Learning to Dance

Posted on Wed Jul 26th, 2023 @ 10:02am by Evelyn Reynolds & Oliver Lucas

Mission: Fractures
Location: Bar, SS Mary Rose
Timeline: Backpost: Night of the Masquerade Ball
3096 words - 6.2 OF Standard Post Measure

"I didn't think I'd be the only one dodging the gold-embossed invitations tonight."

If she was being honest, Evelyn had been looking for Oliver specifically. She had set an unhurried pace about it, partially convinced that he would have locked himself in his quarters to avoid any possibility of being dragged towards the formalities of the masquerade ball, but had approached the evening with an understanding that she intended to eventually seek him out. Turning up on his doorstep was a little bold, however, and she was relieved that her procrastination had lead her to make a choice that rendered it unnecessary. From the doorway of the bar, she studied the solitary figure for a moment, surprised by the twinge of guilt she felt at seeing him so utterly alone. The pair had seen plenty of each other over the past day or two, the refitting of Sickbay had resulted in a flourish of activity within their workspace that had seen them both with an ample pile of responsibility to bury themselves under. With Beya understandably enjoying herself, they'd pushed training to the side for now, however, and Evie had known in the back of her mind that there was intent behind the lack of personal follow-up that couldn't remain unacknowledged for too much longer. Their last conversation had ended without proper resolution and, though she might have tried to convince herself she was just making sure he wasn't overwhelmed, Evelyn also realised she had just needed time to sit with her own thoughts. The young medic posed complications she hadn't anticipated and, as always, the blonde doctor was not one to act without deliberation.

She smiled as he looked up. "Room for one more?"

Oliver blinked himself out of...whatever distant corner of the universe his mind had been lost in. Not so much thinking about anything, more just sitting there and existing. He automatically lurched to his feet at her approach.

"Uhm..." he looked around at the completely deserted bar, clearly not finding any excuse to deny her a seat at the table. "I think there's a free chair somewhere around here." He cautiously returned back to sitting again. "A masquerade ball seemed a bit too much excitement," he said, admitting his own reason for being there while simultaneously recognising her own presence.

"Or barely enough," Evelyn countered, lifting a chair and setting it down directly opposite. As she eased herself into it, she sought to explain herself better. "The formality of large-scale social events doesn't lend itself to relaxation, typically. You invariably spend the night spinning in circles trying to pretend you remember the name of the dignitary you're dancing with, whilst simultaneously resisting the urge to detach wandering hands at the wrist." Her smile, whilst tired, at least carried more amusement than bitterness at the recollection. "In short, we're probably not missing much."

"Well, I suppose." He pondered that for a moment, in the strange silence of the ship. "Although I rather enjoyed the dance we had before..." In his mind's eye he was back in that strange open place with the music and the dancing. And then he'd...well, the moment had been spoiled a little. "You were very good at it, as I recall."

Evelyn's smile was non-committal, accepting the praise without necessarily agreeing with it. "Well, you don't grow up a Lancaster without knowing your way around the dancefloor." Slowly easing her head to the side as she regarded him, the blonde woman carried none of Oliver's furtiveness and wore her consideration of his expression as an open invitation to forge eye contact, if he chose. "I was more impressed with you." There was a pause and, because in some variation it required addressing, added, "You pushed yourself outside your comfort zone that night, and managed beautifully."

"Well...the right dance partner helps," he mumbled, feeling himself redden slightly at the compliment. "I'm still a beginner. Like I said, dancing wasn't something they taught in the collective. Or in the rehab."

"No, I imagine not."

The quiet response was followed by a moment of thoughtful silence. As much as work didn't permit it entirely, Evelyn had been left with the impression that Oliver was somewhat avoiding her, or at the very least, attempting to avoid certain topics with her. How quickly he'd returned the conversation to the last time they'd spent any time socially together was somewhat telling.

"Natural aptitude helps, however. We should try it again some time." It was direct, as was her eye contact, but reassurance was going to need to be blunt to get through his layers of self-recrimination.

An awkward expression crossed his face that resembled awkward agreement. He was not entirely reluctant, but she was making an effort, and he felt like ignoring those overtures would be closing the door on a part of their relationship that he valued.

"Yeah." A few seconds of silence later, he tilted his head. Not looking up, he added, "It's pretty quiet in here." The meaning was supposed to be subtle, but it was far from it in reality. There was space between the bar and the tables, and he was fidgeting in such a way as to be leading with the statement.

A slow lift of her chin saw Evelyn contemplate the implication in silence, her gaze eventually turning to investigate Oliver's assertion. It was quiet, of course, just about everyone else had gone to the ball, outside those who had drawn the short straw in terms of security and most of those, she'd wager, were standing sentry outside. As far as locations went, it was a little unorthodox, but they may never get a better opportunity for the kind of privacy that her friend's nerves clearly demanded. Quietly, she pushed back her chair and rose.

