"Strange Bedfellows" (Mature)

[LeftEar JoNs 0]

Please Note: some Mature themes

09.14.06

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“Strange Bedfellows” (Mature)

 

(This log takes place during Second Shift rotation, after Cmdr. Nelar and the Rihan rebels are secured in the brig)

 

Leaving Nimetti and Spitfire to keep an eye on things at the brig, Lieutenant JoNs managed to slip away in order to deal with other business; she hated leaving dealings unfinished and wanted to be done with the contact business for Zimm.

 

Arriving at the designated quarters, JoNs waved a paw, activating the sensor on the door. The marine lieutenant’s voice rang out several seconds later, admitting her entrance. The Caitian officer sauntered into the small living area.

 

Zimm was seated at the small desk, working at the console screen. Parts of a disassembled rifle lay scattered on a workbench along the side wall. Above the workbench was a grouping of shelves containing mementos from his travels: a Klingon Grishnar Cat skull, a Ferengi hideaway assassin pistol, and the like. One plain plasti-steel chair in the corner, the bunk behind the desk, and the adjacent head completed the area.

 

Kansas tossed the Padd she held at Zimm. “This is the contact information I promised. Look it over, and once you’ve decided on who you want to use, I can get in contact with them.”

 

Zimm snatched the Padd from the air and touched it to his forehead. “Thank you.” He started to check the information while Kansas turned her attention to his wall display.

 

“Good god’s woman! You’re seeping!”

 

She looked at Zimm, a bit confused. “Pardon me?”

 

He was across the common area in one stride, taking hold of the Caitian’s upper arm and maneuvered her, rather gently, in front of a floor to ceiling mirror bolted onto the closet door so she could get a look at her back. The claw marks from the Sahvess had started to bleed again. She had hoped that keeping the wound clean would suffice until she could stop by sickbay again, but this was not the case.

 

Zimm released her arm and snorted, walking into the fresher. “It’s a wonder you don’t have a fever. What’re you trying to do, make yourself sick?”

 

JoNs registered the fact that he did not inquire about exactly how she had came by the wounding, but her annoyance overwhelmed her. “I attempted to seek medical attention, but duty called; you should know how that is.”

 

He emerged from the washroom, carrying a tray with several spray bottles of medicine and what looked like a low grade protoplaser. “A mercenary knows to take care of themselves first, so they can deal with anything later.”

 

“I really do not need a lecture thank you…”

 

“Take off your tunic; I need to look at your back.”

 

“And that is my cue, exit left. I am not in the habit of spontaneously stripping, Lieutenant Zimm. Seek me out when you’ve made your contact choice…” The Caitian moved toward the door.

 

“Step into the corridor and I’m on you like stink on a Targ.”

 

Kansas leveled a glare at Zimm. Zimm glared back at Kansas. They seemed to do this a lot to one another.

 

She broke the eye contact, closed her eyes and sighed. “Fine.” She started to strip off her gold wrap tunic. “I suppose there is some sort of catch to your services?”

 

“No.”

 

The bluntness of Zimms answer to her query caused her to pause and stare at him. He answered with a slight smile on his face, almost sad in a way. “Not everyone on this ship requires reciprocation.”

 

JoNs nodded. “Fine. No complaints here, and…thank you.” She placed her bloodied tunic off to the side of the desk and half leaned forward, placing her paws flat on the surface for support.

 

“Don’t thank me yet.” Zimm eyed her wounded back with a grimace. “I don’t think you are going to enjoy this.”

 

The feline security officer attempted some levity. “Well that’s not a very good beside manner…GRRRRK! NYUUHH….”

 

JoNs lowered her head as renewed pain blossomed across her back when Zimm applied a medicinal disinfectant to the wounds. The marine worked quickly, deftly treating and applying a field dressing no doubt practiced over many battle fields. After a coating of plasti-skin, he used the low grade protoplaser. The entire process took fifteen minutes, with JoNs panting as she tried to shake off the pain. She turned to face the marine lieutenant, gripping the edge of the desk while she re-oriented herself.

 

“If you want the scarring completely removed, you need to go to the ‘bay. Otherwise, it looks much better then it did.” Zimm smirked. “Take two and call me in the morning.”

