Jagged Edges and Fresh Wounds

Posted on Sun Nov 16th, 2025 @ 3:15am by Lieutenant Irynya & Ensign Noah Balsam

Mission: Port of Call
Location: Main Computer Core: Deck 2 (Isolation Zone)
Timeline: Mission Day 1 at 1800

[Upper Level, Computer Core]
[Deck Two]
[1800 Hours]

The Yeoman's whistle sounded. "Damage Control Teams Alpha, Beta, Charlie are relieved. Secure your work and finish any notes, and submit your requisitions and supply needs to Commander Cross by 1830 Hours."

Clomping boots. They felt heavy. They felt rhythmic, measured. But their cadence was a trudging shuffle. It was weariness of mind, and of body. Their forms were nearly uniform, the three of them. One was perhaps taller. But they were of similar girth. Through the damage-wrought debris and devastation, a cold and desiccated wander through what had once been known decks, they trudged until they reached a force field. It shimmered, and seemed to sizzle as the first person passed through. Not repulsed, the field chirped with a green lighted ping. They were granted re-entry. Then another. Then another.

With an outgassed hiss, each disengaged the life support lifeline from their helmets to the small, sleek backs on their back that generated atmosphere and doubled as a main thruster system. Under the dim lighting of the deactivated section sixteen, the satin metal facade of each helm twisted under padding and gloved hands. Monitoring extensions on each forearm flashed green, then yellow, and then white.

The scent of sweat, and ozone, and humidity wafted with dry, crisp, cold air. Noah Balsam took a breath. He'd been in that thing for hours. Just focusing. Just... focusing on what had to be done. It was delicate work. Materials had to be cut away, removed. The structure had to be made secure. Then damage to the power systems and relays had to be assessed. The burnt-out bio-neural gelpacks had to be carefully removed, a bit akin to brain surgery. ODNs and systems were carefully replaced. They were tested on handheld peripherals. They were slaved in to old isolinear based systems for diagnostics. And only then could the delicate new gelpacks be installed- and even then sparingly. They were a valuable and rare commodity. One could not just grow neural gelpacks from nothing.

"I could use a drink," the structural engineering specialist sighed. They rummaged and ruffled their hair. The power distribution specialist agreed with a murmur. "You, Balsam?"

Noah shook his head no. His mouth forms a swallowed shape that turned his lips inside out a moment. His mouth tasted like ass- though it was really just the funk of being in a suit for so long, "I'll pass, th-thanks. Uh. Guys. Maybe next time. I have to report in." Inwardly he winced. That was a lie. Reporting in would take all of thirty seconds. He had to tick "engaged" to several inert gelpacks and have whoever was in the backup stations monitoring the processors acting as the core had to initialize them.

The hair-ruffler clapped him on the suited shoulder. Noah staggered a quarter-step and gave them a reassuring nod and rictus of a smile. When their backs turned and they began to walk away, his smile practically off off a cliff. He closed tired, bruised-looking eyes- not from wounds but lack of sleep. He rubbed the flat of his nose. He tucked his headgear under his arm and trudged down the corridor.

It was eerily silent, like a ghost town. Damage Control had obviously started the clean up but panels and covers were missing in many places. And it still smelled like burned duranium... plastized elements... scorched ceramics and bit. His nose flared. His breath out was harsh. He turned and entered in to the makeshift locker area. This had been probably junior officers' quarters. But it had been cleared out and made in to a storage and de-equipping zone.

He sat down and after a few minutes of a hung head and regular blinked, he stripped to the waist. The room was dry and cold in here, too. Goosepumps rose up along his arms. But... Noah wasn't sure if he actually felt it, or did something in his head reasoned he should?

The hole.

Jagged.

Black. Like... it blasted a bottomless crater in a yellow brick road. Where was the way around? Noah's eyes closed. The well of panic the hole caused stirred like a snake rousing from torpor. He pushed it down with a breath. He could feel the pain and heaviness, like the ghost of injuries pressing down on a health body, bowing it and bending it to relive its trauma. Her laugh was... chirpy... like honey. It stung deep. He knew, somewhere in his logical brain, supposedly, theoretically, someday he'd be able to remember it without pain.

Not now though. He wondered if he'd drink hot chocolate again. Or ever look at flowers the same. Or trees. Or even walk in to the Arboretum again. Or whatever it would become since Subrek had decided the whole thing needed to be blasted in to space and all that remained were a few vacuum-desiccated, flash-frozen remnants. The rage flowed in sinews and veins to his fists. Noah wanted to hit Subrek. But that wasn't who he was.

"Computer," his voice was hollow. He gave his helmet a short toss and it clanged loudly on the deckplate. "What has Debbie's Diner listed as the specials tonight?" His mouth formed a joyless line.

---

The sound of booted feet on standard bedroom carpet had a strange, almost rhythmic, shushing effect. The flooring, certainly, dampened the sound, but the wearer of the boots was also pacing.

You'll burn a hole in that spot.

