Stillness and Anger Pt 1

Posted on Mon Mar 30th, 2026 @ 9:10am by Captain Rhenora Kaylen & Commander Dean House & Remal Kajun

1,850 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Beholder
Location: Sickbay/Captain's Quarters
Timeline: Shortly following Batel's death.

Captain Kaylen Rhenora lingered in sickbay after Marie had passed, sittin quietly in the solomn environment. Everything and everyone seemed subdued, even the equipment seemed to function quieter. She took her time, murmouring the prayers most Bajorans uttered after the passing of a loved one. It felt a little odd, but she felt she and Dean were possibly the closest thing Marie had to a family, her own kin and loved ones would be long dead.

She held the cooling hand, promising to return to Earth to lay her with Chris, a little research would have to be done to local said grave if one even existed. Marie had said Earth, and so to Earth she would go.

Rhenora closed her eyes, letting the grief come here and now, no facade to upkeep, no decorum, just a woman grieving over the senseless death of another. Tears flowed, unbidden, with no attempt to hinder them. The grief would be replaced by anger, the injustice and lack of choice in everything grating her to the bone. Damn the Prophets and making her clean up their damn messes. Damn them for using her as a puppet dancing on a string, and damn them even more for letting Marie take the fall for their mishandling eons ago.

Hands that once swiped tears, balled into fists, and it took all her power to release the urge to throw something. She dragged in a ragged breath and forced the calm, at least temporarily.

Dean was still there, dealing in his own way. His religion was different than Rhenora's but they probably could relate on the most basic level. If Rhenora ever wanted to talk about it. Dean's questions were a lot more different however. Things like, was this a test of his Faith, or himself and just what he was willing to go through. Maybe it was both. A slew of other things he could think of on that front.

Of course he was angry here and there as well. Why not do what he'd planned and told them, use him, let her live. Let both of them live. They'd figured out how to keep the Vezda contained. They did pretty much everything right. Dean too wanted to throw something or punch something. That halted when he heard Rhenora's continued sobs.

Coming around from where he'd be, kind of off in a corner, Dean stopped in front of Rhenora. All he did was waited for her to lock eyes with him and then pulled her into an embrace.

They connected, thoughts, feelings, everything laid bare in those moments. Protocol be damned she was going to hug this man that had been rock solid for so long. She melted, tears stained cheeks dampening his uniform and leaving wet patches behind. She lingered, letting the comfort sooth the anger, temporarily.





Remal sat cross-legged on the floor, a simple game scattered between him and Patina. She was all motion and imagination, turning pieces into ships and stories, her energy filling the room in a way that felt real.

He watched her more than he played, offering the occasional nudge or gentle correction, but mostly just being present. There was a steadiness to him, the kind that didn’t need to announce itself. But as the minutes passed, something shifted. He grew still for a moment, head tilting slightly, as if listening to something just beyond the room.

His gaze drifted toward the door. Patina kept playing, unaware, but Remal slowly rose to his feet. He set things in order without thinking, clearing space, straightening what didn’t need straightening. Not preparation, exactly... more like instinct.

By the time the door opened, he was already there, quiet and ready, no questions, no assumptions, just a man who knew, somehow, that his wife was coming home carrying more than she should have to.

Rhenora was a mess, uncomposed, tear stained and barely holding it together, a testament to the raw reality of the situation. She stood at the doorway, dumb and mute, eyes overcome with emotion that was comfort and conflict all at once.

He moved with deliberate intention, approaching swiftly. He didn't know why she was crying, only that she was hurting inside. He had seen it many times before on the face of many people, including hers. Grief. He wrapped his arms around her in that door frame, steady and sure, pulling her in and taking all the emotion she was prepared to give.

It didn't take long for the temporarily walls that had gotten her from sickbay to their quarters to come down. Wrapped in his warm embrace she felt safe enough to let go completely, allowing her body and mind to grieve again fully. "She's dead" she said finally after what seemed like an eternity. "After all she has done, she's dead."

"Captain Batel?" He asked, his voice soothing in her ear. He pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face. "Alright, what do you need? A drink? Meditation? An ear?" He was there for her, for everything she would need. All she had to do was say the word, or if she couldn't voice what she needed, he was there for that too. "Tonight is all about your needs." Patina continued to play in the background, unbothered by events of adult lives, just doing normal toddler like things.

