Chapter Text
Commander Adler Singh Nielsen
First Officers Log
Stardate 50.97.8.6
Modern Starfleet regulations recommend that during an away mission, it is the duty of the first officer to lead the team on the ground while the captain stays on the bridge to manage the rest of the crew. In the best of circumstances, this prevents a lack of a leadership figure on the bridge if there are complications on the away mission, and in the worst, it prevents a poor turn of events turning into a ship losing both of her commanding officers. I’m saying this on the record so that whoever reads this knows that I know that it is an irresponsible decision for me to accompany the captain on this away mission.
In my defense, I have never had the problem of a captain being too eager to participate in the duties on this ship beyond the bare minimum until they were lucky enough, or gave the right admiral enough bottles of Romulan ale, to get a transfer to a different vessel. Captain Harper loved to regale their mission logs with what I would call a “flattering” retelling of missions to get their foot in the door, but you didn’t hear it from me. Captain Tanaka hid away in his ready room every day delegating most of the work to Zhiran and I while he listened to Kasseelian Opera. Hell, even my own father is far more comfortable in the captain’s chair of the Shotel than with his boots on the ground.
But not Altis. No, she wants to prove herself, prove that she's worthy of her commission, prove that her crew can keep up with the best of them. For someone who’s otherwise quite a stickler for regulations, she just loves getting into the field. Maybe she’s just an old soul, missing the glory days of the 23rd century. Understandable, since she technically lived through them. Or at least her symbiont did—the captain herself is only in her 30s, despite the experience that she carries herself with. Regardless, this would not usually be a problem. I have no issues with eager captains, even ones that I share my commission with. The problem is that despite knowing that she wants to leave and feeling that cold air of professionalism that she puts up between herself and the crew so that she doesn’t get too close to us before returning to her old ship, I find myself liking her. A lot. I like to hear her opinions, I like the way she cares for the crew even though she pretends she's all business. I like the way she comments on my coffee and how she says, “I just don’t get how you spend ten minutes making it from scratch when the replicator makes it just as good!” and then she tries it and her eyes just go wide as she realizes ‘oh shit he’s right and now I can’t drink replicated coffee anymore!’ and how she fights a laugh and a smile away from her face when I call her out on it!
Now, liking your captain isn’t against protocol. It isn’t even a bad thing to do, though it may be unprofessional. What is bad is when your captain plans an away mission to an ice moon to record a once in a generation solar aurora, and your resident ice moon-inhabiting crewmate comes down with the Ledovian Flu, and instead of letting one of the science officers volunteer, you shout out—
“Captain, I could accompany you on the mission to Setlik II,” I say. Before thinking about how that is a) not my job, b) markedly the opposite of my job, and c) not something I should have sounded as excited about.
“...Commander?” She asks. Her eyebrows furrow, as they tend to do that when she is caught off guard. Or thinking. Or embarrassed. She furrows her eyebrows a lot now that I think about it.
“With your permission of course.” Good save. “Zhiran and I have gone ice climbing once or twice,” which is true. “Also, Lieutenant Anari isn’t a fan of the cold.” Technically true, Denobula is a tropical world, but unnecessary.
“Commander Nielsen, you're aware that regulations advise against both senior officers going on an away mission together, correct?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, Captain, of course. I just know it's a lower-stakes mission and with me being on supervision during shore leave, I just thought I could get a chance to stretch my legs? Proverbially?” She takes a moment. Realistically I know it's a few seconds but it feels like hours. I was halfway through imagining every way she could call me irresponsible, unprofessional, maybe a foolish PetaH if she was feeling eccentric—she does speak Klingon.
“Sure. I don’t see why we can’t make an exception. Just this once. Meet me at the transporter room, tomorrow, 0500?” she asks.
“Y-yes! Of course, understood, Captain,” I say, stumbling over myself in a way I haven’t since I was in the academy on Luna. She nods. Giving me a courteous hand on the shoulder before turning around, leaving the ready room to the doors of the bridge, and leaving me alone. Listening to the off-tune thrum of the McKellan’s warp core.
A few moments pass, before what I just signed myself up for catches up to me.
Shit.