The voice in her head was Marteli's, combined with a wry knowing smirk of a smile that was more eye twinkle than actual quirk of the lips. It was a familiar look.

"Computer, time."

The computer's feminine neutrality grated against the bundle of feelings that were propelling Irynya back and forth across her room.

"The time is 1759."

The pacing stopped, silencing of her rhythmic pacing. "Oh thank heaven," she muttered as a mixture of relief and urgency pushed her back into motion. Out of her room and out of her quarters. Down the corridor to the lift. Up to deck 2 section 16. She'd estimated the amount of time she would need to get there almost an hour ago now when she'd confirmed that Noah would be off duty. That he was, in fact, on duty completing repairs in and around the Arboretum gave her more than a moment's pause at the time.

Now, though, she had an almost irrepressible need to see him. To put eyes and maybe hands on him. It was an unnecessary anxiety, but it was one she hadn't been able to get rid of when he hadn't come to the group therapy session Counselor Qo had organized.

She'd told herself that she would just check on him and then, if he didn't want company, she wouldn't intrude. If he did...

She hoped he did.

When she finally reached her destination she slowed, stopped short to take a breath, and then moved quietly to the doorway of the makeshift locker room. The door swished open when it sensed her proximity revealing a room that had clearly been repurposed from something else. The lighting was ambient, the way a common room in junior crew quarters might be, but the similarity ended there. Temporary lockers, seating, and storage bins were arranged through the space.

Her eyes swept the room quickly settling only its only occupant. He sat, feet planted with elbows on knees and shoulder's bowed. He still wore the bottom half of a hazard suit, but from the waist up was only pale skin. His hands, drooping at the wrist, hung out in front of him and as she watched his long musician's fingers curled, tensing and balling into fists. The tension held for a long moment before ebbing, fingers slowly uncurling.

Something in her unclenched. He was right there. If he heard the door or her entrance into the room he gave no indication and so she stood, quiet, taking him in and letting her own anxious emotions settle with the confirmation that, if nothing else, he was right there.

For the space of moments or held breath she stood like that until the still equilibrium was broken with the clang of a helmet on the deck plating and the sound of his voice, a hollowed out version of the tone she was used to, inquiring after the specials at Debbie's.

She cleared her throat.

Noah's head whipped to the sound, like one who had been truly lost in an abyss of thought. Initially his look was wide-eyed surprise and then it softened into genuine fondness, if quite tired. It was like an exhausted sloth slowly melting a grin to benefit their viewer. "Hey."

He sniffed- the dryness of the suit always gave him congestion. "I-I just finished my shift." He pulled his arms up and in turn, he stretched each of his lengthy arms, angling them around his head and rocking his torso to stretch the tired muscles that clung to his ribs. "Don't geh-get too close, I've been in this thing for hours." He turned at the waist, his smile the smile of the depressed and bereft needing to convey to their onlooker that they didn't want them to feel like he did. "What're, um, you doing down here?" His brows flexed. How long had he been on shift? How long had he been sitting here. He didn't actually remember hearing what Debbie's had for food.

"Looking for you," she answered honestly.

His wide, slothy smile bent again. He blinked tiredly, eyes staying at a half-lid, "You won. You found me. Now you hide, and I'll come seek you."

That smile, even weary and sad, felt like home. The worried thing in her chest unclenched a tiny bit more and she could feel her expression shift from watchful care to warmth in answer to his own--a warm melting into familiar comfort.

As he stretched something different forced its way upward. A flicker of something else made the tiniest bit of color flush toward her cheeks.

Ignoring his warning she dropped into the seat next to him. "I've smelled you plenty of times before. This can't be any different," she offered as explanation. She opened her mouth to say more, but all of the everything of the last few days surged to the front of her head and she couldn't find words. With a sigh she closed her mouth and looked down at her hands finally settling on, "You didn't come to the group therapy thing. I was... worried."

Noah's nose wrinkled, his face flexing with a wince of concern. "Uh Nnn... I.... umm.... oh....kay...." He relented with a new air of discomfort. He'd been in this suit for more than a whole shift. Without breaks. And there were no heads around here for the time being. The un-glamorous details of being in an EVA suit seldom disclosed the fact that one essentially wore something like a diaper.

Noah's brows flexed up under his sweaty bangs. "Wow umm... strai-straight to it. OK..." He rubbed his nose again. "I-I couldn't make it I mean..." His lanky arm swayed toward the door and gestured at beyond. "We're four people down in engineering... we lost our CEO. Tha-that's twenty percent of our department. The-the ship doesn't repair itself, Iry." He tried to smile again but this time it was far more strained. Brow jutted up and dropped. "I'm supposed to be on light duty too but..." He scoffed and lifted up his foot. With a thud it planted and he began to unlatch the boots, each hissing and "vrtting" into an idle state.

