PLOT - JDL | Com Ravnsson, Com Ivanova | "Goodnight, Sweet Darling"

Posted on Thu Apr 5th, 2018 @ 11:20pm by Commodore Aksel Ravnsson

Mission: Lacuna

The moment he lay eyes on her in the flesh the thought of what a pity it was to put such a divine creature down played across his mind. Rochelle Ivanova was one of those timeless beauties that stood out in a crowd no matter what she wore. With hair the color of flame and eyes as blue and cold as the north sea, skin fine as porcelain and smattered with freckles just barely hidden by her makeup, she was radiant… Magnificent. She moved with the grace of a heron, floating about her ready room as she gathered odds and ends for their meeting, one he’d insisted take place on the couched away from the sterility of her equally as impressive desk.

“Pietersite,” She’d told him with a smile, running her fingers over the polished stone while he’d looked on in absolutely genuine fascination. It captured fire and ice, the galaxy, nebulas, starshine all within it’s shimmering stone surface. Another pity to have to destroy if push ever came to shove. Now his eyes were upon her again, watching her fold legs that were impossibly long, and shapely, for a woman of her short stature. He’d sooner set fire to a Rembrandt than leave her dead. Dead she was worthless, nothing more than a passing fond memory. Alive she was worth a fortune in the right markets. Alive, however, she was a threat to everything the El-Aurian stood for and he simply couldn’t risk that either. That had been why he’d decided to simply let the woman sleep peacefully while the rest of his plan went off without further hitch.

“Tell me,” Aksel crooned, cradling a cup of tea within his hands, “Who taught you to appreciate such fine teas?” Of course he’d known of her penchant for the drink. She was predictable in that manner, it hadn’t taken long to pull up that intel and his agents had long whispered of her habits and the way she drifted along the station’s promenade, purchasing the rarest of the rare and sweetest of the sweet. If anything, it endeared her to him all the more and secured the continued beating of the heart in her chest.

Rochelle, blissfully ignorant to the Commodore’s thoughts, smiled and ran a fond finger over the handle of her own teacup, “I’ve always liked tea, but a former XO of mine really raised the bar when it came to me becoming downright addicted to the stuff.” She chuckled with a gentle shrug, “There’s worse things in life to be addicted to, though. Much worse.” Tea had long ago become a bit of a universal soothing toy for the spirited young officer – used as an elixir to calm the worst of her nerves and encourage the best of her spirits. She’d lost count over how many times she’d resorted to imbibing the drink over the last few days in hopes of calming her mood and encouraging progress. Had it worked? That remained to be seen, but the fact she was trying meant enough for the time being.

“What about you? What encouraged your own love of a good cup?” She asked, redirecting the question and the small talk back to the strange gray man who was so very different to every Intel agent she’d ever met. He seemed calm, collected, and refined. Far from the helter-skelter off beat and often crude mentality she locked horns with on the daily… Namely in the form of James Archer. The thought she could be peering into Archer’s future by enjoying conversation with the cultured Norseman wasn’t exactly lost on her – if it came to pass, she’d be pleasantly surprised, but wouldn’t dream of holding her breath over it.

“I’ve have hundreds of years to dabble and taste and enjoy it, my dear. Beats me when I first fell in love with it, though. Some time before my twenty-fifth birthday I suppose. You’re very kind to share yours with me, Commodore, very kind indeed.” Aksel’s mouth worked its way into a fine smile, baring those perfect white teeth. Look close enough and his steely eyes would even twinkle with mirth as he sought to draw the redhead in, calm her, allow her to drop whatever guard she may have harbored. It wasn’t likely that there was one. After all, he was the kindly elder Commodore come to offer and pledge his support to her and her crew as they fought to collect what was taken from them… From Starfleet. If her gentle bell-like resonation of her humor was any indication, he was succeeding in lulling her into that sense of security he wanted and needed from her.

Here she beamed and nodded in perfect understanding, enjoying the small talk they were having and the bits of information he felt comfortable enough to share. Rochelle reached to tuck an errant strand of hair back behind her ear, and drew another sip of her tea, “Lucky you.” She hummed in response, setting her tea and saucer down upon the coffee table between them, “Pity we can’t just sit and compare notes on our favorites, though. Work and duty call and I have to admit that I wish they wouldn’t.” It was rare she had the chance to enjoy conversation with someone as refined and refreshing as the El-Aurian, but duty would always call and dredge up the ever necessary need to bring back those that were lost. Her head shook. “Si’a Dai’xun returning alive… Is paramount. As is Commander Valeese, but…”

“But no one will start a war if the Vorta doesn’t return in one piece.” He cut her off, glowering slightly as he set his own drink down. Carefully he reached for her, the way one may carefully reach for a bird or easily startled horse. Slowly, gently, his fingers uncurled until his rough, aged hands engulfed hers within them from over the table, and fully encapsulated them, “I understand more than you know, Commodore. We’re both absolutely aware of how precious Lieutenant Dai’xun is to both the Federation and the Ascendancy. I have my men working triple time trying to locate where they may be.” The longer she let him touch her, the longer he held her, the longer the poison laced across his palms remained against her skin. Wearing a second skin of his own almost felt like cheating, making the delivery of such an agent entirely too simple… But it worked. Almost too well. His thumbs brushed across the backs of her hands for good measure, smearing more of the fine ether across her snowy skin.

