The Edge to Trollveggen The Night

Posted on Fri Apr 17th, 2026 @ 8:03pm by Commander Jenna Ramthorne & Commander Rosa Coy

2,040 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Character Development
Location: Earth - Paris France

Evening settled across Paris with a slow ignition of light that traced the streets in gold and reflection, the city drawing breath as windows brightened and voices gathered along narrow avenues. Rosa moved through it with a measured pace, her body carrying the quiet reminders of injury with each step while something beneath that surface leaned toward warmth, toward contact, toward the simple act of being among the living without the sterile distance of controlled recovery.

She chose a café that spilled gently onto the street, its tables close enough to invite observation without demanding participation. The faint script of café, vin, dîner curled along the glass behind the counter, soft amber light reflecting in the polished wood. She lowered herself into the chair with care, the motion deliberate, her ribs tightening briefly before easing as she settled. The chair held her. The world moved around her.

A server approached, her presence composed and fluid, her dark hair falling in a loose wave over one shoulder as she leaned in just enough to hear without intruding. “Bonsoir,” she said, the word carrying warmth that felt practiced yet sincere. Her scent permeated the table and saturated Rosa's nose with sweet perfume.

“Bonsoir,” Rosa returned, the syllables settling comfortably on her tongue.

She ordered slowly, tasting the words before they left her mouth, selecting something rich, something that carried weight and texture rather than efficiency. The server inclined her head with a soft "très bien" and moved away.

Food arrived with quiet ceremony. Butter melted across warm bread. Wine settled into the glass with a soft curve that caught the light. Rosa lifted it, inhaled, then drank, letting it rest on her tongue before swallowing, allowing herself the full measure of the experience rather than rushing through it.

There it is, Handzon murmured, his voice threading through the sensation, low and pleased. You slow it down and suddenly everything starts to feel, better. Savor this feeling, make it last.

Rosa set the glass down and let her gaze drift across the street. People moved in pairs, in clusters, in solitary lines that crossed and merged without pattern. Laughter rose and faded. A woman at the next table leaned forward as she spoke, her hand resting lightly along the edge of her companion’s wrist, her posture open, engaged.

Rosa watched the motion of it, the subtle language of bodies leaning toward one another, pulling back, circling closer again.

That one has a way about her, Handzon continued, attention narrowing. Look at how she holds herself. Hips set just right. She knows exactly what she’s doing without trying too hard.

Rosa followed the line of his attention and let it settle without resistance. The woman turned slightly, catching Rosa’s gaze with an easy confidence that carried curiosity rather than hesitation. A faint smile touched her mouth, unforced, and she lifted her glass in a small, acknowledging gesture. “À votre santé.” To your health.

Rosa returned it. “À la vôtre.” The shift felt simple. Natural. A line drawn and crossed without effort.

Conversation followed with the same ease. The woman moved her chair closer, her voice carrying a soft accent shaped by the region, her tone warm, engaged, curious without pressing. They spoke of small things at first, of travel, of the way Paris seemed to "respirer différemment" breath Differently, once the light softened and the city leaned into its evening rhythm.

Rosa let herself answer without filtering each word through layers of caution. She felt the rhythm of it return, the simple act of engaging another person without calculation.

See, Handzon said, quieter now, closer. You don’t have to fight this. You just have to let it happen.

Rosa studied the woman as she spoke, noting the way her hands moved as she explained something, the slight tilt of her head when she listened, the way her attention held steady rather than drifting.

She felt the pull build. Warm. Familiar. Present. And this time, she did not step away from it.

“I don’t feel like going back to a sterile room tonight,” Rosa said, her voice lower, carrying a quiet honesty that settled between them without pretense.

The woman’s gaze held hers, understanding moving through her expression with clarity that required no explanation. “Alors… viens avec moi,” she replied softly. Come with me.

The decision formed without resistance. Rosa rose with care, her body reminding her of its limits even as something else guided her forward. They moved together through the streets, their pace unhurried, the distance between them closing in subtle increments until proximity became a shared space rather than an accidental one.

The apartment held warmth that the med bay never could. Light pooled in soft corners. Fabric carried texture. The air held the faint trace of something lived in, something human. A window stood slightly open, letting in the distant murmur of the city and the soft echo of footsteps along stone.

The woman guided Rosa inside with a gentle hand at her arm, her touch steady, attentive to the way Rosa moved. She closed the door behind them, the outside world settling into a quiet distance.

“Tu es blessé.,” You’re hurt, she said softly, her eyes moving across Rosa with a careful assessment that held concern without alarm.

“I’ve had worse,” Rosa replied, though the words carried less deflection than truth.

The woman stepped closer, her hands lifting to Rosa’s jacket, pausing just long enough to allow refusal before continuing. Rosa gave none.

Fabric shifted as it came away, the motion slow, deliberate, her touch adjusting for each reaction Rosa’s body offered. Fingers brushed along her shoulders as the jacket slipped free, the contact warm, grounding, carrying an awareness that moved through Rosa’s skin with quiet intensity.

