The Brightest Heaven of Invention Part 2

Posted on Sat Mar 4th, 2023 @ 10:04pm by Evelyn Reynolds & Oliver Lucas

Mission: Mission 16: Hysperia
Location: The Prancing Goat, Bar and Tavern
Timeline: Following "O, For a Muse!"
2712 words - 5.4 OF Standard Post Measure

As thoughtful as the direct eye contact had made her, being a rarity where the man was concerned and not easily endured, Evelyn predicted, it had been a slight prod to the back that had turned her head around at a pivotal moment, creating an immediate succession of confusion with no natural sequence to determine what needed to be dealt with first. Caught up in mutual apology, Evie hurried to convey swift platitudes to the couple who had stepped into her, but it meant that by the time she whirled back around to figure out what was preoccupying Oliver, let alone attempt any sort of translation of motivation on his part, the moment had passed and, with it, any certainty that she'd interpreted things correctly. He certainly looked uncomfortable but that could have been put down to the sheer likelihood that she'd just been forced to stand on his foot.

"If you want to," she attempted to pick up the threads again, to anticipate why he had suddenly reverted to such intense humility. A slight worry creased her forehead. "Is it too much?"

"N-no..." He was back to the withdrawn, uncertain self he usually fell back into when things were no longer clear. His hands fell feebly to his sides. "I'm not very good at this." Whether she would grasp his double meaning or not, he probably did mean both the physical act of dancing, and the closeness of their interpersonal relationship. In his mind, and indeed his heart, he wondered if either were truly for him.

On the one hand a very logical and sensible woman, Evelyn was prone to being a tad evasive when the topic of her ability to transfer that level-head into her personal life ever arose. There were disparities certainly, cracks in the foundation that didn't marry well with people's expectations of the accomplished scientist and her professional aplomb. A marriage that seemed oddly absent from any ongoing influence, to such an extent that it was rare to hear her speak of it until it was directly referenced. An on-again-off-again relationship with a Starfleet officer who routinely failed to hide from even public scrutiny that his primary priority was his career and how fast he could climb the ladder. The occasional dalliance peppered here and there that most didn't even know about, and seemed to occur at times so far removed from the bulk of her day-to-day life that one might even accuse her of having gone out of her way to switch off Evelyn Reynolds for a while in an effort to become something else. No second attempt at marriage, no hint of children or even an expectation of settling down, whatever that meant. For all her academic success proved the woman capable beyond compare, there had never been an easy way to tell, looking from the outside in, if any of her interpersonal relationships were stable. Most of the time it wasn't even possible to tell if they were healthy.

She wasn't oblivious though. Dysfunction was not the cause of any inability to read certain signals and, though she'd been interrupted and forced to disengage before both of them could see what Oliver actually made of his impulse, Evelyn had turned back to the conversation alert to a shift in dynamics that she possibly hadn't anticipated. It wasn't that it had come completely out of the blue. He had been glued to her side for days and, though there was a measure of guilt that made it hard to admit to, Evie knew that she'd done nothing to discourage it. It didn't matter that her reasons had initially taken root in the fear of a trauma response that she wouldn't be able to manage lone. Oliver's personal growth had become an investment, something that she found difficult to resist taking a part in. This however was far bolder than she'd expected.

At least, right away...

"Come on," she answered quietly, a hand on his elbow guiding him to turn around before it slipped down into his and lead the way as a weave through the stomp and stamp of moving bodies. Without seeking permission, she took them firstly towards the bar, ordering both a serving of warm mead that had so far been a preferred way to participate without resorting to excessive consumption, and placing both into Oliver's hands, Evie then thread her arm through his and pulled the defeated-looking medic towards a table at the far back, somewhat removed from the worst of the noise.

"Okay," her next words as they took a seat beside each other were gentle, "Talk to me. Whatever it is, you can't keep trying to file it behind those sad eyes anymore." Evie offered him a wane, sympathetic smile. "You're killing me here."

"Oh...oh..." Oliver was back into panic mode at the thought he might have somehow upset or offended her. "I've never been very good at...people." His mind ricocheted around the various moments of social faux pas he'd somehow stumbled into during his time on the Mary Rose. Despite their desire to help him try to feel like one of the family, he wasn't quite sure he fit into it. "I shouldn't have...assumed. You've been very kind to me these last few weeks, even more than anyone could have expected." He broke eye contact. "I don't know how this works."