“And now with an attack on the station…” His head shook and tongue tapped across the roof of his mouth, “You’d be wise to remain on your ship where you’re safe and sound.”

“If I do that, they win.” Rochelle sniffed, peering down to watch his thumbs work across her skin. The touch was warm, but foreign. It didn’t belong – but telling him as much would have only insulted the warm hearted elder flag officer, and insulting him wasn’t on her list of ‘to-dos’.

"Station is likely on lock down and there's not a single one of your men that will let you step out into a warzone, my dear." Aksel countered, releasing the woman's hands back to the control of their keeper. His job there was done, "As such, I would advise not worrying until worry is due, Commodore Ivanova. You have a history of taking heaping helpings of everyone else's problems onto your plate. For now, concentrate on what it is you can do and work on bringing the Commander and Lieutenant home. That's my advice, and you may do with it as you please." The elder gray-eyed man offered the gentlest of shrugs and warmest of smiles to his admittedly fiery counterpoint.

He wouldn't have to wait long.

She rose to recycle her tea cup and held out a hand for his. The first thing she noticed was the sensation of being on the sea in a small craft, a constant wobble and rise and fall that fell inline with her respiration. Her first instinct was to forget about it, chalk it up to rising too quickly, "Maybe... Maybe you're right, but the Vindicator will be here to address and aid the station as soon as possible." Her voice failed to waiver, even as she forced her legs to work - churning through what felt like setting cement or quick sand designed to hold her in place. Time itself felt as if it were slowing down.

That was when he joined her, getting to her feet and coming to stand before her. "Are you alright, my dear?" He asked, concern wrinkling the features of his face. Inside he was giddy as a school girl, watching and waiting for her to crash and burn.

"I'm..." Nothing. In the snap of fingers her steady heartbeat became thready and her knees buckled beneath her, sending her into the El-Aurian and down towards the waiting deck below. The tea cups, and their saucers, shattered upon impact while Rochelle forced herself to suck in deep, square breaths for as long as she could to try and steady herself until darkness swam up from the depths and tugged her under.

"Shhh... You've worked yourself into quite a predicament," Aksel crooned as he captured her, cradling her against his chest, "All work, never taking time to rest or eat. Your Yeoman should be skinned alive for letting you get to such a state." He tutted, gathering her tighter, watching the light of consciousness begin to fade from those pretty blue eyes. "That's right, my dear, just rest. Sleep. Dream." His crooning continued as he guided her away from the broken glass and set her limp body against the floor much closer to her desk.

From there he sat beside her, softly stroking the porcelain of her cheek. "I don't envy the headache you'll have when you wake up, child, but know that the only reason you do is because I respect you and hold you in the highest regard." He smiled, taking the liberty of tracing the fullness of her lower lip, "There will be a place for you when this is all said and done, a very very special place." Bending he replaced his finger with his own lips in a brief, chaste kiss that lasted all of seconds. "Just can't have you causing trouble now." He whispered against the velvety skin, allowing himself a chance to linger before rising to his feet and making his way back over to the broken bits of tea service, "Would be a shame to have to shatter you, my dear, you're far finer than this cheap porcelain but make no mistake... You'll shatter all the same should you come too close."

He sighed as he glanced over his shoulder at her, gathering every bit and piece of the wasted cups and saucers before disposing of them, wiping his hands and taking his leave. When he left her Ready Room it was with a pleasant smile and a languid journey across the bridge. These were not the actions of a monster, for in his mind he was a patriot and far from deserving such a horrible title. He was a bringer of peace and prosperity dressed to kill and pressed into place within the Admiralty. Time was just a thing to him, and he had all of it he could ever need now that the trap was set and those who could stop his progress were justifiably distracted... Or at least they would be the moment the hive found the Queen incapacitated.

Time now would dictate the rest and so far, he was in the lead. The two officers would be disposed of. The explosion on the station would likely have killed Stacker, or at least left him side tracked, and it would be one more thing added to a growing list of things that pointed the dear Empress towards war. Once inside the lift, he couldn't help but chuckle. Sometimes doing this job was entirely way too easy.

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Commodore Rochelle Ivanova
Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR, NX-78213-F

Commodore Aksel Ravnsson
Director, Starfleet Intelligence
Starfleet