Scιeɴce wιll reveαl тнe тrυтн.

Something wry pulls at his own mouth as well. “Sometimes,” he agrees. And somehow it feels like the correct acknowledgement to give.

(That he’s difficult, maybe, with a spirit full of hungry teeth. That he’d be too much for quite nearly anybody else who wasn’t, in that way, very much like him.)

Still, Tora isn’t altogether prepared for Moira to turn in her seat to face him when she does, and so he only lasts for a few strange, arrested moments of quiet, studying her right back, before he shies from the look and instead coaxes her up to her feet and into his space, fingertips fanning upon the shelf of her jaw. “Come here,” he mutters as she rises, more faintly than he would have liked, and, “Kiss me,” fainter still; but then her face, odd-eyed and knowing, is filling his field of vision, and he is kissing her, holding her to him with a gentle insistence he hadn’t expected of himself. When at length he turns his face, only slightly, he lingers there with her, cheek to cheek, words he isn’t quite ready to say growing heavy on his tongue again.

Breath on each other’s necks.

Pulses warming the air immediately above their skins.

He swallows.

“–I don’t need you any more than you need me, you know.”

Halting, muted intensity. Groping his way through a language he only half-knows and finding himself dissatisfied by his own limitations.

“If you wanted to leave – start again somewhere else, by yourself – I’d let you. I don’t need you here, but I–.” (Breath hisses through his teeth.) “–I like you here. And. I want you here. With me. If that’s how you’d choose to have it.”

At last he leans back and chances to look her in the face, brows drawn low and eyes guarded, mouth set in a hard line like he doesn’t know what expression to make. Lamplight halos in Moira’s hair. His jaw tics.

“Understand?”

[ @talonedbanshee ]

Moira isn’t sure what she expects to see when at last she settles her gaze on the Kai rather than his reflection. Maybe the cool look he often assumes before muttering some quick, dismissive answer (something sharp and witty, yet brittle in a way). Instead, Tora almost...shrinks, in a way she’s never quite observed before. There isn’t much time to assess it, however, before she’s beckoned to her feet and then to his lips. Moira has no qualms about obliging that simple request, one that is instead initiated by Tora himself. It’s soft, the way he presses to her, the way his hands hold her. Not with the barely-restrained heat of lust, but simply the want he speaks of.

Their lips part, and her eyes flick open to take in the face before her. Even that sight is fleeting, as Tora’s movement puts them cheek to cheek. Her hands rest lightly over the fabric of his tunic, and she swears she can feel his muscles taut and tense just beneath it. What he says isn’t necessarily surprising, but neither could she say that she expected it. They live in two vastly different realities, and while Moira is more than accustomed to remaking her life in faraway lands amid entirely different cultures, different species is admittedly a new leap even for her. It has never really bothered the curious woman, whose thirst for knowledge was bound to stretch far beyond the reaches of one planet. Yet she had perhaps figured that in Tora’s eyes, she was just as much a curiosity. A short, fleeting, and very small speck in the scope of his universe. Or perhaps she had been applying her own cold logic to a being not as unlike mortals as he might want to believe.

“I do.” She says, when finally she’s granted view of his face once more. She isn’t imagining the stiffness he holds himself with, it’s so present in his face even now. There’s no amused smile playing at her lips, though. She appears thoughtful, still and calm like the unbroken surface of a lake. “It seems that we want the same thing, then.” Her mismatched eyes weigh him, before finally an aloof front cracks into a familiar slyness. “Most people would find that cause to be happy, so do try to look less like I’ve asked you to join me on Earth to run a farm.” Her long fingers release their hold on his bicep, rising to grip the back of Tora’s neck. An insistent tug closes any distance left between them as she takes a kiss of her own from the somber Kai. When their lips part, she regards him calmly once more. “Now, was that so hard, you insufferable eejit?”

