‘…the KDF are pulling back their forces, but only so far as the border.’ Harrian grimaced as he gestured along the strategic map of the Midgard Sector that stood at the heart of the Sirius’s SOC. ‘It seems they didn’t want to risk getting cut off with the collapse of Underspace, but it would be premature to suggest the whole invasion has been called off.’

Rourke watched, arms folded across his chest. ‘They’ve had a taste of the independent territories. And now that Toral’s raised the banners, he can’t back down, now.’

‘We expect him to adapt and return. Those on the fence about him might recognise there’s no honour in getting your ass kicked by losing your supply lines to a collapsing subspace network. That’ll only last so long. The good news is that we expect him to go for some easier victories against the independent worlds. Not saddle up to face the Republic. Yet.’

‘They get time, we get time,’ Rourke mumbled. ‘Right. Thanks, Cal. Tell Daragon that he can take the Liberty back out as soon as he’s ready, but I still expect him to keep half a sensor array pointed at the border. Remind him we want to know if the Klingons are going to hit the little guy if he complains about his mission of exploration’s strategic importance.’

‘Yes, sir. And you’ve seen Commander Dashell’s recommendation for the Ranger? Midgard Sector subspace is potentially, uh, delicate with the Borg transwarp and Underspace.’

‘Yeah, last thing we need is some natural disaster. Let Xhakaza run some sweeps along any known fault lines, see what he comes up with. Otherwise, put Redemption back to wave the flag on the border, remind the Klingons they don’t want to mess with us, get the Swiftsure helping out the Republic again and then… we see what happens.’

They parted there, Rourke heading up to his ready room. It was considerably larger and more comfortable than his office on Endeavour, and in many ways less stifling than the one on Gateway. There, he’d felt like he was nailed to the deck. Here, he could walk several quick steps and be on the bridge. Go anywhere. Do anything.

What he had to do next, however, was have an uncomfortable conversation. He settled behind his desk just as the door-chime sounded, and got his grimacing out of the way before he called, ‘Come in!’

He had expected Commander T’Falith, but still wasn’t sure what to do about her blank, level, Vulcan expressions when he wanted to brace for an emotional outburst. Or at least a demonstration. Were she any other species, he could prepare for open resentment or disapproval. This was oddly worse.

‘I won’t take up much of your time, Commander,’ he said quickly, wanting this over and done with. ‘Have you made any progress?’

‘I would have reported if I had, sir.’ He didn’t know if he imagined the admonishment, or if by now he was simply projecting his own guilt. ‘But, no. None of my efforts at contacting Gul Kaled have received any response. I take it you, likewise, have seen no success.’

Rourke grimaced. ‘I don’t have a lot of contacts in Central Command or the Detapa Council. But nobody’s budging an inch. The good news is that nobody’s confirming the Edorasc has been lost.’

‘True as that may be, sir, it is far more likely that the Cardassian Union would obfuscate the loss of such a ship than they would its survival.’

‘Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘We’ll keep trying. Ambassador Hale’s on the case, too. Something will show up.’

‘Perhaps.’

Rourke regarded her, unable to stop his imagination running wild in the emptiness of her expression. ‘You blame me.’

T’Falith cocked her head. ‘Sir?’

‘For the showdown going the way it did. We didn’t have to leave in such a hurry.’

‘It was imperative we made the attempt to protect Underspace. Once the mission was launched, sir, I feel you did everything in your power to preserve the network, but also the lives of both crews.’

‘Once the mission was launched. You think I was wrong before that.’

T’Falith paused. ‘It is illogical to suggest an alternate course of action would have been more successful; we lack enough data to so much as effectively speculate.’

‘But you have an opinion.’

‘Are you asking, sir? I am the Head of Social Sciences. My opinion on a strategic matter is inexpert.’

‘But you are an expert on Cardassians. On Gul Kaled.’

Another pause. ‘No alternate path I could suggest is one in which I have any degree of confidence.’

‘But?’

‘Gul Kaled revealed the truth to me. When I visited the Edorasc. He was clearly as uncomfortable with the deception as I.’

Rourke hesitated. ‘Did you…?’

‘The alert was raised before I had to decide whether to respond to his honesty with deceit,’ T’Falith said plainly. ‘It is impossible to know what might have happened, Commodore. But it is, perhaps, worth entertaining what could have been achieved if we had reached out to the Edorasc with a sincere hand of friendship. Instead of immediate suspicion and manipulation.’

Defensively, Rourke scoffed. ‘You think a Cardassian gul was going to ignore his mission because we were nice to him?’

‘I think Gul Kaled did not approve of his own operation and that it is much, much easier to act in accordance with one’s conscience when far removed from the structures and hierarchy that would smother our principles.’

He did not have a good response for that, letting her leave. A part of him wanted to drag it out, let himself imagine more accusation in her empty face to indulge his own guilt. But that was only because what came next was even less palatable.

Sophia Hale’s quarters aboard the Sirius were comfortable as befit her rank – as befit the rooms of almost anyone aboard an Odyssey-class starship. However many steps Rourke felt they’d taken forward, as a couple and as individuals, he was reminded of the shadows of her past, of both their pasts, when he entered a room over which Hale had complete control and found it soulless. Standard issue decorations on the walls, no touch of personalisation.

That wasn’t quite right. A curated personalisation. Enough to make anyone think she’d just moved in lately and brought a few key curios and mementos. By now, Rourke knew better; knew she’d abandon the smattering of pictures and belongings in a heartbeat, knew she used them to throw anyone off the scent if they wanted to press her.

