Light Years From Lonely, Part 1

Posted on Sun Aug 3rd, 2025 @ 1:32pm by Lieutenant JG Jean-Baptiste Dorsainvil & Ensign Wrenleigh Reed
Edited on on Thu Sep 4th, 2025 @ 8:48pm

2,156 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: The Menagerie II
Location: Orange Crescent Beach, Barisa Prime
Timeline: Evening (MD007, 1825 Hours)

The sky above the beach looked like it has been twice-dipped in honey, the clouds dragging their white fluffy bellies low over the ocean, and the last of the day's light brushing everything in a gentle gold.

Jean-Baptiste stood barefoot where the tide reached, toes burrowing just enough into the cool sand to feel the movement of each receding wave. His pants were rolled to the upper calf, the linen shirt loose against him, breathing with the breeze. Three buttons undone, collar open, the warm air tickling his collarbones.

He glanced down the shore every few minute or so, though he tried not to make it obvious. His thumb rubbed at the seam of his pocket.

The night before kept looping in his head. The bar's misty glow, the way Wren had looked at him--those blue-grey eyes, almost startled by their own warmth. The long moment they shared as both lingered at her door before she stepped inside and left him alone in the corridor, his pulse rattling like coin trapped in a cup.

He now felt unsteady and unprepared. It was as though he had all the ingredients for his mother's lambi stew recipe but had forgotten the steps. When do the shallots go into the seasoning base? How long in the pressure cooker? Perhaps he'd need to learn it all over again.

JB continued to run a quiet inventory of himself: shoulders loose enough? Smile not too sharp? The words waiting in his mouth--are they meant to build a bridge, or just fill the air?

The last time he'd let himself drift close to someone like this, he still believed in perfect plans and clean endings. Before the grey zones, the sealed reports, and the weight of decisions which didn't come with undone buttons.

And now, here he was. Standing in the surf, waiting for a woman he barely knew--and somehow already knew too well--to appear in a column of shimmering light.

A small wave slipped over his feet, tugging at the sand beneath his heels. He let it.

It had been quite a length of time since Wren had been on a date, almost five years because of work becoming her priority, and she didn't know how much effort was too much for this date she'd agreed to go on with JB. Was he expecting a formal kind of outing where she'd have to dress up even more, or was it a more casual kind of setting where she could relax?

After much deliberation, Wren had chosen for the more laid back approach and opted for a maxi dress comprising of a solid off white top that flowed through to a floral skirt with palm leaves and pink, yellow and orange frangapanis on it. Combining that with flat open toed sandals, a long necklace, subtle makeup and straightened hair, she looked about ready to go.

Being on a transporter even for a few moments and dematerialising and rematerialising once she beamed onto the beach was an odd feeling. One would think after doing it so often, Wren would be used to it by now. It was only a short walk down the beach before Wren spotted him, the slow descent of the sun hitting his skin in a certain way as he faced the water and let the water pool around his feet.

Walking up behind Jean-Baptiste, Wren tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a smile in greeting, "Hey, sorry I'm a bit late."

JB turned at the touch, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth before his mind could catch up. His eyes moved over her, though it was quick and respectful--but not immune to the slight shock of seeing her in the soft white and flowers. He observed the way the breeze toyed with the edge of her dress like a cat pawing at a loose thread.

"No apology needed," he said warmly, not wishing to tip the moment out of balance.

He took another look at her--really looked. Her hair straightened, that gentle shine along her cheek, the subtle flicker in her eyes that hinted at a thousand private hesitations. He felt the breath in his chest tangling up before settling.

"You look--" He stopped himself, the word beautiful too heavy... and far too soon. He softened it. "You look like you belong here. Like the evening was waiting for you."

Wrens cheeks flushed pink at the compliment; she wasn't used to compliments on her appearance, it was more on her skills, so for a moment she didn't know what to say, "Thank you, im just happy to be here. It's a beautiful evening, that's for sure." How did she even begin to compliment him? "You look pretty dashing yourself."

He laughed warmly and ducked his head a little, as though trying to hide behind the slope of his own shoulders.

"Thank you," he replied, somewhat sheepishly.

A breeze slipped through then, catching at her hair, and he instinctively reached out--a hesitant touch--to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. His fingers paused there a moment longer than was strictly necessary before he drew them back, folding them neatly into his palm.

"There," he murmured, his voice low enough that it barely reached her above the pound of the surf. "Didn't want the wind stealing your moment."

Wren flinched slightly as his hand cane up toward her face, but then she relaxed again as she realised he was moving the hair from her face that had come loose. "If only i could harness the power of the wind," she trailed off with a smile.

After letting her thoughts drift for a moment to what it would be like to have his hands tangled in her hair as he kissed her, Wren let out a laugh. "I might have to put it up at some stage if the wind picks up, but shall we take that walk for now and then get something to eat? I kind of skipped over lunch in favour of trying something from here."