WHAT THE FUCK, HOW DID I MISS THIS. HOLD MY DRINK, I GOTTA PACE. IT’S NOW IN MY DRAFTS TO BE SCREAMED ABOUT PROPERLY ONCE I’M HOME FROM WORK.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

GUESS WHO DOESN’T CARE ABOUT THE HALLOWEEN EVENT

Tora releases a soft huff of air through his nose in reply, eyes sliding sidelong toward some indistinct point in the glass. While far from forthcoming, his mouth nonetheless echoes the phantom of her smirk.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

(A pause before he hoists himself at last in a too-measured arc to his feet.)

“And yet, here I am, aren’t I? Thinking about it.”

Gravitating across the space between them – as if inevitably compelled, by something beyond himself, to close it – he settles into place at Moira’s shoulder, appraising them both in the mirror without quite meeting her eyes. His mouth hesitates, air pregnant with waiting as he grasps restlessly after the shapes of questions which don’t come naturally.

They look good at each other’s elbows, he thinks.

He likes how they fill the frame, together.

His lids droop.

“–So.”  (He realizes only now that his hand has risen to the back of her chair. Voice pitching to little more than a rasping murmur, thumb petting slow, gentle lines up and down the length of her nape–) “When did that happen, then?”

[ @talonedbanshee ]

His reflection approaches hers, joining her image while gazing only at his own smoky grey eyes. Tora stands next to her in a way that suggests he’s found himself here quite by accident and taken the opportunity to indulge his vanity (something honestly not out of the question for either of them). Moira continues to work at the last remnants of her makeup, listening to the question he’s asking aloud (and the unspoken ones he’s trying to avoid). She draws in a deep, slow breath as he teases the back of her neck. 

“Well...” The word rolls heavily off of her tongue, building to something even she cannot anticipate until it’s falling out of her mouth. “I can’t give you an exact date,” Moira begins, her lips twisting in a wry smirk, “I suppose that would be...when I began to realize that I didn’t need you around. But...I still wanted you around.” She shrugs, waving one hand in the air dismissively, “Sometimes, anyways.” A cotton ball is thrown into the nearby wastebasket, bringing the convenient distraction of her nightly routine to an end.

Moira turns to face him, studying him with the sly air she always seems to grant the world around her, though it lacks the sharpness of her usual intentions (to research, to dissect, to poke and prod until her subject has given up every bit of usefulness). She wants this to last, whatever ‘this’ even was. Of course, it isn’t going to break her if the sentiment isn’t returned, mirrored exactly. She supposes that’s precisely why she’s able to confront it, now that it’s been disentangled from the mess of circumstances that brought them together in the first place.

“As well stocked as our lab on the Enterprise is, I do love to visit the city. Do you think we’ll have time to visit any museums?” It was always hard to tell if she was being serious, with that perpetual smirk playing at her lips. 

   “I am fine…” He said to the blonde ’angel’ as this one put it, and was not feeling up to discussing much more, but it seemed like the other doctor wasn’t too keen on letting him off the hook. That in itself was questionable, but completely contradicts the acts of this one attending him currently. From just a glance, he was able to see the differences; This one wanted to only help and bring him to better health, which he was already so healthy to begin with, given that he is who he is. Then there lies the dual-eyed woman, who’s intentions he still could not make out, but the look in her eye said everything he needed to know. He would be cautious. “A lunar base, hm… Must be wonderful to see the Earth from this far away.” | @talonedbanshee |

"Yes, quite strange, too.” Angela laughed, as she buzzed about taking vitals and changing out his IV. Moira seemed less amused, finally tearing herself away from the microscope. She stood from the lab stool, looking down at their patient from her full height. 

“So, Mr. Harrison, you mentioned that you’re part of Starfleet, but you didn’t answer my other question. Are you familiar with Overwatch?” She watched him now with a smile, steepling her fingers as she waited. At the very least, Angela didn’t seem to have any objections to the question, casting her own curious glances his way as she marked down readings on a small tablet.

