The Rook and the Shadow

Posted on Wed Feb 4th, 2026 @ 7:35pm by Rook & Sergeant Jace Morven

2,592 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: The Green Kiss, USS Guinevere
Timeline: Early 2389

The card game had hit its loud phase. Alpha Squad were two hours into a post-drill wind-down and nobody was close to folding. Someone had their boots on the table, someone else had a replicated chicken drumstick in their hand, ready to defend their cards. The room had the scent of troopers crammed together and various replicated foods, and the noise kept swelling with every bet and half-insult. Nobody was sleeping any time soon.

Jace had stood for longer than he needed to, watching them. Then he stepped out without a word.

He didn’t head for the gym. Too many people. He didn’t go to the holodeck either...no point, all the slots were booked according to the Ship's computer. He moved without a fixed destination, trusting his feet to find one. After a while, they did, the memory tugging at him. Late half of shift slots.

That was now.

The doors to the Green Kiss parted. He stepped in, eyes scanning the room. The air had weight. Not heavy, just lived-in. Voices, bodies, drinks, laughter. The scent of warm metal and recycled air sat just under it all. There was food in the background too, something mild. But beneath it was another note he could not quite place. Not cologne. Not smoke. Something else. Familiar only because he remembered it from the last time.

He scanned the room out of habit, but he already knew where he would sit. He clocked some half-familiar faces, names he knew, but he had never spoken to them and they had not spoken to him. He was politely ignored as he ventured further in.

Then again, he supposed he had not dressed to be noticed. Black trousers, his usual off duty ones that in another shade could have been his on duty ones. The combat boots were the ones that went with his fatigues. A dark green tee shirt under a black jacket he didn’t take off, pockets deep enough to contain and conceal the silver tin with dried mint leaves and one emergency ration bar, wrapped and sealed. Insurance against the universe, or just a tether.

His hair was slightly longer than usual. Not overdue. Just between cuts. He had an appointment in two days. Maintenance, not vanity, he knew the grooming standards by heart. Still, the thought of sitting still, letting someone close enough to touch his head, made something inside him pull tight. He would endure it. He always did. But he did not look forward to it.

He found the same seat as before. Back to the wall. Clear view of the room. Nobody at his shoulder.

He did not look at Rook as he walked over, not until he had taken the seat. His hands felt over the counter in front of him for a brief moment and he exhaled, slowly, eyes flickering to the Vulcanoid standing there.

"Welcome back, Jace..." Rook greeted him with a soft, knowing drawl, but didn't look up from typing on the PADD. He knew who it was though, and amusement at showing it off pulled at his lips when he finished the sentence and looked up to him with sparkling midnight blue eyes. "Didn't fancy cards?"

His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Rook, the intel the other man dropped casually...well, surprising. He dismissed it. How Rook knew didn't matter. Maybe there was a well-known pattern on the ship, maybe it was just what people did. "I don't play," he said and looked at him. "And it was loud." His eyes went to the PADD, at how easily his fingers moved as he typed.

Rook's lips pulled in a twitch of amusement; of course Jace didn't play cards. It was unpredictable. He caught hold of a menu, offering it over as he met his eyes. "What can I do for you today?"

Jace's eyes went to the menu, a slight tension coming to him at it, making his shoulders tighten a fraction, a muscle in his jaw clench at a familiar feeling he pushed down and away. He gave a small shake of his head, not taking the offered item, instead meeting Rook's eyes. "Surprise me," he said, his voice low.

"Brave," Rook chuckled softly, but took the menu away from him and put it under the bar, having seen the tension shudder through him. "Why don't we try a little more citrus this time, hm?" he dropped ice into a shaker before pouring in brandy and orange liqueur. He twisted a lemon apart, using his hand to squeeze in a good measure of lemon juice. He snapped the top on, shaking vigorously before pouring into a coupe. He flipped up his knife, catching it neatly to carve out an orange peel twist, rolling it in sugar before setting it on the glass and sliding it over. "May I present The Sidecar."

