After Action

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

be-eep

Captain Quez waited at the door to his sister's quarters, hands clasped awkwardly behind his back. At the last minute, he attempted to change tactics, opting for his hands at his sides. Neither felt all that comfortable, so he tried hands clasped in front of him. He wasn't nervous. Well, he was, but it wasn't on account of T'yeellaa. They'd found something of an understanding a few weeks before, and while there was still a long way to go toward mending fences, they were definitely on the mend.

No, this meeting was about something else entirely.

[T'yeellaa Meorrrei]

T'yeellaa had worked the lace cravat off her high collar and had undone the buttons of her jacket in due order as the door chime pinged. Instantly, she met Samus's eyes with an apologetic expression. Almost certainly, the chime was for her. While she had duty hours, the K'ohta'rrou of a space station always had to at least prepare for the contingency of tending to business on short notice. She was, after all, that necessary filter in place for all things before they landed on the Commander's desk. It could be crew issues, or it could be the matronly pillars of the Cizeri community. Or it could be the Galactic Empire, although the likelihood that particular buck would stop at her was pretty low. At any rate, unexpected company put the brakes on the promise of less responsibility and more fun.

Guardedly, T'yeellaa took a few steps toward the door, tapping on the vox.

"jYess?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr grimaced. He should have brought wine, shouldn't he? That probably would have been appropriate. He'd lived on a starship for so long that manners and good grace had atrophied.

He'd make it up to her.

"jIt's me."

[Q. Samus Dage]

Samus Dage was in the middle of lowering himself to sit on the sofa when the voice on the other side of the door came through the vox. It was a voice he knew, but the associated memories were still painful.

He blinked, then opted to rise back up to stand. He was still in uniform, and pivoting on his heel, the blonde faced T'yeellaa and the still-closed door with a strange expression, his hands going behind him to clasp together at the small of his back. His features held a neutral yet stony appearance. And in that moment, he looked ever so slightly more haggard than before; as if there was a sudden weariness brought on by simple memories.

[T'yeellaa Meorrrei]

"Arr'uuhai?"

T'yeellaa raised an eyebrow as her ears likewise rose. The change in demeanor from Samus wasn't lost on her, but the elder Meorrrei wasn't about to let introspection delay anything. She opened the door at once, her smile broadening at the sight of her baby brother.

"jIt'ss good to ssee jyou."

And it was, really. Their reunion, as it were, had taken place in a less than ideal way, but even in the face of a terrorist attack, the two estranged siblings had figured out how to find their way back home as it were. They'd talked a few times since then, but this was the first real physical interaction since that day. Apologies were cheap. They were both adults and exceedingly busy ones. That happened.

She was forgetting herself. T'yeellaa blinked suddenly, taking a few steps back as she gestured with a hand.

"Come jin, come jin."

Her eyes went to Samus once again, still not quite gauging the expression he wore.

"Thjiss jiss..."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"...Commanderr Dage." Cirr completed his sister's introduction with a mild genial expression as he stepped through the threshold to extend the man his hand.

"jI know of hjim. Captajin s'jIlancy's XO."

[Q. Samus Dage]

Lips set in a straight, thin line, Samus accepted the hand offered to him with his own. It was a firm shake, released crisply. His voice had become a level lower than normal, a deep sort of rumble that T'yeellaa had likely never heard before.

"Captain Quez."

[T'yeellaa Meorrrei]

T'yeellaa's eyes went from her arr'uuhai to her gai'tou and back. She blinked.

"Huh. jI guesss jyou've alrreadjy been jintrroduced."

Something about this encounter felt awkward, and the elder Meorrrei shifted her stance between the taller men.

"What brrjingss jyou to mjy quarrterrss, Naitha?" she addressed Cirr by the familiar.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"Actually..." Cirr's expression went somewhat sheepish. "...jI was hopjing to fjind Commanderr Dage herre. Netaalli mentjioned you werre loverrs now."

[Q. Samus Dage]

He resisted the maddening desire to roll his eyes at the word 'lovers'. Perhaps it was his old-fashioned tendencies. Perhaps 'going steady' sounded much more amenable to his Myomarian ears than 'lovers'. Either way, Samus was at least aware enough to keep such thoughts far below the surface.

Things would be better served if kept simple, and that was exactly what he did now.

"What can I do for you, Captain."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Captain Quez grimaced, holding up a hand as if to ward off formality.

