the future, I might just read a paper written by one Paisley F’Rar. What do you think?”

She watched him feed the cat, and listened to his explanation. “I have not. The Terran canine I met was called a golden retriever.” The animal was fine, sweet, but Paisley had tried to not become attached. Mostly because she knew that she wouldn’t work with the dog or owner forever, and didn’t want the painful goodbye.
“That’s my plan. It’s been 8 years, and I no longer feel guilt about leaving. Only resolve to be my own person now. I may even return to Cardassia Prime someday.” Through a combination of counseling, sheer determination, and her intelligence, she was finally doing HERSELF. “This has been really nice. What are your plans for the rest of the evening?” Thier meal was nearly finished.

"Nothing much. Eat, spend time with Kinaa while possibly looking over what I have found for the captain's project, go to bed. Simple things." He replied, sipping from the drink that'd been handed to him. It was a strawberry iced tea, which he'd ordered the first time they'd met at the party. Part of him was surprised that she'd remembered at all at first, but then he recalled that she was raised on Cardassia, with the mental training and likely eidetic memory that came with it. Of course she would remember. "How about you? What do you have in mind, since your duties only begin tomorrow?"

“Was going to review personnel reports on those under me. Do a little research on a project, perhaps. Take this thing off, too,” she tugged at the uniform top. “It’s hot and itchy.” She finished her drink, as well. “You must tell me about this super secret project some time.” She knew he was hiding something; it COULD be that he couldn’t say. Or it could be that she’d have to wheedle him about it. “Have you seen anything new at the holodeck?” She didn’t want to leave yet; his aggressive statements throughout their conversation had her oddly rooted in her spot, and her body’s recognition of flirtatious behavior was overriding her logic.

"I cannot tell you more about my project. The captain has ordered that it be classified and knowledge of its contents be restricted to only personnel assigned to it by him personally. I cannot, and will not, defy my orders unless I am told otherwise." Ramat'iklan replied. "As to the holodeck - I suppose it depends on what you define as new. I have been utilizing a cooking program to practise, but I have not encountered anything new per se."

She nodded. “I understand. It’s OK. I don’t want or expect you to tell me if it is not OK. I understand things being classified.” She DID understand. “But hmm, cooking program? Interesting. I meant more like movies, but tell me a bit more about your cookery.” It was an interesting part of his being that he cooked. She could not. Just a few things, but she relied too heavily on her replicator for meals. She absently picked up Kinaa, and petted her.

"I did not envision that the preparation of food by hand could be quite so… difficult." He stated. "I burned, cut and scaled myself several times along my journey - injuries I was told were absolutely normal for any novice cook. It took months for me to perfect the basics, and even then only with assistance from my colleagues aboard the Bradford. They gave me their program to help me learn and practise at a whim, which is what I have been using of late." The orange tabby cat in her hands mewled and promptly went to sleep, with soft purrs emanating from her chops every so often. “As of late I have been trying my hand at Bajoran cuisine, though some ingredients are ridiculously hard to source for. Cardassian food is even harder to prepare, especially considering some ingredients should be fermented for weeks on end before use…"

Paisley laughed. “Yes. I used to do some cooking for my father at home, when I was younger. We had a neighbor lady who would come to look after me, and she did MOST of it. But yes, it can be dangerous.” She paused for a moment. “What have you tried to make? I can help a little.” Mavek, the lady who lived nearby, had taught her some cooking, but Paisely’s mother had died before Paisley was old enough to learn. “I can make a good Hekant. With potatoes.” Hekant was a Cardassian animal similar to a rabbit.

"Hekant, larish pie, zabu stew and a few others. Larish pie is especially troublesome considering most merchants refuse to order the fermented fish used in its filling." Ramat sighed. "Which is mildly irritating. I would most certainly appreciate your assistance, however, in any case." He remarked. He could've sworn Paisley had acquired a faint scent since they'd first met, and he couldn't figure out what it was - not that it was unpleasant by any means, but really, what was it?

She nodded. “Yes, I can acquire some for you. I’ll get in touch with my friend La’art. He will be able to get as much as you need.” Paisley knew that was because he was in love with her, but she had never returned the feelings. He was a perfectly fine MAN, just did nothing for her romantically. “I haven’t had a good Larish pie in AGES.” She could almost TASTE if she focused.

"I would gladly learn to make it from you." Ramat'iklan responded. "Let me know when you have the ingredients we need, and I would be glad to avail myself for you to teach me." He pushed his now empty plate away, clean entirely of food. Clearly he was hungry - as long hours in sickbay tend to make you. "If you're finished with your dinner, I can clear both plates. Dessert is something I have sadly not mastered - I'll have to replicate it if you want some."

