The worst of the battle damage from above Boreth had been scrubbed away. Bulkheads were clean but scarred, their fresh coats of primer unable to hide the patches where plating had been replaced. Ayres stepped into the corridor outside the transporter room, boots echoing faintly. Ahead, an engineering crew wrestled with an open access panel, the soft hum of tools breaking the otherwise quiet air.

“Doesn’t exactly look ready for warp,” Parr said, following him into the corridor. She was scanning the walls, the floor, the engineering team. Taking it all in with that efficient sweep of her gaze that he had come to know.

“They’re calling it structurally sound,” Ayres replied.

“So it won’t fall apart as long as we’re docked.” She reached out and tapped one of the walls, “Inspirational.”

They moved aft, passing another group of engineers sprawled halfway inside a bulkhead under in the corridor. The ship was stripped down in places, access panels removed, wiring harnesses hanging like skeletal veins waiting to be reconnected.

It was cleaner now, no blood and gore, but the absence of the crew made the Sacramento feel hollow. Ayres slowed as they stepped into the mess hall. The tables had been righted and the debris cleared, but the space still felt off-kilter somehow, as if it were holding its breath.

Parr walked ahead of him, trailing her fingers lightly along the edge of a table. “I remember this place full of noise. Too many people talking at once.”

“Until the captain walks in and some of those conversations are hushed,” Ayres said.

She turned back toward him, leaning a hip against the table. “How long until it feels like our ship again?”

He shrugged. “The buzz of the crew going about their business, I’m not worried.” He looked past her, toward the large viewport at the far end of the mess hall, where the starbase’s docks glinted under artificial light. “When we’re back out there, ferrying ungrateful diplomats, all will be well.”

Parr studied him for a moment, her expression softening. “Looking forward to it, are you?”

He met her gaze, “So long as we’re together. All of us together, I mean. The crew”. After a moment, he gestured toward the aft corridor. “Come on. I want to check engineering.”

She pushed off the table and fell in step again, close enough that the space between them felt almost too narrow.

Engineering was a tangle of bodies and noise. The warp core sat dark at the heart of the room, surrounded by scaffolding like a monument under restoration, with large cables trailing along the floor. Patches of new hull plating lay stacked along the wall, waiting for installation.

Ayres stepped just inside and paused to take it in. The air was warmer here, tinged with the acrid smell of recently welded duranium. An ensign darted past with a coil of superconductive cable over one shoulder, nearly clipping Parr. She sidestepped neatly, coming to stand beside Ayres until their shoulders brushed.

“Feels strange without the light and shadows from the core” she said, raising her voice over the rattle of tools.

“I always loved looking at it, the same comforting feeling as watching the waves on an ocean,” he replied, eyes on the dormant warp core.

They edged around the cables, tools, and busy engineers toward the master systems display. The space was so packed with scaffolding and access panels that they had to walk single-file in places, Parr close enough behind him that he could hear her boots on the deck, the faint creak of her uniform fabric when she shifted.

He stopped near a console where a lieutenant was running diagnostics, gesturing for Parr to step in beside him. She did, pressing in so their arms touched, both of them leaning slightly to be heard over the din.

“Only half the EPS relays are functional,” she said, eyes flicking over the readouts. “We’re at least a week from basic readiness.”

Ayres angled toward her, the closeness making it feel like they were speaking in confidence. “I’ve heard anywhere from five days to three weeks, depending on who I ask.”

“That’s engineering speak for we’ll know once we know. Just trust us and stop asking.”

He gave a quiet huff of amusement, his gaze still on her profile. “You always this optimistic?”

Parr looked up at him then, her mouth curving just slightly. “I’m just trying to keep the captain from brooding.”

Before he could answer, a sudden burst of sparks flared from a workstation across the room, followed by an engineer’s sharp curse. The smell of scorched metal carried over the noise. Parr tilted her head toward the hatch. “Want to get out of here before someone blows us both up?”

Ayres glanced once more at the silent warp core. “Yeah. Let’s walk the bridge.”

After the business of the rest of the ship, the turbolift opened onto a stillness so complete it felt like another ship entirely. The bridge was spotless, every console powered down except for the faint, idle glow of standby mode. The captain’s chair sat centered and waiting.

