Evening Rainchecks

Posted on Tue Oct 21st, 2025 @ 4:15am by Lieutenant JG Koaruh Avestro & Lieutenant Evelyn Stewart

2,523 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Year One: The Point of No Return
Location: USS Moore - Evelyn Stewart’s Quarters
Timeline: MD: 001 20:00 hrs

Evelyn finished lighting last of the small candles around the living space, placing the last on the table. With a sigh, she took her hair down from the simply ponytail she put it in while she worked throughout her quarters. “Computer, dim the lights to one quarter illumination. And play something soft from my personal database.” She ordered, noticing lighting shifting to a more relaxing and intimate setting, the room only lit by the streaking stars and few strategically placed candles before hearing a piano etude come through the hidden speakers.

Shaking her dark hair loose, she smoothed the front of her shirt and loose pants, fidgeting at being out of uniform so early in the evening.

Koaruh slowed outside her door, a bottle of Betazoid red tucked under one arm and a small paper bag in his hand. Quick check: proper wine (not synthehol), two real glasses, a corkscrew, and a box of illegal-looking chocolates.

He let the corridor quiet fall behind his shields and pictured the room on the other side—candles, Evelyn out of uniform and finally off duty. A corner of his mouth kicked up.

“Evening raincheck,” he murmured to himself.

He shifted the bag, freed a knuckle, and tapped the chime—then stood easy, hands full, waiting for her “come in.”

Evelyn waited on the replicator to finish with the entrees when she heard the chime. “Come in.” She called casually over her shoulder, not even waiting for Koaruh to enter before she continued on. “Hey. Give me just a second.” She explained over her shoulder, not rushed or flustered but her attention on minding her impatience with the replicator before bringing the two plates of linguine and Bajoran shrimp to the place settings at the table.

It was only then she turned and gave Koaruh her full attention, smirking at his full arms. “What’s all this?” She asked amused.

Koaruh slipped in as the doors parted, nudging them closed with his heel. “Evening, chef,” he said, eyes flicking from the candlelight to the steam off her plates. “Smells criminal.”

He lifted his haul a touch like evidence. “This? Standard-issue raincheck kit.” He set the bottle on the table with a flourish. “Betazoid red—plays nicely with shrimp if you let it breathe.” Then the paper bag: two real glasses, a corkscrew, and a tiny box. “And a box of extremely suspect chocolates.”

He leaned in to brush a quick kiss to her cheek—warm, unhurried—then stepped aside so she could plate. “Want me to pour? Promise not to spill on your impeccable table setting.” A grin. “Unless you’re going for ‘abstract wine pattern’—in which case, I’m very talented.”

Stewart smirked as she focused on the replicator to finish preparing the last of the meal and replicated the garlic sauce. She glanced up at Koaruh to answer his question as she worked. “You came armed. I usually don’t have men bring weapons into my quarters until at least the eighth week of dating.” She teased with a comfortable smile before putting the bowl to the side next to the replicator to take the vegetables it offered, wisps of steam rising from the bowl. “Just don’t stain the carpet.” She said about his pouring as she padded across said carpet in her bare feet, unhurried as she finished preparing the setting.

She eyed the chocolates. “How exactly are these suspect?” She asked curious before moving to her side of the table, waiting for Koaruh to sit, not quite able to escape the Vulcan customs ingrained into her.

Koaruh’s mouth tipped into a wicked little smile. He set the box down between the plates and tapped it with a knuckle. “Because they’re Betazoid aphrodisiac chocolates,” he confessed, all faux-innocence. “Proper stuff—mirthroot-infused cacao. Perfectly legal on Betazed, deeply ‘frowned at’ by most station quartermasters.”

He slid the wine onto the drip napkin like a man following orders. “Low dose, mood-warm rather than mind-melting. One each if we’re being respectable, two if we’re feeling like letting your neighbours hear.” A beat, softer, sincere: “Or we can save them for another night. No pressure—just a fun contraband option.”

He caught her lingering by the chair and, without making a thing of it, took his seat first, then poured carefully. The grin returned as he raised his glass. “To this evening… and very poor choices made responsibly.”

