Joint Duty Log | Capt Ivanova, Cmdr Archer - "Five o'Clock Somewhere"

Posted on Sun Sep 7th, 2014 @ 6:30am by Commander James Archer & Admiral Rochelle Ivanova

1,534 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Are You Touched?
Location: Qapla` Beach

Sunset came and with it came the obligation of a curfew lurking the moment the red ball of fire sunk beneath the horizon. It also meant, however, that she had at least a half hour to stroll the beach uninhibited, freed of her guardians as they all set about finding food and readied themselves for bed or gambling in the resort’s casino. The latter being much to the sheer delight of the little Ferengi resort operators, of course. It was always about profit with them, never about anything more. It was truly a wonder how the Klingons had allowed them to set up shop at all considering how much contempt the race had for the little dishonorable trolls.

Rochelle sighed as her toes sunk into the wet sand just shy of the surf, the feeling of the sea breeze toying with her un-tethered hair offering her the essence of freedom and momentary clarity she’d hoped such a stroll would bring her.

Lounging in one of the resort’s chairs on the beach, James was enjoying some sort of fruity tropical beverage. If there was one thing the Ferengis knew how to do, other than exploit money from people, it was mix drinks. As he took a sip of his drink, he couldn't help but notice the petite form of a redhead strolling past. The Vindicator’s unmistakable commanding officer. Looking over the top of his sunglasses he couldn't help but quip “I don’t know what’s redder, the Klingon sun or your hair.”

The serenity of the moment all would come crashing to a halt when to her ears came a cheesy sonnet comparing her hair to the setting sun. She stopped, rolling her eyes and was about to verbally slay the cheesy beast when those same bitter cold eyes rested on the voice’s master. A familiar form sat in a wooden Adirondack chair, drink in hand and shades covering his eyes. “James Archer.” She greeted, coming to rest in front of him, the surf tickling at her bare ankles. He’d returned, alive, and in good form to find them at Qapla`. “Good to see that you made it back in one piece. I was beginning to wonder if you’d taken my money and made a run for a new life somewhere.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” James chuckled with a shake of his head. “but no. We’ll just say you have one less thing to worry about.” He added with a wolfish grin and set his drink down on the wide arm of his chair. She blocked his view just enough for him to remove his sunglasses, “I couldn’t help but notice your lack of manly escort.”

Rochelle’s eyes rolled again and a sigh escaped her lips. “I won’t ask.” She replied, coming to sit in the sand beside his chair. She knew the sun would blind him again the moment she moved, a small victory in their never ending game of wits. “They decided they’d rather stay home and play Barbie or something, I wasn't interested, though the offer was tempting.”

A loud laugh was what he rewarded her with as he sat back in his chair, draping himself across the arm closest to her with his shades in his hand. “It’s good to see someone finally pulled the stick out of your ass. Let me get you a drink.”

The Captain was stunned silent for a minute by the flippant nature of the Intelligence officer. Very few dared to speak to her that way, even fewer walked away from such encounters with their pride intact. James Archer, however, was a special case entirely. She laughed with a shrug, her eyebrows rising and falling in response to such an outlandish statement. At least he was honest, a refreshing change from the usual ass kissing she received on a daily basis. “I could go for a raktajino.” Rochelle finally replied, looking away from him to watch the sun begin its final descent from the Klingon sky.

Signaling a cabana girl, James ordered another Samarian sunset and the skipper’s raktajino. “You look like a woman with a lot on your mind.” He said as the waitress toddled away, ever mindful of the sun and the curfew.

“That’s because I am a woman with a lot on her mind.” Rochelle smirked, eyeing him sidelong. “You’re a wonderful intel officer, you know that?” She ribbed at him.

“I know,” he admonished her as she finished his drink, icing hitting the bottom of the glass as he set it back down.

“Modest too.” She chuckled and moved to hug her knees, burying her toes in the sand. Without the sun sitting high in the sky, the world had begun to lose a lot of its warmth. A Godforsaken place if ever there was one.

The scantily clad Bajoran girl sauntered back with their drinks, handing the appropriate one to each with a smile, it only grew wider when James paid and tipped her generously in gold pressed latinum, a smile and a copy of his room key. “I should probably let you know we have a new crew member.” He said as he tapped on his glass roughly, delighting as the magic of the alcohols lit up within like a glass contained ray of sunlight.

“Oh?” Rochelle asked, nearly choking on the first sip of her Klingon coffee. It wasn't the strength of it, it was sweet and perfect, just the way she liked it. Nor was it the shameless way he bought his date for the evening. It was the mention of a crew member. “And just what does this new crew member do? If you tell me they’re your concubine I’ll kill you myself.”

“Hardly a concubine.” He chuckled as the light in his glass began to die and fade away into the drink’s traditional gold, “She’s Xepolite, wouldn't even know where to begin with one of those.”

The Captain snorted, eyeballing the Intel officer. “That still doesn't tell me what this Xepolite does, or rather, what I’m supposed to agree that she does.”

“Actually, Skipper, the appropriate question would be ‘what doesn't she do’.” James grinned and took the first sip of his new drink. It was perfect. Bless those little big eared mutants.

A single sanguine brow shot up, “Alright, I’ll bite. What doesn't she do?”

The Intel officer’s grin only broadened as he held up a finger and wagged it in front of his face, “Well, serve as my concubine for one.”

“Archer…” The woman growled in warning.

Her response didn't deter his grin, but did illicit a sigh, “Fine. She’s a burned Section Thirty-One agent left to sit and rot in Rura Penthe.” He admitted knowing it would go no further than the beach. Rochelle Ivanova was a lot of things, a set of loose lips wasn't one of them. “We’ll just say she’s Security and leave it at that, alright?” James said, “I trust her implicitly.”

The mention of Rura Penthe widened the young Captain’s eyes. The report of the warden’s office exploding had come across her desk days before. Now it all made sense, fitting together like some horrendous puzzle. “Don’t say anything more.” She said, holding up her hands to block his face from her view, “Plausible deniability needs to be on my side. Your Xepolite will need to mind herself. Commander PontBrillant is heading up everything under the sun. He has a heavy past in intelligence; don’t let him get under her skin.”


“I’m sure everything will be just fine.” James waved his hand at her dismissively, “She may need a little therapy, but nothing too serious.” Another sip punctuated the silence until James rolled backed over the arm of his chair, another mischievous grin lighting his face, “So who is this PontBrillant character? Another one of the male species chasing you around?”

Rochelle blinked twice, demure as she looked at him over the rim of her mug. “I know you have his record, Archer.” She grinned.

“That grin and lack of answer says it all.” He shook his head, amused.

“I’m sure it does.” She replied, tucking an errant strand of hair behind an ear. Darkness had begun to fall, claiming the beach rapidly in its stead. It wasn't long before a guard came to them, warning them to go back inside. Rochelle was quick to identify herself and tell the Klingon that they’d comply. “It’s been a pleasure. Enjoy your little Bajoran nightcap.” She offered with a wink as she unfolded her coltish legs and got to her feet. The wind was quick to free her carefully placed copper lock once again. It never seemed to stay where it was told.

With that the two parted ways, both amused by the antics of the other and pondering the future of the Xepolite refugee tucked away on the orbiting Vindicator.

---

Captain Rochelle Ivanova
Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR

&

Commander James Archer
Chief Intelligence Officer
USS VINDICATOR

 

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