Wool & Silence
Posted on Mon Jun 23rd, 2025 @ 7:02pm by Lieutenant JG Elen Rell & Sergeant Jace Morven
Edited on on Mon Jun 23rd, 2025 @ 7:10pm
2,198 words; about a 11 minute read
Mission:
Prologue
Location: USS Guinevere
Timeline: 2388
The gym lights hummed quietly overhead, dimmed to night-cycle levels that made everything a little softer at the edges. Shadows stretched long across the floor, cast by idle equipment and ghosted outlines of earlier sessions. The air held a kind of hush...shipboard hush...not silence exactly, but that half-hearted quiet that happened when one shift was asleep, another was yawning through mid-cycle, and the third hadn’t even stretched yet.
It felt... suspended. Like the air hadn’t quite made up its mind whether to rest or reset.
Elen Rell slipped through the doors like she belonged there, because she did. She paused just inside the threshold, gaze flicking over the space like she was scanning a power grid. And there he was, right where the computer had said he’d be. Right where her gut had guessed.
Jace Morven.
Of course.
She could’ve flipped a spanner for it...heads, he was here. Tails, the holodeck. Same result. You didn’t have to be psychic to read his patterns; you just had to pay attention. And Elen... she paid attention. If not on shift...two options. Actually, three, he might be in the mess.
He was in front of a punch bag, all sharp lines and coiled focus, moving in that particular way people did when they’d long since memorised the shape of a fight. His fists hit with rhythm...solid, even, relentless. This wasn’t about working out. Not even about getting it out. This was muscle memory worn smooth. Motion like maintenance. Maintenance like survival.
She watched for a moment. Maybe longer than she meant to.
There was something weirdly beautiful in it: the control, the precision. No wasted energy, no posturing. Just power, tucked in tight. A human conduit with voltage to spare.
And then...because even in the hush, even in the middle of someone else’s moment, Elen Rell was not built for lurking--
She cleared her throat. “So... this is what late-shift brooding looks like,” she said, voice light, arms crossed loosely over her chest like she was about to make herself at home. Which, honestly, she probably was.
His right hand stilled mid-return. A beat passed. Then he finished the motion, lowered his arms, and turned.
“Elen.” Flat, neutral...but not cold.
A blink slower than habit. The tension didn’t break, but it…shifted. Like a field recalibrating.
He hadn’t expected her.
She grinned, wide and easy, even as her heart did a sudden flutter-kick like it had hit turbulence. “Hi.”
He waited. Watching. Not suspicious. But not... open, either. Just that steady quiet that followed him like a second skin.
Then, because silence was never her natural habitat, she launched into it.
“So, I asked the computer where you were,” she said, the words spilling like they’d been queuing up. “Figured that was smarter than wandering the corridors trying to guess if you were punching holograms or hiding in a Jeffries tube. I mean, I could’ve guessed, but this ship’s huge and I wasn’t really in the mood to snoop tonight. So I asked, and it said gym, and now I’m here, and you’re here. Which is... convenient. And also kind of spooky if you think about it too hard.”
Her hands fluttered once at her sides, then tucked behind her back as she rocked on her heels, trying to seem casual even though her thoughts were moving at warp four.
He didn’t move.
Just watched her. Still.
Not wary...just taking her in. Her uniform. The gloves. Hair pulled back with that strip of dark gold...engineering, yes, but soft-edged. Familiar.
She carried something, folded in one hand. Small. Meant to be held, maybe handed over. He didn’t ask.
“You’re not on duty.” The words came low, even. Not a challenge. Just a fact wrapped in a question he didn’t ask aloud.
“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ lightly, hands swinging at her sides before one slipped up to tuck a loose braid-loop behind her ear. “Swapped with Jorin. He owed me a snack, a favour, and possibly an apology for blowing out conduit four without telling me.”
She shrugged, like it had all been simple…not a bureaucratic dance across two shifts and three system checks. “Bit of schedule shuffling, bit of good timing. Bought myself an evening off and thought, you know... where do broody people with good shoulders go this time of night?”
She grinned, crooked and unbothered. “And here you are.”
“And you used it to find me.” No accusation. No invitation. Just... fact. Noted. Filed.
Elen dropped onto the edge of the nearest mat, legs folding under her like she’d been invited, which she hadn’t. “So,” she said, plucking a bit of imaginary lint from her knee, “I’ve decided you’re in need of a friend.” She looked up at him, chin tilted, voice light but certain. “And unfortunately for you, I’m very proactive.”
“I see.” He didn’t move. Just stood there like someone who’d always been in this space.
She tilted her head. “You’ve got that look,” she said, voice low. “Like someone who’s seen too many fires and never got to stop smelling smoke.”
He stayed silent, watching her closely. Not confirming. Not denying. Just letting the quiet stretch because people like her, he’d learned, always filled it.
“The one my mum used to have. That far-off look like your brain’s still in the fight, even when your hands aren’t. I saw it all over Mars after the war. And now...” She trailed off, eyes scanning him the way she scanned systems…thoughtful, careful. “Yeah. Now too.”
Something shifted. Not in his face, his face didn’t do that. But the air between them thickened slightly. His silence wasn’t unfamiliar. Just... more intent.
“She was FGF,” Elen added, voice low, eyes flicking down as her fingers fussed with the cuff of her uniform. “Specialist unit. Officer. She always led from the front, that was just who she was. She didn’t make it. Just…” She caught the words before they landed, took a breath instead, grounding herself. She wasn’t here to unpack all that. Not now.
“I’m sorry.” Sincere, but quiet. She didn’t need more than that. He wasn’t meant to answer the grief, just hear it. And he did.