Jace had watched him through it all, the way he moved, the way that he cut the orange peel...the grace and steadiness of the hand. His eyes went to the drink, his head tilting to the side, at the delicate shape of the glass. His jaw tightened for a moment as he realised he would have to be careful, to not break the glass. He reached for the glass, carefully touching it and lifting it to taste. Sour, bitter but also sweet. He hadn't expected it. He wasn't sure what he had expected. He looked at him before he nodded. "I'll try not to break your glass."

"They're more sturdy than they look," Rook assured him, getting another down to show him, a small smile quirking on his lips. "And if you're ever unsure..." he lifted his hand, showing him his thumb and two fingers before using them to delicately take hold of the stem of the glass rather than the bowl, lifting it casually. "It also keeps your drink cooler."

Jace studied how he did it before he nodded, putting the glass down and then picking it up as instructed. He sipped the drink again before he gave a small nod. "Makes sense," he finally admitted. Less surface contact meant less heat bleeding in from his hand and skin ran hot, thirty-odd degrees, and glass carried it straight through into the drink. Hold the stem and all that stayed in the air, not in the liquid. He put the glass down and looked around, for a brief moment, eyes scanning. He had picked a good time. His eyes went back to Rook and he looked at the necklace the man wore, taking in the shape of it.

Rook let him, giving him a few moments of silence to catalogue it. "I enjoy repurposing trinkets," he finally offered, the smallest of smiles on his lips.

Jace gave a small nod and met his eyes, taking a slow breath. "I don't like throwing things away either," he said, the ghost of an answering smile coming to him. "Where did you pick it up?"

"An officer who didn't need it anymore," Rook replied lightly, his eyes shining as he rested his folded arms on the bar to lean in closer to him. "I can't imagine you would ever be so careless."

"No," Jace's voice was quiet at that and his eyes met Rook's and held them. Seeing the colour of them, not just the entirety of the man. "You can carve a fine edge on that easily enough. Or keep it smooth to touch."

"I can do many things, Jace," Rook assured with a softer tone, a small smile playing on his lips as he held his eyes with ease. "Just like you."

A small tug at the corner of his lips was as close to a smile as Jace came at that. "You can fight," he said, his voice hushed. Observing, but he broke eye contact. "Use weapons...it's not just skill, you respect the sharpness of your blade. You...watch people. Most likely remember everything everyone's ever told you..." he lifted the drink to sip, thinking. "You're comfortable with Federation tech. Starfleet tech. But I don't think you've served."

"Don't you?" Rook asked lightly, content to spin his little webs of doubts and questions. It was easy to hide the truth if it was so confused with the lies.

Jace held his eyes for a long moment. "Not in the way that gets written down in records anyway," he said quietly. He understood that though. He suspected half of what most people did never made it onto the computer. He looked at the glass, at the delicate shape of it, a slight frown pulling between his brows. Briefly. And then it eased as he breathed in, slowly. "It gets to live somewhere else. In how you maintain your knife. The charm you carry..." his eyes flickered to meet Rook's. "The way you move."

"Charm?" Rook touched his own chest, as if enamoured by the compliment, before chuckling softly and settling to rest crossed arms on the bar, leaning into him. "And for your information, my blade, my real blade, is called Thornbane."

Jace tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. The glass turned once between his fingers, slow and deliberate, like he was grounding himself in the feel of it. A breath pulled in through his nose, held, then let out with a quiet control that had more to do with habit than relaxation. "Edge's an edge," he said at last, voice low, a hint of Turkana Creole colouring his voice. "Can last longer than you do...or be broken in a day." He stopped and there there a moment before he looked back and held Rook's eyes. "Why Thornbane?"

"Because that's its name," Rook chuckled softly, as if it were as simple as that. "It earned its first blood in a story that involved subterfuge, roses, poison and betrayal. If you ever imbue me with enough alcohol, I may tell you the full story one day."

Jace looked at Rook, something tightening faintly behind his eyes. Not confusion, not this time. But not understanding the terms, or the reason behind them. It was something about the way Rook had said it. Imbue. A ritual, a ceremony...something else, that Jace hadn't tracked before. He swallowed and looked at his drink. "How much would it take?" he asked, his mind weighing up quantities, situations...chances. "For you to trade the story?" What he wanted to ask was what it would take. But he wasn't sure he wanted to know. There was something...unfamiliar about this. Something that tugged at him in a way he wasn't used to, but rather than resist it he...stayed. Settled with it against his skin.