Careful, Handzon murmured, his tone threading through the moment, like a smirk at the edge of a grin. This is where it gets good.

Rosa let the sensation settle without chasing it. She allowed the closeness, the warmth, the attention, while keeping her awareness anchored in the present moment.

The woman guided her to sit, her hand lingering briefly at Rosa’s side as she adjusted the way she settled. “Dis-moi où ça fait mal,” she said gently. Tell me where it hurts.

Rosa exhaled slowly. “Ribs,” she said. “Shoulder. Pride took a hit too.”

The woman smiled faintly at that, her fingers moving with care along the edge of the bandaging, not probing, only acknowledging. “On va faire attention,” she said. We'll be careful.

Her hands remained steady as they moved, mapping space, learning boundaries, adjusting pressure with an instinct that felt practiced and attentive. The contact carried intention, without urgency, and that distinction shaped the moment into something deeper than impulse.

Let her take more, Handzon said, his voice lowering, coaxing. She wants to. I know you feel that. You could give her everything she’s asking for. Everything we desire.

Rosa felt it. The pull rose, strong and immediate, threading through her body with a familiar heat that invited surrender. She did not push it away. Instead, she guided it.

Her hand lifted, finding the woman’s wrist, not to stop her, but to slow the pace, to set a rhythm that matched her own breathing rather than the rising urgency beneath it. Their eyes met, and something unspoken aligned between them, a shared understanding of pace, of presence, of the shape the moment would take.

Closeness built. Breath met breath. Lips met lips. Skin met skin. The space between them narrowed into something charged and deliberate, every movement carrying awareness rather than instinct alone.

Handzon remained there, present, engaged, his attention sharpened by the control Rosa held.

You’re doing this your way, he said, something almost appreciative threading through his tone. I knew you had it in you this whole time.

Time moved differently within that space, stretching and folding as sensation replaced thought. Rosa allowed herself to feel it fully, the warmth, the contact, the quiet intensity of shared presence that required no performance.

And when the moment reached its natural crest, when the pull toward more began to press at the edges of her control, she chose. She slowed.

She let the space widen just enough to breathe again, her hand guiding the shift, her body easing back from the line before it crossed into something deeper than she intended.

The woman felt it, understood it, her expression shifting into something softer, accepting without question. She leaned back slightly, her hand resting lightly against Rosa’s arm, the contact still present, though no longer advancing.

They remained there for a time, close, quiet, the energy settling into something warm and contained.

Rosa stood before the night fully gave way to morning. The city outside still held a soft hush, the first hints of dawn threading through the horizon as she gathered her things with careful, deliberate movements.

The woman watched her from the bed they'd shared, her expression open, curious, though she did not ask for anything Rosa had no intention of giving.

Rosa stepped closer, her hand brushing lightly along the woman’s arm, a final point of contact that carried more meaning than words could hold. “Merci,” she said, her voice quiet, steady. She planted a kiss upon the woman's cheek.

The woman’s smile deepened, something knowing in it. “Vous êtes déjà partie.,” she replied softly. You've already departed.

Rosa returned the look, a faint curve touching her mouth before she turned and stepped out into the early morning air.

The city greeted her with a cool breath, streets still damp from the night, light gathering slowly along the edges of buildings as she made her way toward the transport depot. A boulangerie nearby had already opened its doors, the scent of fresh bread drifting into the street, warm and grounding.

Her body carried the memory of the night alongside the ache of her injuries, both present, both very real.

You could’ve stayed, Handzon said, his voice low, reflective.

Rosa walked on, her pace steady, her attention forward. “I got what I came for,” she said.

And what was that?

She considered the question as the depot came into view, its structure clean and functional against the waking city. “A reminder,” she said, “that I get to decide how far it goes.”

Fair enough, Handzon replied, something thoughtful settling into his tone.

Choice exercised within influence strengthens integration, Coy observed, his voice calm, expansive, carrying the quiet weight of agreement.

Rosa stepped onto the platform, the hum of the transporter building beneath her feet as coordinates aligned and systems engaged. Light gathered, rising around her in a controlled field that lifted her from the ground and carried her upward, dissolving the city into energy and motion.

Paris faded. The starbase waited.

And Rosa carried the night with her, as something she had shaped and left on her own terms. Choice.

Rosa carried it all with her now, the climb written into her body, the edge met and held, the moment she stepped forward and claimed the fall as her own before shaping it into flight, the speed that followed along the valley floor until one very ill-tempered elk decided to challenge her trajectory and collect its due; she had taken the impact, endured the stillness, listened as her mother searched for the daughter she remembered, as a nurse offered warmth that grounded rather than claimed, as her captain measured her with quiet expectation, and somewhere between all of it she had tasted life again, rich food, living streets, and a night of tenderness chosen with clear intent; she had found the Edge of Trollveggen, walked it, and jumped, and with the full weight of it behind her she knew she would choose it again without hesitation, every second of it, every breath of it, every lesson earned along the way, save perhaps for the elk, which she fully intended to hold personally responsible.


TBC

 

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