Irynya's face fell. "No," she said. "I didn't mean." She sighed, picked at her thumb nail, tried again. "I just needed to... to see you. That's all. That probably sounds childish... or silly... or something." The words, like before, stuck in her throat. She wanted to know how he was. She wanted to comfort and be comforted at the same time. She wanted to know if he'd slept. She wanted something more vague and unformed. Connection and familiarity and the ability to be just herself and not a department head or a roommate or any other thing.

Noah's brows flexed into the bridge of his nose, concerned. "Not silly..."

"I didn't mean to sound like I was accusing you," she added, twisting her neck to peer at him as he moved.

He nodded slowly. He huffed a sigh. "How'd it go?" Noah asked. His head tossed toward her first to look at her, then to try and dislodge his bangs.

It was such a familiar movement that the dissonance of normalcy in the midst of everything else around them caught her off guard. She blinked once, offered a small smile. "It was. I mean I guess it was good. I've never been in a group therapy session before. I'm not sure it's my favorite way to do that."

"Mmm," he nodded slowly in a neutral way. His smile was fleeting but there, a reply to her own. He felt... tense. Uncomfortable. It manifested as a hard feeling in his chest and shoulders. He did not want to talk about this. He didn't know what to say or do... or feel. His own limited experience with trauma, almost twelve years past now, was that he was likely in shock. But that was an intellectual assessment. "Did it help you though?" He pushed through, his Betazoid-dark eyes glancing at her with a push of warmth.

Shoulders half rose and fell in a shrug. "I don't know yet," she answered. She pressed her lips together, frustrated with herself for not having a better answer. The session had been a bit like prodding around the edges of an open wound. It hurt, but maybe the hurt had been necessary to help the wound heal. Still, only time could tell with this kind of thing. When they'd barely escaped the Vidiians on the Adelphi there had been deaths. And the intense trauma of the unknown. And it had just needed... time. And therapy. Sure. But that came later.

Noah reached over. It was like he sensed some suffering on her part. He rested his fingers on her shoulder and gave her a gentle rock, enough that their shoulders bumped.

For a tense moment she said nothing else. The feeling of not having words to say, ways to share everything she was thinking with her friend, rose large. And finally she gave into the futility of it. He was right there. So was she. And that was more settling than anything that had been talked about that day.

Gingerly she extended her foot out until the toe of her boot nudged his leg, an echo of playfulness returning with the motion. "Wanna get something to eat?" She asked, feeling herself relax. "Or... umm... watch a movie or something?"

Toe tapped him. Noah smiled down at his chest. Then, Noah nodded. His hand sloughed off her shoulder. "Yeah. I'm hungry," he half-lied, fully murmured with a bob of his head again. He should have been hungry. But when he tried to think of what for, he just came up empty. Regardless, he needed to try. "I'll change?" He moved his head toward the makeshift sonic shower. "And meet you at-at Debbie's in ten minutes?" He suggested.

---

[Debbie's Diner]
[Deck Seven-Aft]
[1840 Hours]

Debbie's was, as it always was in the evening, a popular spot. The simulated 50's diner vinyl seats and laminate table tops were filled with people and half finished plates. A low murmur of conversation pervaded the room topped by the bebop sounds of musicians from the era the diner was modeled after. Servers, on skates tonight, zipped between tables to take orders or check in to see if anyone needed anything. Overall it was a cheery, cozy, if slightly chaotic place.

From just inside the door Irynya scanned the room, looking for an open table or booth where she and Noah could park. She spotted Bryad, Tolbert, and an enlisted crewman whose name was escaping her at a table near the front. Tolbert spotted her and waved, grinning and indicating the open seat next to Bryad. A small smile settled on the Risian's face and she waved back, but shook her head no before mouthing I'm meeting someone in an overexaggerated silent enunciation.

It must have been enough for Tolbert to understand because her expression turned catlike and she shot Irynya a wink and a thumbs up before mouthing something back. It looked like Good luck and Iry realized that Tolbert had clearly jumped to the conclusion that Iry was on a date. Her eyes widened and for a moment she debated going over to the table anyway--just to set the record straight. But Noah would be here any minute and she wasn't sure doubling down on a correction would convince anyone at the table that she wasn't on a date. She just hoped that the rumor mill would mind its own business.

A moment later a pair rose from a booth in the back corner, blessedly far from Tolbert and Bryad, and made their way toward the exit. Irynya made a beeline for the open table, getting there just before a server arrived to clear the table.

"Evening Lieutenant," the Bolian server rumbled. His voice held a low bass note to it, making Iry lean closer to catch what he said over the din from the room. "I'll have this spot cleaned up in just a moment."

"Thanks," she replied with a smile, then before he could turn away with an armload of dishes she added, "Any chance I can put in an order of mozzarella sticks before you head back this way?"

The flash of annoyance on the man's face was mild and quickly smoothed.

Iry was undeterred. She smiled broadly, a winning look that felt strange and a bit forced on her features. "I would really appreciate it."

The server nodded and rumbled his assent and then he was off.