She fell to pieces, letting him guide her inside and sit her on the couch. Patina snuggled up for cuddles, not wanting to miss out on whatever attention was being dished out. "I don't know what I need, I feel grief and anger all at once, so loud it feels like its coming out of my pores" Rhenora explained, giving Patina a squeeze.

"Mumma sad?" The little one squeaked in het high pitched voice.

"Mumma sad. Someone close to Mumma died." Rhen wiped the tears with the back of her hand.

"Poor Mumma, poor someone who died. Play?"

"Not right now sweetie, Mumma needs... Mumma doesn't know what she needs."

It seemed to be enough for Patina who toddled off to play with something else that had caught her attention.

Rhenora turned back to Remal. "I'm angry that the Prophets used her, as they do us, to do their dirty work."

Their dirty work seemed to be an on-going story. Remal let her anger settle into the room without interruption, giving it the same space he had given her grief. His hand came to rest on hers, steady and warm, an anchor more than a restraint. He lowered himself onto the couch beside her, bringing himself level so she would not have to carry the weight alone or look up to be heard.

“You’re have every right to feel angry,” he said, his voice quiet but certain. “Whatever they ask of you, whatever they set in motion, it still leaves you holding the baggage.” His fingers shifted slightly, a small grounding pressure. “You don’t have to make peace with it tonight. But you should consider letting it settle.” He sat with her a while longer, giving her time more than anything.

The rage, like the grief before it abated, leaving her feeling empty and raw. At some point Remal and served a hearty glass of spring wine, and shot glass with bourbon next to it in case her mood demanded something darker. Something bubbled on the stove, sending comforting aromas through the room. She sat, glass in hand. Numb.

Remal moved through the room with a quiet rhythm, each motion deliberate in a way that asked nothing of her in return. The glass of Spring Wine found its place within her reach, the blanket settled around her shoulders with a comforting familiarity that came from years rather than thought.

At the stove, he stirred and adjusted, the soft sounds of preparation filling the space in a way that felt steady rather than intrusive. His attention returned to her in quiet intervals, not searching for answers, only keeping a thread between them so she would never feel untethered.

“Take a sip,” he said after a time, gentle and even, his tone carrying the same care as everything else he had done. “You’ve carried enough for one day. Let something small carry you for a moment.” As he said it Patina yawned on his hip, a sign from something else that was so small.

She didn't feel like eating but knew it was necessary, her body and mind had been running on empty for days. Remal knew it, she knew it, and he always knew just what to make to get her to eat even when she didn't feel like it. A warm stew, comforting, nourishing, served with warm bread and a slab of butter. Wasn't it odd how every planet seemed to have their own equivalent of it?

He took his place across from her with the same calm presence, the meal set between them as something simple and honest. The bread was torn and buttered without ceremony, placed within her reach as though the act itself might ease the distance between intention and action.

The warmth of the stew rose between them, quiet and familiar, asking nothing more than a willingness to accept it. “Try to eat. It doesn't take much,” he said, his voice low. “Just enough to keep you going.” His eyes lifted to hers for a brief moment, steady and reassuring, before giving her the space to choose her own pace.

"Thank you" she said simply as she wiped her mouth on the napkin, setting it aside before rising and clearing the table. With the dishes done she headed for their shrine, the small monument in their bedroom that had once been the utmost testament of their faith. That faith now dangled by the barest of threads, frayed once again by the recent events. She knew she held a privileged position, to speak so openly and directly with the Prophets where millions just hoped and prayed. That sword cut both ways.

Settling in a cross legged position on the floor, ignoring the aching in her legs and hips, she closed her eyes and focused on the flickering of the candle, allowing it to draw her in.

Remal followed her only as far as the threshold, where the soft glow of candlelight met the quiet of the room beyond. He remained there for a moment, watching as she settled, as the weight of the day began to turn inward toward something deeper and more personal than he could reach. This was a space that belonged to her, shaped by faith, by doubt, by everything she carried that had no easy name.

He inclined his head slightly, a gesture that held respect without intrusion, and let the silence remain whole. When he stepped back, it was with the same care he had shown all evening, leaving her the room she needed while staying close enough that the distance between them could always be crossed. Patina yawned again, signaling his attention needed to shift again, if only temporarily to put her to sleep.


TBC

 

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