The Emerald Fern, Part 2
Taral81424
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[Starbase Bravo - The Emerald Fern Spa]
[Day 04 - 2100 Hours]
Juliet knew the instant she left The Emerald Fern on Day One that she'd be back before Day Five. And here she was again, a scant three days later. Her nails were still pristine, as was her face, but today she wanted a proper massage.
But tonight, she had made her reservation for two, not for one. Because she won a bet with an up-and-coming Commander who promised to join her and let himself be pampered. Would he feel silly? Maybe. Would that amuse the Commodore? Definitely. Would both feel refreshed and reinvigorated after four days of presentations? Absolutely.
Curith, the Romulan refugee who had been a beautician in her former life, stood with one of her colleagues, waiting for Mr. Raan Mason to arrive.
Commodore Juliet St. Clair
Executive Officer, Task Force 93 | Commanding Officer, USS Saturn
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Raan approached the Emerald Fern Spa with a small amount of trepidation and more than a little amusement. This time last night he’d been dressed in leather and fur, drinking synth-ale and tonight… well, he had no idea what to expect so he’d opted for a wrap-over shirt and pants suitable for ninety-nine percent of situations. As long as they weren’t going to be doing yoga or something, he should be fine.
He reached the spa, feeling a little self-conscious when heads turned as he walked in. He appeared to be the only guy here… a second later though, that ceased to be relevant as he spotted the little blue-haired commodore waiting with a couple of the spa's staff.
A smile curved his lips as he approached. “Apologies if I’m late, there was what must have been a hundred person pile-up by turbolift four.”
“Sounds about right,” Juliet said with a laugh. “That happened to me on arrival day. Nice outfit, by the way, but it won’t matter.” She was still in uniform, though the jacket was unzipped. She wasn’t on duty, but hadn’t been able to get back to her cabin.
The two staff, one Romulan and one Betazoid, led the pair into a back room. A pair of massage tables dominated the centre of the room, each with a comfortable cushion out front of it for the customer’s face. Along the back wall, there were a number of doors to changing stalls. “In there,” Juliet said, pointing to one of them, “strip down and put on a towel. Come back here and Ms. Sidat here will direct you further.” She grinned at the two staff. “Commander Mason’s never had a massage before.”
She left him alone to enter her own change-room.
Commodore Juliet St. Clair
Executive Officer, Task Force 93 | Commanding Officer, USS Saturn
“Yes, ma’am.”
The little cubicle had him feeling like a bull in a china shop. He managed to strip down and wrapped the towel around himself. Unfortunately, it was no larger than a postage stamp. He kept a hand on it to make sure it didn't slip as he walked back out, finding himself the object of attention for the two therapists. It was like being stared at by two raptors.
“This way please,” the betazoid indicated the right-hand bed, patting it with a gentle hand. “You’ve never had a massage before?”
He shook his head as he approached the bed, trying to figure out how to get on it elegantly and with the towel still in place. He didn’t miss the slight smile as the two therapists busied themselves with their preparations. Eventually he managed it, looking up as Juliet emerged from her changing cubicle, wrapped in a matching towel.
Thankfully, the identical towel on the Commodore neatly covered everything that needed covering. She wasn't ashamed to admit that her eyes lingered on Raan's frame. She was impressed, especially given that he was -- to her great surprise -- older than she was. For her it was good genes and the best medicine and self-care the Federation could offer. For him, the fact that his species was longer-lived apparently contributed.
"Eyes front, soldier," she chided before climbing onto the massage table. Face down, Curith helped her adjust the towel so it covered her hips but left her back and shoulders accessible. "Do me a favour, ladies? Use the nice smelling oils for this one. Maybe lavender? Or vanilla?"
"We also have chamomile," offered the Betazoid, Sidat, with a grin.
"Oh, that sounds lovely," Juliet replied. "Sounds good for me. But we'll let him pick, so long as he comes out smelling fancy."
