For the Love of...

Tabatha guided Nina into her office off the side of sickbay.  The tone of the holographer's opening suggested a discussion in more confidential surroundings.  The CMO listened patiently as Nina explained a sensitive situation.  When she finished, Tab said, "I can do some research, check the medical database, make a few calls – put your family in touch with specialists.  But I can't offer you legal or medical advice, if that's what you're requesting.  Your sister isn't my patient, Miss Black.  You'll have to consult her doctors at the Earth institution.  If you suspect abuse or negligence, I recommend contacting local law enforcement."

"I'm sorry, Rahn.  It was a long time ago.  I wish I'd never met her."

Upon finishing the recount of his brief, tumultuous past with Sara Phillipa, Jordan Rampart eyed his current wife, waiting to hear what she had to say.  To his surprise, she stepped close, body touching his.

"The past is the past, Jordie."  She stroked his receding gray hairline with slender, olive fingers.

He rested his hands on her waist.  Romulan physiology generated higher body temperature, accented by her dark clothing.  It made her hot to the touch.  "Some women would be jealous."

"Then they're illogical.  Where would we be, if all thought so?  You and I are proof that putting the past behind, acknowledging it for what it is and moving on, is more constructive.  We're each guilty of some offense, no matter how great or small.  We can't change the past.  It's absurd to hold it against one another – especially if married."

Gratitude made Rampart smile.  He trailed fingers through her thick dark hair.  He wanted to melt into her.  Holding a former enemy this close, and feeling love, genuine love, for that person... It was incredible.  She had tried to destroy him – and nearly succeeded... making it all the more profound.  He fell more in love with Vor'ana every day.  Being Romulan, she did not need to hear him say it, nor demand it, like so many women.  She did not have that insecurity.  She loved him, vice versa, and he knew it – they both did.  Each voiced it only when they wanted to.  He nuzzled his face in the warmth of her hair.  "I knew there was a reason I loved you."

Vor'ana wrapped her arms around him, cheek pressed to his.  Hugging her was like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cool day.  "You are mine, and I am yours," she whispered in his ear.

A sound, like an inner voice, rang along the tympanic nerve in Rampart's ear.  It took him a moment to place the source: Security's Mariko Ingersoll.

It was inevitable.  Put Klingons and a Romulan and a Jem'Hadar together... two of the races former blood enemies, for as long as they had been in contact, and the third bred for aggression... and they would come to blows, over some excuse.

Rampart just never expected it to be the excuse he got, when questioning them about it.  But, knowing their professions... maybe he should have.

They were still going at it, even in sickbay.  Dr. Brisk – wisely – put the Klingons, four of them, in biobeds on one side of the room, the single Romulan on the other.  They proceeded to argue and hurl epithets, yelling across the infirmary's expanse.  The one Jem'Hadar stood in a corner, watchful and brooding, apparently the only one unscathed.

"The coronasphere is charged!" one of the Klingons snarled.

"It most definitely is not," the Romulan retorted.  To make it worse, the Romulan was none other than Vor'ana's father, acting every bit as childish and ill-mannered as the Klingons.

"There were particles!"

"You saw the scans!"

"It was a point four variance!"

"Point zero four, you Klingon buffoon.  Learn to read."

Rampart rubbed his forehead and regarded the Jem'Hadar in the corner.  On first impression, he had thought that the Jem'Hadar – by precepts of typecasting, supposedly the most aggressive and adversarial of the bunch – was the only one to refrain from hostilities.  He had not a scratch on him.  But Security was present, keeping watch on the group, and Ingersoll informed Rampart en route: He, Umat'iglan, was the one who put them there.

Items wracked up fast on the captain's plate.  Rampart got an impression of a series of events slowly starting to spiral out of control.  He already had enough to deal with.  He looked around and found Ingersoll, switching her attention from the Klingons to the Jem'Hadar, to Vronak.  She felt Rampart's gaze and glanced at him.  "Orders, Captain?"

"Where's Lieutenant Booker?"

"Lieutenant Booker?  He's off this shift, sir."

"Oh.  Well, then—"

"Stop it!" someone yelled, a female voice reverberating through sickbay.

Rampart had started to take a step towards Umat'iglan.  He stopped.  A female had appeared, brunette in a mint green jumpsuit, cute from the looks of her.

Cadie.  He knew who she was.  He'd never seen her with his own eyes before, but the logs contained her image.  He felt that he somehow would have known her on sight, anyway.

"What's wrong with you?" she berated them.  "Arguing over a stellar analysis – I mean, really!  Act your ages!  After all of your progress these past months, you reduce yourselves to primitives with this infantile behavior."  One of the Klingons shifted, about to say something.  She silenced him with a look.  He was two heads taller, but hesitated, and closed his mouth.  "If you want to stay aboard me, stop this bickering and start working together.  I mean it."

The Klingons looked at her like she was crazy.  The Romulan gave her an icy look of appraisal.  But at least it stopped them from arguing – for now.  The Jem'Hadar continued to watch the others, unfazed.  They knew who she was, and fell silent, letting medical personnel tend their wounds.

"Thanks," Ingersoll acknowledged, surprised at the short brunette's effect.

"My pleasure."  Cadie took a step backwards, to stand beside Rampart.  "Disturbing, isn't it?"  She espied the warring scientists.  "I've seen their types come and go. You'd think they would learn by now."  She threw Rampart a glance.  "Want me to deal with them?  Maybe I can give them a new perspective, from my own experience."

Rampart wondered what she'd do if they hadn't stopped arguing – or if they resumed, later.  "Uh... thanks, but that won't be necessary."

"No?  Alright."  She focused on Rampart.  "Captain, I want to go back to Earth."

"What?  Earth... Why?"

"I..."  She hesitated.  "I miss Stephen."

Rampart couldn't believe what he was hearing.  "Cadie, you have subspace transmitters.  You can 'see' him whenever you want."

"I know, and I do.  But it's not the same.  You know what it's like.  You're lucky to have someone who loves you, right here in me."  At mention of Vor'ana, the Romulan, Vronak, turned his head stiffly – a reaction which didn't surprise Rampart.  "Well, I have someone who loves me... and he needs me.  I want to know why he left me.  I need him to see me."

"Have you tried asking him?"

"Yes," she sighed.  "He won't say.  I think I'm the reason he left.  I want to know.  I think I deserve to know – for my sake.  For all of our sakes.  Don't you?"

Rampart considered it, but wasn't about to speculate or play guessing games.  He had worried about a condition like this developing – when he had to debate with the ship over where to go.  He shook his head.  "We're not going all the way back to Earth, unless Starfleet gives the order."

"Isn't love a good enough reason?" Cadie asked, watching him carefully.  "For anything?"

The question gave Rampart pause.  What would he do, or not do, for Vor'ana?  He had turned his life around, leaving the Cadre for her, to be with her, consigning himself to Romulus to help with her rehabilitation.  If he was Cadie, would he even ask?  Furthermore, did she see what transpired between them, in what he believed were private moments?

And if Cadie chose to do as he did... what would it mean... for the crew, for the entire slipstream program...?  Other Quantum-class ships had begun manifesting similar personas.

"You'll just have to ask him – and if he won't tell you, then I certainly don't know what to tell you.  That's between you two."

Cadie said nothing for a moment, then disappeared, her expression unreadable.