"And what do you mean by this?" It was a gentle prod from a partially knowing source, unlikely to be too presumptuous but also several years in advance of him when it came to experience and intuition. If there was any comfort to be drawn, it was from the fact that Evelyn's expression didn't appear to be overly chastising. Her compassion, the level at which she seemed to understand his specific situation, took foremost priority and there was the self-same encouragement to be honest that had been there since the start. The social and emotional rehabilitation of repatriated drones got a lot more air-time than other aspects of reintegration. Relationships were multi-faceted. Functional bodies came with associated needs. Nobody wanted to talk about it but Morcan had and Evie had listened. The Betazoid's capacity to dig right down into the grit and grime of emancipation from the Collective wasn't for everyone but Oliver was at least currently dealing with someone who hadn't balked at the man's candour.

Oliver's eyes were wet as they searched for anything but hers. It felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest.

"Y-you've been...very kind to me," he repeated. Like it was some sort of justification, or an excuse, rather than an explanation. "You're my mentor. You've helped to teach me a lot of things already. And...being around you has been...a revelation." His hands fidgeted. "I'm sorry. I know you're...married. And I'm not...I'm not that person."

The blue eyes studying him intently were suddenly several shades brighter, a luminosity that flared with such intense clarity that it rendered an expression that wasn't quite like anything Evelyn normally seemed capable of. There was wisdom behind the brilliance still but there was also a conspiratorial edge, an awareness that the boundaries at risk of being broached were not easily restored. It didn't diminish her compassion but it did make her seen suddenly so very knowledgeable, and beyond that, willing to follow along.

"I'm not married, Oliver." Her tone, at least, was still gentle. "My husband died some time ago, and whatever relationships I have had since are not a current influence in my life." It wasn't strictly true, Jack had a tendency to influence whether she wanted him or not, but she could still refuse to gift him any sort of official prominence. "Have you...had any romantic connections of your own?"

Still refusing to look her in the eye, he shook his head quickly. The deeply self-depreciating part of him wanted to say nobody wants a damaged ex-borg, but that would have been a step too far. "I'm sorry. I feel like I've messed this up." His words came out quickly, without time to even stutter. "I'm sorry." They were the only two words that kept coming out. His fault. His blame.

It had always been, since the first time it had found his, a slightly chilled hand. A circulation issue, perhaps, or just a side-effect of some of the medication she was still on. Even after their dancing, and despite the fact that there were plenty of fires dotted about to keep the temperature decent, the squeeze of Evelyn's fingers still carried the impression of solitary cold. "This isn't something you have to apologise for," she reassured him quietly, making sure to keep her voice low to maintain privacy. "Feelings are normal, wanting to act on them just as much." A slight smile attempted to bolster his confidence. "If anything, I ought to be flattered. And I'm certainly not offended."

The flush of his cheeks was back. A furtive pair of eyes looked at her hand on his, then they finally looked up at her face. In this light, she was still so beautiful. How could anyone possibly hurt her? How could anyone fail to see that she was an incredible person? "That's...that's good." And it was, he affirmed to himself silently. "I, umm...don't know what to do now. Are we...still...?" his face turned hopeful, seeking an answer to clarify for his own sense of what 'this' was now.

The tilt of Evelyn's head was quizzical, which lent her an air of authority over the situation that was far from what the raging current beneath the smooth façade felt confident in claiming. Self-awareness clamoured as a series of alarm bells in the back of her mind, the increasingly invasive drone of a klaxon that could feel the prickle of certain curiosities and knew exactly what succumbing to them would entail. It wasn't quite compulsion, though the temptation was usually strong enough for it to seem that way sometimes. Her own layer of shattered pieces, now buried beneath several decently cracked ones. There was a precipice here, a very thin one, and pulling away from it wasn't as easy as it should have been.

"Answer me something," she eventually said, her volume still intimate. "As long as you're comfortable to, that is. Have you experienced any kind of physical release?" Knowing the topic would be mortifying if not handled delicately, Evie squeezed his hand again and did her best to keep her physician's stance just enough to allow professionalism to act as a shield. "Have you...figured out what brings you pleasure? I know it's difficult," Evie added hastily. "But please don't be embarrassed. My only experience with this is my ex-colleague and Morcan was always very open about the fact that his relationship with his body was as fractured as his relationship with his mind. I'm just...trying to figure out what it is you need."