Scanning the space she grabbed a napkin and did a quick sweep of the table to move the crumbs from the former occupants at least into some kind of pile. She knew that the server would be back with a clothe to wipe everything down, but still. It felt weird to just sit there. The door to Debbie's opened and the telltale sound of it drew her attention. She craned her neck in that direction, but the new arrival was one of the science officers and the tiniest bit of anticipatory disappointment stole through her.

From across the room she caught Tolbert watching her. The redhead shot her a wink and then returned to her own conversation leaving Irynya to stare at the table top in a bid to avoid any more eye contact.

Hiss. Its sound was off. Like the door's mechanisms were misaligned. The doors themselves seemed slow on the uptake. But nonetheless, the slender Engineer made his way through. He looked freshly cascaded in cleansing sonic vibrations though still... empty. Tired. He slowed and scanned the room. With a half-step back of hesitation he wondered if he'd somehow arrived early. He'd said Debbie's right? Not the Mess Hall?

Then he saw her after a few people parted. The woman who'd come in just before him had stalled herself. He filled his chest. He rolled his shoulders back. He wanted sleep but her and Sheldon's friendships were the next best thing. Just... something unvoiced nagged at him. Avoid. Damaged. Curl up. Just wait. Wait it out. Like a siege. His large feet carried him forward.

He smiled- wearily but he smiled- with a sort of grimace of apology while he slid in to the booth. It was the standard sit, meeting the resistance of vinyl, and having to push oneself a little further in. "Hi. Th-thanks for waiting. I feel..." He twisted his lips and squinted an eye, "Less smelly."

She had begun to contemplate just how bad it would look to push the small crumb pile onto the floor when a lanky presence loomed, a shadow across the table, before Noah slid into the space across from her. He was tried. She could see it in every line of his body. And she wondered, for the briefest moment, if she was wrong for asking him to come here and spend time with her instead of insisting he rest.

Would he have rested, though? She wondered if he slept at all the night before.

Despite the niggling worry that continued to prod at her she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face, gentle and warm as if the only person worth smiling at in that moment was the man across from her. "It wasn't a long wait," she answered and then nibbled the inside of her lip. "I hope it's ok I ordered some mozzarella sticks."

Noah knew he was in trouble then. Not even those sounded particularly good right now. So he faked it with a rictus, chuckled grin. "Per-perfect, thank you Iry." He said.

As if on cue the Bolian server arrived, stopping himself with the toe of his skate and a flourish of a red plastic basket with red and white checkered paper. Nestled within, as if Mo knew exactly how desperately they needed comfort and normalcy, were perfectly fried, gooey and stringy cheese sticks. A small ceramic bowl of marinara was tucked into one end steaming lightly to show that it, too, was hot.

"Evening," he said to Noah with a nod. "Know what else you guys want or need a minute?"

"Hi," Noah murmured a warm-meaning greeting while he stacked his hands atop each other and peered down at the fried sticks of browned, crispy, breaded cheese. He met Irynya's gaze with a stalling, "Uhh....."

Iry glanced at Noah before confirming they needed a minute. From her spot across the table she studied Noah. How many times had they met and sat just like this and chatted about anything and everything? It was the most normal thing for them to do. But in that moment the table felt like a weird barrier. She set one hand out in front of her, palm up and open. It was a signal that she would have given Timmoz and one he would have recognized. With Noah... well she hoped he saw it as an invitation and not a demand.

"So, I need to know all about PhaserBeak," she said, offering up a topic that she hoped was fairly benign.

Noah winced and chuckled. "Um. Y-yeah. Lieutenant Good was a weird mix about that one. Uh." His stacked hands hesitated, squeezed, and then moved in to motion as he tried to explain. He leaned forward some, "It's a uh... a take I guess? On something Shelly and I saw in a cartoon after the whole... um... thing. The station. See there was..." His mouth twisted, "Robot called Soundwave.... who was designed like an ancient piece of music playback technology. And he could deploy these um..." Noah frowned. "Uh well... the Human word is a cassette. Again, really old technology. Finding them intact is almost impossible. And... Laser Beak... was one of these cassette robots that turned in to a bird. And we thought, um, well," He shrugged, "Why-why not try to take the concept to the field."

It was such a Noah thing to do--building a simulacrum of old tech brought forward to the 25th century. If she followed even half of his explanation, though, it was a miracle. Instead she nodded along. Met his eyes when he looked at her and listened.

And, finally, removed her hand from the table, smoothly snagging a mozzarella stick and popping the end into her mouth. The warm cheese and oil and breadcrumb combination coated her tongue and with it her stomach rumbled announcing that she was much more hungry than she had originally thought.

His mouth twisted, "But uh... Lieutenant Good said we can't go designing and deploying unauthorized weapons." His brows rose but his eyes dropped, "Even if it helped out. So... since-since it helped out, she's looking the other way. But building another one needs clearance from her office, the XO, and probably Starfleet in general." His mouth twisted again. His fingers teased the butt of a cheesestick but he didn't yet lift one up. "So um..." His arms dropped under the table and he leaned his bony chest in to the table, "How-how are you? I heard when we get to Pathfinder, you get new shuttlecraft."

