Charlie had never thought she’d be so grateful for starbase windows. Clearly, whoever had designed San Francisco Fleet Yards had taken into consideration an officer’s attachment to their ship- a need to watch over them, to make sure they would be okay. And they were certainly correct- it seemed like, at one point or another over the past month or so, every single member of USS Oakland‘s crew had filed over to this viewport, some more than others.

If you’d talked to her last year and told her that, within a few months, Charlotte MacColgan- a gung-ho security officer hyperfocused on adding more pips to her collar and prestige to her name- would be standing at this viewport, having hobbled her freshly released ass all the way here from the medical facilities on ESD, to pay her respects to an ugly oversized tugboat, she would have laughed in your face and called you a liar.

How strange, now, that she looked upon Oakland now with no contempt, no frustration, no misery that she’d hit the dead end of her career. As her dark eyes surveyed the patched, dark hull, lit up only with exterior lights highlighting massive tears and holes in her hull, sparks flying from repair craft welding her wounds shut, Charlie could only consider the utility cruiser to be absolutely beautiful. Her utilitarian lines neither too blunt nor too sharp, her lack of frills charmingly honest.

A ship that wore her business and her heart on her sleeve. A ship that asked for so, so very little… and gave her crew the stars in return.

Once upon a time, the voice that broke her from her reverie might have startled her, a frown would’ve made its way onto her face at the sound of an old man so lost in the love of a vessel she wanted nothing to do with. Once upon a time.

No longer.

“I told you she would grow on you, didn’t I?”

Only the warmest of smiles greeted Maising as Charlie turned, beckoning with the tip of her cane for the man to join her. “Aye. Ye did.”

Maising matched her smile, hands in the pockets of a simple tweed jacket- dressed in civilian clothing, Charlie couldn’t help but think he looked somewhat like an old detective from an ancient Earth novel. He joined her by the viewport, leaning on the windowframe and idly running a hand through his salt-and-pepper beard. “She’s coming along nicely. Any ETA on how long it’ll take for her to return to active service?”

“Think they said three, four months?” Charlie responded, her own weight shifting slightly against the cane in her hand. The discomfort that standing brought her was irritating, especially in how she couldn’t seem to find a way to be less so… but even she had to admit, it was so much better than it’d been when she first started walking again. “Pretty solid turnaround, methinks, considerin’ th’ beatin’ she took. Tough lass, she is.”

“Truer words never spoken.” Maising’s gaze lingered on Oakland a moment longer, before his eyes fell back to his… well, former XO. “And how are you holding up? The new legs treating you well?”

Charlie’s own eyes fell downwards, thinking of the metal and wires hidden under her faded and worn jeans. “… ehh, they’re gettin’ there. Might bit faster ‘n Oakland is. Doctors say I’ll be cleared fer duty by end ‘a th’ month.”

“Getting cabin fever already?”

A snicker rolled from deep within, a rumbling little laugh. “Aye, like ya would’nae believe.” A moment of quiet, and she shifted to lean against the opposite side of the windowframe. That was… a little better. She’d take it. “Heard ye’re leavin’. Fer good. That true?”

The grizzled old man nodded, a slight and almost trepidatious movement. “I am. My wife and I both. We’ve been in the fleet for fifty years, now- I think we’ve earned our cushy retirement. Starfleet offered me a posting at the Academy, but… I’m a tired old man, and home is calling.”

“… mm.” Home. What a foreign concept to Charlie. She supposed she technically had one, on paper, but that farm in Scotland would never be anything but a prison she never wanted to return to. The closest thing she’s ever had… was sitting in a drydock, being put back together. She voiced none of these thoughts. “Cannae argue wi’ that logic. Gonna go live out yer twilight years yellin’ at li’l kids tae get off yer lawn ‘n watch the sunset on yer front porch?”

“Actually, the sun sets towards my backyard,” Maising replied with a hearty laugh, ever jovial as it was even on the day they met. “Don’t think I’m much of a yeller, though. But there will be gardening, and cookouts with the kids and grandkids. Maybe a renovation or two. I’ll finally get around to fixing that leak in the attic, I think.” He paused, expression shifting to something more… thoughtful. Contemplative. “Have you ever been to a cookout, Charlotte?”

Not MacColgan- Charlotte. She had to pause at that, blink in surprise. Half surprise that he was addressing her so informally… half surprise that she didn’t actually mind. “No. Cannae say I have.”

“We’ll change that.” He produced something from his jacket pockets- a crinkled slip of paper, actual physical paper with an address on Archer IV scrawled on it. “Consider yourself invited. And, really, just drop by whenever you feel like it. Our doors will always be open to you, and I’ll always make sure we cook an extra serving of food.”

Charlie went still as a marble statue, her mind almost unable to properly register this. Oskar Maising was inviting her to his family’s home. “… I… I don-”

“You don’t have to.” He cut her off, beckoning with the slip of paper again. “Everyone deserves a home to come back to, Charlotte. I understand from your personnel file that you might not have one. This is an injustice my wife and I have already discussed and intend to rectify. You will always have a place with us.”

Her free hand slowly raised… and took the paper. It slipped from his grasp as if it was never there.

“It was an honor to be your captain, Charlotte.” Maising’s- Oskar’s- smile was soft and warm, pride in his eyes like a father watching his daughter succeed. “I hope to see you again this summer.”

The woman’s eyes drifted to the slip… and then she pocketed it, her own smile taking a foreign warmth of its own. A feeling of belonging washed through her system like water filling a bottle. “Just Charlie’s fine. And… jus’ message me a date, aye?”

“Aye aye… Charlie.” The old man’s eyes sparkled like he’d just accomplished the greatest thing he’d ever put his mind to, pushing off from the wall and raising one hand towards the dark shape of his last command. “Hüvasti, Oakland! Ma jään sind igatsema!” he called, before turning on his heel and vanishing into the station.

Charlie lingered yet, her fingers idly rubbing over the paper in her pocket, eyes gazing out to space, to that simple, hearty little ship she’d learned to love. She no longer cared about the boxy profile, the stilted nacelle pylons- NCC-75012 was the most beautiful ship in the galaxy.

“… treat the next ones as well as ye treated me, ol’ lass,” she murmured quietly, rising to her feet, the quiet whirring of cybernetic joints filling the pause between her words. “Goodbye, Oakland. Don’ forget me. I know I’ll never forget you.”

She turned, and for the first time in almost a year, travelled a different path.