Disquietude
Posted on September 28th, 2011 by Ian Blackthorne

Had there been a ticking clock’s staccato rhythm accentuating the silence between its stark beats, the Flag Office would have been a perfect stereotype of helpless waiting. With no clock, the only background noise was the reassuring hum of Atlantis herself, but to a seasoned Starfleet officer, that might as well have been silence. Ian Blackthorne sat behind his desk, looking at a report on his computer screen without actually seeing it. He didn’t like feeling helpless; it wasn’t a sensation that would often arise while commanding a starship, much less an entire fleet, and was certainly foreign to him.

He reclined in the chair with a long sigh, turning away from the computer and allowing his gaze to wander out the windows, over the graceful lines leading to Atlantis’s stern, and then to the stars above. Finding no solace in them, he pivoted restlessly in the chair to face the room once again, instantly noticing the holopicture on his desk of he and T’Kirr on a Calaphaltran beach, their eyes locked as if neither the camera nor anyone else were present. Of course, he knew the risks of emotional involvement with subordinate officers, but even discounting romance, forming attachments to the people he served with wasn’t something Ian could avoid.

Even with his wife in mortal danger, it was not as if Ian did not worry for the safety of Colonel McKnight and everyone else on Gencodia’s surface. The lives of his crew were his responsibility, and one of Starfleet’s missions was to protect Federation colonists. Duty aside, he could scarcely imagine Atlantis without Colonel McKnight, but then again it wasn’t Doug’s picture on his desk. With a twinge of guilt induced by the double realization of how selfish he was being in focusing so much on T’Kirr, and the fact that he didn’t care how selfish his thoughts were, he forcefully pushed himself back from the desk with an exasperated cry.

Once the vocal expression of his frustration faded, Ian was again left in impotent silence, his gaze still fixed on the picture like a Mustang with a torpedo lock on a bandit’s six. His breathing was elevated in anger at his inability to do anything but wait, and he found himself wishing for T’Kirr’s emotional control. Even with it, he realized, she was certainly having a worse time than he was. Ian closed his eyes and reached out with his mind over the distance between them, his mental presence manifesting as ethereal mists of thought traversing a vast expanse of nether. T’Kirr was there, on the other side, and her familiar presence calmed him.

From this distance, discerning anything more than emotion over their bond was difficult, like listening to a radio transmission at the edge of its range through the static. He could tell that she was momentarily surprised to feel his presence, but immediately comforted by it. She was obviously afraid and hiding it well under a front of hopeful optimism, and he could sense an undercurrent of resentment at how unfair it was to be facing such a death when they had just started their married life together, despite full knowledge that such resentment was illogical. They had always known that the next adventure together could be their last, but the potential immediacy of that end was obviously weighing heavily upon them both, as Ian could now see.

He opened his eyes, but did not withdraw his mind back into itself, ensuring that T’Kirr knew he would remain for any comfort or strength they could lend each other. Looking around the Flag Office, Ian stood and resolved that he needed to do something, anything, to keep busy, instead of sitting alone. He suddenly decided that the room was too large and empty, and exiting to the bridge, Ian set out to remedy that.