"Shall we then?" A slender hand extended towards him.

Although it was exactly what he wanted, Oliver was surprised at how direct Evelyn was. That led to a moment of hesitation, but one that didn't last long as he took her hand and rose to his feet.

"We need music..." he mumbled, noticing very quickly how silent it was. "What do you like to dance to?" he added.

A quick scan of the room confirmed the provision of a decent sound system and a tentative direction to the computer resulted in a blasting cacophony that suggested whoever had last used it had a preference for excessive volume. Once dialled back, the track revealed the pleasant cadence of a Betazoid waltz. "It all depends on the occasion," she finally answered, turning back to approach him with an instructor's deliberation. Reaching out, she held her hands for him to take. "A waltz is relatively simple and will get you through most formal situations at a pinch."

She lifted her eyes then to carefully watch his face as she pulled one of his hands down to settle on her hip. "Now, curve it up. Ideal placement is to lay your hand flat just below my shoulder blade."

"Okay..." he said softly. Indeed, being close to Evelyn again after what had taken place before was stirring some discomfort in him. And at the same time, it wasn't entirely discomfort he felt. Rather, he was excited to be there with her. Alone. "Like this?" he inquired, voice low.

Quite unexpectedly, Evelyn found herself instantly distracted in a way that she had partially cautioned herself to avoid. In most things, she was a deliberate woman, organised and systematic in the way she approached situations. She had the kind of composure that some found aloof but it usually guaranteed that she avoided impulsiveness, or at least that might have been the claim she could have made had she not been such an expert at keeping her private life under wraps. Whilst she came from a place of genuine compassion for Oliver, there was an aspect to his reverence that appealed to a deep-ceded sense of loneliness, the result of cycles of neglect and being taken for granted. She smiled faintly and nodded, her tone equally as gentle. "Now, it's just a stepping pattern that repeats." Reversing their roles for the time being, she lead off to demonstrate.

His eyes switched from her face to her feet, concentrating on matching her motions as a way of distracting himself from holding her body. He reverted to the safety of familiar silence as he let the music flow and the rhythm of the dance movements take over. After a couple of awkward turns and almost-trips he started to feel like it was becoming more natural and easier to follow. Enough to give him the confidence to look back up at her face. Just setting eyes on hers in a close setting sent his heart racing again.

"You're very good at this," he remarked, paying her the compliment in hopes that it would keep him from saying anything dumb.

"It's just practise." The humility was typical but also acted as a reassurance. Arguably experienced enough to know better, Evelyn's voice still came out far gentler than would pass as a mentor tutoring her student and there was a split second where it became a matter of will to keep looking at him when glancing away seemed a better way to ensure composure. She was used to dealing with things directly, with a scientist's zeal for investigative exploration. As trite as it seemed, it had simply been a long time since she'd made a young man fumble over his words. Far too long. "You learn quickly, that helps."

"So people tell me," he nodded. "I'd...very much like more practice." He blushed, not sure if that was too forward a comment. "I mean, I feel like I'm learning a lot from you. I feel like I should offer something in return." It was a way to qualify his compliments, he decided. A way to make it seem less one-sided.

As an overture, it wasn't what Evelyn was expecting and warranted enough surprise to see her tilt her head to regard him quizzically. Without judgment, however, and certainly without disapproval. "Did you have something in mind?"

"Oh, uhm..." He'd not necessarily landed on specifics. Or rather, specifics that he would give voice to. Trying to maintain the movements along to the music he came up with an answer. "Do you play chess? It was one of the things they used to teach us in the de-assimilation program. Focusing on the game was part of the mental rehab for a lot of patients, and, well I got quite good."

"It's...been a while." As soon as Evelyn admitted as much, she realised just how true the confession had been. Growing up, chess had been time set aside with her father, outside the relentless pursuit of knowledge and training that fueled her. As a child, she'd been quite good at it, especially given that there wasn't an adult in the house inclined to pander to her enough to let her win. It wasn't lost on her that the last game she'd played had been with Morcan, though Oliver's explanation of its role in rehabilitation made that unsurprising. "If you'd like to bring me up to speed, I'd enjoy that."

The dance seemed to draw to a conclusion, the movements slowing and the two of them gliding to a halt. But they didn't part. "I would like that too." He wasn't sure what else to say. In the moment, he felt like he was just staring at her. Like there was something unsaid, or they were skirting around it. But the lump in his throat stopped him from speaking it. Anxiety, perhaps, over where the conversation might lead.

