Hard to Port, Part 1

Posted on Sun Aug 24th, 2025 @ 12:54am by Captain T’Kal & Lieutenant Commander David Erickson
Edited on on Thu Oct 9th, 2025 @ 7:53pm

1,251 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: ARYL 1X02: Simulated Pressure
Location: T'Kal's Quarters
Timeline: The night after “Combat Drills”

David had changed out of uniform into a more casual set of khakis and a long-sleeved shirt, keeping his outfit comfortable and simple. He walked down the corridor, a container under his arm, stopped in front of T'kal's quarters, and rang the chime, standing there patiently.

“Enter.” Just inside the living room of the Captain’s quarters, T’Kal stood from where she had been sitting on the sofa. The bottle she had invited David to drink with her was on the coffee table along with two glasses and a corkscrew. She herself had changed out of her uniform into a comfortable green shirt and skirt outfit that she often wore on social outings with her SFC colleagues. “David, thank you for being on time.”

"I'd have been early if the galley had managed to find my list sooner," David said, placing the container on her coffee table. He unsealed the top and removed it, revealing a small platter. "Hopefully worth the wait: some dried figs, gespar, gruyere, and gouda." He placed the cover aside and picked up the bottle and reading the label, his eyebrows bobbing. "You sure you want to waste this on me?" he gave her a smile.

“The way I see it, you are helping this bottle achieve its destiny of being consumed,” T’Kal observed. “Without you, it would languish in storage, never to be consumed, as so much Vulcan port is. Given from one Vulcan with taste to one who believes taste is irrelevant. But you and I both know it is not.” She passed him the corkscrew. “I had not realized the selection of fruit and cheese you would bring. Please open the bottle while I find small plates.”

"Even my overly-impressive sweet tooth has limits," David said, working the corkscrew into the bottle and pulling steadily. "A good port needs something to cut through the flavor and balance it out." The cork came out with a pop and he poured each of them a glass. He took his glass and a piece of gruyere, and moved to an armchair, sitting back and crossing his legs. "You know, when you said my tour on the station was over, I was so relieved. Reporting to Admiral Marcus about every spec of dust on the Klingon border was beginning to drive me insane. Not that I wanted trouble to spring up, mind you," he said, taking a sip and a bite. "But I can only stare into the void for so long and just sit there before I start to get antsy."

“You never told me what Admiral Marcus had you working on,” T’Kal observed. She took a sip from her own glass and bit into a piece of gouda. The man had good taste. “I’ve never worked with him. Though what I’ve heard has been…mixed? Yes, that’s the best word. Mixed.”

"Good word," David said. "The man's prone to mood swings. Mention his daughter or grandson and he could either smile wistfully or fly off the handle. And definitely do not mention certain Starship Captains." He shook his head. "I'm technically not supposed to discuss it, but really all I was doing was testing that shuttle I brought aboard. It had some souped up sensors and we were trying to see if we could get a better scan of Klingon territory through the neutral zone. Pretty much all I did was get into position, scan, chart, move on." He smirked, thinking of Karane's description of his job. "You know, stare at maps all day."

“Arguably the best part of the Navigator’s job,” T’Kal said dryly. “Well phrased. Where did you hear that?” She wondered if he could tell that she was baiting him. His smirk told no lies. The expression came from somewhere, or someone, he found interesting.

David gave a cat-ate-the-canary smile. "Just...something Lieutenant Inda said when she was trying to insult me," he said.

“Lieutenant Inda insults everyone,” T’Kal conceded, “but her insults are not always so…targeted. Direct. Furthermore, most people she insults do not hold onto her words like cherished memories.” She took another sip, this time with a bite of fig.

"I would hardly call it a cherished memory," he said. "I didn't even write that particular barb down in my log book." He shrugged. "I just...found it amusing, that's all."

“David, you and I both know that my understanding of human romantic and sexual relationships is incomplete,” T’Kal said pointedly.

"Understatement of the year," he muttered behind his glass as he took another sip.

“But you are my friend. And I know you. You like Lieutenant Inda.” She took another sip of port. “Please. Tell me more.”

"There's very little to tell," he said. "Besides, you know my type, and she does fit the bill."

“Ah yes,” T’Kal said, nodding. “I seem to recall the server at the bar on Pacifica. The one with the Zaldan boyfriend who I had to pacify before he broke your neck. She was also short, blonde, what humans would call ‘cute’.”

David sank into his chair, groaning. "C'mon T'kal," he said. "I've spent so long crafting this facade of 'confident smarm', please don't ruin it now."

“And there was that junior security officer aboard the Renown,” T’Kal continued. “Ensign Natasha Chuprina, if memory serves. She was also cute, short, and blonde. I am sensing a pattern.”

David grumbled, his face buried in his hand, one eye peeking out angrily. "She was also a gymnast. Had some other things going for her."

“David, my sister Solan is short and blonde,” T’Kal added. “And you’ve asked after her more than once. Should I confine you to the brig when she visits in two months? Or will you have another short and cute blonde in your heart by then?”

He let out a growl of frustration, wishing the chair would just swallow him up. "All right, all right! We've had one date. It wasn't a disaster, to my surprise and delight. And before you say boo....I have a three date plan to win her over. By that point, we will either have enough chemistry to pursue something, or we'll realize this won't work." He drained his glass. "Or she'll beat me to death with a spanner. Either way, we'll know where we stand."

“The question is, will I be there to pull you from the final spanner blow?” T’Kal mused into her ever-emptying glass of port.

"You haven't let me down yet," he said. "And for the record? I've spent two years on that God-forsaken station without a blonde in sight, and I haven't exactly been living like a monk. So it's not like I am exclusively seeking out a mate based on hair color and height. She's just the first person to make me feel something since--" he stopped and clammed up, his face turning red.

“Since…?”

"I...I shouldn't say," he said, looking down at his lap.

“I will not force you to,” T’Kal assured him. “But we are friends, and just as you have been here for me, I am here for you. I believe you will feel better telling me.”

David sighed and poured himself another full glass, took a long drink, refilled again, then sat back in his chair. “It began almost three months after I arrived at the station.”


To be continued…

 

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