She nodded. “Dessert sounds good.” She stood up. “Can I use your bathroom?” She helped herself, and once alone, she could think a moment. She returned, ready to eat the rest of the meal, deciding that she would not continue the evening unless HE asked her. She was feeling oddly, but couldn’t decide if it was romantic feelings or something else.

Ramat'iklan puttered off to the replicator as she headed to the bathroom. When she'd returned to the table he'd replicated two bowls of chocolate pudding and set them on the table with a spoon for each of them. "I recall you telling me you hadn't had any good chocolate pudding in forever when we met." He said as he sat down across from her and handed her the spoon. "Surely the recipe in the President's flagship's computer should be better than no other, don't you reckon? I hope you like it."

Chocolate pudding? Oh boy! It made her feel like a kid again. Good memories came with chocolate pudding. “You remembered that?” She blushed a little; the grayish tint of her skin turning more mud colored. “Thank you. Any chance of tea?” She sat down. “I’d assume the President would only have the best! But uh… which President?” There could be a couple. The meal has only been about an hour or so-they had a lot they could talk about. But then again, they had a lot of time ahead of them.

"Of course I remember. When you have to study long, complex medical files and use what knowledge you glean from it to save a person's life, you pick up on any fact you hear." Conversely, picking up on any fact about someone else could be weaponized and used against them, of course, but Ramat'iklan declined to say that. The idea wasn't to scare her off. He picked up his spoon but did not take the first bite, obviously waiting for her to do so. "And the President of the United Federation of Planets, of course. This ship is not named Federation One for nothing." He said with a dry bark of laughter.

"Tea we can have when we are finished with dessert. What kind would you like?" He wouldn't have minded some himself. He'd grown rather partial to black tea of late; he didn't much like the flavor of most other teas. Especially chamomile. There was something off about that variety that he did not like.

She had noticed that he waited for her to eat first; both courses. Interesting. The Cardassians and Bajoran both were polite to almost a fault; much better than the Vulcans and Romulans, and LIGHT YEARS ahead of the Terrans. “I don’t care, truly.”

"Black tea it is." He decided. She seemed to like the pudding, at least, which was good in his eyes. He tucked into his own dessert with a satisfied hum. He'd had it several times by now, prior to reuniting with her, of course, but he'd somehow never grown sick of it. Maybe it was something in the ingredients that made it so moreish. "I wonder what the Cardassia of this age is like." He remarked. "Surely it has to have evolved far beyond what it was before. What do you think?"

She sighed. “It’s been five years since I’ve been back. I keep in contact with a few people from home. It’s… getting better, incrementally, but until the Elders die off-people like my father-we-they’re-doomed to keep the old ways.” She let out another deep sigh. “I fear that more damage will be done until then. And for what?! More land? It’s not for a better good!” She slammed her hand down on the table and winced at the sting. Her face softened, though. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to yell.” It was still a sore spot for her.

Ramat’iklan’s hand lifted from the couch and gently touched hers in a placating gesture. “Change is a constant. You know this.” He said, gently. “A thousand years have passed. The elders you know have long since passed on and new leadership has come into power many, many times. Things on Cardassia have most certainly changed. For better or for worse? We shall have to see, I suppose. I suppose it would not hurt to hold out hope for a better, brighter future.”

Paisley hung her head. She knew he was right. Feeling his hand on hers, though, helped her to feel better about the discussion. “Men like my father wish other people dead. Enlightenment seems just out of his reach.” She looked at him, her bright blue eyes, the largest Bajoran gene she’d gotten, searched his. “How do you reconcile it? Have things changed for the Jem’hadar?”

"I do not know." Ramat'iklan blinked once, briefly obscuring her view of his eyes. They were brown, the color of hot chocolate in a mug when freshly made, warm, sweet and oh so tempting. Nice eyes, really. "For us great change is inevitable, how drastic is another matter altogether. I suspect that we will still be soldiers at our core. Warlike perhaps, not unlike the Klingons. Honor bound, also not unlike the Klingons. But of course, that is merely speculation." He remarked sagely. "However, it does not matter how my people have changed. I'll still be the same person I am now, with the same duties and the same colleagues and friends. My first priority is to the crew of Federation One, which you are a part of. Other things come second."

Paisley nodded, but pressed him. “BUT how do you…and perhaps myself…how come we’re different? I don’t wish to be “a warrior at my core,” and I find dying for honor to be an outdated, patriarchal concept. For as much talk as my people have about diversity, we sure have some pretty outdated views on war.” She shuddered. “That’s why I like science. It is binary, and logical, and the changes it causes are profound.” If only she could be an android, devoid of the feelings of being an outcast by choice. “When another warring faction comes for the Cardassians, will we be as honorable?” It wasn’t a question as much as a reflection. She still had a lot of unresolved feelings about the Federation allowing full Cardassians into its ranks-given their history and penchant for starting unnecessary conflict, it seemed to be counter to what the Federation, and especially Starfleet, stood for. She looked back at Ramat’iklan. “Would you kill me if you had to?”

