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LT Aine Sherlock and Shevon Sherlock - This Isn't Over

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((Temporary Quarter, Starbase 118))
Shevon had seen a lot of cargo and docking bays, but rarely did she venture far from her home in the stars. She'd even been to 118 a few times in her life, but never took the chance to venture into the belly of the beast. But now, here she was. A maze of corridors and levels. She wasn't sure where to go or what to do. Her life was suddenly halted from its norm. The Promenade seemed as good a place as any to lose one's self and it was there she went.
((Promenade, Starbase 118, a short time later))
Shevon used the PADD that was provided with her temporary quarters to navigate her way to the Promenade. The shear number of shops and restaurants was enough to overwhelm anyone, not to mention the vast variety of alien species she was seeing. She'd seen her share, but there were many here she couldn't even have imagined to exist. And the view to the Commercial District below, she did not know such things could be built, at least not on a space station. Everything appeared nice and clean too. But then again, compared to the Delight, a bucket of dirt appeared clean.
She eventually approached one of the many replicator cafes...replimats...whatever they were, they were free. But she hadn't a clue what to order. Food aboard the Delight could only be described as "edible," and nothing else. Eventually she just ordered some kind of soup she'd overheard someone else ordering. As she slowly sipped tiny spoonfuls at a time, she watched the passersby and wondered if it was always this busy. And with each passing second, she realized more and more that she was alone. Not just alone at a table. Much of the crew was already seeking employment elsewhere, on ships soon to leave. And since many of them came from other ships, that made sense. She knew nothing else, hadn't a clue yet what she would do. Other existential thoughts came and went. Would anyone even remember what had happened? Would anyone know she even existed? Of course not. The only person she ever really knew was dead. From birth it seemed, she was destined to be abandoned by the galaxy.
As her soup grew cold, which she wasn't really enjoying anyways, a beeping sound came from the PADD she had with her. She wasn't sure what it meant, but there was a small blinking light on the touch screen so she tapped it. A box opened up on the screen showing the face of the woman who came to retrieve her from the shuttlebay. The one with the same name. The one that accused her of being some sort of random creation by something she still didn't understand.
A. Sherlock: Miss...Sherlock. Um...can I all you Shevon?
S. Sherlock: I'd prefer that actually.
Aine noted that Shevon's face looked both suspicious and reluctant. She'd seen that face on her when she first brought her to the Observation Lounge and Captain Monroe had revealed Aine's name. She wondered if the woman often made that face.
A. Sherlock: Good. I was wondering if you had any free time to meet. There's some things I'd like to discuss with you.
Shevon noted what Aine had said and how similar it was to what she'd said in the shuttlebay after her rescue. She wondered if all Starfleeters talked that way all the time.
S. Sherlock: Do you always talk like that?
A. Sherlock: ::a look of surprise came across Aine's face:: Like what?
S. Sherlock: I don't know ::long pause:: evasively?
A. Sherlock: I'm not trying to be evasive.
S. Sherlock: Then why don't you ever just say what it is you want to talk about?
Aine had always just considered it polite.
A. Sherlock: I just... ::shrugging:: I want to talk about our father. And, your future.
S. Sherlock: I don't know who my father is. And from what you said before, neither do you.
Shevon was still bitter at the fact she was hypothesized to be a random creation. She'd been around for quite some time and who was this little...thing...to say anything like that about her?
A. Sherlock: Between your DNA scan and...
S. Sherlock: What DNA scan!?
A. Sherlock: It's standard procedure when you're transported aboard a Federation starship. Anyways, I have some other information. And I'd like to talk to you about it.
A part of Shevon didn't want to talk about it to this woman. She found her a bit smug, like all Starfleet officers she'd met.
S. Shevon: Fine. When and where?
Aine was half tempted to go back on her plan. Shevon was aggressive and standoffish, like most Merchant Marines.
A. Sherlock: I'll send you directions.
((Apartment 302, Kowloon Block Apartments, Hong Kong Subdistrict, StarBase 118))
All Shevon could think was, "Of course she lives in that fancy dome, I bet all of them do." Her PADD guided her to the nearest turbolift, for which the wait seemed forever. Down to a place called Trinity City, before catching a waterborne craft of some sort she'd never seen before that dropped her at the deepest point of a series of waterways. She felt like she was being led to nowhere. But after departing the craft, she spied the building the PADD was guiding her to. Compared to some, it wasn't so big and looked a little dirty. Lots of things looked that way deep in this waterway.