"Just Cirr. jIt's, uh, not a forrmal vjisjit."

He gave an assuring smile to his sister, but it was still a bit confounded by nerves.

"jI'm not jimposjing, am jI? jI can come back jif you werre wantjing to..."

[T'yeellaa Meorrrei]

T'yeellaa's briefly pursed lips gave her away, but she smiled off her tell.

"Prrotectjing jyourr ssjissterr? Oh Naitha, doessn't jit go the otherr wajy arround?"

She wouldn't tease much more. She was a poor hand at it and Cirrsseeto didn't have the stomach for it.

"jI have a few matterrss to attend to anjyway. jI trrusst the bojy talk wjill sstajy jinnocent and jyou two won't sstarrt consspjirrjing agajinsst me?"

[Q. Samus Dage]

He said nothing, simply giving a nod as T'yeellaa left them alone.

The silence that now fell over the two was damn near thick as lentek soup, and letting out a long breath, Samus moved to once more sit back on the sofa.

"May as well sit down, then," he gestured to the matching chair opposite the caf table.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

The thought of this meeting going down in the confines of T'yeellaa's quarters, even with her reluctant blessing, seemed a little inappropriate. Cirr's ears skewed slightly, glancing back at the door from whence he came. He thought better of it though, turning around and sitting where it was offered.

"How long have you and T'yeellaa...?"

[Q. Samus Dage]

Samus thought on that as he reclined somewhat.

"About five months, give or take a week."

He kept his eyes on Cirr. A small part of him felt awkward about this meeting, but another larger part was a bit more confused as to the 'why' of this meeting. A moment later he returned to his original question, though wording it a bit differently this time around.

"So this isn't a formal visit; what would it be, then?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr's lips pressed thin as his ears leveled off a bit. Dage wasn't going to let him just ease into this, was he?

"We've got morre hjistorry between us than we do worrds. Fjigurred evenjing up the scorre mjight do us some good."

Part of him could use a drink, but Captain Quez had long ago decided that he abhored crutches. This conversation was intended straight no chaser.

"The bad parrt jis, jI don't know wherre to begjin."

[Q. Samus Dage]

He said nothing to that. Not at first, at least. Captain Quez had spoke the utter truth that the history between them was more than the words they'd shared, and it took him back to that awful day. The day he'd had a hand in sending countless brothers and sisters into oblivion. But, he wasn't the only one that'd done dark deeds that day. Cirrsseeto Quez had as well; on both sides of the conflict. He could still see Novgorod taking the initial salvo fired from Dauntless.

The blonde pursed his lips, looking down to the low table that separated them.

"Might as well start with tough choices."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirrsseeto reached into his jacket with a pained expression, procuring a small flimsi slip. He held it between his large hands, not quite ready to relinquish it to Dage. Index fingers and thumbs pinched the document at its edges, nearly folding it in on itself as Captain Quez looked for the words.

"jI...made a note of the casualty rreporrt. Forr Levantjine. The afterr actjion rreporrt can only say so much about the orrderr of battle."

Thirty eight dead. Two missing and presumed.

"Therre wjill neverr be any rreal way to know whjich of them..."

Cirrsseeto looked away to the window, not quite able to look Dage in the eye on this. There's no way to know which ones died because of me.

[Q. Samus Dage]

Samus let his eyes linger only a moment on the flimsi that Captain Quez held, though it wasn't long before his gaze shifted back up to look at the other man's face. There really wasn't much he could say, or even felt like saying to be honest. His first command had been so many levels of bittersweet, and after agreeing to step down in favor of yet another XO position - this time for Loklorien s'Ilancy - the blonde had to wonder if he really wanted another shot at the driver's seat. Perhaps, in the future, but the sting of Ossus was still acute even if he did manage to hide it well.

"No, there won't."

He spoke up in an effort to save Cirr the need of finishing his sentence. It was partially out of understanding, and partially because he didn't want to hear the rest of it.

"I served under the General for a very long time," he finally offered with a sigh, leaning back slightly.

"Even I didn't see the truth of it until the rest of you did."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr looked at his colleague with a conflicted note in his eyes. There was absolution there, sure. But what kind of man would he be if he let the epitaph lie with The Sith Made Me Do It? Who would he be if he was content with that loss of agency, and assumed that the families left behind would be as well?

He'd been no stranger to losing men and women on his watch, and he'd written those awful letters so often. But as painful as they were, that was the responsibility a Captain owned. Better the agony be put to words than to get swallowed down unsaid and buried.