Spock had momentarily gone off to converse with the Captain on his comm about this, and he found out that his suspicions were true, and that this one was indeed another Science Officer. There was something about this fact that had him wanting to question more, but of course the Captain had shrugged him off, and he was left with static on his communicator. Dismayed only in the slightest that he was being brushed off in the first place, and that this was a reality in which his territory of Science was being invaded by someone he didn’t know The Vulcan briskly turned back around and went back into the laboratory, masking whatever he was feeling with that calm demeanor. With his arms folded neatly behind his back, and his posture more stiff than he’d like it, Spock addressed the woman once more. “Everything is in the clear. So, Doctor O’Deorain, you’re a scientist as well? May I ask what your special field is? The Captain did not inform me.” As well as many other topics, but I will have to discuss it with him later, he half-bitterly mused; Though such emotions weren’t really in a Vulcan, after all. It was only slight irritation, and even that wasn’t in his capabilities. (Or so he liked to believe.) | @talonedbanshee |

"Excellent,” She smiled, looking to have expected no less. Happily, then, she answered. “I specialize in genetics, typically human, though I’m looking to branch out in regards to the species of my subjects.” The comment was made along with a hungry stare that left little doubt to who her next intended ‘subject’ was.

“And what about you, Lieutenant Spock? I look forward to the prospect of speaking to one with such a capable mind as yourself.”

He did not know these names, or of these individuals, but he would remember them. Somewhere in his thoughts he felt they were to be a part of his life that he would try to escape from, like all the other’s who held any sort of ill-intended interests in his person. It was for his safety that he remain as anonymous as he could, for the time being, if only to figure out what this was all about. “… John Harrison. There’s no need to look any further. I am one of Starfleet.” Even as he said it, as cold and emotionless as he could manage it, there was a deeply placed mountain of hatred in his heart for even uttering that false name, and the ones who created it. Though, he had to keep up the charade, now didn’t he. Places a hand to his forehead, looking quite fatigued. “I’m sure they’re out there looking for me. Some rescue vessel, perhaps.” He couldn’t go on too long, wondering just how much this one even knew. Hell, he barely even knew if it was safe to continue speaking, for he had to wonder if this was indeed another falsity from the Federation; Another way to get his guard down, just so they could trap him and all his people. | @talonedbanshee |

“Oh, what a convincing name,” She responded with a smirk. “I suppose if you have enough mental capacity to contrive an alias, then you’re doing alright.” Moira didn’t seem especially concerned with his condition in the first place, having already returned to the analysis of his blood. “But you’re looking a bit pale. Well aren’t you in luck, here comes the angel herself.”

As if on cue, a blonde woman in a lab coat entered the room, seeming to ignore Moira entirely. She cast a light smile at the man in the bed, glancing at his screens for only moments before settling on him. “Good evening, how are you feeling right now, Mr....?”

“Smith. Oh no wait, Harrison.” Moira supplied, casting a wry smirk their way. Angela did her best not to roll her eyes, focusing instead on the patient.

He stared at her, confusion showing in his expression for a brief moment as he was still trying to get his bearings of everything around, and her questions would take some thought to answer. His mind felt crowded, worries were beginning to fill it, as she seemed to only have him alone here. Thoughts went immediately to his other crewmen, but he forced himself to resign that they had to be safe, and this was just another of Starfleet’s many questionings; Ones that he had thought he answered plenty enough before being placed under the deep-freeze slumber, once more. His gaze locked with hers after a second more, wondering how she didn’t know of him, but he surmised that this was another cover-up of the Federation, wanting to keep him a secret, still. It took another moment, and he was making to sit up, just slightly enough to rest on his elbows, anything was better than laying down. “I have not heard of such a colony… But with Starfleet’s capabilities, a base on the moon doesn’t seem too outlandish, even if their primary cares are for reaches further than that rock.” He felt groggy, and knew it would wear off soon. Already he had spent too much time getting himself to his tip-top shape, and that wasn’t usually the case. Perhaps, the waking inputs weren’t calibrated correctly… | @talonedbanshee |

“Starfleet,” She repeated, confusion creasing her brow. “This base isn’t affiliated with Starfleet, I’m afraid. It’s maintained by Overwatch...” She watched his face for recognition, wondering if perhaps he needed a bit more time to come to. The two organizations, after all, had always operated separately and as a result had experienced their fair share of disputes as well as the rare collaboration. There was no way to know of one and not have heard of the other.

