#hearttm

at least it’s not a foot

      this new assignment is a bit nerve-wracking for lena. since graduating from the academy, she’s only ever worked in one environment --- section 31. but now that more augments were being awoken, starfleet has requested her presence aboard the ship that held them: the u.s.s. enterprise. the doctors onboard have been pushing for a complete overhaul of the system that they had been using to keep KHAN under control. they said it was too powerful, too inhumane.

      lena had always thought that inhumane measures & measures against those who were inhuman were two separate concepts, but perhaps the line had blurred when she initially began developing the device. it’s worth taking another look at. it is only a prototype, after all.

      but knowing that she would be in such close proximity to the subjects she had designed them for is  .  .  .  unsettling. a bit worrying, even. she trusts that her invention does a good job of keeping the starfleet crew safe, but she’s begun to wonder  .  .  .  is it too much? but she supposes that’s why she’s here. to witness her device firsthand & make the necessary modifications.

      she’s just finished settling her things into her new quarters when she decides it’s about time to visit her research subjects. she’s only ever received data on them. no personal accounts, no photographs or videos. she is uncertain what to expect when she approaches the designated meeting place & finds one augment surrounded by five different guards.

      as she crosses the room, she stands tall, posture unwavering. she won’t let him know the anxiety she feels just standing before him.  “ my name is lena, ”  she says.  “ i’m here to study the effects of the behavioral conditioner on augment physiology. ”

    he watches the bottle of romulan ale be pulled across the table in — for once — silence. with a sigh, julian’s head drops, then lifts to look at her. her expression is lost on him, yet makes him uncomfortable — ashamed, almost. with furrowed brows, a forced smile, and not nearly enough alcohol in his system for this, he speaks; voice hardly above a whisper.

      ❝ what do you need, lieutenant? ❞

   Why does he speak to her like this? So guarded, so distant -- smile too vague, words separating him from her? Perhaps he is always like this. Perhaps she does not pay enough attention. Perhaps he is being, right now, what he believes she expects of him.

     “Doctor, please, I--”  He pauses to fight a stiff laugh, half-succeeding in infecting it with derision.  “This really isn’t necessary.  I appreciate what it is that you’re trying to do, as a doctor, but -- what exactly is the appeal?”

It’s a shake. Simple and chocolate. And he’s pushing it delicately back towards the doctor with a single finger as though it’s a glass of fresh, squirming gagh.

( He’s already tried that. Nothing like the vitality of Klingon cuisine to inform one’s caution. )