Unmasked (Pt. 2)

[Charlotte Matsumura 0]

Unmasked (Pt. 2)

LTJG Charlotte Matsumura

LCDR Malcolm Alexander

***

 

Charlotte blinked. A chill washed over her, and she could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. "What did you just call me?"

 

"Lieutenant."

 

"That wasn't what you said. You – you called me –"

 

Their eyes locked. Intense emotion flared briefly, stealing her breath before it was blinked away. His voice was different when he spoke, syllables tightly controlled. His accent was softened by a hint of Romulan. "What is it you think you heard, Lieutenant?"

 

The low timbre sparked memories, and recognition settled over her. She felt a lump rise in her throat. The easy rapport, the familiarity, the voice, the accent...it all made sense. And now that it did, she recognized the cut of his jaw, the slope of his nose, and the high cheekbones.

 

Her heart swelled with conflicting emotions. Garrison had not been the only one off balance with the onset of this half-baked, unofficial mission. And it wasn't that she believed Starfleet inviolate; she knew some things were more important than maintaining a rulebook. But venturing deep within Romulan space, concealed by an illegal cloaking device, chasing weapons that could spark both violent and diplomatic revolutions was something that had wide-reaching implications, should anything go wrong. Apprehended by the Romulans, they would have faced death; returning to their own side, they faced court martial. Yet here was a man she knew, someone who had survived behind the lines time and time again; someone she could trust when it all went to Hell. She wasn't sure she could say the same for her captain. Not now. Not yet.

 

But such relief was tempered with anger, frustration. He was her station chief, her best friend. He was supposed to be tucked up aboard Camelot Station, not gallivanting across Romulan space in a stolen ship, looking every bit like those they were trying to elude. He was supposed to be watching her back *there*, not here; he was supposed to be safe. "What are you doing out here?"

 

"The same thing your captain's trying to do: Try to find the source of those weapons."

 

“And just like him, you had to come and see for yourself? Are you mad? You very nearly got killed out there!" Her frustration peaked, her chest tightening. "What would have happened then?”

 

“I left instructions.”

 

“Oh, yes, because that makes it perfectly all right,” Charlotte shot back.

 

“It’s part of the job, Charlotte. You know that.”

 

“Part of my job, Mal. I don’t give a damn what your scope of operations is. You’re my station chief. You’re supposed to be tucked away, nice and safe aboard Camelot Station. You’re not supposed to be out here, risking life and limb on some God-forsaken alien planet.”

 

“And where was that getting us, exactly?” Alexander gestured with his hands. “Please – enlighten me. Because it seems to me, that up to this point, we’ve gotten nothing but a fair load of embarrassment. Weapons disappearing from custody; a Romulan ambassador dead on our doorstep; and a captain disobeying direct orders by gallivanting off into Romulan space – with a stolen cloak, I might add! Yes, I can see we were getting so very far!”

 

Charlotte clenched her fists at her side. The knuckles turned white and she could feel her fingernails digging into her palms. Fire burned in dark eyes as she looked up at him. “Then tell me one thing, Mal: Was it worth it?”

 

Sighing, Mal rubbed his right hand over his hair, before regarding her with both hands on his hips. “The intelligence I handed over to Corizon was actionable – names, dates, suppliers. It’s enough to get things started.”

 

“But will it stop it – for once, and for all?”

 

The senior operative exhaled. “No. Probably not. In the end, they’ll be like cockroaches –just go deeper into the shadows.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “We’ll do some housecleaning and they’ll lay low for a while, but they’re driven by ideology, by power. All of it will come back around again.”

 

“So you’ve bought time.”

 

“For us, I’ve bought time,” Alexander sighed, “but for the ambassador and the clan, I’ve bought revenge: Once that information reaches a few people on ch’Rihan, there are a few Rihannsu that will pay for their part in this with their lives. That part is definitely worth it.”

 

Charlotte regarded him with her brow furrowed. “Revenge and pride are hardly good enough reasons to risk your life for information you couldn’t be sure existed.”

