‘…but maybe Forrester’s much better off in damage control? She’s been doing it for a few years and likes getting her hands dirty so I don’t really know…’

‘Mm.’

‘But it’s – are you actually listening?’ Thawn couldn’t keep the accusatory tone from her voice, even though her actual feeling was embarrassment as she realised she’d been getting monosyllabic responses from Beckett for some minutes now.

‘What?’ He looked up from where he’d been trying to build a pyre of garlic bread sticks. Even though Gateway Station’s Arcade technically didn’t sleep, shift patterns gave natural ebbs and flows to the hustle and bustle of the centre of life aboard the starbase. They were in one of the ebbs, deep into the evening of Galactic Standard, and the Italian restaurant simply called L’Osteria was quietening down from the steadier buzz of activity of when they’d arrived. They were through two courses of excellent food, well into the second carafe of wine, and should have been discussing dessert. But she’d been discussing work, and Beckett looked like she’d lost him somewhere. He was the one with the sheepish grin, though, straightening up.

‘Forrester,’ he said. ‘Job. Yes.’

Thawn’s shoulders sagged. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble.’

He waved the apology away. ‘You’ve had a lot on your mind. Like a whole department. And I know you do your best thinking out loud.’

She fidgeted with the napkin she’d tossed atop the checked red-and-white tablecloth. ‘I just want to get it right tomorrow.’

‘Scuttlebutt says Perrek was a bit spooked getting thrown across the quadrant and might prefer to work reliably near his family. I think that’ll determine whether Valance keeps you on as CEO – not anything you say.’

‘What rumour?’

‘Hey, I have my sources.’ He leaned forward, giving that smug grin she knew he thought of as charming, but she found charmingly annoying. ‘As for Forrester, have you tried asking her if she wants to make assistant chief or is happier running damage control?’

‘I don’t know if she’ll…’ Thawn’s voice trailed off, and she wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh. She’s not Athaka, is she. She’ll speak her mind and won’t tell me what she thinks I want to hear.’

‘Exactly.’ His smile softened. ‘You know, it never occurred to me that you should take on Engineering. But it seems like it’s perfect.’

‘I like the freedom.’ Again she felt bashful. Rosara Thawn was not particularly experienced in discussing what she wanted. ‘Ops is about running support for everyone else, and that’s fulfilling and I think I’m good at it. But you always have the duty officer breathing down your neck. Engineering is – could be – my space.’

‘Freedom.’ A smile tugged at his lips as he hefted the carafe and went to refill their glasses. ‘Seems like something you’re getting a taste for.’

She heard the edge of his point, felt him brush against the topic, but until he directly engaged, she wasn’t going to. ‘We’ll see what Captain Valance says. But what about you?’

‘Me?’

‘Intelligence. I know you say you like it, and you seem like you’re good at it, but…’ She reached for her wine glass, frowning as she tried to gather her point. He was always so prickly about anything to do with his life path. ‘But you seemed a lot more enthusiastic about finding the Veilweaver’s prison than you did about the strategic condition of the Klingon border.’

‘I mean, one of those was an unending pit of misery and despair… and the other was our burgeoning border war,’ he said wryly, then shook his head. ‘No, just, before we knew what the Veilweaver was, we were hunting through a historical mystery. That’s interesting. That’s the kind of thing I might pick up a book about off-duty. The Klingon situation? That’s all work.’

‘And you want to stay at it?’

He hesitated again. There was something he wasn’t telling her, but she knew better than to keep her telepathic abilities anything short of on complete lockdown in these conversations. At length he said, ‘I’m good at it. There’s a purpose to it. And it is interesting. I can use the same skills I do in a blue shirt, but I apply them to emerging situations. You’ve got to look at the data, then look at the people, then piece it all together.’

‘I’m not trying to tell you what you should do.’ She offered her own softening smile, hearing the creeping tension in his voice, knowing it wasn’t necessarily about her. ‘We’ve just both had a major career shift. In directions we didn’t expect.’

‘And there’s plenty of time to deal with it.’ Beckett swept a hand around the quietening restaurant. Beyond its doors, the hustle and bustle of the Arcade at night continued, Gateway Station’s pulsing population ever seeking distraction and engagement. But here, diners finished up their evening or tucked just into desserts and digestifs as staff saw to these concluding needs and cleared empty tables. They were not about to be turfed out. But with the gentle piano music bouncing off the red brick-effect walls and a good meal long gone, there was no urgency.