The Ramat’iklan that was two years old would’ve said yes in an instant. He would’ve taken up a phaser pistol, fired upon her with prejudice and broken his Hippocratic Oath in a heartbeat. Twenty-year-old Ramat’iklan, however, tempered and made wiser by his years of living in Federation space, hesitated to come up with an answer at first - which might’ve made the ease with which he delivered the answer he came upon at last more surprising:

“If living among the citizens of the Federation has taught me anything, it is that victory does not always need to be earned with bloodshed. An alternate way always exists, if you know where to look.” He said.

She held their stare longer than was necessary, perhaps. She was trying to read him, a little, to decide if he were truthful. She felt he was. “I agree. A small part of me thinks I would still default to that awful part of me…I’ve been incubated to hate others. It’s all I knew for so long. Until I was an older child!! I was lucky enough to be born to the father I was-it came with privilege and no one would DARE to second-guess a half Bajoran offspring of a respected military leader, but it didn’t mean I didn’t notice the LOOKS. The whispered judgments about my birthright. Maybe even the confirmation of that when I left.” She leaned back, sipping the tea. “And you’re right; at least being around others we were supposed to dislike has shown that we’re really all more alike than we’re different.”

“Which is, in any case, a positive outcome. Is it it not?” Ramat’iklan noted. “Just a few decades ago our people were engaged in a bitter war with the people we now serve together with, amiably, without conflict. If such change is possible, believe me when I say that any change is possible.” Ramat’iklan finished his dessert and sighed contentedly. “I shan’t keep you here if you have other things to do. I would love to meet with you again, at another time. I think we have more catching up to do still.”

“Yes. You’re right. We share births, lives, deaths with people we once hated. And who hated us.” She finished her tea. She didn’t WANT to leave, but she knew she needed the rest and he did, too.

“We do. A LOT more. I could stay another half hour but no later,” she said, looking at the clock. “It’s up to you.

"Half an hour will be more than enough." Ramat'iklan decided. "Would you like to move to the sofa?"

She nodded. “Sure. Do you need help cleaning up?” It wasn’t like it was a date or something, where she’d expect the asker to do all that. “You know what is weird? That we both ended up on the same ship.”

“I can do the washing on my own.” He replied, taking both their empty plates to the sink. “The universe is only so large. The chances of us serving on the same ship are nonzero. I don’t think it is all that weird - it simply means that we now have the chance to possibly get to know each other better than before. We will be working together much more often, after all. May I get you more tea?” He asked as he scrubbed each plate and set it off to the side to dry.

She considered his words. “There’s 365 registry ships. That’s actually like 0.02% chance. But yeah, I guess that’s “nonzero”. She chuckled a little. “Some more tea would be great. And thanks. I really don’t mind helping out.” Still, she settled in on the couch, and picked Kinaa back up. She inspected her blouse to make sure she hadn’t spilled food on it-that sometimes happened-and was ok. After a minute, he was back by her side, handing off another cup of tea. “Thank you. Whatever kind this is smells good.”

“Earl gray. Not one of my favorites, but I know that it is liked by most people.” Ramat’iklan sipped from it and sighed, seeming almost weary. “Sickbay has been extremely busy of late, dealing with the injured and the dead, and sometimes those who are living but are convinced that hope has left completely and they are better off dead. We stop those people, of course, and counsel them, but I feel that it is working far too slowly.”

Paisley listened carefully. “Well, luckily, they have you to help them. And the Doc, of course.” She didn’t really understand the urge to harm yourself; she’d been sad or hopeless before, but she believed that there was always something to look forward to. She knew pain, though, and she tried not to judge people for theirs. “That’s kind of sad. I don’t know if I would be able to deal with that kind of thing all day.” She said. She sipped the tea, and her brain registered it. “Yes, I’ve had this before. Some of the Terrans not from America drink it with milk.” She sipped again. “It’s not bad, though. I havent’ had it in awhile; I prefer herbal tea or Cardassi herbal tea.” She said. She pet the cat again. “She’s kind of nice, really.”

“Terran cats tend to be that way.” Paisley’s stroking roused the orange tabby, who mewled and looked up at the Carjoran with big green eyes. “She will demand food. She always demands food.” Ramat’iklan reached over and stroked the cat gently. “As it turned out Terran cats have insatiable appetites. What’s important is to indulge them when appropriate. Come on, Kinaa, I fed you two hours ago.” He chided the kitten, earning him a pair of big, pleading eyes and an equally pleading mewl. “Humans still find them to be excellent companions, however, and frankly so do I.” Kinaa stood up, stretched and pounced into his lap, where she settled in a ball of orange fluff. “Though still not quite the same as actual person to person contact.”