Upon entering the dingy building, she took a small lift to the third floor and found the apartment labeled 302. The dim lighting kind of reminded her of the Delight. She approached the door cautiously, but when she got close, it swung up. Her head and shoulders reeled back as if bracing for someone to jump out and grab her, but there was no one there.
S. Sherlock: Hello?
A. Sherlock: Hey, come in. I'm in the kitchen. It's the door on your right.
Shevon slowly inched her way in and the door closed behind her as she began to make her way into the kitchen. She peeked her head in and could see Aine standing near a replicator.
A. Sherlock: Tea, Barry's, hot, splash of milk.
As the order materialized, Aine grabbed the mug of tea and turned to face Shevon.
A. Sherlock: Tea?
S. Sherlock: ::hesitantly:: Coffee.
A. Sherlock: Any preference?
S. Sherlock: I don't care so long as it's hot, black, and bitter.
Aine simply nodded and then placed the order. She began to make her way out of the kitchen, handing Shevon the mug and leading her out to the sparse living room and gestured to one of two recliners in the room. She sat first, sipping her tea, and patiently waited for the obviously hesitant Shevon to take a seat.
A. Sherlock: I spoke to my ::long pause:: our, father.
S. Sherlock: ::taking a seat:: Are you going to apologize?
A. Sherlock: Look, I was shocked. It didn't mean...
Aine could see anger in Shevon's eyes. She was saying the wrong thing and she could see that. She took a moment to think. Right now, she didn't need to be a Starfleet officer, she needed to be Aine.
A. Sherlock: I'm sorry. It was completely inappropriate for me to suggest that.
Shevon gave her a sharp nod then took a long sip of her coffee.
A. Sherlock: As I was saying, I spoke to our father. And it's just that, he is your father. He and your mother were...together. So that means...
S. Sherlock: I get what it means. You don't need to say it.
A part of Aine was relieved to hear that. Things were uncomfortable enough.
S. Sherlock: Is that all then?
A. Sherlock: No. I wanted to offer you a place to live. I have a spare room. I'd also like to see if you'd consider working for Starfleet. I can ask Commodore Taybrim if you can be made a provisional...
S. Sherlock: You arrogant little shit.
Aine's head shook and reeled back. Her eyes widened in surprise. She couldn't understand what prompted this response from Shevon. She was only trying to help. She sat in silence, shock.
S. Sherlock: What makes you think I want or even need anything from you?
A. Sherlock: I'm just trying to help here.
S. Sherlock: Why? I don't know you, and you don't know me. Just because we're suddenly sisters...it means nothing to me.
Aine considered her next words carefully. She realized that the reaction Shevon was having wasn't all that dissimilar to her blow-ups, at Sil, at Luthas and Egil, at Mel, at her father. It wasn't a family trait. It was a trait of trauma. You seek out excuses without asking for help. You seek out blame without consideration.
A. Sherlock: I'm not offering these things because we're sisters. That's just a coincidence. I'm offering because I know what you're going through.
Shevon stood up, the anger in her eyes was growing. Aine was half expecting to get a face of hot coffee, but somehow the half Orion woman held fast to the mug.
S. Sherlock: You don't know anything! YOU were clearly the chosen one here. YOU had your parents. YOU were spoiled...
A. Sherlock: Spoiled?
S. Sherlock: Yeah, look at YOU! You're still a child and don't even realize it but no, little miss perfect is an officer in Starfleet! You probably haven't had an actual hard day in your life!
Aine sipped her tea slowly. She looked up at Shevon. She wanted to yell, to fight back. But she knew that wouldn't help the situation. She also knew Shevon wasn't completely wrong. She did have both her parents. Compared to many in the galaxy, she had it easy, of that there was no doubt. But...
A. Sherlock: And here, you don't know me at all. I'm not perfect. My parents hated that I wanted to join Starfleet, but never really told me why. But I did it anyway. And do you know what it takes to even get into the Academy? Much less graduate? Oh, and let me tell you this, don't get pregnant and then heartbroken in your first year, it doesn't make it easier.
Aine paused, raising her eyebrows. Hoping that Shevon was getting the message. And it seemed to be setting in a little as she sat back down with a slightly shocked look on her face.
A. Sherlock: I lost a ship once too. So when I say that I know what you might be feeling...I...know...what...you...might...be...feeling. Look, I'm not saying we have to be friends. I'm not even saying we have to call each other...sister. Don't let that crap stop you from accepting help.