Rook tilted his head as he took him in for a long moment, sensing the change in him. Well that was new for the stoic man. He hadn't thought that he would really be interested one way or another. "Hm...a bottle of Luna ice wine and two stories about you."

Jace's eyes lifted to Rook at the words, sharp at first, then caught by something quieter beneath them. His lips parted slightly, not quite confusion, not quite annoyance, but something in between that moved through him too quickly to hold. He didn't bolt. He stayed where he was, hands still around the glass. But for a moment, it felt like Elen's hand was between his shoulder blades, that quiet pressure that kept him rooted when he might otherwise step away. "Bottle's going to be difficult," he said eventually, voice low, but with a nod that made it clear he'd already started thinking through the logistics. "Challenge accepted." The stories would be harder. He wasn't used to giving them away. But something about the way Rook had said it...it wasn't mockery. It wasn't performance. It was the kind of price someone set when they meant to hold it with care. And maybe, truthfully, he wanted to hear the story about the knife.

And maybe, even more than that, Jace wanted to come back.

Rook arched an eyebrow. Fascinating. He'd accepted the challenge. He liked that. It showed courage and fortitude, and it wasn't lost on Rook, just how much of a leap outside of his comfort zone it was. "I accept personal or work related stories," he assured, the corner of his lips quirking into a ghost of a smile. "And offer the guarantee that they shall remain in my vault forever."

Jace looked at him, mapping his face for a moment. His expression, but also how he was looking at him. "But only once you have the bottle?" he asked, to clarify the rules of this exchange. "Or do you need it before?"

"Once I have a bottle in hand and one story delivered in your velvet, dulcet tones, then I will be at your service," Rook gave an elegant, sweeping bow, and with such grace that it was clear it wasn't the first time.

Jace watched him, taking a slow breath. He nodded once, then finished the drink. He set the glass down carefully, precise in the motion..and careful. "Not my service," he said, pale eyes lifting to meet the midnight blue of Rook's. "An exchange. For the story of your blade." He paused. Something in his expression flickered...not reluctance, exactly. Just the shape of hesitation, unfamiliar in this context. "When...I get the bottle. Where...how..." The words faltered, and he let out a faint breath, the corners of his mouth tightening in irritation. He hated when it did that, when the phrasing slipped from him, when Standard wasn't enough...when it felt easier to reach for a language he hadn't spoken for years. So he went blunt. "Is the bar too public to hand it over?"

"You can come to my quarters," Rook offered, having patiently held back until he'd found his words, rather than trying to fill them for him. "It might not seem like it, but I do have time off...occasionally."

Jace stilled at the words. Didn't freeze, but stilled, eyes on him. Processing the offer. And the joke that came after. He gave a nod, taking a deeper breath. "Your quarters. I'll send you a message when I got the bottle...you let me know when I can come." Plans. Strategies. He liked those. He liked knowing what to expect, the rules of the encounters. Yes, he'd be in Rook's quarters, but the Green Kiss was also Rook's territory. Jace saw no difference in terrain.

"You sound like you're planning a military operation," Rook noted with a small smile of amusement, but no jibe or mockery.

"I do that with...everything that falls out a set...perimeter," he said and got off his seat. "Unless something, or someone, sabotages it." He met Rook's eyes, giving a small nod.

"Well, that something or someone shan't be me," Rook replied lightly, holding his eyes intently as he wagged a playful finger from side to side in reassurance.

"Copy that," Jace said, looking at him before he gave a nod. "I'll be back. Not sure when. See if I can get that bottle." He hesitated for a moment before he walked off, heading out the door.

Rook chuckled softly, watching him with open interest now that he couldn't see it. He really was an enigma wrapped in chainmail. "Curiouser and curiouser..."

---

Rook
Proprietor of The Green Kiss
USS Guinevere

&

Sergeant Jace Morven
Platoon Sergeant, Alpha Squad
Federation Ground Forces Detachment
USS Guinevere

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