JL | Com Ivanova, Capt Neyes - "Three Circles"
Posted on Thu Sep 10th, 2015 @ 10:06pm by Admiral Rochelle Ivanova & Captain Landon Neyes
3,633 words; about a 18 minute read
Mission: Agua Mala
At some point during the period of time when Landon had been presumed dead, Rochelle had come to internally experience the antithesis of what society would have considered as normal emotional responses for a given situation. She was worried when she should have been relieved; calm when she should have been terrified.
Such was the case the first night she’d been informed of the new life kindling within her womb.
Instead of being joyous, she’d anxiously expected Landon to disappear again, to discover upon waking that none of it existed; it was all just another anxiety fueled dream. No Landon. No baby. That nothing had been real since that Halloween party where a dragon had eased away the pain of a badly broken heart. He never left, however. Each return trip from the bathroom, each re-opening of her eyes… He was always there. Whether lounging on the bed, or draped across a chair, he was always there and usually peering curiously back at her with eyes she’d long ago described as ‘soul rending’. For such a bright and light shade of blue, they were inviting, warm, and deep. Each time she’d offer him a small smile and feel the pressure that had developed so easily within her release just as simply.
That had been nearly three weeks prior and still that precarious feeling of syncopation refused to ebb and ease away. Telling him hadn’t proven to be the easiest thing for the normally blunt and sharp tongued young Commodore to do. It required tact and decorum – things Andrea had all but beaten into her, but still eluded her out of some cold, off-brand inkling of fear. Fear that threatened to replace her budding excitement over the prospect of motherhood. Fear that the excitement she felt racing along her sensitive nerve endings wouldn’t be shared. Out of every seemingly endless thing they’d ever spoken of and, or, about, they’d never once discussed children beyond their adoration of Zed. Life, however, had a funny way of making things happen whether they were planned for or not. Nearly thirteen weeks ago, to the day, it had made that decision for them. Pressed against the coldness of an unfinished bulkhead panel, life had been created and both she and Landon had been granted a chance at genetic immortality.
Broken from her thoughts, Rochelle flinched at a particularly close crack of thunder as it peeled through the interior of their beachfront suite. Seconds later the sound of shattering glass called back to the rising storm above. Just moments before she’d been soaking in the depths of a bubble filled tub, letting Landon pour over reports in peace, and now? Now the half-fogged mirror had been her resting point; a place where she’d subconsciously paused to study the delicate, and barely perceptible, beginning changes of her body, reflected a sheepish grimace and the sight of broken glass. “Shit.” She hissed, rolling her eyes at the sight of the shattered drinking glass and tugged a towel tight around her still dripping frame. “I’m alright!” She thought to add, knowing Landon was already likely in hot pursuit of such a perilous sound. Examining the swell of her hips and soft rounding of her lower abdomen would have to wait for another time.
“Wasn’t expecting the thunder.” Rochelle explained to the appearance of a decidedly familiar and masculine shadow, “We’ll just have to replicate a new one,” She added, carefully placing another shard in her cupped palm, “No real loss.”
Landon came around the corner, clad in pajama pants and a tank top, holding a dustpan and a small handheld broom. He'd been nearly finished reviewing some of the lesser reports when the sound of the broken glass brought the involuntary move toward Rochelle.
She'd been acting oddly for the past few days, and it was unlike her to gracelessly knock over fragile objects. Sure there was a certain understanding that a ship's commanding officer was allowed a few distracted moments once and a while, but this was something else entirely. Here and there, small instances continually nipped at the edges of his attention. Her walk was out of balance now, as if every step was carefully crafted rather than a thoughtless motion. Rochelle was normally the image of effortless movement and purpose.
"I was definitely worried. 'What will we do without that glass?' I asked myself. I have thought of nothing else since the tragedy occurred all those long seconds ago. I'm in a better place now..." He looked away, teasing her by feigning dramatic pain, "... but the agony lingers."
