Vice-like fingers gripped Lavender by the arms. The grey scaly hands of the Jem’Hadar guided her, dragged her, tripped her roughly down corridors of metal and harsh lighting. She tasted blood. Her tongue probed for the source. A loose tooth. Lavender manipulated it with her tongue and spat it out. It didn’t take much effort. Her jaw ached. Her cheeks ached. Her scalp screamed as her hair was tugged continually by the strands that were welded to her shoulders by the soldier’s grip. Lavender knew better to ask where they were going or mouth off any more. Damn her pride, damn her inability to just shut the hell up and watch. One thing made all of this bearable, she had saved that woman from a beating. Lavender didn’t know her name. She had dropped something, damaged something and was due for punishment but the fool hero Lavender Haigh had to interject and now her face had borne the brunt of the Dominion’s dissatisfaction. She was forcefully stumbled to a large door with only one small window. She fought. She couldn’t help it. Her mind screamed at her not to, it would only bring more pain but her limbs acted on their own, fuelled by subconscious dread of solitary. A  collection of five titanium knuckles saw an end to this and Lavender was thrown through the door onto the hard floor, jarring her knees so that all she could do was roll over and whimper. The door began to close.

“No…” she managed to mumble, the blood oozing from her mouth making the sensation of speech entirely new and harrowing. But nothing could stop the clang of metal on metal.

Lavender writhed in bed, whimpering and making small noises, the occasional word got through, nothing intelligible but what was obvious to anyone was that she was in distress. 

On the right side of the bed, Arin, was curled up, the nearby fan blowing air on her face. The bed moved. At the brink of consciousness, she wasn’t sure what was going on. The fog of sleep was clouding her thinking. She realized she wasn’t alone. Seeming to take an eternity, facts of the meeting started to come back to her. The whimpering and slight movement made her roll over. Her Aunt Jennifer sometimes had night terrors. Reaching out to shake her gently, while saying her name, did nothing.  

Ramping up the volume, she physically turned the woman in her bed. Still no change. Switching tactics, she in normal voice, in a slightly forceful tone, said, “Lavender.” This was enough seemingly to bring her to consciousness. Lavender’s eyes opened but she was not removed from the experience in her mind, not yet. She looked at Arin, terrified and reacted as a prisoner would when confronted with a strange person in close proximity. Their eyes locked, for just a moment, in a way one is taught never to do with a Dog or a Wolf because it is perceived by the animal as a threat. Just by seeing Lavender’s expression anyone could have predicted what happened next. Lavender scrambled out of the bed with animalistic instinctual movements that were not her own. She put as much distance as she could between them, her back slamming against the opposite wall of she room, her hands grasping for a purchase that wasn’t there, her face contorted in fear, her breathing fast and flighty.

Pulling in legs slowly under her, Arin spoke in higher soft tones. “Doc, I think maybe the Grappa went to your head.” She knew better what was actually going on with the woman, but pissing her off might wake her up. What she wanted to do was hold her and remind her everything was fine, but she also didn’t want a right cross to the face, so she moved slowly, with no overt movement. Walking over to the replicator, she said. “Computer, two bowls of Colcannon, extra butter, and a mug of hot chocolate. Once replicated she moved them to the bed and patted nearby for Lavender to join her.”Come on Lavender.” She pulled the blanket nearer to her.

Lavender stayed in place for a few moments, her breathing slowing. She stared at Arin and swallowed, hard. No blood. A tiny, barely perceptible change in her gaze seemed to indicate she was working out what was going on. Lavender was used to having bad dreams, she’d had them every night since being rescued but waking up in an unfamiliar place and having someone staring at her was enough to promote the experience from confusing to downright scary. She took a step forward as Arin moved to the replicator and rubbed the back of her head where it had hit the wall, taking a seat in the corner and burying her face in her hands.

“Sleeping in an unfamiliar place when you have post-traumatic stress was a fucking stupid move,” she acknowledged, still staring at the carpet with her cheeks resting in the palms of her hands. “But I was so wasted…” She had at least had enough forethought to at least partially re-dress herself before submitting to the alcohol and exercise induced tiredness, exactly because of an eventuality like this. She stared at her bare legs and the metallic lilac polish on her toenails, grateful for the black boyshorts and sports bra she had on. “Do you have a robe or something…?” Walking to her closet, Arin pulled out a robe. It was one of the few things she insisted not be replicated. While it could do soft fabrics, it would not come close to the soft, warm Black Watch pattern flannel. She held it out so Lavender could slip into it. As she did so, she offered, “Guess that means you’re going to be a regular.” She offered, kissing Lavender on the forehead. 

