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It was late, and it had been a long shift, which had included a particular clusterfuck of a mission, and Beckett was tired, but there was paperwork to be done. And so paperwork was being done. The five of them had set up camp at their booth, providing each other moral support and the occasional advice as they rushed to get things done.
Well, Beckett rushed. Everyone else was either too excited about reports or too meticulous to rush.
But Beckett definitely rushed.
Well, Beckett tried to rush. She wanted to rush. Wanted to be done and headbutt her pillow so hard she passed out. But at the same time,
"Why do they call it paperwork?" She wondered aloud in a clear invitation to procrastination, "we haven't used paper for anything for years. And it wasn’t originally done on paper. Sumerians used clay tablets or whatever."
She figured she deserved some procrastination. She had been shot at! And yes, the shooters had been terrible and had missed every single shot, but still! It had been traumatizing. Actually, it probably should have been traumatizing, now that she thought about it. Was it a problem that she did not find violent combat traumatizing anymore? Fuck, it was, wasn’t it?
"Mariner," T'lyn, who was sitting next to her by the edge of the booth, said in her usual monotone voice, “do you require assistance?"
"What? Psh, no! This report is easy!" she said, before realizing that for once, someone had actually reacted to her comments. Usually, the other four just ignored her and kept reporting, "but really, what about you guys? I know you also call it paperwork in Vulcan, how is that logical?"
T'lyn looked at her for a few seconds, an eyebrow ever so slightly raised, the Vulcan equivalent of a human look of consternation.
"Paper was the common material used for recordkeeping when modern languages in both Earth and Vulcan were developed. And a more accurate translation would be–"
"Yeah, yeah, not technically paper, pulp of some bush or other, I know Vulcan history, girl. But come on, it's Vulcan paper."
T'lyn looked at her, then returned to her report.
"Y'know–" Mariner began, not quite ready to give up on this round of procrastination. She fell silent once she saw T'lyn's body language change. Tense shoulders, held breath, slightly tightened knuckles, "woah there."
T'lyn stood and stepped aside.
"Get out of the booth," she commanded.
"What, are you kicking me out?" Beckett protested, "because I asked some questions?"
"Just ignore her, T'lyn," Boimler said absently as he worked, not even looking up from his pad, "it's how she unwinds."
"Get out. Of the booth," T'lyn insisted, not even acknowledging Boimler, "we need to talk.”
"Okay," Beckett said slowly, half curious to see where this was going, half too tired to deal with any of it.
"Follow me," T'lyn said.
"Guys, I finished my report," Tendi said suddenly, "why don't I tag along and help, ah, mediate this?"
"Mhm, yeah, mediate, good idea," Boimler said, still working. Rutherford was not even aware there was conversation going on around him.
"No," T'lyn said firmly, "if you finished yours, you can work on Mariner's."
"Or better yet," Beckett said, "you can finish my– wait, you just said that. Why would you say that?"
"It is only logical," T'lyn said simply as she turned around to leave. After a few steps, she turned to look at Beckett, giving her an expectant look that had her feeling like she was about to be court-martialed.
"Double report? Nice!" Rutherford said, finally processing enough of what was happening to high-five Tendi, who did so with one hand as she gave a nervous thumbs-up to Beckett with the other. Beckett waved back.
"If I'm not back in five minutes, you know who murdered me," she joked, not very enthusiastically.
"No, don't get murdered!" she heard Boimler shout as she was on her way out, "too much paperwork, even for me!"
Beckett followed a silent T'lyn until they reached an empty hallway, where T'lyn suddenly turned to face her, arms crossed.
"What is wrong with you?" She asked.
"What, me? What's wrong with you!" Beckett said defensively, "what, I just make some casual conversation and suddenly it's off to the principal's office?"
T'lyn paused.
"You misunderstand," she said, "I am not chastising you. It is a genuine question. What is wrong with you? And how can I help?"
The whiplash was strong enough to leave Beckett speechless until T'lyn arched an eyebrow, a sign of impatience.
"What– there's nothing wrong with me," Beckett said.
"Beckett," T'lyn said. It was the first time Beckett heard her say her first name, and it was said– well, T'lyn was still Vulcan, it was said bluntly and impassively, but it was still nice to hear it, "you experienced hardship today. More than most of the crew. Your team–"
"We were fine," Beckett said casually, waving dismissively, absolutely determined to not go there, "Ransom got a bit banged up. Ensign what's-his-face needed surgery. It's not a big deal. I've seen worse."
"Past experiences do not mean you are not allowed to find your recent ones any less distressing."
"Well, I do, okay? Really, no distress here, zero distress."
"So I have observed," T'lyn said, "instead, you talk about paper."
"It was just a random thought," Beckett said, exasperated, "sorry I distracted you or whatever."
"Do not apologize. I do not regret being distracted."
"What."
"If you had not started talking, I would not have noticed your altered demeanor. I am glad I did."
"There's no altered demeanor! My demeanor is completely unaltered!"
"For a human, perhaps. Or someone less familiar with you. I, however, am both familiar with your mannerisms and emotional repression in general. It is evident you are in distress."
"You've only known me for a few months, T'lyn."
"I pay attention."
Beckett clenched her teeth. T'lyn was somehow managing to be incredibly infuriating and nauseatingly comforting at the same time.
"I'm fine," she insisted, "really. No lasting psychological scars. Promise."
"Interesting," T'lyn said, "you do not appear to be lying. Is that lack of emotional response what is upsetting you?"
"What?" Mariner asked with a patently false chuckle, failing miserably in her attempt to sound amused, "why would you think that?"
"You are not damaged, Beckett."