He felt her laugh slip around him like a warm blanket on a cool evening. Instinctively, he extended his hand toward her then, not boldly but with a gentle sort of invitation, as if he were offering a hand to help someone step off a train. A grand romantic flourish it wasn't. But more of an anchor in case the tide inside her rose too quick.

Wren took his offered hand and entwined her fingers through his. It was easy, comfortable and didn't feel like it was a forced motion at all. She looked down at their hands and smiled at the thought of whatever it was they had going, becoming something more.

"Walk first, then eat," he agreed, the corners of his mouth upturned in a slight smile. "There's a place down the beach--about three-quarters of a kilometer, if we don't wander too far into the water."

He glanced ahead, as if measuring the gentle curve of the shore. Broken shells glinted like tiny teeth in the white sand. The restaurant lights were still too faint to see clearly, but he imagined them--lanterns hanging, the smell of grilled fish and citrus drifting on the salted wind.

The breeze pushed at his shirt again, the linen snapping lightly on his ribs. His heart was thudding so clearly that he wondered if Wren could hear it too.

"You know you've gone rather quiet, right?" Wren said as she looked up at him briefly before turning her attention back to the gentle waves coming up to them before receding again. There was still warmth on the breeze so she was happy.

The warmth in his eyes was suddenly undercut by a flicker of surprise, as if he'd been caught daydreaming. "I suppose I have," he said, his voice softer now, each word now weighted. "Sometimes I think if I speak too much, I'll break the spell of a good moment. And right now... feels like we're walking inside a painting that's still wet."

JB shifted his free hand, flexing his fingers open and closed as if releasing some supplemental energy. "But you're right. I'll try to keep from vanishing on you," he added, his lips curling into a very boyish grin. "If I do it again, you have full permission to pull me back by the ear."

Wren shook her head gently, "Something my father taught me from a young age was to use my words rather than actions because words convey different meanings and tones, whereas actions are often misinterpreted and can have negative reactions associated with them." It was something that stuck with her for a long time and even now in her pursuit of her dreams she was finding it useful.

"So unfortunately, you're going to have to put up with me talking to you more than anything else." She gave him a sweet as honey kind of smile.

"That's incredibly wise."

At the sight of her smile, he could almost feel a subtle weakness in his knees. His fingers closed more firmly around hers as they moved, surprised by the small miracle of it: how her hand seemed to fit, how the contact with her settled the anxious tremor in his stomach. He'd held hands before, of course--but this felt different. Each small squeeze of her fingers felt like a promise not to vanish into the tide.

He glanced down once or twice, almost disbelieving that it was real, that they were real, their two shadows extending across the wet sand like some invisible brush was shading in the last hue of day.

JB looked up then, the horizon smudging into a lavender and bubblegum where the sky kissed the sea. A couple of seabirds picked at shells nearby, their calls sharp and strangely consoling.

He stopped and turned to her, feeling a surge of courage rising in him. "Tell me something," he said. "If you could wake up tomorrow--somewhere you've never been before--where would it be?"

Wren turned to face him, a look of surprised on her face at the question, "Oh, that's a good one! I actually don't know, there are so many good places to go to, especially back on Earth." If it was an option, she would travel the world to learn about the different cultures. "I would wake up in a high end resort on a tropical island, or a place where there are treehouses amongst the rainforest so you can be at one with nature." She was satisfied with her own response. "How about yourself, where would you go?"

He pictured her there, hair undone, grey-blue eyes gleaming with wonder, and he felt something inside him eager to join her there.

"I think I can see that," he said, the image of her there still fresh in his mind.

He shifted his weight, feeling the wet sand give way under his arches. He was almost shocked to notice he was tracing tiny, lazy patterns along the side of her hand. How that happened, he wasn't sure. But she hadn't said anything about it.

"Me?" he said at last, looking out toward the horizon where the bubblegum sky had deepened into a deep violet. "I think I'd wake up on some wind-lashed cliff in Ireland. Fog coming in off the sea, ruins in the distance." He laughed a little, surprised by his own answer. "It seems like the kind of place where your thoughts can finally go quiet."

He met her eyes again then, the last bit of sun flickering at the very edge of the horizon. He opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped short and simply flashed a smile her. He knew what he wanted to say--he just felt it was too soon and too forward. Or maybe I wouldn't mind waking up wherever you were.

"You must have a lot of thoughts then or your mind is always active if you want to drown them out," Wren said absentmindedly as she turned her head to see the sun fully set and dusk arrive, bringing with it the insects and other nocturnal animals.

"Ireland is a beautiful place but very cold and rainy, from what I've experienced in the two times I've been there. Completely different to Haiti." She paused a moment and became aware of the patterns being traced on her hands but chose to enjoy the moment, it wasn't doing any harm.

In the books she read, it was at this point the guy would turn to the girl and declare his love for her in the form of a kiss and they'd live happily ever after, but this was the real world and if JB did any of that right now with Wren, it would've been extremely awkward because she wasn't at that stage, yet. She could, however, see going on a small getaway somewhere with him, somewhere relaxing and quiet.


~tbc~

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