Twilight

“I guess he’s gotten to know you already, then,” Vaughn said lightly, and when she looked up at him, he smiled at her, not quite so tentatively as before. She said nothing. All she wanted was for this conversation to end and to be left alone. “Really,” he went on, more serious, “you shouldn’t push yourself.”

“I should be able to return to part-time duty within the next week, according to the doctor,” she said, ignoring Vaughn’s admonition. “I’d like to do that.”

“I know,” Vaughn said. “Whatever the doctor’s recommendation, I’ll abide by it.”

Pry

“Pry

It was only the second time since he had transferred to Deep Space 9 that he had called her by her given name—by the name that hehad given her. She knew that it meant he wanted to say something to her, not as her senior officer, but as her father. It made her skin crawl. She refused to look up at him, instead keeping her eyes focused down toward the floor. Beside her, Vaughn moved, walking around the table toward the chair opposite her. As he did so, she quickly reached forward, grabbed the picture of her mother, and lowered it facedown onto the table.

When he reached the chair, Vaughn turned to her. He did not sit, nor did he say anything right away. She cast about for something that would stop him from attempting to talk with her on a personal level, but again she failed.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. And she knew that he was, and why. For her injury, of course, though that was absurd; he could not be held responsible for the actions of the Jarada, or for the explosion on Defiant’s bridge. But she knew that he intended his apology to encompass much more than that anyway; he meant to apologize for what he had done to her mother.

Now she raised her head and looked at him. Though he appeared fit, his faced seemed drawn, his eyes old. This was not the first time he had told her he was sorry, but as in those other times, it did not matter. They were merely words to Pry

“It was an accident,” she told him, her tolerance for Vaughn’s visit rapidly diminishing. Then, wanting to be clear, she added, “The blast aboard the Defiantwas an accident. There’s no need to apologize for that, Commander.” The last word slipped from her lips before she could stop it. She desperately wanted him to leave, but antagonizing him would not serve that purpose.

Again, silence filled the room like rising water, threatening to drown her. In her mind, she heard herself yelling at him to get out—out of her quarters, off of the station, out of her life—but she would not do that. But she could do nothing else, either. She closed her eyes, simply wishing that he would just go.

Instead, Vaughn sat down in the chair. Pry

“Yes, I am,” she said, aware that Vaughn already knew this, and knew how much she loved piloting, especially starships. Her advancement from Mjolnirto Sentinelto Defianthad brought her to the point where she would be alpha-shift co

“Then I think you need to establish a better relationship with me,” he said.

She felt another jolt, this time not of panic, but of rage. Is he threatening me?she asked herself. He could not force her to love him or like him or forgive him, she knew, but he could see her transferred, or reassigned to other duties, or kept away from the missions that would allow her to succeed and advance. She could not allow that. She had worked hard to attain her station; she would not go backward, and she would not stand still.

“Commander,” she said, careful to control her tone, to keep it civil and professional, and not accusatory. Past Vaughn’s shoulder, the avant-garde metal clock ticked off the seconds. “I’ve earned that position. I want to—”

“You’re an excellent pilot, yes,” he agreed, “but there’s more to functioning well as a Starfleet officer than the ability to perform a job. There are interpersonal skills, and they include getting along with your commanding officer, no matter how much you blame—” He stopped, apparently checking his choice of words. “—no matter how much you dislike him,” he finished.

“Commander,” she said, her anger dissipating somewhat as her need to defend her record asserted itself. “Commander, I have not allowed our personal differences to interfere with the performance of my duties.”

“No?” he asked. Pry

Pry

“I might be able to deal with your attitude toward me indefinitely aboard the station,” Vaughn told her, “but if you’re going to serve on Defiantfor three months while we explore the Gamma Quadrant, then you’d better learn to get along with me.” He stood up.

“Yes, sir,” she said. She continued looking at the picture frame lying flat on the table, facedown.

“Look at me, Ensign.” His voice carried the tone of command, and she knew that she not only had to look up at him, but that she had to do so with nothing on her face: not anger or animosity, and not a mask covering those emotions. All at once, it came to her that this could be a defining moment in her Starfleet career. Resentment started to build within her, but she quelled it immediately. She would put herself beyond caring what kind of a father Vaughn was to her. From a professional standpoint, that was the appropriate action to take, but on a personal level, wasn’t that the right thing to do too? Wouldn’t her life—and his—be easier if they didn’t have a contentious personal relationship, but rather no personal relationship at all?