“I’ll have the crew readied at once for services, I’m sure you’ll give a very touching eulogy.” The soggy redhead deadpanned as she set the largest of the shards into the dust pan and held out her now freed hand for the whisk broom. “Such a senseless crime. I’m sure we can send you up to Tristan to help you heal from your loss.” She crooned much in the same way a mother would soothe an injured child, all the while working to free the rest of the tile from any potentially foot rending rogue shards. For the most part it only seemed that wayward beach sand would meet its fate at the hand of the rough bristles and that the glass had broken in larger chunks; luck if there was any to be considered in such a silly situation.
“Either way, it needs to be laid to rest in the replicator whether you decide to play taps for it or not.” Rochelle quipped cheekily as she handed him the whole bundle of blunder and slowly rose from the floor, re-tucking her towel as she did. Another close peel of thunder mocked her, almost laughing at what she could only define as her ongoing cowardice surrounding a secret that had, without a doubt, no right remaining so. Landon was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. She could feel the scrutiny and concern hanging as his gaze lingered over her, the way he seemed to be working out equations in his mind as he watched her - sooner or later the gig would be up, the cat out of the proverbial bag, and she left with nary a casual escape left.
"Recycling it is easy, but it can never be replaced." He whispered, pecking a single soft kiss at her through the air.
He held out the dustpan and allowed the broken pieces to fall onto it. He watched her idly, with the same passive analytic he laid over everyone else. Her eyes skimmed the floor, then him, then the floor again, and finally rested on the dustpan. The spectacle was almost algorithmic, and he couldn't discern if she was doing it on purpose or not. Her new motions seemed habitual, but then it was difficult to tell with her. Rochelle was many things but transparent was not one of them. Landon could detect irritation or pleasure in her from a mile away, but he was not accustomed to other parts of interacting with her. They had never had reason to keep things from each other, which is why he had all but dismissed the notion. As time continued and her comfort level dropped each time she saw him however, he was beginning to wonder what was really going on inside that red head of hers.
Letting a moment pass before walking back over to the replicator to deposit the broken goods, he tried to smile reassuring to her. "I love you." He added, tacking it to the end of the gaze. Even as he said the words his doubt and scrutiny felt less real, and he nearly forgot about it. Losing himself in loving her was the easiest thing to do.
Even with lying, for that was what this was even if only through the ‘innocent’ act of omission, sat like bricks against her chest and mind, weighing her down with a fine mix of fear and guilt, Rochelle still allowed the quiet charge of pleasure to roll along her spine at the sound of his affections. Her smile was genuine as she followed him out into the main living area – the mirror, but not its contents, all but forgotten for the moment. They couldn’t be. “I love you, too.” She replied, catching his eyes, and the gentle confusion that lingered within.
Guilt.
It tugged and prodded at her, chasing away the happiness with a white washing of dread and worry – back to that horrendous antithesis of emotions that were ever so contrary to what the situation called for. Her tongue ran along the fullness of her lower lip as she came to a rest in front of a dresser, “I heard something about this storm being a bit of a problem for communications here on the planet. Shouldn’t be too much of an issue for us, though." The subject tried to change while her towel dropped in favor of one of his soft, well-worn PT shirts; the perfect choice of bed clothes. A quick glance over at the mirror while tugging the khaki colored cotton down to where it belonged revealed his eyes yet again. The gears were turning now faster than ever. “Kind of reminds me a bit of a hurricane.” She added, chasing away another niggling pang of contrition and tugging her hair free from the shirt’s collar.
"Huh." He smirked, slowly making way over to her. "Seems to have you a little bit... preoccupied?" He digressed, "The auxiliary crews in Engineering look like they're working on a way to bypass that issue with the gyrodyne matrix power efficiency. Apparently, Ensign Baker discovered a 'nest' of some fashion in the jeffries tube network around the port nacelle. You remember Amelia's brother's friends. One of them had a pet vole."
"Just a bit." Rochelle couldn't help but sigh the obvious answer to his rhetorical question, watching his approach for a short moment before turning to greet him. "A Vole?" She asked, her nose scrunching in apparent distaste for the creatures, "Good thing the problem was caught before we had to leave or there was some sort of an emergency." It was more of a mutter, a disgust laced mutter that some vile rodent had made a mockery of the Vindicator's engineering team. Helsa had very much done the same, but at least she was fluffy and easily subdued with food. A totally different problem completely. Still the line of thought progressed away from the mundane, back to 'stow aways' and the unexpected... Back to secrets that revolved around nests of an entirely different kind.
