Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Captain Dowe was more than proud of her ready room—especially the antique pink cat clock she had grabbed. From the year of twenty twenty nine. . .

Her eyes wandered along the stars outside of her window, Cait just in the distance. So much had happened in the last few days–especially with the EMH. One going a bit off course, or having a change of programming–especially after Voyager’s little adventure. But tampering with ones mind and harming people? That’s a stretch that even command would have a hard time believing. Before Jetta could think anymore on it, there was a ring of her rooms doorbell.

“Enter.” She called, turning in her chair to see Sylvester at the doorframe. “Commander! Always a pleasure.”

“Captain.” He sat down at the seat across from her desk. “How are you?”

“I’m doing quite well. How are you feeling?” She leaned forward, smiling at him.

“Therapy is going well.” Sylvester let out a sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck, his discomfort already showing. “I just. . .came here to apologize.”

“For what reason?” Jetta grabbed a cup of tea off the table and took a sip. “Sylvester, you were under the influence of a hormonal imbalance and essentially drugged. I’m not going to hold you to something you aren’t in control of.”

“Either way.” He stood up and walked over to the window. “Some of those feelings were still very real. Some of them still came from deep rooted problems. Ones I haven’t figured out.” Jetta watched as her first officer cleared his throat and turned back to her, picking up the other cup set down and poured from the kettle. His movements were exact and calculated–but ever so shaky.

“You’re okay, Commander. I understand.”

“I know you do.” Sylvester gave a sad smile. “But I’m still a senior officer. You’re still my Captain. No matter what the circumstances. . . ”

“I think it’s a learning experience for all of us.” Captain Dowe rose up from her seat and grabbed her cup, walking next to the XO and nudging him. “We’ve been through hell and back on this ship, Mikhailov. You think some squabbling will make me look at you any less?”

“Tch, no.” Sylvester smirked at her, side-eyeing the Captain. “We’re in this together; till the damn ship blows up.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Jetta raised her cup. “I’ll drink to that indeed.”