10-07-2026, 03:48 AM
Morad didn’t laugh, nor did he offer an easy joke to let her off the hook when she playfully deflected with "I’m a lot to handle." He simply watched her, his dark eyes softening into something deep, attentive, and entirely anchored.
When she spoke about the shields coming down, about feeling unpolarized, exposed, floating in an unarmored shuttle, Morad felt a familiar tug in his chest. As a career engineer who had spent half his life obsessed with protective grids, structural integrity, and reinforced bulkheads, he understood that metaphor better than anyone in the quadrant.
He didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he slid his chair an inch closer, turned his palm upward, and wove his fingers through hers, letting their palms rest together against the warm wood of the table.
"Then you don't need polarized hull plating in here," Morad said, his voice dropping into that quiet, husky resonance that carried no hint of rank or Starfleet formality. "And you certainly don't need shields."
He looked into her violet eyes, holding her gaze with steady conviction.
Beautiful...
"I know what it costs to drop those walls, Amila. You spent a lifetime on Orion learning that keeping your guard up was the only way to protect your future, your autonomy, and your peace. I’m an engineer. I spent twenty years building thicker bulkheads around everything, including myself. So if you're unarmored right now... then I am right here in the vacuum with you. Nobody is shooting, and nobody is keeping score."
Morad lifted their joined hands, gently bringing her knuckles to his lips for a soft, lingering kiss before resting them back down. A slow, tender smile touched the corners of his mouth, his thumb brushing lightly across the jade warmth of her wrist.
"We aren't going to rush a single second of this," he murmured, his tone promising and deliberate. "No warp speed, no arbitrary milestones. Just this dinner, this music, and every quiet minute we get to steal together. If you're a lot to handle, then good... I've never been interested in simple assignments anyway."
He reached for the teapot on the warming tray, pouring a fragrant measure into her cup to let the moment breathe before giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
"Drink your tea, Chief. Your shuttle is safely docked. You're home."
== Tag ==
When she spoke about the shields coming down, about feeling unpolarized, exposed, floating in an unarmored shuttle, Morad felt a familiar tug in his chest. As a career engineer who had spent half his life obsessed with protective grids, structural integrity, and reinforced bulkheads, he understood that metaphor better than anyone in the quadrant.
He didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he slid his chair an inch closer, turned his palm upward, and wove his fingers through hers, letting their palms rest together against the warm wood of the table.
"Then you don't need polarized hull plating in here," Morad said, his voice dropping into that quiet, husky resonance that carried no hint of rank or Starfleet formality. "And you certainly don't need shields."
He looked into her violet eyes, holding her gaze with steady conviction.
Beautiful...
"I know what it costs to drop those walls, Amila. You spent a lifetime on Orion learning that keeping your guard up was the only way to protect your future, your autonomy, and your peace. I’m an engineer. I spent twenty years building thicker bulkheads around everything, including myself. So if you're unarmored right now... then I am right here in the vacuum with you. Nobody is shooting, and nobody is keeping score."
Morad lifted their joined hands, gently bringing her knuckles to his lips for a soft, lingering kiss before resting them back down. A slow, tender smile touched the corners of his mouth, his thumb brushing lightly across the jade warmth of her wrist.
"We aren't going to rush a single second of this," he murmured, his tone promising and deliberate. "No warp speed, no arbitrary milestones. Just this dinner, this music, and every quiet minute we get to steal together. If you're a lot to handle, then good... I've never been interested in simple assignments anyway."
He reached for the teapot on the warming tray, pouring a fragrant measure into her cup to let the moment breathe before giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
"Drink your tea, Chief. Your shuttle is safely docked. You're home."
== Tag ==