The Tonga Room, for those of you who don't know it, it a bar and restaurant in the basement of the Fairmont Hotel up on Old Nob Hill, in a section of San Francisco. For those of you who have never ventured beyond the area of the city, once known as the Presidio, where Starfleet Command had built its complex of buildings, its main headquarters, you are missing a treat. Much of old San Francisco has been carefully kept, to remind humans and visitors what the city once was like, before the San Andreas and Hayward Faults heaved and jerked the western part of California northward, before the days when geologists knew how to relieve the pressures from the plate tectonics and divert the energy elsewhere. Nob Hill had stood the sentinel of time over the bay, first as a high grass covered place, then as a playground for the rich.

Comdr. Ian Lancaster had made it a point to go to the Tonga Room whenever he was in town. It wasn't often, but he still went. It reminded him of Emmi Chin, somewhat hokey with the waterfall and rainstorms, the funky mix of Hawaiian music, and the smell of ginger. Emmi wasn't hokey, but she was a captivating blend of cultures, some traditionally Chinese, some Japanese, a lot Islander He liked to occasionally reminisce about what could have been and what was. Recant events had put him in a contemplative mood and he talked his buddy Bob Hanks into venturing into the cool night air and over to the Tonga Room.

Being July, the interior valley, The Great Central Valley, where farmers still grew their crops of peppers, tomatoes, grapes, corn and cotton, had warmed up drawing the cool ocean air through the Golden Gate and causing the summer fog.

Mark Twain had written once that "The worst winter I spent was a summer in San Francisco." And Ian could agree with that.

The Tonga Room created a haven from the fog, and Ian and Bob settled at a small table near the interior lake, swimming with brightly colored Koi that looked as if they could nibble off a mans finger.

They had been sitting now for a while drinking and munching on various dishes.

That was when Ian told Bob about his promotion. Bob at first stared, then he laughed.

Ian watched his pal for a long moment as Bob let the news sink in.

"Damn Ian!" finally exclaimed Bob, who was navigator of the USS Hornet. "Damn First Officer! All hail Caesar!"

Ian Lancaster let a small smile play on his lips behind his beard, he nodded.

He took off his glasses for a moment and rubbed his nose, glancing around the small restaurant. San Francisco, the smell of cooking everything, especially the drinks had pushed him further into his reflective mood.

A mood noted by the guy sitting across the table from him, "Ahh, maybe we shouldn't have picked this place, you're being moody."

"What who me? Nah, just reflective."

"Moody," grunted Bob. "Thinking about that babe again."

"I love Polynesian food." Ian smirked. "Alex Zukoft is on my mind. Not a babe, not that one at any rate."

"You know what they call her," Bob sighed.

"I've heard," Ian said softly toying with his drink, "Round Ear Vulcan."

"How could you leave Bach for that?!"

"How? Because I'm the First Damn Officer, that's why." Ian stared at Bob over the rim of his antique pewter glasses. Because of Retinin-x allergy his nearsightedness could not be treated in a conventional manner, and he was squeamish about any form of ocular surgery. He normally used an engineered contact lens but occasionally his eyes were irritated and he had to resort to using glasses to bend and focus the light on the back of his retina. He kept his pair close at hand because he never knew when a flair-up would happen. One of his engineering friends once proposed a heads up display that would scroll on the bottom of the lens for him to keep tabs on Ops. Allergies were a decided pain.

"Its gonna be a long five years." Bob sighed.

"Yeah, sure and all those years with my dad weren't long?" Ian mused sourly. "Besides, you get first crack at my seat if all goes right."

He suddenly jumped when a warm hand rested lightly on his neck, he whipped his glasses on and looked up. His breath caught. His eyes met soft nearly black luminous orbs framed by black lashes and rich tan skin. Her petite frame was wrapped in a sumptuous red sarong. Her black hair loose down her back. He swallowed and tried to quell his surprise.

"I thought you were on the Hornet," she smiled.

"I..I'm…"

"Didn't recognize you with hair- your father made you keep it so short. Or the beard." She smiled again drawing her hand lightly and gracefully away. "Ten years is a long time, Ian Lancaster."

"Em, I'm-" he blinked. "No sit, sit! Bob this is Emmi. Bob is Nav on the Hornet."

"We've met once. Yeah and your hairy friend here just got promoted to First Officer on the Explorer!" Bob laughed. "Hey Ill leave you two. Ten years of stuff to catch up on , that would loose me."

Emmi watched Bob leave for a moment before looking at Ian. She reached out softly and rubbed his arm. "Hey," she smiled. "He knows about us?"

"Yep. So your doing what? Counseling on the-" he tried hard to keep his thoughts and conversation light, but surprise had left him flat footed.

"I was just reassigned," she smiled. "And your First Officer on the Explorer?"

He nodded and looked at her tiny graceful hands. "Where are they sending you?"

"I don't know just yet," she replied softly. "The Explorer sounds like a good mission."

"The-" he blurted swallowing hard, his mind racing in chaotic circles. "Did Bob set us up?"

"Yeah," she smiled warmly, teasing him, "How do you feel about that?"

"Actually Em, I was feeling rather guilty about running away. Maybe I made the wrong choice."

"Water under the bridge. Would you have preferred to be unhappy?" She waved her graceful hands again letting the comment pass. Bygones were bygones, after all. There were no hard feelings involved. But she thought a moment, thinking like a counselor, "Do you have a problem serving with me?"

"No, I missed you. And I feel bad that I never wrote or anything."

"Again, water, Ian. I heard about your father," she looked at him with her nearly black eyes, "I'm very sorry that you lost him."

"He did it doing what he did best. I'm not bitter."

"Ian you can't fool me. You do feel a little bitter about it. Listen to the way you talk about him, doing what he did best." She shook her head and rolled her eyes. She had met Reginald Lancaster, Ian's adoptive father. He was hard and tough; very by the book. Ian was more bitter about a tough childhood, where he was never allowed to be a child or do spontaneous things. That had changed when they had their affair. Ian had done everything to please his father. Now he had grown into his own man and she was pleased. She picked up the chopsticks and gently picked up a chink of sweet and spicy pineapple. She delicately fed it to him.

"Em I-" he hesitated.

"What?" she wondered with a blink, letting her hand fall into her lap still holding the sticks.

"Old times, this is like old times." He blinked feeling the pressure of old memories. Unconsciously he rubbed the tattoo under his shirt. Emmi let herself smile at the gesture, she knew.

"So it is," she whispered and smiled, "So it is."

He looked at her for a long moment. She sat back and watched him in return.

Am I sure I can do this? He wondered to himself. If Emmi is-

"You don't like the idea of serving on the Explorer with me?" she wondered.

Damn her intuition! He sighed, "I'm just not certain of my ability."

"To keep work and play separate? I think you can do it. I think that's why Zukoft selected you."

"I'm not certain why she selected me," Ian snorted back. "Hell I know she's a by the book person, and I know that there were better qualified persons going for the spot."

"There always is," Emmi said softly, "besides there is a relationship between a captain and her first officer that transcends any written protocol. Sometimes its an extension of the captains ego, and sometimes it's a case of counterpoint."

"Oil and water," Ian grumbled.

"So be it," Emmi shrugged. "Call me a silly romantic, but I was thrilled to hear you were on the Explorer. I wanted to mend our rift. I wasn't certain how, with your career path. I didn't know if you wanted to."

"Picking up these pieces is … well .. difficult."

"Worth it I think, well worth it," she smiled softly.