Low Lights

Posted on Wed Jul 2nd, 2025 @ 10:24pm by Lieutenant Ánderijá "Rija" Rautajärvi & Ensign Clementine "Clemmie" Vidamour
Edited on on Thu Jul 3rd, 2025 @ 10:11am

1,479 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Wounds From the Mirror
Location: Mess Hall
Timeline: 0247 Hours

The doors parted, revealing the silence of a mostly empty Mess Hall.

Rija Rautajärvi stepped inside like a man feeling his bones for the first time in two days. His shoulders sagged beneath the thin weight of his uniform, his eyed were rimmed red, jaw rough with the beginnings of a neglected stubble. He scrubbed wearily at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

Thirty-six hours. Thirty-six hours of crawling through conduits, checking sensors relays, aligning phase compensators. Thirty-six hours of simulation runs and counter-checks and low, endless humming inside his skull. He still had... he checked the mental ledger again... three, maybe four hours left before he could finally call it.

He moved toward the replicator at the speed of a glacier--slow and inevitable.

"Raktajino," he said hoarsely. "Double. Hot."

The replicator chirped obligingly before producing a steaming black mug that, to Rija, smelled of punishment and possibility. He wrapped his fingers around it, grateful for the warmth even as he knew it would just drive him deeper into the edge of fatigue.

He turned, ready to leave, ready to collapse somewhere--anywhere--once the work was done. Then he saw her.

Near the viewport, alone at a two-person table, sat Clemmie Vidamour. Her ringlets were tied loosely at the nape of her neck tonight, some curls escaping to frame her face in delicate spirals. A mug of tea sat between her hands, steaming faintly, and a data PADD lay on the table before her. She read with an expression somewhere between intent and amused, her thumb tapping the edge now and then as if she were keeping time with some private musical number.

She looked up and saw him.

Her smile bloomed at once, warm and immediate. "Rija," she called softly, lifting her tea in greeting. "You look like you've been through a warp core meltdown."

He stopped in place, mid-step. His brain, stuck between reflex and exhaustion, took too long to parse her words. Finally, he managed a crooked grin. "I've... seen better days," he admitted, voice barely a whisper.

She tilted her head, studying him with wide, sea glass eyes. "Come sit. Before you fall over and embarrass the entire Engineering department."

He hesitated, considering the vector of his next shuffle, then moved toward her table. He placed the mug down carefully--as if it might shatter on its own--and sank into the opposite chair from her.

"Thank you," he murmured, his shoulders drooping from fatigue.

She lifted an eyebrow, playful. "Planning to run a few laps after this, or straight back to the relays?"

"Back," he said plainly. He wrapped his fingers around the mug again, his knuckles pale. "Almost finished. Just a few more hours."

Clemmie nodded, eyes betraying gentle concern. "And what about when it's finished?"

"Sleep," he said.

"Good. I was worried you'd just wander into space afterward, or decide to realign the ship's gravity controls for fun."

She studied him openly, her chin now resting on her palm. "You're a stubborn one, Rautajärvi. Most people would've given up and taken a nap hours ago."

He shifted in his chair, as if she'd laid a hand directly on his chest. "I didn't want to leave the adjustments half-finished. With Rel still under observation in Sickbay, and Aidan busy with warp core adjustments, I had to take care of the drifting deflector harmonics. And the resonance--"

She waved her free hand in a dismissive motion. "Yes, yes, your precious resonance. I know. But you look about one EPS conduit away from a coma."

He opened his mouth to reply but found nothing immediately present in his mind. Instead, he blinked, then chuckled low in his throat. "I don't think I've ever been described so... accurately."

Clemmie's grin softened just a little, becoming smaller and more private. She leaned forward a little. "I like it, though. That you care that much. It's rare."

He looked at her then, really looked, through his haze of exhaustion. Her face, so animated even when still, seemed to flicker with tiny sparks of kindness and mischief. Something caught in his chest--an ache that wasn't fatigue.

"You're... very kind," he said quietly, as if the words required analysis before release.

"Don't spread that around," she teased. "I have a reputation to uphold. Tell anyone, and I'll deny it with my last breath."