"jI know that forr the accounted, the offjicjial worrd has alrready been gjiven. Howeverr, jI wrrote somethjing else, forr the famjiljies."

A careful hand passed the flimsi over to Dage, and Cirr's blue eyes met the Commander's own.

"jIf jit werre my loved one, jI'd want to hearr thjis."

[Q. Samus Dage]

He took the flimsi with a cautious look in his eyes, watching Cirr with a level, half-lidded gaze. This was a dark line of dialogue, though one that he supposed was supposed to happen at some point. He'd had his words with s'Il, and the two had come to an understanding, but she had been the only one. He'd not even talked to T'yeellaa about what'd happened over Ossus, and about the each and every friend he had lost.

With a grimace the blonde leaned back, laying the flimsi down on one leg. He didn't ignore it completely, but his attentions weren't exactly focused on it either. Rather, he looked back up to Cirr.

"We all deal with it in different ways," he finally acknowledged.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"So maybe thjis jis about my own copjing?" He hazarded, then looked to his feet. "Maybe jit jis."

Ever since he'd taken command, Cirrsseeto had carried the burden with as much honesty and humility as he could. And as strong as he could be, sometimes the cracks couldn't be covered up. He was a man between worlds. Between his people, and the people of the galaxy beyond. And as far as he spread himself, there were so few people that Cirrsseeto could go to for his own healing. Lyanie was his sanctuary. He didn't have to be brave or strong in those moments with her. But beyond Lyanie, who else knew the story? Sanis might, but the divide between them was growing by the day. His mother? She loved and doted on him plenty, but could she understand this life he'd lived for so long? There were things he'd lived and done that he could never tell her.

This was the choice he had made. The life that he lived. And it was a hard one. But as hard as it was, he wouldn't delude himself into thinking his troubles were the worst at hand. Those families, and the ones that had gone before them, they had to endure their own grief, each so much more than his own. Cirrsseeto was strong, but they had to be stronger.

"jI can't wash away my hand jin jit. jI don't carre about the excuses. My hand was on the button, and jit was my watch. They need to know. They need to know jI'm sorry."

[Q. Samus Dage]

Samus only gave a nod. He could understand the weight of what Cirr's words held. He'd had to shoulder that weight himself, though perhaps his own method of dealing with the losses were unique to him. He had been in these situations so many times before, and while the passage of time did not make them any easier to weather, that experience made them a bit easier to understand.

"I've been fighting in the war for a long time," Dage finally conceded in a low tone, "... it doesn't get easier the more time passes."

It was his own way of trying to help smooth over the rocky bits.

"Me an' my best friend Marlon joined up with Dan when we were about 17. He and s'Il had been at things for a decent amount of time, and we fell into the routine easily. We went from planet to planet on whatever half-assed freighter we could find that had a semblance of flight capability."

He made a disgusted face.

"Lost a lot of good men, watched a lot of friends die in those days."

His features darkened then, and Dage lifted a hand to wipe across his brow, scratching at an itch in the process.

"And through it all, Me an' Marlon never thought we'd live to see the day one of us was buried by the other. It was just one of those things, I guess. We managed to scrape by through every assault, every insurgent campaign. And managed to toast a drink after every one. We just kinda existed like that," there was a sort of lazy speech that seemed to become more pronounced as he went on, as if the Myomarian country was being let loose.

"Ain't like we thought we were gonna live forever, mind you. We knew at some point we was gonna meet the maker, we just din't know when. An' the longer things went, the more we began t'think it wouldn't ever come."

The blonde frowned down at the flimsi in his lap.

"Never thought we'd say g'bye over Dan."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr listened wholeheartedly to Dage's tale. The name Marlon piqued his ears. He'd known the Dauntless's XO well enough from his time in TF42. All the command staff were at least professionally close, but he certainly hadn't known him the way Dage did. He hadn't come up in the Rebellion with him. And that mattered. It mattered who you spent time with at your most vulnerable. The ground guys called it foxhole buddies. Up above in the stars, Cirr didn't know a name for it, but everyone that served on a ship recognized it.

"Marrlon Korrrji?"

Cirr nodded along, already knowing the answer.

"He was a good man. One of many."

And there it was. So many good men. Good women. Not just the innocents on the Levantine, but in the task force as a whole.