“It just means I don’t want to be sat here in my underwear while I’m going through something,” Lavender returned testily as she secured the robe. But she thanked Arin for it anyway and wrapped it around herself, breaking away quickly from the proximity of another person. She crossed to the nightstand and grabbed the same wipes she’d replicated to remove her black lipstick the night before and started to remove what was probably horribly smudged eye makeup, revealing the purest form of Lavender anyone was likely to see. Memories from the night before appeared in her mind of her wiping her black lipstick off her own face before wiping it off Arin’s too. They displaced the images of the Jem’hadar. For that she was grateful.

“Sorry,” she added after a moment, turning to Arin with one eye now completely natural. “I.. don’t know. I don’t know anything just now. I’d kill for a night of good sleep. That’s the only reason I was at the Mile High Club in the fucking first place, so I could get exhausted enough or drunk enough to sleep without having to fail at dealing with the silence of my quarters. Don’t get me wrong though Jones, no regrets. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised an Orion has talent in the bedroom, or is that racial profiling?” The layers of bravado that characterised Lavender were starting to form over the rawness of her nightmare. 

Digging into a nearby drawer, Arin fished out an oversized t-shirt to put under the robe. Black oddly enough. It would be a long sleep shirt for Lavender. “I wasn’t thinking this was going to be a ‘settle-down and have-kids moment’. No harm, no foul. We’re both adults”. Walking back to the replicator, she ordered a mug of double and sweet coffee with milk. “I was and continue to be interested in your well being, and well. As for racial profiling, was that my instinct or happenstance? Regardless, it was fun.” She added a cold pitcher of water to the table as well with glass. “Now eat your colcannon. Cold mashed potatoes, bacon and cabbage…not my thing.”

Lavender opened her mouth to give Arin both barrels, but the words never came. What are you now, my mom? Eat my vegetables like a good girl….? The words were on the tip of her tongue but she never said them. The more reasonable, methodical Doctor in Lavender implored her ego to back off for just a moment and analyse. Yes, she was scared. Yes she was vulnerable. But could Arin have done anything to help her with that? The Orion wasn’t a mind-reader. What Arin was doing was exactly what Lavender had asked. First, Colcannon. Lavender had asked to try it then night before. Second, when Lavender asked for a covering, Arin gave her one and had now produced what she assumed was something Lavender could slip on for modesty and to help her feel less vulnerable. It was black to boot. Lavender threw a blackened makeup wipe on the night stand and acquired another for the other eye.

“Not my thing either,” she agreed. “Arin, I…” she paused not knowing how to continue. The makeup wipe in her hand became similarly blackened as Arin glanced her way. “I had fun last night.” The words were said with a smile. It was almost warm. Lavender figured she was at her most vulnerable right now, no war paint, her post-prison difficulties laid out, why not see if this woman was something a bit different and just commit to being vulnerable?

“If you think you can deal with me being kinda messed up… I… don’t have anyone. No family, they’re all dead or deadbeat losers, all of my friends on the Manitoba were killed when the ship was… destroyed…” the word was clearly difficult for her to say. “My staff are scared of me, because well, I’m as warm as a comet in-between star systems…  I’d like to… be a regular… if I’m not too much of a handful…” The final remnants of makeup were gone, all that was left was the real Lavender underneath, someone who hadn’t been seen by a soul since the Academy. The avalanche of emotions Arin just started processing tugged at her heartstrings.  Walking over, she took a few makeup wipes, scrubbing off all the foundation, lipstick, mascara, leaving her like Lavender, plain. Her face nearly monotone now. She was still pretty, but it was clear the effort that went into both women.  

“When I saw you in the bar, I was curious about the new pretty face. Once I realized you were on the flight that I piloted from that nightmare, I just operated on instinct. You and I are not so different.  Most women automatically hate me without even bothering to know a thing about me. Racial profiling? Ha!” Arin snorted. “Stick around, it’s been a week since I was told to stay away from someone’s husband. Walking over to Lavender, Arin placed her hands gently on Lavender’s shoulders. “Stuck wit’ you?” Arin said, a warm smile on her now artless face. “That means you’re stuck with me too.” Arin pointed out. Lavender nodded with familial understanding. She had the advantage of not being racially profiled by green skin, but she may as well have been. A fleet kid from a good family she was not. She wore her gang heritage on her sleeve, or more literally on her face. Complex makeup in the gangs of La Sirena was seen as a sign of status, either you had the money for the products or the wit to steal them and get away with it. It was easy to be grubby but hard to look good in that environment. Lavender decided to confide this with Arin. She placed a spindly hand on the Orion’s cheek and thumbed it gently, seeing the pain she must go through to be treated so.

