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The tendrils on Abstract’s face writhe and brush against Clover’s whiskers as they kiss, as Clover slips small gasp-purrs into Abstract’s blue lips, as the ship freezes in stasis around their locked bodies, immobilized in the time stream, merged in the moment. Clover has wanted this for—
“Um, hi—ah, greetings? Captain…Abstract? I’m Ensign Clover V’Lyty. My specialty is, um, xenoveterinary. I’ll be looking after any injured or sick animals we may come across.”
The Captain actually trips over her own feet - fucking somehow - as she stumbles miles and miles through her office in a very valiant attempt to greet Clover. When she finally reaches her destination—her hand warm in Clover’s, their palms both damp with sweat—she gives an awkward smile, and nods.
“Greetings, Ensign,” says Abstract Merp. She inhales, as if preparing to drone out a long speech, but what comes out is more impassioned and raw than any memory Clover can conjure in the moment: “Long ago, the first spacewalkers of my kind were pleased when they finally managed to develop the technology that would allow them to exit the atmosphere and view our planet from above. They looked down upon the planet and shook in awe of its beauty, elegance, and potential. Just as they were excited to have sparked a new age of space exploration, I am excited to greet every member of my crew. Inside of me, as we prepare to leave the station and embark on our mission to the comforts of the wilderness and all that dwells within it, I feel only a universe-expanding warmth, and I cannot wait.”
Clover laughs. “Wow, is that what you tell all the girls?”
But Abstract only frowns. “I… apologize. I give a variant of this speech to each fresh crewmember. The woman who will be our first officer, Commander T’Via, translates for me on an eternal basis; however, for a reason that seems to have escaped the void of me, she has not returned from her meeting with the Admiral two hours before this second.”
This is when Clover r e a l i z e s: oh, she Just Talks Like That.
Clover has wanted this for—-
a very long time. She is a creature that has transformed beyond recognition because of its desire, a real horror movie monster directed from her own hands, her own puppeted strings, her own fingers inside the teal of Abstract’s hair. A captain and her most trusted, most beloved ensign, following behind her and floating above her and holding her close. It’s odd to think that they’ve been out here for a year now. It’s odd to think that most people would consider this immoral.
Abstract’s hands curl under Clover’s uniform, but she pushes Clover away too fast for either of them to process, her hand entwining with Clover’s just as their hands had when they shook for the first time all those months, years, centuries ago, in the Before, in the Pre-Universe of their universe. She gives a solemn smile.
“You know that we are unable to speak freely of this entanglement of ours… I will help you if you desire aid in controlling the fury that stirs within you; I know that it boils you up, scorching you from the inside just underneath the surface, and I do not judge… but we cannot have a repeat of such an incident as your actions the other day. This must remain a secret.”
Clover scoffs. “I know—” she stops herself before she can launch into anger—-breathe in, breathe out, as Dr. Diaz had said, hold for six seconds, exhale for six seconds, breathe in for six seconds, hold—close your eyes and imagine a calmer world— “I know,” she continues. “I’m sorry. I just lost my temper when he said that to you. I played it off as just being really defensive of my captain, but I mean—come on, Abstract, you know he thinks—”
“Yes,” Abstract interrupts. “I am aware of his opinion on me. I am aware that he sees my eccentricities and my manner of speech and views me as a disjointed exhibit. As he put it: A “joke”. But I am accustomed to this treatment. You must be, too.” She kisses Clover’s forehead. “You must not disrespect a Starfleet admiral. It will not win us any favors.”
“It’s not fair!” Clover cries, her fists pounding into her thighs. “I don’t think people should be allowed to treat you that way.”
“Perhaps, but it is the hand that I have been dealt in the intricacies of life’s game, and I must play it as the rules instruct.”
Clover squeezes Abstract’s hand. “I wish we didn’t have to lie about this.”
Another kiss, more heat, and the fire of Clover’s anger burns out beneath Abstract’s touch, taming her into a domesticated beast, something walking on four legs, heeling for its owner. “As do I,” says Abstract. “Trust me.”
And oh! How Abstract wants to sing, to scratch Clover behind her feline ears and kiss her in all of the holy, hallowed places, to ride up her uniform and feel Clover’s essence and touch the innards of her soulguts and get her there, to worship her beautiful young muse, painted and performed and honored. But she cannot.