 

“Don’t be so naïve, Charlotte. You’ve read the classics, the modern era histories. You know as well as I do that entire wars have begun over smaller things than revenge and pride. In this case, we’re talking about weapons and-and a bunch of planted evidence that could start a war. Risking my life to avoid that? That’s a small price to pay to keep peace.”

 

Matsumura swallowed back the knot in her throat. “Your life, Malcolm Alexander, isn’t a small price,” she said. Her voice was taut; she struggled to maintain control of her vocal cords, of the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “It means something – to your mum and dad; to your friends; and to…me.”

 

A long moment of silence fell between them. Charlotte studied his modified features intently: The prominent forehead, the darkened eyes, the black fringe of hair above them. It was so strange, she thought, to hear his voice, his quirky turns of phrase, and yet not entirely see him. She suddenly longed for his plain visage – the Roman nose, impish green-hazel eyes, closely-cropped dark hair – it was all there, under the surface.

 

Taking one hand, she slowly reached up, tracing her fingertips across the curve of his brow, down his cheek. She heard his breath catch at the contact. Placing her palm against his cheek, she gently dragged the pad of her thumb across the bone. Scenes of arriving back on Camelot, only to find he'd been killed or captured raced through her mind; she forced them back almost as quickly as they appeared. "This all could have gone so differently."

 

His expression softened, and Charlotte thought she saw a hint of the green lurking behind the dark contacts. "We don't always get goodbyes, love. You know that."

 

“I know,” she admitted. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I could have lost you.”

 

“Charlotte, don’t –“

 

Closing the distance between them, Charlotte allowed her eyelids to drop, her lips brushing his tentatively and stopping him in mid-sentence. As Mal remained motionless, his arms at his sides, her heart sank and panic gripped her. Had she read the timbre of his voice, the intensity of his eyes – all of it wrong? Had she now risked years of friendship, the way he’d gambled with his life? Eyes stinging, she began to draw away.

 

But before she could disengage, his hands tangled fiercely in the loose hair at the base of her neck. He pressed his advantage then, and she felt his tongue dance across her lips before parting them, sliding against hers with an intoxicating rhythm. A soft moan escaped her as heat began pooling in areas she suddenly longed for him to touch; he echoed her as she gripped two hands full of his black tunic and eliminated the gap between them.

 

The silence that followed was punctuated only by increased tempo of their breathing and the occasional sigh. Mal's fingers danced lightly over her neck, followed by his lips, as his hands eventually came to rest against her shoulders. Planting one last kiss to the curve just under her jaw, he drew back slowly, gently enforcing some distance between them. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “We can’t do this, Charlotte.”

 

Her heart pounding in her chest, Charlotte could hear the rush of her blood in her ears. As her mind cleared, processing his words, worry crashed over her and dragged her out of the fog. “I thought –“

 

“And you were right,” Mal corrected. His gaze swept over her, pupils dilated, nostrils flaring as he visibly fought for control over himself. Reaching up, he gently swept a lock of hair back behind her ear. “But now is not the time, or the place for this.” He leaned down and captured her lips with his own, despite himself. “You really, really need to go.”

 

Taking a step back, her shoulders brushed the bulkhead: She was pinned between the wall and her best friend. His hand brushed her lower back, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks in an instant. Suddenly, the doors beside her parted and he widened the gap between them. Maneuvering quickly, he whirled her around, and Charlotte found herself standing in the corridor. He swallowed as he nodded once. “Dinner. Bring enough for two, and don’t be late.”

 

The doors closed and Charlotte staggered. Reaching up, she smoothed her hands over her hair, then drew a cleansing breath. She was at once glad the guards were no longer necessary. The flush to her cheeks would have been an awkwardly visible souvenir of the past few moments – and one she was better off not having to explain.

 

Maybe if I could explain it to myself first, she thought. She shook her head. Five hours till dinner. Five hours to worry that maybe – just maybe – she had ruined a perfectly good friendship for a chance that was never going to happen.

***