Miles to Go Before We Flirt

Posted on Fri Jul 11th, 2025 @ 12:39pm by Ensign Garabed "Garo" Hakobyan & Chief Petty Officer Vashti Rao & Petty Officer 2nd Class Zal Rixi
Edited on on Fri Jul 11th, 2025 @ 12:45pm

1,120 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: The Menagerie II
Location: Athletic Facilities, Deck 10
Timeline: On the Way to Barisa Prime

The consistent thrum of treadmills filled the Astrea's gym like a slow heartbeat, punctuated now and then by the clatter of free weights or the blunt exhale of someone pushing a little too hard.

Chief Petty Officer Vashti Rao moved at a controlled jog, her dark ponytail bouncing in neat rhythm. She looked like she might be reviewing diagnostic readouts in her head rather than warming up for a workout. She had opted for the fitted black athletic top that was Starfleet issue, sleeves cropped just above the biceps, paired with high-waisted navy compression shorts that looked precisely folded while in motion. Her expression was set, her gaze fixed straight ahead.

Beside her, Petty Officer Second Class Zal Rixi had one armed draped casually across the treadmill bar, the other adjusting her pace with sharp taps on the console. She wore a loose, charcoal-grey tank that hung off one shoulder, the Starfleet delta barely visible in faded print across the front. Her workout leggings were a deep maroon, scuffed at the knees from too many impromptu floor drills. She looked entirely too relaxed for someone supposedly breaking a sweat, her short braids already slipping loose around her face.

"Where's our resident frost giant this morning?" Rixi asked, glancing over with a sly grin.

Vashti didn't look over. "Tenzi drew a late shift. She's been working on the impulse engines since last night with Winters. Might still be trying to scrub-out the coolant line complaints."

Rixi let out a low whistle. "Poor Tenzi. Nothing like a twelve-hour impulse engine spa day to ruin your circadian rhythm." She flicked a bead of sweat from her forehead and smirked. "Maybe we should send her a fruit basket. Or a sympathy bottle of Romulan ale."

Vashti huffed--a sound that might have been a laugh in a more generous universe.

Rixi tapped up her treadmill speed another notch. "You know, it's almost peaceful without her commentary echoing across the deck. Almost."

Then Vashti went quiet. It was the kind of quiet that didn't belong on a treadmill or anywhere in Rixi's vicinity.

Rixi followed her line of sight toward the weight zone, her eyes narrowing in curiosity.

Garo Hakobyan was there, sleeves rolled, forearms flexed as he pulled through another set of chin-ups. His breathing was even, jaw set, the slight creak of the overhead bar blending in with the rest of the facility's background noise.

"Ohhh," Rixi cooed, dragging out the sound as if she'd just savoured the first bite of a raspberry cheesecake. "Look at that. Is that our favourite metaphor factory? And he's still upright. A miracle."

Vashti shot her a look that could have shorted out the main deflector. "Don't start."

"Who's starting? I'm merely observing," Rixi replied, raising both hands in exaggerated innocence. "Seems like a perfect morning to... observe."

Vashti reset her treadmill with an aggressive touch, eyes forward again. "You'll sprain something with that tone."

Rixi's grin only widened. "Please. I've had worse injuries trying to vacuum your hair out of the drain."

Vashti didn't answer, but a traitorous hint of colour rose along her neckline, only visible above her Starfleet-issue tank.

Rixi leaned closer, her voice dropping to conspiratorial levels. "If I call-out odds on whether he comes over, will you deck me before or after cooldown?"

There was a very menacing silence that lasted at least five seconds, followed by a curt, "After."

Rixi's bright laugh rang-out across the gym. While not as loud and startling as Tenzi's, it still earned a glance from a nearby crewman struggling under a barbell.

Vashti just kept running, eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond Astrea's bulkheads. Somewhere safer than the weight rack in the corner.

Rixi let her treadmill coast for a moment, hands braced on either side like she might vault off and go sprinting across the gym floor to embarrass them both. instead, she leaned her head back, breath steady, braid shifting against her shoulder.

"You know," she drawled, her voice pitched low so only Vashti could hear, "he does that thing with his wrists on the down stroke. Like he's... winding a watch. Bet it makes your engineering brain all fuzzy."

Vashti's next exhale sounded like a damaged plasma vent. She adjusted her stride, boots striking the belt with renewed force. "I'm filing a noise complaint against your entire personality."

Rixi gave a solemn nod, the shifted her gaze back toward Garo. He'd dropped from the bar now, shoulders rolling out the tension. He wiped a hand across his forehead, glanced around the gym, then bent-down to retie one boot with the kind of focus often reserved for repairs.

"Oh, he's looking," Rixi hissed, excitement bubbling. "Big question: will you spontaneously combust before he finishes his water break?"

Vashti didn't respond. She just toggled her incline up two notches, as if she could run herself right into another dimension.

A moment later, Garo's eyes did sweep over their corner. He hesitated for a breath, but enough to catch the slight involuntary twitch of Vashti's fingers on the handrail. He then offered a small nod. Civil. Infuriatingly civil.

Rixi caught the exchange and clutched her chest in mock agony. "Oh no," she crooned. "The tension is thicker than the compression algorithm in your data logs."

Vashti's jaw flexed three times. "Rixi," she said slowly, as if she were relaying careful instructions over the comm.

"Yes?"

"Five."

Rixi blinked. "Five what?"

"Five-to-one odds you don't survive this treadmill session."

That earned a snort so loud from Rixi that two passing engineering ensigns nearly collided. She thumped her hand against the display panel, attempting to catch her breath between a series of ragged, delighted cackles.

In the corner, Garo finished tying his boot and stood, rolling out his neck. For a moment--just a fraction of a second--he looked like he might approach. Then he glanced at the chronometer on the wall, adjusted his grip on his water bottle, and turned for the exit.

Rixi watched him go, then swung her gaze back to Vashti. "Next time," she said, breathless but bright, "I'm setting odds on who cracks first. And I'm putting a week's replicator credits on you."

Vashti just kept running, her reflection in the treadmill's console a thin line between smirk and scowl.


* * *

Petty Officer 2nd Class Zal Rixi


Chief Petty Officer Vashti Rao


Ensign Garabed "Garo" Hakobyan

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