"Wait, really?" She asked, momentarily distracted by this news. "I hadn't heard that yet. Do you know what class? I heard a rumor that there's a new one they've been testing out." She slowed, pausing a moment to take another bite and chew. There was something dissonant about being enthusiastic about new shuttles when inside everything still felt off.

"Type 14's," Noah's smile spanned widely, "The new ones they're putting on the Echelons and Duderstadt classes." Noah reported. I wonder what the Captain will name them?" He shook his hand, blinking slow, "S-sorry you were saying."

She waved off the apology, fixing him with a warm look that she pulled out anytime he apologiezed unnecessarily for something. She paused as well, considering whether to continue down the safer route of shuttle geekery before opting to answer his original question. "I'm alright," she started to say as if saying it made it true. The statement hung in the air between them before she sighed and shook her bead. "I mean. Not really alright. Just ... I'm functioning. You know? If we were on Risa..." She stopped, shook her head again. "Doesn't really matter. We're not on Risa. What about you?"

Noah's eyes lowered to the cheese sticks. His brows lifted. "Just.... don't know. I um..." His brows knitted. "Its a lot. I don't know. Sorry. Like..." He sighed and hunched some toward the table and his companion again. "I haven't had a lot of time to think about it... and that be for the best. I mean... the ship is a mess. We-we have to get it working. So I've just... uhh... been doing that." He pinched and rubbed his nose, "I'm not great. Though."

Irynya was starting to think that everything was going to be made up of complicated emotional reactions for the foreseeable future. The dropped eye contact told her as much as his words. It was easier to say what he was saying without looking at her. But she still wished he would. The urge to reach across the table, put a hand on him, somehow ground them both in the moment, stole through her and she bit the inside of her lip, staying firmly on her side of the table while he spoke. She wanted to ask him things, but she didn't want to upset him. Wanted to climb into the seat next to him and just be present together and didn't want to invade his space.

It took her a moment to realize that he'd fallen silent.

He tilted his head after a long time. "You could always take some leave time. On Pathfinder."

"So could you," she said back, gently but pointedly. "We... you know we both could."

He felt the point. While he didn't shrink, he felt his spine prickle. Noah gave a knowing nod, that felt half-affirming and half just unable to process that at the moment. "Oh y-yeah I will, um, I mean I will too.. I have like six months of packages to pick up." He stared at the sticks of congealing cheese. "We-we have upgrades coming too. I don't know how much I have to be involved, but we are supposed to get a warp drive upgrade. But..." He shrugged. "That's not my area."

It wasn't exactly an invitation, but it wasn't not one either. Companionship--the comfort of knowing you were not on your own. If that was something that he would find comforting. She was halfway to asking him a question when the Bolian server returned, stopping smoothly with the front of his skate and eyed them both. They must have been a dismal sight. Body language closed in, only one of the mozzarella sticks even touched that by only a bite or two.

"Is everything ok with the sticks?" he asked, eyeing the most untouched basket.

With a quick glance at Noah, Iry spoke for them both. "Oh, yeah, they're great. We're just taking our time," she said in a tone of voice that was more carefree than was expressly believable. "Uh, could we grab something to drink, though. And... umm..." She considered, trying to think through food options. She knew a lot about what Noah liked--what he considered comfort food--but she wasn't entirely sure if comfort food equated to the kind of food he'd want to eat when it felt like... like whatever all of this was.

Noah put on his best smile and nodded, "We're we're good, thanks..."

The Bolian server cocked his head expectantly, waiting for her to finish her sentence. "Umm... I'll take a chocolate malt, and saag paneer," she finally finished, hoping that Noah would jump in with some idea of what might work for him. She hadn't missed that he hadn't touched the cheese sticks.

"Just some water," Noah blinked slowly, tiredly, and smiled again, "Really thirsty. I've been in an exo-suit all day." The hairless brow of the Bolian rose and wanting to head off any more questions or prods, Noah reached for a cheese stick and stuffed it in to his face. The whole thing. He started to chew. And it did taste good. Debbie's made good cheese sticks. Especially when she made them fresh and not replicated. But that was a rarity.

He covered his mouth, and talked behind it, "Can we get a side of ranch dressing for these?" Noah picked up another one by the rounded butt of its shape.

If the Bolian was phased by the ensign's behind the hand mouthful half mumble he didn't show it. Instead he nodded and set off toward the kitchens returning only half a moment later with a dipper of ranch and two glasses of water before heading off again.

"Not that I'm sorry to have a glass of water, but I wasn't the one in an exo-suit all day," Irynya commented as she pulled the extra glass toward her. She took a sip and then... as was the case when she had taken a bite of her cheese stick, sucked down half the glass as she realized that she was thirsty after all. She set the glass down and snagged another stick, dipping one end in the marinara before biting off the end.

The interruption of the server had stopped them partway through the heaviness of checking on each other and she couldn't quite figure her way back to it even though a protective sort of worry still tugged at her every time she looked at Noah. What was there to say, though? Their experience loomed in her mind, blotting out and minimizing the importance of so many things that 48 hours prior had meant so much.