“As for your name, I’m sure that we’ll have it soon enough, but tell me that you at least know it.” The secrecy was another point of interest that Moira could only note for the moment. Overwatch would certainly have its answers, whether this one wanted it or not. Still, she saw a brightness in his eyes, an intellect that was as impressive as it was dangerous. She wondered what secrets his cold gaze was hiding, but her interest was primarily for the samples of his blood that were still being processed.

“At least, give me something to call you. I’m Dr. Moira O’Deorain, and the self righteous blonde who will eventually be tending to you is Dr. Angela Ziegler.”

He realized fairly quickly that he was mistaken in calling this officer as a ‘sir,’ and went to remedy that with a swift apology. “Forgive me, Doctor. I was unaware that the Enterprise was appointed another Science Officer.” Spock was internally so utterly confused by this sort of mix-up, because surely that is what it was. Only he was their officer in that specific class, and he was far more than capable at his duties, as well as he thought he was. Her next words had him wishing he hadn’t heard them in too-clear of clarity, as they weren’t of pure admiration, but of something only a scientist could say in such a way. He straightened up further, making sure to appear as ready as ever, before continuing with a response. “I appreciate your interests in my kind, but this detracts from my own concerns. I’ll need to verify that you’re meant to be on this ship, Doctor.” | @talonedbanshee |

“Of course,” She shrugged, “I was appointed by Captain Kirk, so it shouldn't be too much of a hassle to verify.” Her expression remained calm, with a smug air that suggested she was none too worried. Moira had every reason to instead be eager at the prospect of working alongside a Vulcan. The tests she could run...

“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to set up my station in the meantime.” Apparently she was confident enough to begin unpacking various vials and solutions onto the nearest counter as Spock checked in with his captain. She heard his muttered inquiries, tinged with a bit of exasperation (how rare from a Vulcan). Finally, she turned towards him. “Well, is everything in order?”

Today felt like quite the unusual day. There was something about everything, from the time he woke up and dressed, appeared on the deck of the ship, to noticing that they were currently docking with a space station in the nearest regions. When he had inquired over the sudden difference, versus continuing on with their five-year journey, the blonde Captain had merely stated they were here to pick up some things. Little did he know that this thing would be quite the hindrance to his everyday life aboard the Enterprise. As he made his way down to the science deck, after busying himself with whatever he could at the command center, finishing what tasks he had needed to accomplish for the hour. Spock entered in through the doors, and there stood an officer in what seemed to be Science Division attire, but it was different from what most would wear. First, he noted this one’s footwear was not correct, along with several other aspects of the outfit that he couldn’t quite yet place…

   “Excuse me, sir, but this deck is mainly reserved for the likes of myself, and the occasional Doctor McCoy. I must ask you to dismiss with whatever you are working on, and leave the area.” He couldn’t recognize the features, just from the appearance of this one’s back, and hair that wasn’t like many aboard the ship. | @talonedbanshee |

For a moment, Moira elected not to hear him. She was absorbed in the notes before her, and the word ‘sir’ had caused her mind to disengage. It was only when the silence lingered that she looked up and promptly turned to face the speaker.

“My apologies, but this is where I was told to set up,” She answered with a sly smile that seemed to contradict her initial words. The woman stood a few inches over him, and the way she peered down her pointed nose somehow seemed to make that difference seem larger.

“Dr. O’Deorain, and you must be Lieutenant Spock.” Something in her eyes lit up as she spoke the next words. “I’ve never met a Vulcan before. Only studied...Your biology is absolutely fascinating.”