Oliver pulled his hand away sharply, his eyes instantly flicking around the room as though terrified that someone might have heard her.

"I...that's..." he stammered, face flushing sharply. "S-should we be talking about this? Here?" He motioned to the fact that they were out in a public place, where anyone could overhear them.

"Not if you don't want to," Evelyn assured, her hand immediately reaching out to rub his arm. Already significantly divergent, two competing motivations plunged her forward. Front and centre was a genuine desire to help him work through what she understood to be a very real and traumatic experience for repatriated Borg, one that wasn't nearly spoken of as much as it needed to be. Not for the first time, Evie found herself grateful for the openness and honesty of her old friend. Perhaps all this would be enough to grant her the courage to contact him regarding her situation.

Navigating how best to broach the subject with Oliver, to give him space to work through it without making him feel pressured, was different though. He had less experience on the other side of being a Borg to draw from and from all her dealings with him, Evelyn had drawn the conclusion that he'd somewhat been left to rebuild his life on his own because he gave the outward appearance of coping. She studied his face, blue eyes loaded with concern, and then lifted the hand on his arm to tentatively touch at the implants on the side of his neck.

"There is nothing wrong with your feelings though, Oliver, and certainly nothing wrong with any physical urges you might experience." Drawing in a deep breath, Evie opted as she so often did for a direct explanation. "You know I've told you of my Betazoid friend, and his extensive rehabilitation and how open he is with the challenges of repatriation. I will get you a copy of his book and, if you like, I may even be able to find a way for you to talk to him directly. He talks a lot about alienation from his physical body," she continued gently. "About the paranoia of feeling compelled by desire and arousal in particular because it triggers associated feelings of being controlled by the hive. He likens the throes of passion to submitting control to an outside force. He also expresses a lot of deep revulsion for his physical appearance." She paused, fingertips idly stroking the implant, to see if the remark hit home.

The way she spoke, almost hypnotically as much as insightfully, had made him freeze. People didn't touch the implants. He rarely touched them himself, at least willingly. "That's...quite true," he said quietly. He leaned away from her hand, ashamed of the metallic components that broke and scarred his ordinary skin. "B-but it's less about that, and more...about you." He locked eyes with her again, the faint sorrow back on his face. "I don't...know if I can. With you. B-because...you've been very kind to me. Entanglements can damage that kindness."

The two thought processes running parallel through Evie's mind continued their simultaneous path towards a singular destination without either fully intersecting enough to derail each other. Whilst her careful, meticulous, professional side had taken very clear pains to veer her remarks towards a clinical yet compassionate conveyance of understanding, whatever part of her brain that was controlling her hand seemed at least partially aware that it was responsible for him defining their conversation as something far more deeply personal. The former was stopped in its tracks by his melancholy, finding no way to generalise a response to something so directly targeted. It put the other side in charge, however, and Evie felt her heartrate pick up at the risks involved in letting her emotions dictate anything. She swallowed, hand slowly drifting back to her lap as his reaction expressed a desire for personal space. The faint pucker of her brow deepened as she considered what he was saying. "That sounds almost like you're speaking from experience." Blue eyes studied his intently. "Oliver, I've no desire to be unkind to you, under any circumstance."

Oliver's forlorn smile returned, a painfully ironic thought in his mind as she spoke. "Desire is a funny thing, isn't it?" he said softly. His desire to for things to have been different. His desire to not have to live with the trauma of the past. His desire for the woman in front of him, as shameful as it made him feel. "We don't really control it. Not really." His shoulders sank, defeated. "I think...we should return to the ship. This place is making me feel uncomfortable."

And there, at least, was something she could do for him without fear of misstep. Nodding slowly, Evelyn took a final drink from her mead and set the half-finished drink on the table to rise. Extending a hand, she smiled ruefully at his hesitation in taking it and then, once he consented, gave a reassuring squeeze as she helped him up. "Definitely enough dancing for one night," she agreed, looping her arm through his as she always had but offering a slight change in dynamic as she took responsibility for navigating the crowd. "Let's get you home."