"I heard from Marteli," she offered up. "Uh, in the last mail drop just before..." she trailed off. "You know. Somehow she got the whole crew together to send a note." She gestured with her recently decapitated cheese stick as she spoke, pausing to take and chew another bite.

"Oh," Noah had lifted his own glass and taken a drink of it. And it was refreshing, if the standard tasteless character of replicated water. Some days he missed the mineral variants from home... somehow almost sweet... slightly fizzy. But this always did the trick on account of its coldness. "How-how is she? They..." His head tilted, "They all?" His fingers slid up and down his straw and then retreated for another cheesestick. He paused, wanting to wait for the creamy rich fattiness of the ranch. True to his busy thoughts, he'd just not seen it arrive with the water. "Oh..." he muttered, his brows sharply perking. Its presence going missed gave him pause- when did it arrive?- but Noah swam the stick in it a moment later.

"They're good. Or they were when the message was sent." She thought back through it. Recalling something from only very few days ago shouldn't have been difficult, but she had to focus to bring their faces and the hubbub of normal banter back to the top of her mind. "They were responding to some things I sent right after we all went camping. Giving me relationship advice." She grimaced as some of the unresolved questions forced their way to the forefront of her mind's eye. "Do your friends do that? The advice thing? I feel like mine live to give me advice."

"Good." Noah's head bobbed. His brows, knitted, as if he'd half-expected more bad news and the relief was that they were fine. He blinked at her question. "Uhh... nnn... no? Not really?" Noah tilted his head. "Elizabeth eh.... sort of. Less advice and more.... um...." His mouth twisted in thought, "Nudges." Brows perked, "Debbie does. In a mentor-y way." With a slow breath, he decided he needed to finalize the verbal dribble he'd just done, "Most of my friends are-are engineers and we exchange ideas and, uh, brainstorm. Not so much advice. I guess."

He blinked. How did he feel about that? Neutral at first but maybe... a little weird? Mixed bag? "How do you feel about them doing that?"

Irynya chuckled--legitimately chuckled. It was a small sound, but it was real and warm and if nothing else it surprised her. Her eyes widened and she shook her head ever so slightly as if doing so would dislodge the surprise of it. "Umm... I honestly haven't ever thought about it. It's just... we've all been in each other's business for as long as I can remember. Tal and Wrena have been together for... well... since we were teenagers. It's just how we've always been."

She paused to consider the question a bit further and with the pause came the creeping feeling of dissonance to fill the silence. Her throat tightened with the thought of finding something funny in the midst of it all. Clearing her throat she took another sip of her water. "I think I like it," she finally said, tone a bit more sober in its thoughtfulness. "I know they care and it helps to know that what's going on in my life matters to them even when they're so far away."

The half eaten mozzarella stick she'd been holding in one hand had cooled and she eyed it as she added. "How do you feel about umm... I guess your friends uh... not doing that?"

Noah froze at that. Irynya was a perceptive, empathetic person. "Um." He started to fish for yet another stick of bread and fried dairy. "It's... well..." He frowned and creased his brows around his nose bridge. "It's... normal. To me. The only one that really did that, uh, most of the time... was Ayah." He tapped his head to indicate what he meant. "But that's what she was designed for. I mean my Mom did some... but...." He shrugged. "I come from a pretty brainy family. And-and a colony full of people like that."

Noah pursed his lips, "Though. Counter-point. Enceladus has.... a-a large Jewish population. I mean. For its size. Um." He went ahead and dabbed the stick in the ranch. "They're people who follow one of the um old religions. I'm technically descended from them. But..." He shook his head to show he didn't practice. "Sometimes their culture can be like what you described. I think.... to Humans... er... I mean I guess... some Humans? Depending." He shrugged. "That kind of... of deep deep involvement in personal lives is normal. But for some, um, it might be a little.... uhh...." He winced. "A little meddling?" He went ahead and ate his stick and then brushed his fingers off, "But some people like that."

Chewing quickly, Irynya swallowed the bite of mozzarella and breading she'd just taken. Ayah. She knew very very little about Ayah. Noah had mentioned the therapeutic companion from his accident only once or twice and that only far enough to give her the basic gist. She was painfully curious to learn more, but also knew how closely Noah held this particular part of himself. it may have been a healed wound, but she felt certain it lingered in the corners of his mind at times. At times exactly like this one, actually.

Noah's brown, kinda, exhausted gaze looked on, waiting, wondering.

Even though she wanted to press for more it struck Iry that while Noah was telling her about the culture he grew up in, he hadn't actually said how he felt. Or at least, she didn't think he had. "Do you like it though?" She pressed, her tone gentle and open though curious. "I mean... I know I have..." She frowned, dropping off. That thread felt dangerous. She'd given Noah relationship advice before. Their conversation as they sat on her bed the night he helped her move came to mind as only one particular example.