"I guess it just got away from her." Landon said softly, helping to brush the damp locks of hair away from her eyes.
"We'll have to see to it that a strict zero vole policy is put in effect." She hummed in response, allowing her eyelids to flutter closed long enough to protect them from the hair he worked to free from her face. Even wet it was rogue and defied logic, but the studious nature in which he tried to help tame it remained endearing all the same. "Or else Zed will be next on the list of wanting one and you know Tristan can't say no to him. You can't say no to him." The waterlogged one chided softly, reaching to trace the faintly stubble lined swell of his jaw. Even while wrought with a plague of nerves and anxiety, the man remained her rock. "Something you're going to have to learn how to do." She murmured, letting her fingers slip from his chin to land on his chest with a gentle pat.
Landon laughed, kissing her cheek and turning to go back out into the main space of their condo. "I'm the big uncle, Tristan routinely calls on me to be the bad guy. I think I've mastered saying no to my nephew." The little boy had grown into something of a mainstay in Landon's mind. His heart and mind were so big for a person who was so little. Zed captured both Landon's attention and love in a way he hadn't been able to appreciate in a long time, at least not since a previous host. It had been a while since Neyes had found a foundation stable enough to support a family. The hosts prior to Landon were soldiers, traders and politicians. Taylor had thought about kids but didn't live long enough see it through, Hyane was simply not interested, Toran... well. He probably had reproduced, through Landon was hesitant to call it a 'family'. Grecan was too full of hardship. Eryhn though, she had children. That was more than...
"Gods. It's been over 200 years." He said aloud, not realizing his train of thought had carried him off someplace else for a minute. "Since I uh, Neyes, had children." With a smile and a cheeky wink he looked back at her, "I've still got it, though. Zed doesn't even cry anymore at bedtime."
"Past hosts bribed children with ice cream before bed time two hundred years ago?" The woman's little heart lurched into a faster cadence as the conversation wandered onto such dangerous and precarious territory. She'd later likely blame it on her inability to shut her mouth when it came time to jest with the Trill, playful banter had always been a mainstay in their lives - even from word go. "Heck, if you feed me ice cream at bed time I promise I won't cry anymore either." Rochelle's lips twitched into a smug sort of grin.
"Means to an end, my love." He quipped.
Two hundred and change was about to be whittled down in just a few short months. Six and about three days, if she was keeping count - and she was. If she was being honest, she'd have admitted to figuring out the split hairs of time leading down to her estimated due date. In private, acceptance had definitely given way to the giddiness all babies deserved. The anxiety that continued to well in the woman's veins was wrong... Wrong and unsuited, a point driven home like a railroad nail by the softest sensation of butterfly flutters deep and low in her abdomen.
It wasn't fear, it wasn't anxiety, or pleasure, or anything she'd ever felt - and it made her freeze solid to the spot. Barely there as it was, to the point even she wasn't quite sure that it wasn't just a figment of her imagination, it was a profound - as if a statement from the life within her that it couldn't, and wouldn't, be ignored any longer. Sink or swim, it seemed to demand from her, before disappearing just as quickly as it had come. "Landon..." She hummed the sound of his name, her eyes saucer wide, "I think we should talk."
"Is this because I have to get up to use the restroom four times a night? I asked Rotek about it and there's some enzyme in those bluey-green drinks we've been getting that so do not appreciate the fine Trill renal system." He wasn't looking at her, and thus didn't see her paralyzed by her own anticipation. He moved about the room, lifting pillows and objects. "Have you seen my PADD? I just had it..."
"Landon..." Rochelle tried again as the man took off on his frantic, hummingbird-esque flight across the room. Gods how the greater part of her feared that he was trying to escape what he'd figured out was the inevitable truth. Sink or swim... "I'm pregnant."
She might as well have been a balloon popping in church. The atmosphere in the room immediately cracked open and spilled the odd tension he had felt coming from her. Gently he replaced the pillow he'd been holding and looked at her.