Paisley nodded. “I see. We keep the Larish as pets. Some of us do. I was never allowed, but a few of my friends had them. One girl had a Terran animal called a bird-Indian RingNeck Parrot. It could say words. It was smelly, though. And quite messy.” Her father barely paid her any attention, let alone a helpless animal. It was really for the better. “She seems to like you, however. What is her diet like? I could help care for her, too, if you need me to.” She offered. “That’s true. I miss it sometimes…” She trailed off then.

“I will send you the supplement she eats via your PADD, as well as the other types of care she receives. I would most appreciate you taking care of her, in fact, seeing as how she seems to like you.” He remarked. “Terran cats can be rather picky as to whom they take a shine to as I recall and you seem to fit within her personal… parameters.”

Paisley smiled. “That would be nice. I am glad she likes me.” Paisley paused for a moment. “How do you determine what a cat’s personal parameters are? How does she react to people she doesn’t like?” Paisley wondered. Larish often just ran away, sometimes they bit if it was very egregious. “As for person contact, meet any cute girls lately? Gotta be a ton out here.”

Ramat’iklan’s cheeks felt hot. She would’ve probably seen that the gaps between his scales were filled with darker brown. Yep, Ramat’iklan was blushing - sort of. “Lieutenant Ragh is attractive, but she is my subordinate. It would not be appropriate.” He said hesitantly. “Counsellor R’elle has only just found another Caitian woman she is absolutely smitten with…” He would’ve said that Paisley herself also fit in that category (which she actually did) but he didn’t quite want to ruin their friendship… yet. “Crewman Prajna from Tactical is beautiful, as most Orion women are, but she is not well liked because of her personality…” Ramat’iklan’s head dipped a little bit. Was he embarrassed? Yep, he was! What a rare sight. It wasn’t common to see him so unsure of himself. “...and a few others.”

Paisley felt a little bad; she’d only asked because it was the first thing that popped into her head. She classified herself as straight, but she found certain women attractive in passing. “I see.” Paisley hadn’t met the Lieutenant yet, but had met the other two. He had a type. “Anyone out here you think I’d like? You can probably figure out my type; didn’t change much from the party.” She’d gone to the party with her then-boyfriend, a Betazoid counselor who was more pretty boy than brains. She’d tired of him quickly, though, because he was dense as a blackberry bush. It was getting a bit…weird discussing this topic but now they were there, she supposed, and it would seem weirder to change the subject suddenly. “Tough ones,” she blurted out, then felt her cheeks get hot, and she KNEW the grey tint to her skin had darkened to that ugly muddy gray/red color.

“There are a few in Tactical - though I’m afraid a few of them favor brawn over brains. Ensign Taylor Mattis is built like a linebacker, but his emotional intelligence has something to be desired.” Ramat’iklan recalled. “Lieutenant Saval is quiet but extremely intelligent, though his work supercedes all other priorities. I just put a note on his record two days ago for working five shifts in a row, forsaking three meals in the process. I doubt that will change for the forseeable future. Lieutenant junior grade Edras in Engineering is the top graduate of his classes at Starfleet Academy, but he has more or less decided to live in the Jeffries tubes where he cannot feel the emotions of the crew around him, moreso in recent days…” Ramat’iklan sighed. The entire crew had had it bad for the past many months indeed, and it was starting to show.

“I see. I’ll keep it in mind, thanks. I was told I was coming aboard at a tough time. Maybe I should get my sea legs back, first.” He hadn’t mentioned himself. But why should he? She didn’t ask. “Yikes! Three meals? Five days in a row? That’s a LOT.” She was a bit distant from the combats and skirmishes in her labs, but she still FELT them. “Out in the Delta Quadrant, we ran into some Breen causing trouble but they weren’t hard to put down. It was early on in my time with the Exchange, though.” It was getting closer to the time when she’d have to leave but she didn’t want to just yet.

"With the Republic?" Ramat'iklan asked. "You'll have to tell me about that another time - I am curious to find out what working with them is like. Well." He sighed, seeming tired at last. "Is there anything else you'd like to know about me?" She shrugged.

"I can tell you anytime. Just ask." Was there anything else she wanted to know? Yeah, a lot, but they were getting short on time. "Not today. Maybe our next meal together. Thanks for cooking; it was nice." She stood up to go.

"You are welcome - and see you again soon, Paisley. Perhaps sometime this week?" Ramat suggested with a smile. He stood up with her, ready to escort her to the door. It was only polite after all.

"That sounds nice!! We will talk some more tomorrow." She leaned and kissed his cheek as she left the room.

Ramat'iklan may or may not have stared a bit as she left the room, ignoring the sudden warmth on his cheek - and with the tiniest crack of a smile on his lips.

 

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