Parr stepped out first, glancing around as if expecting to find the bridge crew frozen in place. “Feels like walking into a holodeck program before it’s started.”

Ayres lingered by the lift doors a moment before following her toward the centre. “If only the repairs would be as fast as a command to the computer.”

She stopped beside the captain’s chair, resting her fingertips on its arm. “You going to try it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Try what?”

“Sitting.”

See how it feels after,” She nodded toward the viewscreen, which reflected only the lights of the starbase’s dock, “everything.”

Ayres hesitated, then lowered himself into the chair. The cushions were firm, recently replaced. His hands rested lightly on the armrests, but his eyes did not move to the consoles, he kept them on Parr.

“Well?” she asked.

“Different,” he said after a moment. “Like it’s not mine yet. It barely was before Boreth. I hope I’m not a bad luck captain?”

Parr circled slowly behind him then leaned on the back of the chair so her voice was close to his ear. “Then I guess we’ll just have to take her out again and prove that wrong.”

He turned slightly, catching her eye over his shoulder. “We will.”

“Unless you were planning to leave me behind.”

“Not likely.”

She straightened, her gaze sweeping the bridge one last time. “Good. I’d hate to miss it when this place starts feeling alive again.”

Ayres rose from the chair, closing the distance between them. “I have an idea, follow me, commander.”

The turbolift dropped them at the entrance to the repurposed cargo hold, opening onto what the crew called the ‘Outpost’. The wide space was dim, lit by a few flickering strips along the overhead beams. Tables – makeshift and mismatched – were scattered across the deck, pushed together in odd clusters.

The dented bar had largely kept its shape, smelling faintly of spilled synthehol and the occasional, perhaps illicit alternative. Broken glass glittered in a few corners, swept aside but not removed. Somewhere, a ventilation fan ticked every few seconds, like a slow metronome.

Parr took it all in and grinned. “Charming.”

Ayres stepped over a fallen stool, eyeing the bar. “I loved this place much more than the mess hall. This is less Starfleet.”

“Expressing your deviant side,” she said deadpan.

They crossed to the bar, finding a narrow section of the counter still smooth. Behind it, a single fridge unit hummed, its door hanging slightly askew. Ayres leaned over, peering inside.

“One bottle of something amber, unlabelled. Two greenish. And what might be orange fizz.”

Parr reached past him, plucking up the amber bottle. “Looks drinkable enough.”

He found two dusty tumblers under the counter, one with a crack along the rim. “Now, I believe we’re technically off duty,” he said, wiping them down with the edge of his sleeve.

“We’re also technically looting,” Parr countered, pouring two fingers into each glass.

The liquid caught the dim light, deep gold. They clinked glasses – not ceremonially, more like two people testing whether the glass would shatter – then drank. The liquor was sharp, burning just enough to cut through the musty air.

“Better than I expected,” Ayres admitted.

Parr smirked. “That’s what they’ll put on my memorial plaque.”

They stood there for a while, leaning on the counter, the empty bar stretching around them. It was easy in a way the bridge had not been. No reminders of duty, no watchful crew. After a second sip, Ayres glanced sidelong at her. “If the rest of the crew knew it was this easy to get back in here?”

Parr shook her head. “Then we better make the most of it.”

They drifted to a table near the big bay doors, where the metal decking was warm from the lights recessed into the panel by some enterprising crewmembers. The table’s surface was scarred and dented, a long gouge down the centre like someone had tried to split it in half.

Parr slid onto the bench and leaned back, one arm stretched lazily along the backrest, the line of her shoulders relaxed in a way Ayres did not see often. She looked around the space, full of shadows, broken neon lights, and some of the space debris that the crew used to decorate.

Ayres took the seat beside her instead of opposite, close enough to share the same view. “I think the starbase has better places for a drink”

“True.” She glanced at him over the rim of her glass. “But not all of them came with interesting company.”

He gave her a sidelong look. “Flattery?”

“Temptation,” she corrected, letting the word hang before she sipped again.

For a while they just sat, the odd mix of chemicals, sweet and sour, in the still air.

Ayres set his drink down. “I thought more of the crew would request transfers after Boreth. To get away from some of those memories, to start afresh. Did you think about it?”