Silence pervaded. Silence aside from the wild racing of her own pulse and the violent staccato of heavy, wind blasted rain against the windows as she stood there. A shaky hand rose to brush away that damned rogue cowlick as it tried, yet again, to obscure her view of him. "I'm pregnant. We're pregnant." Rochelle all but stammered in repetition. The words tasted sweet as sugar, but left the cold metallic tang of fear splashed across her mouth and tongue as she watched him, trying to gauge his response. Send a thousand Romulan warships and the firebrand wouldn't have even flinched, but this? Her head shook in subconscious response and the same trembling fingers that had brushed her errant lock of hair back behind her ear now fell in a protective cradle over her belly. This was running the knife edge of turning into an utter nightmare.
Landon felt the rush of a thousand thoughts at once, and each one carrying questions his mind ached to have answered. The sturdy framework of his mental focus began to unravel and for an instant he was overcome. His blue eyes darted to hers, and then her quivering hands. He hadn't truly been ready for her to say anything so severe, so committal. As each split second ticked past he felt happy, surprised, annoyed he didn't notice it himself and then guilty for not immediately showering her with all the love in the world. Despite the fact her mouth had barely just finished saying the word 'pregnant', and time had practically stopped, every moment felt like it borrowed against her. A small intake of air was what he managed to accomplish before finally speaking.
"Okay." He said reassuringly, without question or relief. It was a statement of his profound devotion to her in every manner or state, and with that came the unflinching acceptance of life's twists and turns. A child was hardly a part of their five year plan, but the wash of surprise on his face was replaced with hopeful excitement as he imagined their future and what it had in store. Images of a son or daughter, in a cradle, in her arms, on his shoulders, crying, laughing, playing. He reached out and held her hand, bringing the other to wrangle her hair once again away from her expectant features.
"Okay?" She asked with a nod, begging for some kind of answer that he wasn't about to vanish into a puff of thin air or explode into some tirade about responsibilities. To say she was hesitant and tense would have been the understatement of the year. Every fiber of being felt poised and ready to rabbit at the first sign of trouble; not ready to hear anything but what she wanted to. His touch, however, soothed her worries. The simple, well-practiced, movement of his fingers through her hair and the sensation of his hand covering hers all promised that life would be okay, that okay meant just that; okay. They were okay, all three of them, that was. Surprise was mirrored by concern, excitement by relief and it continued down that yellow brick road until all that was left was joy and a tiny spark of a woman that chose to bury herself in her lover's chest once the nirvana of understanding had been attained. They were okay.
He could have covered her in words of love, but didn't need to. She understood his love for her clear and presently, just as he understood she didn't require an explanation. Landon had made it obvious Rochelle was the center of his focus, and now by virtue of their relationship that center moved to encompass their family. "That's one lucky baby." He whispered.
"In so many ways." The sound of her chest and shirt muffled voice hummed in return. Lucky didn't even begin to cover the facts. The child they'd created, regardless of timing, would be born into a tight knit society of friends and family that remained ever loyal. While darkness lurked and shadows threatened to consume them with every turn around every corner, that society would be there to stand against it come Hell or high water. The bottom line was that, come what may, they'd be alright, protected, and loved. Most of all, she thought, was that the child she carried was lucky for winning the genetic lottery; Landon Neyes, despite ice cream bed time bribery, was going to be a fantastic and incredible father.
That knowledge was what made the fact she’d studiously hidden her pregnancy over the course of nearly five weeks so absurd. Not a single excuse would ever be good enough, no words would ever be able to bridge that gap – but like she understood that the seemingly simplistic sound of ‘okay’ meant so much more, Landon would just as easily understand the sheepish little smile and shrug that came along with it once their embrace had parted. While being a Commodore – well noted for her zest, zeal, and control – Rochelle was still young and, at times, painfully awkward when it came to personal and emotional situations. It was ‘part of her charm’, as Landon had so delicately put it once upon a time ago. But there, held captive by one another and the wrath of the storm outside, Rochelle made a quiet vow to do far better for both Landon and the baby soon to join them. The rest of the night would be used to make good on the beginning of that promise; spent answering questions and idly discussing the ‘what if’s that the future now presented to them while simply enjoying the bounty life had granted.
---
Commodore Rochelle Ivanova
Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR, NCC 78213-E
&
Captain Landon Neyes
Civilian Liaison
USS VINDICATOR, NCC 78213-E
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