But she’d just let him in, which was more progress than he’d necessarily expected, and now he stood in the middle of her ambassadorial suite with his hands behind his back and feeling oddly like he’d been dragged in front of a superior instead of voluntarily coming to see his partner and peer.

She stood by the window, in a blouse and slacks still after a work day, arms folded across her chest as she regarded him.

Rourke drew a deep breath. ‘We should talk.’

‘We should.’

‘I was wrong.’ That was always a good start. ‘I was tense and worried, and I took some of it out on -’

‘Hold on.’ She raised a hand to cut him off. ‘Am I talking to Matthew? Or Commodore Rourke?’

‘I…’

‘Because you’ve flitted between the two whenever it’s convenient for you these past weeks. I’d like to be clear.’

Rourke frowned. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘You withheld information from me about an operation that could have serious diplomatic ramifications -’

‘Because I didn’t want to put you in a position where you might have to lie! To the Cardassians, to your superiors -’

‘Don’t act like you did that to protect me. To do me any favours.’ Hale took a sharp step forward. Her expression was flat, cold; he hadn’t been on the receiving end of her tight, controlled negotiations before, but was starting to remember why she was so effective at her job, even against hostile figures. ‘You didn’t want the argument with me. It’s as simple as that.’

For a moment, he considered lying. Then he remembered he was up against a professional liar. ‘No,’ Rourke sighed. ‘When trying to launch a serious operation, I didn’t want to have to justify myself to the Federation Diplomatic Corps.’

‘Who did you justify yourself to?’

‘I’m a commodore, the ship’s captain, and the mission commander; I don’t have to justify myself to anyone –’

‘When you were clearly emotionally strained, both from the loss of Endeavour and with your judgement clouded by your own prejudices against Cardassians -’

‘They launched the most devastating war in recorded galactic history, that’s not really a prejudice –’

‘…and your executive officer – with whom you don’t exactly have a tight relationship – was light-years away. Who was there to even tease out your reasoning?’

Rourke’s brow furrowed. ‘I have senior staff around me. I had Locke, Rhade, Riggs; I had Cal –’

‘Harrian Cal is a smart man. And absolutely the last person aboard who should be expected to have a rational response to the Cardassian Union, which is why, I expect, he held his discipline and did his job without question. You failed Cal with your behaviour, Matthew, and you know it.’

‘Failed -’

‘And then you isolated people like Aisha and me, people you know would have seen through your bullshit.’

‘Aisha’s the Chief Medical Officer; I don’t routinely run my clandestine operations past her,’ Rourke sneered.

‘What about your feelings under pressure? Under pressure, you strategically surrounded yourself with a series of yes-men who, for whatever reason, wouldn’t push back. A move for which you have form.’

The instinct was to push back, defend himself. Rourke had to swallow and force himself to take a moment to smother that reaction. After a beat, he shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ It was as good as he could get.

‘Maybe,’ she echoed, the ghost of an unimpressed smile on her lips. ‘I don’t want to psychoanalyse you and beat you up about this, Matthew. But if we’re going to work together and be together, we can’t be delusional about what’s personal and what’s professional. You sidelined me professionally for personal reasons.’

‘Maybe.’

She hesitated. ‘I’m going to need better than that if I’m to decide whether I’m lodging a formal protest. Because if this was a wholly professional decision, this is an abhorrent breakdown in the collaboration between the diplomatic corps and Starfleet. I cannot be treated as a possible operational liability, like I’m a naive fool who doesn’t understand you sometimes have to get your hands dirty and not show your cards. I am, in fact, a professional liar rather more than the average Starfleet officer.’

He straightened and met her gaze. ‘Would you have stopped me?’

‘I’m not playing that game,’ she said at once. ‘This isn’t about outcomes, this is about decisions and it’s about intent.’ She looked to the door. ‘I’ll let you think about this.’

It was as clear a dismissal as she’d ever given him. Rourke’s gut coiled, but he took a step back, the wind now thoroughly knocked out of him. ‘Alright. I – we both have a lot of work to do, anyway.’ He turned away, but then paused once he was by the door, his back to her. ‘I expect you’ll be working late here?’

I expect you won’t come home.

‘Maybe.’

I deserved that, Rourke thought, closing his eyes now he was sure she couldn’t see his face. He drew a sharp breath and nodded. ‘Alright,’ he said again. ‘We’ll speak -’

‘Maybe… dinner tomorrow night.’ Now he heard the falter in her voice. She was angry, furious with him, and knew she was right to be. Knew that he needed to work on things, they needed to work on things, and that sometimes, when you were hurt, nothing was more important than time.

But there was, at least, a little nuance. Being angry with him was not the be-all and end-all.

Rourke glanced over his shoulder, found her gaze hesitant but sincere, and gave a small nod. ‘Dinner. On the station. Somewhere nice.’

‘Somewhere nice,’ she echoed.

He thought he saw a ghost of a smile, and left on that hopeful note. This would need navigating. But it was not impassable.

It still left him at a loose end and in a bad mood, aware that if he didn’t fill his time that evening, he’d be liable to brood. Sulk, even. But there were advantages to making it back from the far side of the galaxy, with everyone he’d wanted rescuing brought home, safe and sound. Rourke set off down the corridor at a brisk pace, heading for a turbolift, and hit his combadge.

‘Rourke to Valance. Meet me at the Keystone bar. You and I both need a wind-down after this.’

He wanted to hear her thoughts. Give guidance that she’d doubtless need after being left behind by her endangered ship. Share a drink with someone he trusted absolutely, who was still unafraid to tell him when she thought he was wrong.

And bask, just a little, in the fact that almost everything that really mattered had ended well enough. The rest could be fixed. With time.