Commodore Juliet St. Clair
Executive Officer, Task Force 93 | Commanding Officer, USS Saturn
“Ma’am,” he said with a grin, making sure to look away as she settled herself on the massage table. The curves under that towel hadn’t escaped his notice, but he was too much of a gentleman to say anything. He didn’t have permission to make a comment of that nature.
The mention of oils though had him turning his head, pillowed on his forearms, to look at the little gaggle of women. “Define ‘fancy’?” he asked, fairly sure he was going to end up smelling like a bouquet after this. But… that didn’t bother him. In fact, so far he was enjoying the experience, not that he would admit that out loud in public.
Juliet giggled. "We'll let our hosts pick for you, so you can find out."
She closed her eyes and allowed Curith to begin working the oil into her shoulders. A good posture was something she still struggled with. While she'd spent years behind enemy lines, most of her career was in chairs reading off computer screens. Three days listening to briefings did not do her back or shoulders any favours. She moaned as the masseuse worked out a particularly difficult knot. "I swear, Curith, when my command comes in, I'm poaching you for it. You're too good to me."
The masseuse laughed pleasantly as she continued to work.
"So, Raan -- if I may call you Raan -- I couldn't help but notice your ink, or the scar on your back. I bet there are some stories there."
Commodore Juliet St. Clair
Executive Officer, Task Force 93 | Commanding Officer, USS Saturn
Her giggle was more girlish than he’d expected and delightful.
“Raan is fine, I even answer to ‘oi you’ occasionally.” He turned his head slightly, sliding her a sideways look. “Are we in a position for me to ask a similar question or am I sticking with ma’am for now?”
He nodded to the masseuse as she picked one of the oils and poured some of his between his shoulder blades. He’d expected it to be cold but it was warm as were the therapist’s hands as she started to work on his shoulders.
“The tattoos are unit markings,” his voice was low as he answered. “My planet went through a nasty war and I ended up in a few different units as we were moved about. The scar…” He started to shrug then remembered about the masseuse and stopped the movement. “Assassination attempt. Thankfully, they failed.”
He nodded toward her shoulder. “Looks like you have a few stories of your own to tell…”
"Raan, we're not on duty, and I'm wearing a towel," she observed dryly. "I think 'Juliet' is fine." She turned her head enough to look at him. "And while a lot of our scars can be healed, I prefer leaving the ones that tell our stories. The burn on my shoulder is from the Battle of Suah'Dron. Borg incursion. I was First Officer of the USS Jupiter. Wonderful Akira-class ship. A burning piece of debris came down from the bridge ceiling. I got this. My Captain wasn't so lucky. That's how I got my first command."
She rolled over slightly, the masseuse backing off a moment. One arm covered her chest while she exposed her stomach to him. Flat and toned, it was decorated with a number of scars. "These ones were courtesy of some very pleasant people in the Obsidian Order." She rolled back onto her stomach and allowed the massage to continue. "This is why I treat myself so nicely now. In our line of work, most people won't."
Commodore Juliet St. Clair
Executive Officer, Task Force 93 | Commanding Officer, USS Saturn
Raan nodded. His father had wanted him to get both his unit ink and the scar removed but Raan had always refused. As she pointed out, they told stories and those were stories, and lessons, that were hard-earned. He didn’t want to forget them.
He managed not to wince at the scars on her stomach. Wounds there… yeah, that train of thought wasn’t a nice one. Not at all. Ruthlessly, he trampled the protectiveness that wanted to surge through him as his estimation of the petite woman went up further. She was intelligence originally though, and as far as he was concerned, they were very dangerous people indeed.
“No, that’s very true,” he commented, a small groan escaping him as the therapist hit a particularly tight knot in the small of his back. “I could get used to it.”
"I told you," she said with wide smile on her face. "People still make fun of me for this, and I couldn't get another Admiral in here to save my life, but I stand by it. I took shore leave after Operation: Gatecrasher and spent most of a month in spas on half a dozen worlds."
Curith moved up to her neck and began working out what felt like a year of accumulated tension. What had begun as a joke earlier about poaching this Romulan refugee from Starbase Bravo turned into a plan. Maybe she can set up a place of her own on 86? Or even on Saturn herself?
