05-23-2025, 04:51 PM
== CSO's Quarters: enroute to Trill ==
Morad listened intently, his gaze fixed on Amila as she spoke. He saw the conflict in her eyes, the hope warring with caution, the vulnerability she tried so hard to mask. When her hand reached out, tentatively brushing against his, and then pressed a little firmer, a warmth spread through him, a counterpoint to the anxiety that had been tightening his chest.
She was willing. Despite everything, she was willing to consider it...
He returned the gentle pressure of her hand, his thumb lightly stroking her fingers. "A glutton for punishment, huh?" A soft, almost wistful smile touched his lips. "Maybe we both are."
He took a step closer, reducing the already small distance between them. The scent of her – clean, fresh from the shower, with a hint of something sweet, maybe the cobbler – reached him. It was intimate, real, and a stark reminder of what was truly at stake here.
"Amila," he said, his voice low and earnest, his smile fading as he met her searching eyes. "You're right. This is my command, my future. And yes, I've thought about it. Probably more than is healthy over the last 24 hours." He paused, gathering his thoughts, needing her to understand the full weight of what he was about to say.
"But it's not just my career on the line here. If we do this... if we try to do this... you need to understand what it means for you." He gently squeezed her hand. "You're an exceptional officer. Talented, dedicated, and you've earned every step you've taken. But if we go down this road, you need to be prepared for the shadow it will cast. Every achievement, every promotion, every single medal you earn from this point on... there will be whispers. 'Of course, she got it. She's the CO's girlfriend.' It won't matter how hard you work, how brilliant you are. That perception will follow you."
He let out a slow breath, his expression grave. "Starfleet and the Federation... we like to think we're enlightened, beyond petty biases. But we're not. Not entirely. There will always be people who judge, who discriminate. And let's be honest," he looked directly into her eyes, "women already have to fight harder, work twice as much, just to get the same level of respect that's often handed freely to their male counterparts. It's not right, but it's the reality. If you commit to... us... it will make your path exponentially harder. You'll face scrutiny I won't. You'll carry a burden I can't fully share."
He lifted his other hand, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away an imagined tear, though his touch was more about connection than comfort. "I want this, Amila. More than I probably should. But I can't, in good conscience, let you walk into this without seeing it with your eyes wide open. I need you to know the cost. Your cost. Because if you decide this is too much, that the price is too high... I will understand. It will hurt like hell," he admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "but I will understand, and I will ensure your career continues unimpeded, even if it means finding you a post far away from the Zephyr and me."
He held her gaze, laying his own vulnerabilities bare, but focusing the weight of the decision on her reality. "So, tell me. Knowing all that... knowing the fight it will be, not just for us, but for you... is it still a path you want to walk?"
== Tag ==
Morad listened intently, his gaze fixed on Amila as she spoke. He saw the conflict in her eyes, the hope warring with caution, the vulnerability she tried so hard to mask. When her hand reached out, tentatively brushing against his, and then pressed a little firmer, a warmth spread through him, a counterpoint to the anxiety that had been tightening his chest.
She was willing. Despite everything, she was willing to consider it...
He returned the gentle pressure of her hand, his thumb lightly stroking her fingers. "A glutton for punishment, huh?" A soft, almost wistful smile touched his lips. "Maybe we both are."
He took a step closer, reducing the already small distance between them. The scent of her – clean, fresh from the shower, with a hint of something sweet, maybe the cobbler – reached him. It was intimate, real, and a stark reminder of what was truly at stake here.
"Amila," he said, his voice low and earnest, his smile fading as he met her searching eyes. "You're right. This is my command, my future. And yes, I've thought about it. Probably more than is healthy over the last 24 hours." He paused, gathering his thoughts, needing her to understand the full weight of what he was about to say.
"But it's not just my career on the line here. If we do this... if we try to do this... you need to understand what it means for you." He gently squeezed her hand. "You're an exceptional officer. Talented, dedicated, and you've earned every step you've taken. But if we go down this road, you need to be prepared for the shadow it will cast. Every achievement, every promotion, every single medal you earn from this point on... there will be whispers. 'Of course, she got it. She's the CO's girlfriend.' It won't matter how hard you work, how brilliant you are. That perception will follow you."
He let out a slow breath, his expression grave. "Starfleet and the Federation... we like to think we're enlightened, beyond petty biases. But we're not. Not entirely. There will always be people who judge, who discriminate. And let's be honest," he looked directly into her eyes, "women already have to fight harder, work twice as much, just to get the same level of respect that's often handed freely to their male counterparts. It's not right, but it's the reality. If you commit to... us... it will make your path exponentially harder. You'll face scrutiny I won't. You'll carry a burden I can't fully share."
He lifted his other hand, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away an imagined tear, though his touch was more about connection than comfort. "I want this, Amila. More than I probably should. But I can't, in good conscience, let you walk into this without seeing it with your eyes wide open. I need you to know the cost. Your cost. Because if you decide this is too much, that the price is too high... I will understand. It will hurt like hell," he admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "but I will understand, and I will ensure your career continues unimpeded, even if it means finding you a post far away from the Zephyr and me."
He held her gaze, laying his own vulnerabilities bare, but focusing the weight of the decision on her reality. "So, tell me. Knowing all that... knowing the fight it will be, not just for us, but for you... is it still a path you want to walk?"
== Tag ==