Stewart’s eyes snapped to Koaruh’s when he explained the aphrodisiac, mildly-but pleasantly surprised. “Well, well, Counselor. Quite the little rule breaker aren’t you?” She teased. A playful smirk on her lips that she couldn’t resist or lose as she sat across from him.

“When are we ever responsible?” She asked rhetorically as she met his glass with hers. She took a healthy sip and commented approvingly on the year before letting the soft piano fill the silence comfortably with the clinking of the dishes as they started eating.

Koaruh’s grin crooked as their glasses met. “Only the fun laws,” he murmured. “Taxes, recycling… and not staining your carpet. On those I’m painfully responsible.”

He tasted, then nodded at her plate. “That’s outrageous, by the way. Garlicky, bright—if this isn’t illegal, it should be.” He twirled a forkful, relaxed into the candlelight, and let the piano carry a few quiet beats.

Under the table his ankle brushed hers—light, testing, playful. “For the record,” he added, eyes warm, “mirthroot gets all the headlines, but the real aphrodisiac is dinner with you.”

He paused for a moment, softer. “How’s the shoulder—behaving? And give me one good thing from your day that wasn’t leaving orbit.”

Evelyn’s toe froze against Koaruh’s ankle, the playful motion gone. Her shoulders tensed, fork pausing mid-air as her eyes snapped to his. She held his gaze for a long moment — too long — jaw tight with the effort to keep from saying something she’d regret.

Then she sat back, the movement sharp but deliberate, reclaiming the space between them. The fork clattered softly against the plate. With a small, tense flick of her hand, she gestured between them — the candles, the wine, him.

“What is this?” she asked, voice low but edged. The irritation wasn’t just in her tone; it was in the way she leaned back, the way she refused to look away. “I told you I don’t like that voice. I didn’t ask for a session.”

Her eyes dropped for a beat; the breath she let out came slow, uneven. She closed her eyes, shoulders sinking as if the weight of the moment pressed down. She rested her elbows on the table and leaned into her loosely clasped hands, half-hiding behind them. When she looked back at him over her hands, her expression had softened — not calm, but tired.

“I’m trying, Koaruh.” The words came rough, quieter now. “I want to love you but…”

Koaruh’s foot drew back and he held her eyes, steady.

“Evelyn, that wasn’t a session,” he said, calm but firm. “I wasn’t probing, I wasn’t ‘using a voice’. I was eating dinner with a woman I like and asking about her day. Don’t pin a couch on me because the candles make this feel close.”

He nudged the chocolate box aside, out of the spotlight, and sat a touch straighter. “I’m not going to wear blame I didn’t earn, and I’m not going to tiptoe to dodge a fight I didn’t start. I’m here because I want you—not a patient, not a project. If you’re bracing for me to analyse you, I’m not. If you’re bracing for me to fix you, I won’t. I don’t need you to ‘try to love me’ on a timetable.”

A beat; the edges softened, but he didn’t back off. “So let’s drop the performance tax. We eat, we talk about nothing important, and we enjoy the evening. If you want to finish that sentence—‘I want to love you but…’—do it when you actually want to, not because you feel cornered.”

He picked up his glass again, voice warm, ordinary. “I like you. I’m here. Off-duty. And I’m not the enemy.”

For a long moment, she didn’t move. The air between them felt heavier than it had a minute ago — not tense, exactly, just real. The kind of quiet that left nowhere to hide.

Finally, she blew out a breath and leaned back in her chair, eyes flicking toward the candles like she could blame them for any of it.

“You’re not,” she said quietly. Then, after a beat, “I know that.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear before she caught herself. “I just—” She broke off with a dry laugh, shaking her head. “Hell, I don’t even know what I just.”

When she looked at him again, the edge was gone. What replaced it was something smaller — embarrassed, yes, but honest. “You’re right. You weren’t doing anything wrong.”

A wry smile tugged at one corner of her mouth, and she reached for her glass, letting her hand brush his on purpose this time. “You stood your ground. Most people don’t.”

Her tone softened, the smirk easing into something warmer as she poured herself another glass. “Guess that’s part of why I like you too.”

She tipped her glass toward him, a quiet truce. ”You really aren’t scared of me are you?” She asked with completely false incredulity that it was even possible, her tone warm nonetheless.

