“I appreciate the generous officer, but that won’t be necessary,” Rattler said. Everything about her posture suggested modesty, but there was an undercurrent of defense to her voice. “My crew has only just returned from shore leave.” A pause “I don’t want my crew to see our facilities as less than.”

Saffiya gave a single nod, and was wondering if she was indeed going soft. How Rattler managed her crew wasn’t something she would impose her own ideas on, but while her reasoning to decline the offer made sense, Saffiya wouldn’t make the same decision.

“I suppose” she said after a long pause “It would have been a nice way to feel like we’re paying you back. This is the first time I command a ship that needs an escort. I am still getting used to it.”

Which wasn’t like her at all to admit. So yes, she was clearly going soft.

A flutter of laugher escaped from Rattler, unbidden. Despite her apparent amusement, she stopped in the middle of the wide corridor and planted her feet. Her boots thumped, despite the soft carpet underneath.

“Every morning when we wake up in our bunks, we have to make the choice to serve Starfleet,” Rattler said, her voice resonant. “The second– the very moment I find escort duty unfulfilling, I’ll be a memory on the wind. You’d be inviting my first officer to sunlight and soil-grown vegetables. Even if it’s too forward to ask: when’s the last time you made the choice? When’s the last time you consciously decided this is exactly where you want to be?”

“Those are two questions and they both have a different answer.” Saffiya remarked. She wasn’t exactly thrilled to have this conversation (much less in the middle of a corridor) but she’d never shy away from an exchange of opinions. “I do make the choice. Every morning. Every waking moment. As well all do.”

She motioned for Rattler to follow her, and stepped into the turbolift. More privacy. And a more direct path to their destination.

“But am I exactly where I want to be? No. And I am guessing you could envision being somewhere else as well. A bigger ship, a different sector of space, or in quarters that contain a bathtub.” A pause. “It’s duty. You go where you are needed, and you do what needs doing. But there is nothing wrong with desiring more. Or less. Or whatever constitutes progress to you.”

Rattler nodded. “What constitutes progress to you?”

“Me?” Saffiya laughed. “Oh, I envision myself a few months into the future when I no longer feel Olympic-shaped.”

“That’s still an unimaginable change to come,” Rattler said with more empathy in her tone. Her shoulders rounded and she let her arms hang limply by her sides.

“And still,” Saffiya smiled. “I am very much looking forward to it.”