A Mission Post by Lieutenant Commander Jin Rha-Yaleii
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: Earth
Timeline: 2412
=/\= Galway, Ireland, Earth =/\=
"Alright, what's she done this time?"
"Afternoon. Ah, fierce drizzly still?"
"Begging your pardon?"
For a moment the two males standing in the small, cozy room that managed not to look like a police station at all, stared at each other in a deadlock of mutual incomprehension. Then Rafi shrugged off his soaked overcoat, causing the puddle at his feet to rapidly become a small lake.
"Yes, good afternoon as well. I apologize for storming in here like that. Now will you please tell me what she's done?" Heaving a deep sigh the tall and at the moment rather drenched Trill accepted the silently offered towel and watched with growing bemusement as the young human turned towards an urgently whistling ancient pot.
"I was just about to wet the tea. Will you have some, then?"
"No, thank you. Listen,-"
"Ah, go way outta that. Will only take a minute."
"Mister Garda, I appreciate your-"
"Ciarán will do. Milk?"
Rafi gave up. "No, no milk. But sugar, if you have it. Or better yet, some whiskey."
"None of that around I fear. But O'Dale's is just across."
"Of course it is."
Outside the rainstorm was gaining speed, battering against the windows. Trying his best to shake water out of his ears, Rafi located a coat hanger no less ancient than the odd little pot and finally resigned himself to sitting down. Rocking chairs. Fireplace. Good grief. If the slight, dark haired human wasn't wearing a uniform Rafi might have believed the locals had sent him to the wrong place. A museum, from the looks of it.
"So," the young human handed over a cup of steaming, admittedly delicious smelling tea "if yer wan is who I think it is I'm afraid you'll have to take a number."
"Excuse me, but do you speak English?"
"I thought I did."
"Not the kind I learned."
It wasn't merely the accent. Nor the strange expressions tossed into every sentence, seemingly at random. It was the gentle drawl, the almost musical delivery of one non sequitur after the other which apparently even defeated Rafi's universal translator. Ironically, the one person he knew who'd be able to decipher all this in three minutes flat and happily chatter back after five more was the one he was looking for. Slowly a migraine crept up the Trill's temples as he wondered whether he hadn't come to the wrong place after all.
"Ah, there you are, lassie. Conas ata tu?"
"Like goat slept on my head. Damn that dodgy pint. Oh, hey Rafi."
As if his thoughts had summoned her, Jin appeared in a doorway, looking for all intent and purpose as if said goat and all its cousins had chased her up and down the island. But her glacier blue eyes were bright and clear, her warm and happy smile as radiant as ever.
"An toigh leat tae?"
"What do you think made me drag my carcass out of bed?"
"Right you are, lass."
Of course. Of course she would understand every damn word, of course she would waltz into the room with the insouciant grace of a little cat, albeit one that had spent the night fighting much bigger cats and was worse for wear in the bargain. For a second Rafi's heart constricted in his chest as he saw her limp over to the fireplace, stopping next to his rocking chair with that oh so familiar smirk as she leaned forward to press her warm cheek against his face.
"Don't tell me. Came charging to my rescue again?"
"Your knight in rusty armor, chérie. Toujours."
"You do look like you swam over here."
"Well, when I heard there was an incident involving an Efrosian fighter pilot…"
"You naturally assumed it was me. Not sure if I should be flattered or insulted."
"So you'd be with the Federation News Service then? I was wondering why ye would be bothering with a pub brawl." Ciarán produced some cookies which were enthusiastically greeted by the bedraggled little elf that had been dropped into his keeping. Not that he minded, the pixie was as cheerful as house guest as you could wish for. And the little incident with Mr. Feeney's shack being at a different address now – namely the bottom of the harbor – could hardly be blamed on her. As for appropriating a Garda horse without authorization – he was willing to let that slide, what with said horse not having kicked the gal in the face. Rather, he'd had to push Shergar's big face back outside more than once as the horse insisted on checking in on his new pal. Every ten minutes.
Also one could not dispute said appropriation had taken place in a state of general mayhem and old Durkin might have ended up taking an impromptu cold bath in the harbor if the pixie and Shergar had not intervened. Public health and safety thus preserved and horse cheerfully munching on the carrots of an overturned market stall, it had seemed only practical to offer the drenched and hiccupping stranger a place to sleep it off.
What Ciarán had not anticipated was that his informing the main station of having a temporary guest whose Starfleet ID identified her as a pilot – go figure – would generate so much interest. First from Starfleet, which really had bigger problems right now you should think, and then those persistent newspeople. At least that mystery was solved now. A worried buddy. The young Garda could certainly approve of that.
"Yes, I am." Having regained somewhat of his dignity if not exactly his usually cultivated and elegant appearance, Rafi made to produce his credentials but was stopped by a dismissive gesture.
"But you still haven't told me what Jin is charged with. Look, I'll give you a character reference or stand bail if you-"
"No need. Shergar already gave me the former and as for the latter, there'll be many a one who would, old Durkin top of the list. Ossified as he was. But yer wan isna charged wit anything. She just needed a place to get out o the rain and some scratches patched up. The horse woulda been miffed at me if I'd a dumped her at a hotel."
"The horse."
"Yes."
"And Mr. Ossified Durkin."
"The very same."
"Toto, I don't think I'm in Paris any more."
Jin for her part had curled up in a massive old rocking chair, cradling the tea in her hands and following the exchange with a cocked head. The very image of a broken down pilot, from her rumpled pants to the Starfleet issue tank top that looked as if it had been through the wars; from the white hair that she had never let grow as long as it was now, wild and disheveled but still looking as soft as an Efrosian snow fox's fur, to the sorry state of her duffel and heavy boots, sitting forlornly by the fireplace.