"jI can not...wjill not...beljieve he orr anyone else up therre went to that fjight on thejirr own choosjing. And that's the damnable thjing, jisn't jit? Who speaks on thejirr behalf?"

[Q. Samus Dage]

"Those of us who're left to speak."

It might've been a weak answer, but it was the best that he had right now.

Dage let his eyes travel from the flimsi to the table, and he grimaced.

"I had t'bring Marlon's ashes to 'is sister, back on Myomar. Both our parents were long gone; died ages back. But least she was still about."

His eyes closed.

"Ain't ever seen a woman weep like that."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

How many tears had he born witness to? All of the dead he'd buried after his watch. The brave souls of the Wheel, handfuls lost in a terrifying Imperial skirmish. The dozens he'd carried medals for posthumously after the Ssi-Ruuk. The thousands of colonists, condemned to death because of something as goddess-profaned as The Greater Good.

People talked of scars when they talked of deep pain. A kind of personification of something even more intimate than their own tearing flesh. The idea went that as you experienced that hurt, your soul built up enough callous, and lost enough nerve endings to dull the ache. The only thing Cirrsseeto knew was that you endured your first taste of loss without a reference level. That first pain you felt...you've never felt a thing like it before. But you certainly felt it again. Again, and again, and again.

Water built in the Captain's eyes, and he furiously blinked it away, finding a point of bulkhead beyond Dage's shoulder to fix his gaze upon. He squared his jaw, pressing his lips thin in a line as he endured. Because that thing about scars, callouses, and nerves was a lie. He felt everything. Every time he gave his condolences, a medal, and a letter. He clung to the idea of sacrifice, duty, and nobility like a life raft, but the truth in the cold and dark was that he lived these moments like a day in Traanjirra's underworld. Chained to a tree, cut to a thousand pieces, and feeling everything until he was put back together once more to take it all over again.

Cirrsseeto would put himself back together again, but the agony robbed him of his voice at the moment. When it came back to him, his words cracked in his throat.

"Thank you...forr yourr...underrstandjing, Commanderr."

[Q. Samus Dage]

There wasn't anything that he could think of to say, other than the normal condolences. Because, even captains held hurt in their souls for every letter and comm they had to send out. Every family that they had to deliver heartbreaking news to chipped away just a little bit more of a man's psyche, and ground him into something less than what he once was. It was the worst part of command that Samus Dage had ever had to experience, and a large part of why he stepped away from it. He knew how to be an executive officer. He was good at it. His talents were best utilized in that capacity. But command?

Command had left such a sour taste in his mouth that he had given it up.

But, Captain Quez had not, and Samus had to admire the man's tenacity and desire to push onward.

Finally, he looked back up to meet Cirr's blue eyes.

"A guy has to be tough to send out all those letters. That you're still here as the commander of your ship despite all that," he pursed his lips, then went on.

"You're a strong man."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirrsseeto lied again. Not with words, but by actions. Like soldiers of old who wore red to hide the blood they might shed, he pivoted on a heel, pretending to find a point of starlight in the window worth his attention. The tear he'd suppressed before grew in resurgence. With his permission, it dropped to his cheek, quickly daubed by Cirrsseeto's thumb - unseen. No shining streak on his face to betray him. No admission of vulnerability. Even in this confessional of peers, Captain Quez resisted to the last.

"jI am tjirred...of bejing strrong."

The admission came in a raspy exhale, like a strained breath surrendered because of a heavy weight upon one's chest. Cirrsseeto's shoulders lost their posture, the only outward indication he would allow. Swollen eyes stared hard at the unknown star as the Captain braced a hand on the window.

"jI sjit jin my chajirr. Do what's asked. jI djid jit beforre, because we werre desperrate. You werre a rrebel, jI don't have to rremjind you."

Cirrsseeto gulped down his heart, closing his hand against the window into a fist.

"And jI'm stjill herre, because jI know that we'rre not done. A lot of people betterr than me took one look at the jink drry on that trreaty and they walked. jI djidn't. jI stayed on the ljine, because jI beljieved - jI stjill beljieve - the perrfect can't be the enemy of the good. The Alljiance jisn't perrfect, but too many people djied forr that prromjise forr me to walk away."

There was something that Dage hadn't said. Something Cirrsseeto wanted to know.

"You could have had anotherr command. You werre awarrded wjith djistjinctjion forr yourr serrvjice at Ossus."

Only now did he dare look his peer in the eyes.

"Why djidn't you?"