Noah's lips pursed in their wide fullness, bowed. His eyes narrowed, thinking, sensing, analyzing. "I don't mind it?" He said with a head tilt. "I'm better at-at sharing ideas and stuff? I think that's just... who I am? I'm better at feelings through music. You know? Music to fit the mood... sort of um... like... a conduit. To let it out a little?"

Irynya's gaze softened, her eyes squinting into their corners with the tilt of her mouth toward something like a smile. "Speaking of... how's the song coming?" She asked. She'd first overheard Noah's songwriting efforts in the early days of living together. When they'd last talked about it the song had been nearly three quarters of the way toward completion. But with all of the change in the last few weeks it hadn't come up.

"Oh um." For the moment Noah's hands fell back under the table and he hunched towards it. "I-I've worked on it a little. But I haven't had a lot of time to for it. What with you know... so many changes in Engineering. Graduating." His brows rose, his eyes on her own eating now as the Bolian had returned with a fresh bowl of rice, and another of creamy dark green sort of... sludge. "Now I'm not.... sssure... I have the energy. But I'll get back to it. Maybe on Pathfinder or something." A single shoulder raised and fell. His thoughts veered toward shop talk but he wanted to say and be more. It just took so much energy. "But... you're OK?"

Across the table the Risian paused. A crinkle of concern appeared between her brows before she set down the utensil in her hand, nudged the rice, creamy green mixture, and the accompanying chocolate malt toward the middle of the table. She half slid half crab walked from her side of the table. Who had invented vinyl and thought it was a good seat covering option again? And then, before her companion had a chance to protest, Irynya slid into the booth next to him.

She tried for something a bit more gainly than the crab walk slide this time, shimmying until her shoulder brushed his. They weren't exactly in the right arrangement for it, but she tilted her head to his shoulder, or really more accurately his upper arm, and rested it there for a second. "No, but also yes," she finally answered him. "Doing this," she gestured at the table in front of them with the hand that wasn't trapped between them to indicate the meal, but more broadly the time he was giving her, "helps. Or at least makes it feel less... I don't know... heavy."

Noah moved to give her space rather than leave her hanging one butt cheek off the booth bench. The contact of head to shoulder was... complicated. A mixture of hard to discern things- some felt almost guilty. Some, wanting to comfort. Some, wanting to surrender. Another little voice in the dark, more. He slid his arm around her, pinned between her back and the booth- and awkwardly holding a cheese stick. He moved his head and his chin brushed her hair. "Its nice." He plucked a feeling from many. With a momentary frump that remembered he was holding food, he made the decision to do a finger toss and dropped it. Then his hand went to soothe over her back.

For a moment the noise of Debbie's and the terror and deeply welling grief quieted. They weren't gone. But they quieted as Noah's hand shifted to run smooth soothing circles down her back. He was warm and smelled fresh after his shower and in that moment the sheer solid reality of him was like a tether. She sighed, her whole body shifting to mold against his side and she tucked her head toward him, burying her face in his chest for just a moment while she breathed him in. The tiniest bit of guilt niggled at the back of her mind. She should be soothing him... not the other way around... but she had so deeply wanted this one moment that it was impossible to turn it away, at least for a few seconds and so she let herself sit in that space.

A familiar feeling pricked at her, the one that came with grief and connection. The one that urged something deeper and her heart beat sped slightly despite herself. She lingered in that space, feeling that feeling as Marteli's knowing expression floated into her mind's eye from the messages she'd received only days ago and was thankful that it was hard for Noah to see her face. This was something... something she needed to stop and think about...

Finally she righted herself, adjusting so she was still against her friend's side, but able to move. "Umm... do you want any saag paneer?" she asked. Her voice came out with a small rasp that made her cheeks flare slightly pink. "I can get you a spoon or... you know... you can use mine. Either is fine."

Noah smiled in to a cheek, seemingly quite amused. "I-I think if you had cooties, I would've already caught them." He murmured between them. He smiled at her. Noah's brown, tired eyes stayed on hers. He pushed some of curls of his hair behind his ear. "But if that's gross, I can go replicate one. It's okay." His eyes looked at her lips and then tiredly back up at her. The impulse came. The impulse went. It... felt like... taking advantage. And... unfair. Unfair to who?

He switched gears with his endearingly dorky smile. A rise of his brow. "Um. Have we had Debbie's saag before? I-I thought we just used our replicator. I wonder if she makes it Goa-style, Kashmir style or Madras style." He picked up the spoon, scooped some up and sniffed it under his long proboscis. "Our old quarters just makes basic Madras style."

"It's Madras style," Iry said without even pausing to consider. There was an odd sound to her voice, less rasp and more tension released like a whoosh of air from the lungs. She was aware of how close they were in a different way than she had been when she'd leaned into him just a moment before. As if every move he made created a mirror reaction in her. For a moment--just a moment--she thought he might...