And still that familiar indomitable spirit seemed to radiate off her like heat from the fire. Tempered, perhaps, at once deeper and honed by dark undercurrents, hinting at the steel Rafi had always known was there at the core of his little friend. A lost, stray kitten on the surface, yet somehow the Trill sensed she was more dangerous now than she had ever been before. And Gods help him, more beautiful. Despite everything. Because of it.
Rafi's deep sigh earned him a Vulcanesque quirked brow and one of those long looks out of glacier blue eyes. One of those looks that you never expected from a cheerful, irreverent fighter pilot, that seemed to go straight for your soul, never bothering with the superficial.
"Jin …?"
"Yes, Rafi?"
"Are you going to go? You could … I don't know, tell them your leg still isn't up to it. I mean, Gods, you're still limping. What good would you be-"
"Go where?"
"What?"
"Ah, this be about the Starfleet, then?" Ciarán set down the tea and absentmindedly patted the big kitty's head, looking between the Trill and his houseguest "they've been asking for the lass, too. But I told them the same as your friends, that they should try again later."
"You did what?" Rafi's incredulous expression was met with a shrug from the young Garda, even as Jin snickered into her tea.
"I find that if somethin's really important, people will come yellin' sooner or later. If they've time to prattle on, the house isn't quite on fire yet, is it? Does the kitty want some more ham?"
"Mrroaaauuww."
"Right ye are."
Rafi nearly jumped out of his chair when the ball of fur that had been curled up at the human's feet stretched and yawned, revealing razor sharp fangs in the process. Not quite as big as a Terran lion but muscular as a Vulcan le-matya, with the pointy ears of a bobcat and the massive, furry paws of a tiger. But that wasn't the unsettling part. There was intelligence in the luminous turquoise eyes; quiet mischief and playful menace and a decidedly amused gleam over having startled the biped into staring. If this wasn't Jin's pet, he would buy a hat and eat it.
"Kitty? What on all the worlds … never mind. Jin, does that mean you don't know?"
"Evidently I don't. What's going on?"
"Le Moose. Whatever that means. Scuttlebutt has it an officer by that name was throwing his weight around to get the Fighting Chickens back together. I guess Fleet was getting tired of being shouted at, and with the Tholian mess going on-"
"The Chickens? All of them?"
"Evidently." Rafi's wry statement was slightly ruined by his pained expression, though he hadn't missed the deeply affectionate timbre surfacing in the little Efrosian's voice.
"Well I'll be damned. When do I leave?"
"Jin…" ah, he should have known. All his arguments for telling Starfleet to take a hike, to stay, spend some time on Earth, give that leg and Gods know what else time to heal, they would amount to nothing. All his reasonable objections evaporated before that bright light suddenly shining in glacier blue eyes.
But this was Voodoo sitting suddenly straighter in the ancient rocking chair. Yes, it was also Jin Rha-Yaleii, his dear friend and lover, cheerful, tender, with depths in her vast soul that few people ever cared to acknowledge. The lover…and the warrior. And it was the latter whose face took on a faraway expression now, like a warhorse hearing the far off sound of battle.
"If my sources are right, and they usually are, your orders are waiting for you at Fleet HQ. You're scheduled to ship out on the USS Reykjavík the day after tomorrow."
"Not wasting any time, are they?" the young Efrosian's deep, almost husky laugh filled the small room and for what must have been the 100th time Rafi pondered trading the world of Federation politics for the dangerous and exciting life of a reporter on the front lines. And for the 100th time he wondered what it might be like-whether he could really do it.
"I told you, you'd be good. Real good."
"Reading my mind again, are we?"
"I just know that look on your face."
Jin slowly unfolded herself from the rocking chair and stretched. "Tapadh leat, Ciarán. Iocfaidh mise don gach rud."
"Ach no, lass. Not yer fault the whole thing went arseways. But you take care out there, ya hear? Ye can buy everyone a round when you come back." The uniformed human got up as well, pulling the little pixie into a hug and patting her back.
"You better believe it."
"Ah, here. For luck." Pulling a leather necklace out from under his shirt, Ciarán slipped it gently over the little pixie's head. "Slán agus beannacht leat."
"Faol saol agat, gob fliuch, agus bás in Éirinn." One hand over the pendants of a little anchor and the three-leaved plant that grew so abundant on this pretty island and the other pressed against her friend's chest, Jin smiled.
"Rafi?"
"Hm?"
"I'm ready when you are. Just need to say goodbye to Shergar and get Cat out of the pantry. And maybe find an umbrella. Or a boat."
"Business as usual, then."
=/\= USS Reykjavík, three days later =/\=
"Ma'am?"
"Buddy, unless you've come to offer me a coffee, this is a bad time."
"Sorry, ma'am, replicators are down. Again. This is about your pet."
"Of course it is."
Yawning profusely, the hungover little pilot lifted her head from her arms and eyed the young yeoman standing at nervous attention in the officer's lounge's dim lighting. This whole 'going-to-sprain-something any second now' business aside – Drawers of the Sea King, who went around ma'aming fighter pilots? - it was strange to be on active duty again. Not that she had anything to do on this bucket, but even a 70 year old Starfleet vessel was … well, Starfleet.
"He … ah, we can't seem to get him down from the plasma flow regulators. The Chief Engineer is getting a bit annoyed."
"Ah, sleeping off the ale, is he? If he's not budging, try waving some ham under his nose. Should work a treat."
"Yes, ma'am. Only no one wants to become the main course. If you wouldn't mind …"
"Alright. Sleep is overrated anyways. And as for the coffee – remind me to show you a little trick you can do with a phaser."
=/\= End Log =/\=
LtCmdr Jin "Voodoo" Rha-Yaleii
&
Rafi (apb I-Chaya)
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