 

Zimm was taken by surprise when Kansas’s paws suddenly shot out, grabbed him by the shoulders and brought her lips to his for a long kiss. It just seemed like the thing to do. He was unsure at first, and then returned the kiss with full force. He placed his hands on her hips.

 

Their lips parted and he eyed the Caitian slyly. “Now that’s a thank you. What will your boyfriend say?” He did, after all, have his own hide to look after. It would not do to mess with someone else’s woman, particularly the security chief.

 

Kansas looked away and muttered a Caitian oath. “Damn shipboard gossip.”

 

Zimm deadpanned. “Pain in the ass it is.”

 

The security lieutenant turned back and looked up at the marine. “I won’t deny that I enjoyed myself, or that Robair is an attractive man. However, if I did not comply, he would have ordered me to. If I refused the orders then whatever discipline…” she snorted derisively “…he had in mind would have been decidedly more unpleasant as well as more official. Tactically, I chose the best course of action and got away scott free, I believe is the correct Terran term.” She intertwined her paws behind his strong neck with a satisfied smirk.

 

Zimm undid the Caitians sash and loosened the waistline of her uniform trousers, moving his hands to massage her now exposed lower back. “So. What of this current tactical situation?”

 

Kansas reacted favorably to the massage, purring loudly and pressing closer to Zimm. She in turn removed his black uniform vest, her paws gently massaging his shoulders. Her purred voice was softer then normal. “I have never been one to jump from bed to bed, partner to partner. When I choose someone, the decision is always my own; I prefer to maintain true relationships with some decorum of honor.” She then grinned ferally. “As for right now, my new target is in sight. I have tone. All torpedoes are ready. Time to cause some damage.”

 

Zimms own grin matched hers. “Good to know…lock and load…” He brought his lips to hers again.

 

<<<<< >>>>>

 

The marine lieutenant awoke several hours later, rolling over in the bunk to observe his unexpected, yet not unwelcome, guest. She was sleeping on her back, exuding feline grace even while sleeping. He reached over to gently wake her, running his hand across her stomach and down her left inner thigh, enjoying the feel of the golden fur beneath his hand. JoNs rolled over, stretched and smiled at Zimm, exposing her fangs. “Good morning. Who are you and what are you doing in my quarters? Security!”

 

He smiled at her quip. “Good Morning. We both have duty in a couple hours.”

 

She gently stroked his neck. “I need to be going to get cleaned up and grab a fresh uniform…”

 

He regarded her seriously. “I meant what I said. A mercenary pact, between the two of us.”

 

Kansas replied “And I am more then glad to accept.” She smiled, a genuine and rare expression of her acceptance. A pact between mercenaries was less then a marriage, more then a business arrangement, and operated on the premise of honor. The parties would not betray one another out of mutual respect. Most mercenary cultures employed some form of this agreement, some more so then others. JoNs was glad that Zimm had been exposed to an honor system similar to the one she had grown up with. With the recent changes in the Agincourt command structure, as well as her minor role in the goings on, it was time to start looking for true allies among the crew. If a romantic relationship was a result of this particular ally, then so be it.

 

She moved off of the bed and started to gather her uniform. Zimm admired the view for a few minutes before speaking again of business.

 

“I know how you security types like to stay on top…”

 

“I love being on top.”

 

Zimm threw a pillow at Kansas before continuing.”…of any dissension among the ranks. I am sure there will be some what with the command restructure and all. And you’d be surprised at what is said freely around marine hearing, thinking that this being a naval ship, why worry about what the Jarheads hear. If I hear anything of importance, any plotting, I will let you know.”

 

The Caitian pulled on her soiled tunic and nodded. “Likewise, if I hear anything of interest that you can use regarding enforcement issues, you will hear from me. And, expect some contact regarding my drop off shipments. I don’t think Doctor Levy will mind sharing the wealth.” She grinned mischievously.

 

Zimm waved a finger in mock admonishment. “Do not annoy the medical staff now.”

 

“Who me? Annoy? I never annoy anyone.”

 

Zimm threw another pillow at JoNs.

 

Lieutenant (sg) MS Kansas JoNs

Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

Edited September 16, 2006 by M.S. "Kansas" JoNs