“I’m sorry you get treated that way. Just as sorry to say that’s all too familiar,” she sighed. “I might not be green, but I may as well be. Where I come from intricate makeup meant you were someone.” She gave Arin a smile and moved to acquire her bowl of Colcannon which she stirred experimentally with the fork and took a mouthful.

“When I left M’talas Prime it’s all I had with me, all I knew, all I had of who I was and where I came from, my makeup,” Lavender explained, speaking as she ate. “I’m not a fleet kid, I don’t have a Starfleet family, fancy school education or any of that shit. I made Doctor and Lieutenant Commander through force of ambition. To prove everyone who ever judged me wrong. I know I don’t fit in though, I can see it on the face of every medical staff I ever worked with, the looks of surprise, the whispers. It’s a vicious cycle. Literally. They put me down, I put them in their place and become more cut off from the mainstream of the fleet every time I do. It’s not just makeup to me, it’s armour. Sure I could drop it to try to fit in, but then I wouldn’t be me anymore. I don’t know what I’d be. This is good.” She gestured at the bowl with the fork. Arin made a gesture to pinch the tiny bit of fat around her waist. “I’d like to think this isn’t all whiskey and chocolate.” She said with a giggle. “Colcannon is in the top ten comfort foods of all times.” She placed a hand softly. We can arrange it so we can stay in one bed or the other when needed. Less changing around for ya.” She paused for a moment. “You should let me do your makeup. I’ll let you do mine.” Arin said, then added, “make me look rich.” She said flashing a smile that showed her inner beauty as well. Lavender chuckled.

“Mmmm… Goth Orion? Why not… if you paint me like one of those fleet prudes all rosy and normative I will kill you. Although maybe I could break out the big guns and…” Lavender stopped in her tracks and stared at Arin with incredulity.

“All my makeup… I only just realised, it was all destroyed on the Manitoba. Shit! It took me years to collect some of that stuff… fuck!” She took a seat on the chair and took an extra large bite of Colcannon.

Arin was quiet for a second, empathizing with the compounding loss.  Yes it was just things, but one more kilo of emotional baggage that had to be dealt with just like everyone. Taking a bite of her own bowl, she savored the mix of ham, cabbage, and potato. Comfort food indeed, but it could only do so much. “Speaking about circumstances and how the wheel turns, life can be so twisted. Credit to my parents, for her to be able to see how different life could be and smuggle me out of the life of a slave owner. I can’t imagine owning people. So to say I’ve been blessed would be an understatement. You are in my orbit now and I plan to share as much of a blessing as I can.” She took another bite. “Wait. Doesn’t that mean we can go shopping?” Arin added. Lavender smiled and nodded.

“Anytime. I love shopping,” she said. “I forgot where I got hold of a chunk of it though. Hell, some of it I brought with me from La Sirena and I’m not going back there for a million bars of Latinum and my own personal moon. I’d rather go without makeup, frankly, which is saying something. Speaking of which, you’ve seen me without makeup now and you didn’t run away, call security or try to have me beamed into space!”

There was a short pause.

“Marry me?”

Arin paused, actually thinking about it. “I have seen worse combinations. Though you also haven’t seen me after a weekend of aircraft maintenance. Busty semi-green grease monkey seeks moody cuddle-bug with a doctorate. This might be your worst, you haven’t even scratched mine.” Arin said smiling.

“…Cuddle bug?” Lavender frowned. “Dunno about that but if you change the ad to read sarcastic neurotic psychotic mess with mad makeup skills and a tongue like a viper… yeah I can do that…” she paused to eat a fork full of Colcannon.

“Seriously, expect broken Arin,” she continued, “…and you won’t be disappointed. Oh haha yeah Lavender’s always cracking jokes, always taking the piss… no. Verbal jousting aside, you wanna do this? I’m up for it, but expect broken.”

Lavender chewed a moment.

“Oh and busty is accurate. Kudos.”

Looking down at the wonder twins, Arin said, with a smile, “Thanks, though not much was up to me. Also, I grew up an aircraft farm mechanic. Showing up when things break is hardly new to me and broken doesn’t scare me. Marriage proposals aren’t something new to me either.”

She paused as much for effect as for the coffee she needed. “I’m not a princess and I never want to be treated like one. However. Do it properly. Then I’ll wanna.” Arin countered.

“Not on your life!” Lavender cackled. “And I’m not surpised. Computer, time?” 

“The time is zero five twenty eight.”

“Urgh,” Lavender grimmaced. “Too early for anything substantial and thanks to my broken mind I’m far too awake for more sleep. This is a pretty good breakfast though. Got any Tabasco sauce?”