If the moment did nothing else, it sought to completely obliterate the power imbalance that circumstance insisted on enforcing. It was hard to escape the fact that a large part of Evie's decision to remain on board had been to act as mentor to those already holding positions, and though she had grown fond of Beya and saw great promise in the woman, it would have been insincere to consider the Orion a primary motivation. It had been Oliver, who'd kept watch on her in the freezing cold, who had sparked the spirit of mentorship and granted a reprieve from what had otherwise seemed the wreckage of a career turned to dust. And it was just Evelyn's nature to speak from the head, which gifted her eloquence enough but also tended to make her aloof. Much harder to articulate was just how lost she felt, and how much she admired the fortitude he hid beneath humility and reservation.

Her eyes searched his.

Overwhelmingly, the sense of vulnerability and uncertainty stripped her of any semblance of poise. She was a youthful woman in any case, genetics gifted from her mother's side, and without the command of professional confidence to bolster her, looked no more certain of herself than Oliver did. She felt obliged, however, to say something. He'd been borderline avoiding her for days.

"I think you offer more than you realise you do," she quietly confessed. "I was almost certain I wouldn't manage the festival crowds without incident."

"If you recall," he murmured, "I was the one who ended up causing the incident..." It was both mildly self-depreciating and lightly jovial at the same time. "I seem to have a habit of saying or doing something that causes more problems." A twitch of uncertainty crossed his brow for a moment. He felt like he was well on the way to fulfilling that statement, given their connection and his fear of breaking it.

"I didn't mean that kind of incident," Evelyn interjected with a soft laugh and, for once, her reply didn't elevate her so far beyond obvious vulnerability that her disposition veered towards its typical quiet assertiveness. "Which was not your fault," she added as a correction and then, uncharacteristically, broke eye contact in much the same way that Oliver often did. "I haven't had a panic attack since I arrived, not the way I was experiencing them prior at least. It seemed optimistic to expect to go into such a crowded, uncontrolled space and not suffer but it was manageable."

Her eyes, once they stopped their wandering, found his again.

"It had a great deal to do with the company I was keeping."

He blushed again. Given their relative level of comfort around one another, for him to continue feeling that discomfort at her paying him compliments only seemed to stir even more butterflies in his stomach. His own eyes broke contact with hers for a moment, then found the courage to look up again.

"I...really like your company, too. A lot." She was saying she liked him, he determined from her statements. A desire to be around him more, and feel like he was a protective presence. Just like she felt to him. "I really like you." It was a breathy sentence that seemed to escape his lips before he could stop it from coming out.

Though she held his gaze without flinching, it was not lost on Evelyn that several reactions were vying for an equal portion of her response. As always, the most predictable was a sense of caution and reservation, the veneer of respectability filtered down through bloodlines to arrive at an expectation of propriety. Hers had been a childhood of formal meals, intentional education and the pursuit of excellence, which didn't leave a lot of room for frivolity even if much of her intensity had been her own devising. It was the side of her nature that she usually strapped into the pilot's seat, the outward projection of a woman whose poise and control were indomitable.

It wasn't always the loudest voice though. Independence had wrought an opportunity for duality, created pockets of anonymity that had permitted the expansion of certain risk-taking impulses. There was no better proof that the doctor wasn't all she seemed to be than her protracted relationship with a man who, for all intents and purposes, didn't really seem to make her happy. Compulsion provoked her, lead to decisions where her head wasn't invited to have an opinion. She was aware of this, had never arrived at much of a solution for it other than to simply indulge as she saw fit and hope that the veneer distracted long enough to keep the vast majority utterly ignorant. This brought her to her current choice.

Which side of the line did she want Oliver on?

A hand, slightly chilled because they often were these days, settled against his chest.

"I hope you know you don't have to be intimidated by me, Oliver." A safe place to start. "I would lose count if I attempted of all the ways in which you are vastly more adept than I."

"That's...not true," Oliver began to protest, but knew he was picking the sort of fight he would never win. Sheepishly, he gave up quickly. "It's hard not to be intimidated by you," he admitted. "You're smart, and...and beautiful..."

Much like he had, Evelyn chose not to dispute the assertions and simply challenged the implication with a soft huff of laughter. "Neither of which are a particularly accurate measure of a person's worth, at least not on their own." With several parting pats to his chest, Evie withdrew just enough to offer her his arm, convinced for the moment of the better of many options. "Why don't we make the most of the empty house and go raid the kitchens for something edible?" She hoped it conveyed her willingness to spend time with him outside of his training without imposing too much of her own emerging reliance.

He wondered, almost forlornly, if he'd missed his moment to take that line even further. But he recognised also that she had very deliberately closed that door. At least for the time being. And as much as he wanted to explore it, he was also scared of breaking it too. So instead, he trusted her wisdom this time. "I suppose dancing does bring an appetite..." he said softly.

It was for the best, Evelyn told herself as the pair of them compromised and ambled towards dinner in much the same way they'd been strolling around Hysperia for the past couple of weeks. Part of her wasn't convinced but, for now, reason had won. Anything precious deserved a delicate touch, after all, and Oliver Lucas...

...was certainly on his way to qualifying.