She turned her head toward him, the movement slow, deliberate. “Sure. For a second. But I’m still here.”

“Why?”

Her gaze did not waver. “After what we went through, the choice is binary. You move on or you redouble your commitment to standing with your people.” She shifted, closing the small distance between them so that her knee brushed his. “And I’m not done standing with you yet.”

The contact was light, but deliberate, enough to make his pulse jump. “You make it sound like a challenge.”

“It is.” Her voice had dropped, softer, but no less sure. “Question is, can you keep me interested?”

He let out a quiet laugh, though it did not take the heat out of his tone. “I reckon so, Emilia”

Her smile widened just slightly, and she held his gaze for one beat too long before lifting her glass again.

They lingered in that liminal space between banter and something else, the warmth of her knee against his making it harder to pretend this was just another off-duty drink.

Parr set her glass down, the faint clink of it on the scarred tabletop sounding louder than it should have.

“You talk a good game, captain,” she said, voice low enough that it seemed meant only for him. He turned toward her fully, the dim light from the bay catching in his eyes.

“And you?”

“I don’t bluff.”

There was no decision to close the gap – it just happened. A small lean, the barest shift of weight, and her mouth was on his. Warm. Fierce. A kiss that felt more like a statement than a question. Ayres did not move at first, then his hand found the curve of her jaw, thumb brushing just under her ear as he returned it – strong, deliberate, like he did not intend to rush a second of it.

When they finally broke apart, the bar’s quiet seemed deeper. Parr’s eyes searched his for a beat, then she smiled a knowing smile. “Guess you can keep me interested,” she murmured.

Ayres leaned back, his own smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That was just the opening move.”

Parr reached for her glass again, draining the last of her drink and slid the glass across the table with a lazy push. “Come on,” she said, standing. “Before we switch to the mystery green stuff and regret it.”

Ayres rose, brushing a hand along the table’s edge as if grounding himself. The kiss was still there – in the warmth on his lips, in the faint, unshakable awareness of her at his side. They picked their way through the debris toward the cargo bay doors.

At the threshold, she paused and glanced back at the empty bar. “Best time I’ve had in this place for a while,” she said.

The corridor outside was cooler, cleaner, but still empty. Their boots echoed as they walked, close enough that their arms brushed now and then. Neither moved away. Halfway to the turbolift, Ayres reached out – just briefly – letting his fingers find hers. She did not look at him, but her grip tightened, sure and warm.

By the time they reached the lift, their hands had slipped apart, but the gesture lingered. When the doors opened, Parr stepped in first, glancing over her shoulder with that same faint, charged smile. “Opening move, huh?”

Ayres followed her in, the doors closing on his reply. “You’ll see.”

The following morning, the Sacramento’s bridge was no longer silent. Engineers moved between consoles, voices clipped but not hurried, the sound of diagnostics and recalibration filling the air.

Ayres stood by the tactical station, reviewing a stream of sensor recalibrations scrolling down the display. He had been reading the same line twice when he caught the faint sound of boots approaching from behind.

“Morning, Captain,” Parr said, moving to look at the readouts on the engineering station. Her tone was perfectly neutral – professional – but there was the barest flicker in her eyes when she glanced his way.

“Commander,” he replied, the word steady but carrying just a fraction more weight than usual.

She leaned over the armrest, checking the console display herself. “Engineering’s saying we can get limited power to the shields by tomorrow. If the plasma relays cooperate.”

“Good,” Ayres said, moving toward the centre of the bridge.

“What about the helm?”

“Still offline.”

He nodded, circling to stand beside her station. The proximity was purely functional, close enough to see the same display, but it also brought him near enough to catch the faint scent of her hair. It was a distraction he ignored with deliberate care.

She did not look up from the console, but he noticed the corner of her mouth tick upward. “Something on your mind, Captain?”

“Just making sure my XO has everything she needs,” he said evenly.

Her eyes flicked up, meeting his just long enough. Then she returned her attention to the readouts. “Always.”

Across the bridge, an ensign cleared his throat.

“Captain, commander – systems check on the port-side EPS grid is ready for your review.”

The moment dissolved into routine. Ayres straightened, nodding.