Space was always cold, and no matter how long you’d remain on a planet’s surface, you would never forget the feel of such an airless, frigid place. Especially, when most of your life is spent sleeping in something colder than it. A cryotube wasn’t exactly the most ideal ways to go about travel, now that he knew of better ways, but it was what had been deemed appropriate for him and his crew. They were to go back to how they were, frozen men and women so far out of their own time, hoping to find a better world. It was the lighter sentence, the punishment that they may possibly deserve, but it was better than death. So, of course Khan agreed to these terms, on the fact that if he did manage to wake once more, he would hope it wasn’t for use of someone else’s war. Consciousness was finally allowing him to wake, and slowly he rose from the many-year slumber, or that is what it felt like it had been. These tubes were never meant to be used for so long, and yet they stood the test of time, over and over again. Piercing eyes hazily took the scope of the room with a single glance, before his sights settled on an individual that seemed far too thrilled to have him awake. That was more than he wanted to deal with right now, another of Starfleet’s problems. Though, this place didn’t look like what he could remember of their various stations, especially the more obscure and remote, secretive ones.     “… Where am I?…” | @talonedbanshee |

Her smile was not kind like Angela’s. It was hungry, doing little to conceal an eagerness that was anything but comforting. Mismatched eyes fell on his own icy blue stare, and her sharp features only added to the unsettling quality of her gaze. “You’re on Horizon Lunar Colony. Or, more generally, the Moon.”

She studied him for a bit loner, before her attention was redirected to the screens surrounding his bed. “Do you know where that is? Do you remember anything, your name, your birthplace?” The questions left her mouth mechanically as she jotted down his readings. Angela might have handled it with more delicacy, looking to avoid the shock he might have over waking up in a strange place. But she was not the angel of Overwatch, and as far as she was concerned, there was enough delicacy in the face that he’d woken up in a bed instead of a testing chamber.

Annoyingly, that meant routine visits from their resident medic who was entrusted to bring him to full health. Luckily, Dr. Zeigler wasn’t present when Moira heard the groggy noises of one coming to consciousness. She quickly abandoned her workstation to hover over him, eyes flickering between various readings as she waited for him to gather his wits.

@talonedbanshee I like the implication here that they' be like !!!!????!!!!! more at the prospect of Moira having like a nice, solid Thing with somebody in the first place, rather than the fact that the Thing is with a weird green elf man who has what essentially amount to super powers.

She leans in, and Shin leans back. Muscle – (and it is muscle, despite his stature) – jumps beneath her hand where it settles, warm and heavy, upon his thigh.

Dumbly, he lets it sit, the shape and weight utterly foreign.

(’Don’t,’ something in him cautions, flagging, thick with drink. ‘Whatever you’re going to do – whatever you’re thinking of doing–.’)

The image of a lizard’s tail detaching beneath the paw of a predator yaws listlessly through his head.

(’It’s really best that you don’t.’)

“Moira,” he says at length. It would be a warning were he not more perplexed than anything. Having just enough presence of mind to tighten his hold upon his glass, he drops his chin into his free palm and peers at her with a bleary, searching look.

The room tips on a slow, unsteady axis.

“I think–…” (and oddly enough something almost like a smirk twists abruptly at his mouth here, as if he’d quite nearly laughed in a way he knows he shouldn’t at the words poised clumsy upon the tip of his own tongue) “–you’re drunk.”

[ @talonedbanshee ]

Her smiles have always been sly and subtle, tinged with a just-barely concealed amusement. Emboldened with liquor, however, she lets out a single bark of laughter that draws her sharp shoulders upwards and prompts the grip at Shin’s thigh to loosen (just slightly). She’s grinning when her sights set on him once more.

“Am I? I don’t think that you’re too far behind.” If alcohol has dulled anything, it certainly isn’t the smug tone that so frequently flavors her words. Yet, again, intentions she usually keeps far from the surface are now less than concealed. Something in her desperately wants this--maybe not him, maybe not these exact circumstances--but something that’s eluded her for so long. The shape, mirage even, of affection tempts her with something tangible and Moira isn’t feeling much in the way of self-control tonight.

“Would it really be so bad?” Her tone is coaxing, and her thumb slides over the fabric covering his thigh as she speaks. There’s no beating around the bush at his point, and with lust driving her actions there’s little room for delicacy. That and the fact that she does, indeed, currently fit the classification of ‘drunk’.