He smiled, slow and genuine this time.

They sat for a moment in silence, Clemmie sipping her tea, Rija's fingers still wrapped around the mug of raktajino he seemed reluctant to drink from again.

Finally, she spoke, voice lowered. "You know, you don't always have to fight the universe alone. There's no medal for staying awake the longest."

He tiled his head, considering. "On Ruoktu... there's a short season we call the dark winter. It's dark, and it's cold. It sometimes lasts for weeks without proper sun. You just kept moving. If you stopped, you froze. Simple."

She watched him intently, lips parted just slightly. "Well... you're not on Ruoktu now. We have heating. And space blankets. And friends who'd rather you not turn into a popsicle at your workstation."

Rija's eyes softened. "You're saying I'm stubborn again, huh?"

"I'm saying you're impossible," she corrected, though there was warmth in her voice. "But maybe... not hopeless."

He looked down into his mug as though the answer might be submerged somewhere in the inky black liquid. He only saw his reflection: a man fraying at the edges.

Clemmie rested her chin on her hand again. "What do you carve?"

He blinked. "Carve?"

"Your carving kit. You mentioned it, the day you arrived. I've been wondering."

He looked at his fingers, flexing him gently as if remembering the weight of the chisel. "Figures. Animals. Small scenes from homes. Nothing... useful."

"Useful?" She laughed and it was a warm sound that seemed to curl around him. "Art doesn't have to be useful, you know."

"I know," he said, then hesitated. "But sometimes it feels like it should be."

She tilted her head again. "Well. I think it's beautiful. Even if it's just... small scenes from home."

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally managed: "Thank you."

There was a long pause with only the sound of the mess hall's humming replicators filling the interlude.

Clemmie set her tea down carefully. "When you finish your modifications... and after you sleep for a century or two... you could show me. One of your carvings."

His brows rose, surprise evident. "You'd want to see that?"

"Of course." She smiled, slow and mischievous this time. "I have to see if you're as precise with wood as you are with deflectors."

He let out a weird breathy laugh, surprising even himself with the sound. "I don't know if they're... well, good enough to show."

She leaned forward with elbows now on the table, eyes bright. "That's not up to you to decide. I'll be the judge."

He looked at her, exhaustion pulling at every line of his face now. But there it was again--that faint glow beneath the tiredness.

"You're very determined," he replied, a tiny smile returning to his face.

"Occupational hazard," she teased. "Ops officers have to be. Otherwise engineers run amok and forget to sleep."

He laughed again, much softer now, shaking his head. "You're... very different from most people I've met in Starfleet."

She lifted a brow. "Is that good or bad?"

"Good," he said immediately before ducking his head shyly. "Very good."

Her grin melted into something similarly shy in return. "Well... I'll take that as a compliment."

They sat there, quietly suspended. Clemmie sipped the last of her tea, eyes still on him, and he, in turn, seemed to gather some small piece of warmth from her gaze.

Finally, she stood, collecting her tray. "Don't stay here too long, Rautajärvi. Finish your heroic engineering act, then go rest. Or I'll come find you myself and drag you to bed."

He glanced up sharply, blinking as if processing the words twice.

She laughed at his expression, redness climbing her neck. "I meant--drag you to sleep! Not--well, you know." She gave a small, embarrassed snort. "Oh, stars. I really should sleep too."

Rija looked at her, face still half-frozen in surprise, and then, slowly, he smiled--wider this time, warmth breaking through the fog of his fatigue.

"I... understood," he said softly.

She rolled her eyes, still blushing. "Goodnight, Rija."

"Goodnight, Clemmie."

She gave him one last, small wave before disappearing toward the exit.

Rija sat a moment longer, fingers curled around the mug gone lukewarm, eyes following the empty space where she'd been. Then, with a deep, steadying breath, he stood, collected himself, and turned back toward the corridor.

Three hours more. Then sleep.


* * *


Lieutenant Ánderijá "Rija" Rautajärvi
Assistant Chief Engineering Officer
USS Washington

&

Ensign Clementine "Clemmie" Vidamour
Operations Officer
USS Washington

 

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