Koaruh’s mouth tipped into a slow grin as her hand brushed his. He turned his palm so his fingers could curl lightly around hers.

“Scared of you? Not even a little,” he said, warm and sure. “You hit hard when you’re cornered, but I don’t break easy—and I don’t spook. If you cross a line, I’ll say so. If I do, you’ll tell me. That’s the deal for me”

He gave her a small, crooked smile. “And yeah—I like you too.”

He nodded at her plate. “Come on. Eat while it’s good.” A beat, softer. “We’ll sort the rest after.”

They ate in comfortable silence for most of the dinner, now and then a soft tease matching a shared glance between them.

By the time they moved to the couch, the plates had been recycled in the replicator and Stewart lounged half in his lap, legs draped over his as she stroked his hair and kissed softly at the spot just below his ear she knew he liked, less to arouse and more in just affection.

She only stopped when she made a quiet groan and shifted her weight against him against the dull pain and discomfort she always felt now from the bond. With a sigh of annoyance about it, she reached behind her on the small table for her glass of wine and took a long sip to steady her frustration and help distract from the pain.

Koaruh felt the change and went still, tightening his arm around her waist and sliding the other to lace with her fingers. No questions, no labels—just warmth and weight.

He nudged a cushion under the small of her back, drew the throw over her legs, and pressed his cheek to her hair. His thumb traced slow circles over her knuckles; the piano dropped to a murmur with a quick tap at the table control. He kissed the spot below her ear—soft, steadying rather than sparking—and let his breath fall into an easy rhythm against her shoulder so she could match it if she wanted.

When she sipped, he tipped the glass for her, then set it within reach and settled again. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, quiet and ordinary. Nothing more. He stayed there, palm warm at her waist, letting the room be small until the ache ebbed.

Evelyn exhaled slowly, the sound frayed at the edges. “I hate this,” she muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion. “It never stops.” The bond had been a constant presence for weeks — a low, insistent ache that kept her half-awake most nights, never fully comfortable, never at rest. Her body felt worn thin from fighting it.

She shifted closer, chasing something steadier, until her forehead brushed along the line of his jaw. She felt his hand found her waist, patient and sure, thumb drawing slow, even circles against her skin. She breathed him in — warmth, faint wine, clean fabric — and her body began to follow his rhythm without thought.

The tension eased by increments, muscles uncoiling as she let herself move with him, her hand coming to rest against his chest where his heartbeat met her palm.

“It’s getting better,” she murmured, the words barely more than a sigh. Not surprise — just quiet relief, the kind that came after too many sleepless nights. She leaned in fully then, eyes closing as her body gave up its last defense and settled into the calm he offered.

With a sigh, Stewart relaxed fully. “You caught me off guard earlier,” She quietly admitted. “All that attention on me at once. Your enthusiasm over the pasta, asking me about my shoulder - my day - I didn’t know what to make of it. I did know what you wanted to hear. I couldn’t trust it.” She admitted about their earlier exchange, relaxed enough to explain finally.

Koaruh tipped his head so her forehead fit under his jaw, hand at her waist never changing pace.

“I know,” he murmured. “I hate that it’s on you like that.”

He let a few breaths pass with her hand on his chest, then: “About earlier… I wasn’t trying to put you under a spotlight. I get excited when I’m with you. I like your cooking, I like hearing about your day, and I like you.” A small huff of a laugh against her hair. “Enthusiasm I can dial down. Interest—I don’t want to fake that smaller.”

He pressed a slow kiss into her hairline. “You don’t owe me tidy answers. ‘Shoulder hurts, pasta’s good, mood’s crap’ is fine. If you don’t trust it yet, that’s fine too. I’ll keep showing up the same way until your head and your ribs believe me.”

His thumb kept those steady circles. “When it spikes like this, lean as much as you want. I’m here.” A beat, softer. “Just us.”

Evelyn was too exhausted to discuss further and simply nodded. Instead she curled more into Koaruh’s warmth and strong frame. “Stay here tonight.” Her tone was matter of fact, telling him but was soft with exhaustion against his skin, the need evident. She made none of her usual moves to escalate the intimacy, content to just sit quietly with him and watch the flickering shadows in the candlelight contently.

 

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