"Shore Leave. Not a Date"

Posted on 21 Jan 2026 @ 3:27pm by Lieutenant Commander Riah Amberlyn XMD & Lieutenant Francis "Steven" Remington

1,544 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Lathira Shoreleave
Location: Cabin on the shores of a lake on Lathira
Timeline: shore leave on Lathira

// Lake Tabisha - Mendinari Cabin //

"Come on down here, Riah. It's lovely. You can do nothing but paint all week if that's what you want," said Steve Remington.

"I don't want to date, Steve. It's not a good idea."

"It's not a date. It's a two bedroom cabin in the forest on the edge of a friggin' lake, Riah. I'm fishing and hiking. If you wanna fish or hike, you are welcome, but it's not a date," he insisted.

"Here, let me send some images." He flipped the camera on and panned slowly around from the left of the rocking chair where he sat, around a spectacular tree-lined lake front and over to the far right. "See. Temperature is perfect. Not too hot. Sweater weather Mom used to call it."

The images were enticing. Riah chewed on her lower lip. As much as she didn't want to want to go, she could feel her resistance fading. She knew Steve would not make advances her. He never did. They got along very well without having any hint of a dating relationship.

"Well?"

"I'll come down for the day," she said.

"I'm sending transporter coordinates to my front yard, now."

Within 5 minutes Riah materialized, looking out over the lake. She turned around to find Steve in the rocking chair on the porch of a small cabin. He wore blue canvas jeans and a cream-colored, cable-stitch sweater, long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, hiking boots and for all she struggled not to notice, he was as sexy as hell sitting there. How did he do that? Switch from the prim and proper officer in the Science Department aboard Arawyn to this ... this very different Steve Remington?

She was suddenly very aware of her own body, dressed in a pair of loose fitting forest green cargo pants and a pale blue - unflattering -sweatshirt. She looked around a little self-consciously. "Wow. This is nice. How did you find this place? Everyone else seemed to go to the beach?"

"I don't like beaches. I like forests and cabins, and fires in the fireplace, and roasting marshmallows and cooking fresh fish and sautéed chopped potatoes with garlic, oregano and butter, with a spinach salad. That's tonight. I'll worry about tomorrow tomorrow." He rocked forward, elbows to knees. "Stay for dinner?"

"I haven't even eaten breakfast," she said, hefting her art satchel up higher on her shoulder.

"Then let's fix breakfast," he suggested. "Like fish? I caught 4 earlier. Threw one back; bottom feeder I think. I'll fry these in a little bacon grease and a bowl of fresh raspberries. Well, they look like raspberries and taste close enough. I did bring bacon from the ship, replicated, but it's mostly for flavor. Water's hot for tea."

She chuffed a laugh. This was not what she was expecting, and she tried to convince herself that accepting would not be consenting to a date. She could always leave after dinner. Right now, fresh fish and raspberries had grabbed the imagination of her appetite. "Where'd you learn to fish?" she said, stepping up on the porch and kicking his boot gently. "Tell me while we're cooking."
~~~~

The cabin was actually a mix of a cottage house and a cabin. It was not cushy or posh. But it was exceedingly cozy; scrapped wood plank floors, and warm wood paneled walls, a stone fireplace. With low ceilings inside and true rounded logs on most of the exterior, it had a sod roof of rich green grass. The only part of the exterior that was not logs was the little kitchen to the left of the front door, which was also made of local stone. The windows in the living and bedrooms were large, allowing wonderful views of all directions.

This was the only thing that seemed less than the classic version of a cottage-cabin. There was also a large window in the kitchen, looking out into the space behind the building, which proceeded deeper into the forest. There were three bird feeders close to the window, so sitting at the small bistro table, one could watch the streaks of colorful birds sprinting in and out from the feeders.

"There's a big container of seed and one of what looks kinda like purple corn in the storage room. I'm told if you just toss a container of it on the ground in the back there, the animals will come feed," Steve explained. "They aren't tame, and will run if you go out there, but they can't see in the windows to see us moving around. I haven't tried it. The seed was in the feeders when I got here yesterday."

"What kind of animals?" asked Riah.

"Big ones, with lots of long teeth," he growled, then laughed. "There's a book on the table over there with pictures and descriptions."

Rolling her eyes at his antics, she replied, "That bacon smells wonderful."

"Wash the raspberries?" he nodded toward the small refrigeration unit at the end of the counter.
~~~~

Day 2, 10am. Steve had taken off for a hike. She hoped he made it the full 8 miles round trip, given the most walking any of the crew had done over the past couple months had been on a tread mill or running the trails on the holodeck. Not exactly the same as walking 8 miles on a semi-improved trail, on a planet, with real, fresh atmosphere and sunshine. She shrugged. That was his problem, not hers. She was glad to have the time to herself.

No one was around and her mind turned to Crystal and the need to reply to her letter. She had a hard time thinking of her as her daughter. She'd never considered herself a mother except for those months of being pregnant. She had spent hours in the night staring at the ceiling, wondering if she was planning the right thing, and days confident of her plan to give this child to a family that really wanted a child, who could give her a better home than a woman who really didn't have a desire for a child at all, much less in the middle of medical school with a commission in Starfleet awaiting her.

How many times had she gone back and forth on that decision, by day and by night, before she had been told by the adoption foundation about the McLaughlins. She hadn't known their real names at the time, just their dossier had captured Riah's attention.

When it was time to make that final decision to let the McLaughlins know that a child was indeed on the way -- or not, she spent only about two hours making a decision. Suddenly, there was no more doubt. She read the dossier again, looked at their pictures. Instinctively, she knew they could provide a fantastic home and without any further questioning or debating, she agreed to the adoption. And that was it.

The pregnancy had been normal and physically easy. The birth was also without a lot of drama or excitement. Her friend had been her doula and they had breathed and laughed through a great deal of it all. Her doctor and the psychologist had suggested she not see the child, and while they had placed the baby on her belly for a few minutes to help generate the natural responses of her body to the birth and for the child to know the feel of the warmth of a mother's skin, she never really examined the child before they bundled her like a burrito* in a pink blanket, and that was it. A week later, she was told the little girl was doing very well in her home, healthy and responsive to her new parents. She never knew her name until she'd gotten the letter from her daughter.

Still Riah had no second thoughts, just a numinous sense of disappointment at the absence of that mothering instinct. Her mother, Monica Kelly, hadn't wanted children either, in spite of having Riah and her brother Roe. She had been instead totally fixated on her career as an artist. Was that something in the genetics of the Kelly side of the family tree? Her father, had raised her brother aboard a Starship medical ship, while Riah remained with her mother, who painted, pranced around with gallery owners and commissioning clients, and wandered back and forth between mania and depression with untreated Bipolar Disorder. Treatment, she had insisted, would deprive her of her imagination.
~~~~

Dear Crystal,
I am grateful for your letter and apologize for the delay in replying. I am the Chief Medical Officer on a Starfleet ship and we have been on a long mission during which I did not have the opportunity to make a thorough reply.

She stopped. Too cold. Too abrupt. And it was a lie. She'd had time, just no words. She sighed, put the PaDD down. Outside, she sat in the rocking chair to watch the light on the water of the lake.
~~~~

LtCmdr Riah Amberlyn, XMD
Chief Medical Officer
USS Arawyn
&
Lieutenant Steve Remington
Xeno-zoologist
USS Arawyn

*a Mexican meal of beans, meat, cheese, veggies, all bundled tightly in a flour tortilla.

 

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