“Me too.” She gave a soft shrug, almost like she was brushing it off — or trying to. “My dad made it. Stayed in. Remarried. My little sister’s brilliant, full of fire and too many opinions.” Her smile ghosted through. “But there’s still a wall. Grief in two languages. His and mine.” She glanced at him, offering a small, sideways smile…part thanks, part surprise. He’d listened. Really listened. And she hadn’t expected that.
Elen tilted her head, the faintest smile tugging at her mouth. “You’ve got that look,” she said, voice quiet, not teasing. “Like you’re trying to reverse-engineer me. Figure out what system I’m running, what subroutine brought me here.” She shrugged, the movement loose, unbothered. “Spoiler alert: it’s tea, spite, and a general refusal to let good people sit in silence forever.”
His gaze held hers, steady. He didn’t correct her. “Spite’s a strong motivator,” he said at last. Neutral tone. But not dismissive. The silence stretched for a beat, then: “Didn’t say silence was bad.”
“Fair,” she said, rubbing her fingers together like she might warm a better sentence out of them. “It’s just… you looked cold in it. The silence, I mean. Not bad, just… like it was settling in places it shouldn’t.” She shrugged, a little awkward, a little wry. “And before you go all ‘what does she want from me,’ it’s not that. I’m not here to fix you. Or trade grief stories like they’re calling cards. I just think... maybe you don’t always have to sit in it alone.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, steady, the silence stretching for a moment... but not in rejection. More like he was testing the shape of the words before he said them. Then, quiet: “…Not used to company being quiet with me.”
A pause. His gaze dropped for a beat, then returned: grounded, unflinching. “But you don’t push.”
Another pause, this one shorter. “That matters.”
She blinked, startled at first by the words. Then she smiled, soft and crooked. “Oh, I’m not quiet,” she said, giving a little shrug that sent her shoulders shifting like restless gears. “I’m basically a walking subspace feedback loop half the time.”
Her fingers tapped her leg, thoughts bouncing. “But I can... sit quiet. With someone. When it counts. Feels different, doesn’t it? Not the kind of silence that presses in on you.” She looked at him, earnest now. “Feels more like... breathing room.”
Jace’s gaze lingered on her, still and level. Not intense…just… present. “Yeah.” The word was low. Not a revelation, but an agreement. A quiet marking of shared ground.
He looked down for a breath, thumb brushing idly against his wrist, a small tic of focus. Then, after a moment: “…Don’t get much of that.”
Not bitter. Not self-pitying. Just fact. The kind that didn’t need explanation. But something in his shoulders shifted…just slightly. A loosening, not quite comfort, but proximity to it.
Her gaze dipped to his hands, tracking the small motion, then flicked back up to his face. “So… I actually brought you something,” she said, a little hesitant now that it was actually happening. She pulled the small bundle from where it had been tucked under her arm, the green yarn tie looped neatly, more functional than pretty, but clearly made with care. “After that accidental holodeck ambush,” she went on, managing a crooked smile, “I just kept thinking about how still you sit. Like… still still. But not relaxed. Like someone waiting for an alarm that never comes.”
She held the bundle out between them. “They’re gloves. Fingerless. Wool, the good kind. Durable, breathable, grounding.” Her tone shifted, a little sheepish. “I guessed the size. Sorry if they’re weird. But I didn’t make them to keep your hands warm or punch better or anything. Just…” she paused. Refocused. Continued. “Something to hold when you feel like floating off the map.”
Jace didn’t take the bundle immediately.
His eyes dropped to it, then lifted to meet hers. Just once. Like a systems check. Verifying this was really for him, not something just passing through.
Then, deliberately, he reached out and took it from her hands.
The wool was warm. Not from temperature, but from intent. His fingers brushed the yarn tie...coarse, steady, the kind of knot tied with purpose. He didn’t open the bundle. Just let his thumb trace the texture of the stitches. Holding it was enough.
“You made this,” he said quietly. Not a question. A fact. Registered. Stored.
There was no smile. But something in him settled. Not warmth, exactly, but recognition. Like something in the rhythm of him had just… slowed.
“I won’t lose them,” he said. And he meant it.
He thought of what he had. Silver tin. Mint plant. Now fingerless gloves. Favourite combat knife.
The rest of his possessions were replaceable.
Elen nodded once, her smile smaller now, but still real. She saw it in him: a limit. She was reaching it, so she eased back. “Alright,” she said softly, not needing to fill it with more.
She stood with that fluid, loose-limbed grace of someone built to move, brushing her palms on her thighs like she was resetting herself. Not dusting anything off..just grounding. A quick stretch of her back, shoulders rolling once.
No invitation. No promise. Just…enough. “Night, Jace.” She didn’t linger. Just gave him one last look…not expectant, not waiting. Just seeing him.
Then she turned and let him have his silence again.
He didn’t rise. Didn’t follow her with his eyes.
Just listened to the sound of her steps fading: not hurried, not slow. Certain. Like she knew exactly where she was going. Like she trusted him to do the same.
Jace looked down at the gloves still resting in his hands. Turned them once. Felt the stitchwork under his thumbs. They were solid. Intentional. Not made for war... but not delicate, either.
He slid one on. Then the other.
The fit wasn’t perfect. A little loose at the knuckles, snug across the palm. But they moved with him. And they held. They held.
He flexed his fingers once. The wool rasped slightly. Real. Present.
“Elen.” His voice didn’t rise. Just enough to reach her. “Thanks.” No flourish. No extra weight.
But from him, it meant something anchored. Something kept.
----
Lieutenant JG Elen Rell
Acting Chief Engineer
USS Guinevere
&
Sergeant Jace Morven
Platoon Sergeant, Alpha Squad
Federation Ground Forces Detachment
USS Guinevere
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