"Our first, umm..." She stumbled over her words. Meal? No it wasn't their first meal together, but it was possibly their first planned time to hang out. "Exchange of foods," she finally said with a chuckle and a shake of her head at her own sudden awkwardness. "We did that at Debbie's. You introduced me to Saag Paneer and I introduced you to Delly Ice which, if memory serves, you were very kind about despite its sweetness." She knew, now, that Noah preferred savory or less sweet things, but at the time they hadn't even known each other a month. It felt like an oddly long time ago.

With an unserious frump, Noah sat back with a flex of his eyebrows. He was clearly scanning through his memory. "Huh. I remember that being in our quar-" Realization crossed him. "Oh no, wait!" As quickly as they'd flexed, his eyebrows released in a rise. "Ugh. Tha-tha was the sluggo-cola and-and things." He grimaced, eyes squinted. "Ugh... I've got the taste in my mind-mouth just be thinking about it." He shuddered. "Uh, make it stop..." he reached for the last cheese stick and stuffed it in his mouth, desperate to quash the memory.

"I wonder if Tork drinks that... that... fizzy garbage juice." He uttered as he chewed.

As if to punctuate Noah's mind-mouth taste Irynya's made a small gagging sort of sound, tongue sticking out as she exaggerated the motion for, hopefully, comedic effect. "I bet he does," she commented. Her hand went for the malt which she then pushed aside. "Maybe I'll stick to the saag for now," she said, reaching across him to snag the spoon he'd abandoned and popping the spoonful he'd scooped a moment ago into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and sighed with the relief of tasting something completely different from the terrible Ferengi beverage Noah had mentioned.

"So, umm... what are cooties?" she asked, leaning into him again. Now that she was on his side of the table she felt less shy about the small comforts of touch. "Is it like... something we would have to see Sickbay about?"

Noah shook his head, "No. Its... just a joke. A joke from childhood. I'm not even sure, I, um, can explain it without it sounding..." He winced and trailed off. "Anyway. How-how is it?" His shoulders dropped and Noah rubbed the side of his nose. "I know its only 1800. But I'm I'm... beat. I might go get some sleep. I feel like I could sleep for days."

"It's good," she murmured around her mouthful, chewing quickly as the topic of sleep came up. Unable to help herself the Risian yawned and ducked her head against his shoulder again. "Yeah," she agreed. The exhaustion and heaviness of everything that had felt just a bit lighter a moment ago settled on her again making her frown. The idea came and though she thought she knew his response it lingered, nudging insistently at the part of her that was loathe to lose the comfort they'd found. With a sigh she gave in. "Do you want," she began softly, "I mean ...you can sleep at my place if... you know .. not being alone would help."

Noah gave it the fully due course of consideration. Iry was a warm and welcoming person. But sometimes a person just wanted their own bed, their own scent, their own things. He felt pressure to accept despite the deep and nestling desire to be in his own little hobbit hole of a junior officers' quarters. "Sure um..." he nodded his head. "Sure. I just need to drop by my room and get... you know... pjs... a few things." He started to scoot out of the booth. "And I'll meet you at your quarters in about." He looked down at her barely eaten saag. "Twenty minutes? Twenty-five minutes?" He smiled in to a cheek, "Thirty-three minutes, twelve seconds... if I was being all..." His nose wrinkled. "Um. Engineer-like."

She made room for him, sliding out of the booth herself and then back into the seat once he was freed from between herself and the wall. Iry had been prepared for him to decline. She knew he might have preferred to be entirely alone in his own space. Or, as alone as one gets when one has a roommate in a bunk across the room. His acceptance, though, felt almost as warm as his hug and she couldn't help the soft grin that spread across her features. "Twenty-five is plenty," she told him, calculating five more than she wanted so she could take a quick run through the sonic shower. It felt like the least she could do if they were going to fall asleep in the same bed.

"Twenty-five minutes, eight seconds..." she amended, eyes twinkling with mischief against the backdrop of emotion and exhaustion before quickly shoveling another mouthful of her food into her mouth and chewing.

Noah smiled in to a cheek and rubbed his nose again. "Seven... six... five...." He turned and walked away. Halfway to the door,, striding, he stretched his arm over his head and midriffed his shirt.

She watched him go, eyes lingering on his figure until he was out the door. Alone at her table a memory of Marteli's voice from her last message lingered like the Ghost of Christmas Past. Just, it seems like he's better for you is all. Warmth crept up the back of her neck as she scooped another bite of the saag and snagged some rice to go with. Better could mean anything, she told herself. Marteli herself was better for her than Kennedy had been.

With an effort of will Iry shunted herself away form that topic and on to another. Would Noah leave Sheldon a note or... something... to tell him that he wouldn't be home tonight? With all they'd been through she had no doubt that Sheldon would worry if Noah was a complete no show. Maybe she should give him a heads up. Maybe... Noah crashing at her place would give Sheldon and Dravor a chance for an evening to themselves. Privacy, she knew, was a tricky thing in junior officers' quarters. She was still considering what to do when her spoon hit the bottom of the bowl.

A Post By:

Lieutenant Irynya
Chief Helmswoman

Ensign Noah Balsam
Engineer