‘There’s time,’ Thawn agreed. ‘I think the captain might go spare if Commodore Rourke tries to send us off somewhere without a good week or two of shore leave. Even with the Feserell and border situations.’

‘There are other ships. Swiftsure and Redemption can deal with it.’

‘Exactly.’ She tilted her chin up an inch. ‘And we can come here and have good food and good drink for a little bit.’

‘Even if you decide to use the time to ramble at me about Endeavour’s personnel assignments.’

‘I was – I’ve had a lot on my mind.’ She found herself stumbling over words, abashed and defensive. ‘We usually talk work, though I know this is our first date…’

Beckett made a face. ‘Is it our first date? You don’t count that welcome party the Khalagu held for us?’

‘That was work…’

‘We spent a lot of that night not working,’ he pointed out with a smirk.

That only made her flush more. ‘And I know we’ve… made plans together and spent time together, but that was just going wherever we were – a drink on the Starfall or taking in the sights in Synnef or just meeting up in the Round Table or Safe House. Don’t pretend you didn’t make a big fuss about booking this table and planning a big dinner and making this the first time we properly went out since we decided to do… this.’ She flapped her hands a little as she gestured between them.

‘Ah,’ said Beckett, softening and sobering at the same time, despite the hint of teasing that still lingered. ‘This. Yes. Running away together.’

‘We’re a little past the running away, don’t you think?’ She twisted her fingers together. ‘We came back.’

‘We did. Back to reality. To… this.’ His gesture between them was a calmer mirror of her flap. ‘Whatever this is.’

She heard the silent question, though her heart started to pound at it, and more through anxiety than excitement. It was still the excitement that she leaned into, though, reaching across the table for his hand and offering a slyer smile. ‘What if we wrap up here and remind ourselves?’

Intimacy did not come easily to Rosara Thawn. She told herself it was the transition from Betazoid society to Starfleet, where she’d cut herself off from her foremost way of connecting with people. Even after choosing to throw half her life away, after leaving Adamant Rhade and boarding the Starfall with Nate Beckett, intimacy on those long weeks away together had been slow, faltering. Patient. Real, like leaning over the edge of a cliff she’d for so long never dared even approach, and feeling her breath catch at how far down it was, but not yet falling. Not yet letting go. Or, perhaps, not yet being pulled.

But real enough to lose herself for an evening when they made it back to her quarters on Endeavour, docked at Gateway Station while crew and vessel took time to recover from their burdens. Real enough to banish the wider galaxy for a night, for them to eventually fall asleep still tangled up in each other. Real enough to forget.

She was normally the first to rise, but the squadron command staff had a meeting he needed to prepare briefing packages for, so she was still stirring in the morning when he was already changing into a uniform and shoving a replicated pastry in his mouth.

‘I’ll comm you,’ Beckett said through a mouthful of crumbs as he pulled on his boots. ‘Lunch? Dinner? Something.’

Despite herself, Thawn smiled as she lay back in the comfortable bedsheets. ‘Something. My meeting’s not til 1400.’

‘I’ll try to not piss off Valance first.’ He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, then he was gone.

She was still slow to rise then. At first. At first, she snoozed, then sat up and thought about a cup of tea. Even when she was halfway to the replicator, only in a dressing gown, and saw the wall panel blink with a new message notification, she got her drink before she headed to a console.

And had to set the mug down so she didn’t spill it when she saw the message was from her aunt.

Her aunt, already on her way to Gateway Station. Her aunt, the matriarch of her House, the architect of the arranged marriage she’d fled from, nearly here. Her aunt, wanting to discuss her decisions and her future.

…impossible to resolve this impasse without direct discussion…

…your future, that you have placed in such jeopardy…

…consider what this means for our House…

…eager to hear Adamant’s perspective on this…

And as Rosara Thawn sat and read, and read, and let her tea grow cold, the warmth and burgeoning intimacy of last night was already more light-years away than her aunt now was. Because it was not, after all, just leaving Betazed for Starfleet that had hampered her ability to connect to and be open with other people.