Shevon's eyes shifted away for a second. She was still angry. But maybe Aine was talking sense here...which she didn't think would be possible. But maybe she didn't give her enough, or even any, credit.
S. Sherlock: ::eyes shifting back to Aine's:: Tell me about your ship.
Aine cupped her hands around her mug, resting it in her lap and leaning forward.
A. Sherlock: It was called the Resolution.
Aine hadn't talked about the Resolution to anyone outside of the crew that was there or counselors. It wasn't a particularly hot topic for her. There were so many memories, bad ones at that, wrapped up with. Death, loss, and a little ribbon that was a terrible reminder of a mistake made.
A. Sherlock: I can't tell you much about the mission as it's classified. But I can tell you that I was shot. I technically died. But I was revived. And during our escape, as I was standing there bleeding and in pain, I watched from a shuttle as it was destroyed. There were one hundred and fifty people assigned to it. Half a dozen of us weren't on it. At the time, I didn't know if anyone had made it off.
Shevon stared almost blankly at Aine. Here she thought that the young woman, her younger sister, had never experienced serious hardship. She felt for her, but she still wasn't sure if she could trust her. Some part of her didn't want to trust her.
A. Sherlock: I later found out that four... ::remembering the classified nature of one of the deaths:: thirteen of our crew lost their lives.
S. Sherlock: Why weren't you on the ship?
A. Sherlock: I can't tell you that.
S. Sherlock: If you had been, would it still have been destroyed?
A. Sherlock: I ask myself that every day. Would things have happened differently on that ship? Or what if I hadn't been shot, would we have gotten back to it sooner and been able to stop it? These are things I replay and relive every damn day.
S. Sherlock: What did you do about it? How did you move on?
A. Sherlock: I don't think I ever have.
That was the truth. Starfleet had done their best to help them. And some of them did move on. She never did. It was an oddity within herself that Aine struggled with. Her first mission after being posted to the Resolution had taken a turn. The away team she was on ended up in a firefight. Life or death depended on quick reactions without thinking. It seemed to be something she had no problem with. She'd been in many fights as a teenager, but nothing so serious as that one. She took twelve lives that day, and not once since has she ever questioned it. Not once has she ever dwelled on it. Not once did it ever invade her dreams. Death, she thought, wasn't something that affected her. But she was wrong. When it came to the deaths of those she knew or those she was sworn to protect, it overwhelmed her in a way she could never have imagined.
A. Sherlock: They, Starfleet, brought in a team of counselors to help us. All it seemed they ever did was ask how I was feeling. Give us exercises and ::beat:: methods they thought would help us mentally. Really, all I wanted was someone to tell me I was going to be alright. Not breathing exercises or recreational activities or ::beat:: Risian distractions.
Shevon was beginning to see what Aine was getting at. That she didn't want her going down the same path. But she wasn't even sure if that's what she wanted or needed. But at this point, she didn't have anything else...maybe that was the point. She also didn't trust anyone. How could she start over among people she didn't even know? Was it worth the risk?
S. Sherlock: Maybe ::beat:: I'll take you up on the offer. But, what if it doesn't work out? The job.
A. Sherlock: Well, you're still free to stay here. I'm not going to turn my back on you. We'll just find you something you can do.
S. Sherlock: Ok. But, I don't have any money. What I did have saved was all on the Delight in gold pressed latinum.
A. Sherlock: You don't need to pay for anything right now. I'll take care of it. The rent on the apartment is covered. And, if you need anything, I'll grant access to my credits. Furniture, food, anything. And, as you saw, you have access to the apartment, you're free to come and go as you please.
Shevon's eyes diverted again as she took another sip of her coffee.
S. Sherlock: Thank you. No one's ever helped me before other than my father...my captain.
A. Sherlock: I'm glad to help. And, I hope that I can help you see things differently. I know you don't think highly of Starfleet, but we are here to help people. We're not always perfect, sometimes, far from it. But we try.
The pair sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks before conversation turned to sharing of their lives. Things they'd done, places they'd gone. There were few smiles, just polite exchanges of histories. Neither was quite ready for niceties just yet. Neither was ready to openly acknowledge their paternal connection. Time was what they would need, and time was what they now had.
End (for now)
Shevon Sherlock
Recently Unemployed

Lieutenant Aine Sherlock
Tactical Officer
StarBase 118 Ops
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