"I'm glad you joined me today, Raan," she said, giving him a warm smile before closing her eyes as some new knot was undone.
Commodore Juliet St. Clair
Executive Officer, Task Force 93 | Commanding Officer, USS Saturn
He laughed as he filed the information away. Obviously, the way into her good books was a spa treatment.
“Oh, I see your game,” he teased. “Lure a poor, unsuspecting junior officer in here as a lamb to the slaughter.” He put on a mock-innocent look that was completely out of place on his countenance. The effect was ruined when Sidat hit a knot that made him groan again.
He looked at Juliet over his folded arms. She looked so peaceful.
“I am too. I’m glad I lost the bet. Although,” he closed his eyes again. “I’d have lost anyway, even if I hadn’t learned anything about klingons in your briefing.”
Colour came to her face as she understood his meaning. She grinned. "You missed out then on me stepping on your feet in a ballroom dancing lesson. I've not danced over twenty years. It would have been a sight. Plus I look damn good in a ball gown." She smirked and closed her eyes again. "But I guess you'll never know."
Commodore Juliet St. Clair
Executive Officer, Task Force 93 | Commanding Officer, USS Saturn
“I’m an idiot,” he chuckled, then looked over his arm at her again. “And I bet you do. Very unfair to tease though, when I won’t get to see you in your finery…”
"Well, tell you what. From next month on you can find me either aboard USS Saturn in the vicinity of Klingon space, or at Starbase 86. If they assign you to Task Force 93, and you find yourself along the Klingon border, look me up and we'll have that lesson."
It was at this point that Curith began working out some particularly tight knots in the small of Juliet's back, which brought the Commodore's attention from the future into the immediate present.
Commodore Juliet St. Clair
Executive Officer, Task Force 93 | Commanding Officer, USS Saturn
“I will certainly do that.”
His reply was low. He didn’t know yet where he would be assigned, what ship or task-force, and he didn’t believe in the god of his childhood anymore, so praying was out. He would have to resort to crossing his fingers or something. One thing he was determined on though... someday, he would get that lesson.
He closed his eyes, quiet as Sidat worked out the knots in his back. He hadn’t realised he was so tight. “I’m not sure I’m going to want to move after this."
"I know what you mean," she replied. "We'll figure this out. We're competent Starfleet command officers."
Her mind, however, couldn't work right. Not until the massage ended. "Something about transporters? But we probably don't have authority on-station to approve a site-to-site transport." She sighed. "We might need to walk out of here, Raan."
Commodore Juliet St. Clair
Executive Officer, Task Force 93 | Commanding Officer, USS Saturn
He groaned. "There has to be another way... Perhaps we can rig these things to float or something. Anti-gravity beds? We could just float down the hall?" There was just one problem there. That plan would require engineering capability, and he was better at blowing things up.
"There's nothing for it," he announced. "One of us is going to have to carry the other. How's your weightlifting?" He pretended to eye her up. "We could toss a coin?"
Juliet smirked. "Alas, we have no coins. And I'm not going out there in a towel, Raan."
The massage ended, and Curith helped the Commodore sit up and get her towel back into place. "Come on, then. If I can move, so can you. Tell you what. I had Ai acquire some ales the other night. I wanted to share a drink with my favourite Yeoman. There's two left. Get up, get dressed, and we'll share a nightcap."
Commodore Juliet St. Clair
Executive Officer, Task Force 93 | Commanding Officer, USS Saturn
“Sounds like a wonderful way to round off an evening…”
No one could accuse Raan of being slow. Sitting up, he managed to keep the towel in place with a little maneuvering, smiled his thanks to Sidat and went to get changed.
He was waiting when Juliet emerged from the cubicles, pushing off from the wall and offering his arm as she approached. It was an oddly formal gesture, one from his homeworld, and halfway through it he realised Juliet had an odd way of getting beneath his barriers and making him reveal things he normally kept hidden.
Intelligence for sure, he decided. They were wily and to be watched.
“So,” he smiled. “Where are we headed?”