The words were like a Bat'Leth. That is to say, they were more effective at dealing pain than one might expect at first glance.
"I know that," Beckett said bluntly, "I don't need you of all people to tell me what I'm feeling, little miss psychic outburst."
"Ah, you are 'lashing out', good, this means my words are resonating with you on an emotional level."
"That is a funny way of saying you're annoying me."
"Good. Your lack of a severe emotional response is in itself an emotional response. A defense mechanism. You are not numb, or broken, or incomplete. You are a caring friend, a devoted colleague, and an excellent officer."
"I, uh, ah, thank you? And how dare you? I am very confused right now," Beckett said, and meant it. She could not tell if she wanted to strangle T'lyn or hug her, and her hands were saying as much, "why are you saying these things?"
"Because you need to hear them," T'lyn said simply, "and I want to be the one who says them to you."
And then T'lyn reached out and carefully, so carefully Beckett could barely feel it, grazed the back of Beckett's fingers with the back of her own. Beckett felt all anger choke and die in her throat as her eyes stared at the gesture. She was disappointed to feel her own hand pull away like T'lyn was made of fire.
"You don't want that. Not with me," she said.
"I believe that is for me to decide."
"T'lyn. I make a mess of everything. We're supposed to be doing dumb boring paperwork and instead you're comforting me because I can't get out of my own head. You're better off–"
"You are being illogical," T'lyn interrupted calmly, before blinking. "Excuse my outburst. But it is the truth. You seem under the impression that I am unaware of your emotional condition, when in fact I have just proved how well I understand it. Furthermore, I too have my flaws. I have, as you recently reminded us, caused a psychic pulse of emotions that compromised this ship's safety–"
"That wasn't your fault–"
"– and witnessed you behaving competently and relatively rationally while overwhelmed by my emotions. I have seen you, Beckett. You are resilient. You are good. You are admirable. I find your company enjoyable, your presence soothing. Do not tell me what I want or do not want, what I deserve or do not deserve."
Beckett closed her eyes and, for once, allowed herself to feel more than the maelstrom of anger and excitement that ruled her life, allowed herself to listen to the softer, quieter melodies of her heart. She sighed and opened her eyes.
T'lyn was there, and how had Beckett not noticed? She was terrified. She had left herself exposed, vulnerable.
Beckett found herself reaching for her hand, holding it carefully in hers, and letting two of her fingers wander T’lyn’s.
“I, ah, have no idea if I’m doing this right,” she admitted.
“It is clumsy, but acceptable,” T’lyn said. Vulcan honesty, everyone.
“Hey.”
“It is not a problem. You will have plenty of opportunities to improve.”
“Oh, I’m going to improve alright, I’m going to improve so hard, you- you won’t believe how much I improved,” Beckett said lamely and she could have sworn that right there, for the briefest of moments, T’lyn’s lips showed the barest hint of a smirk. Beckett couldn’t help a smirk of her own, a broad, human smirk, “you like me,” she teased.
“Yes, that is evident,” T’lyn said, “I just told you as much.”
“No, but like, you like me even when I’m being stupid.”
T’lyn arched an eyebrow.
“Shut up,” Beckett said, “I’m not always being stupid.”
“I did not say otherwise.”
“You didn’t have to! I pay attention too! I know what that eyebrow thingy means!”
“Humans are famously inept at interpreting Vulcan facial expressions. Your confidence in this matter is likely unearned.”
“Yeah? So you were not thinking of strangling the captain when she was giving that speech in Vulcan when she absolutely did not have to because universal translators are a thing?”
“That is a trick question. Everyone was thinking of strangling the captain during that speech.”
“Baby. No.”
“That is not a fitting description. I am decades older than you.”
“It was not a description! I was being cute!"
"That is redundant. You are always 'cute'."
"I am not!" Beckett said, offended, before perking up, "wait. Really? Aww. Even that time weird alien blobs exploded and I got covered in smelly goop?"
T'lyn tilted her head ever so slightly. Bemused, Beckett knew. Then that tiny lip quirk again.
"Oh wow," she said, "you did find it cute."
"Once again, I said no such thing."
Beckett cleared her voice and assumed a Vulcan pose.
"Once again, you did not need to," she said solemnly, "for I am a master of Vulcan body language."
She chuckled at her own dumb impression.
"You are feeling better," T'lyn noted.
The comment caught Beckett off-guard.
"I suppose," she said casually, scratching her head, "hey, yeah! I am!"
"You are welcome."
Beckett rolled her eyes and went to shove her lightly on the shoulder. Tlyn intercepted her hand, then deftly turned the catch into a two-finger caress. Beckett felt her pulse quicken. There really was a skill range, huh? She'd definitely need that practice.
"We should get back," she said despite herself, "we need to finish the paperwork."
"Of course," T'lyn said, "though I thought you might want to try a more familiar style of affection first."
She took a step forward, then another. Beckett's eyes darted to those lips, then back to the impassive eyes.
"Is that, uh," she said, tripping over her words, "are you okay with that? It's fine if you're not. I'm– the finger thing is, ah, very nice."
T'lyn smiled. Not a human smile. Not wide and joyful and open. But she smiled, almost invisible, though not to Beckett.
"I admit to some level of hesitance due to my inexperience," she admitted, "yet as established, there is only one way to address such matters."
"Practice, practice, practice," Beckett said, clicking her tongue, "how disciplined."
T'lyn cupped her face and pulled her closer, so their foreheads almost touched.
"Has anyone ever suggested that you speak too much?" She asked.
"Oh, tons of people," Beckett said, "it's fair though, I never shut up. This one time, Boims and I–"
T'lyn never got to hear that story.