In the Science lab Tyrrel glanced at the chronometer...shift was just about over. She laid down the PADD she'd been working on and got up, stretching. It had been a long day, and not on anything really interesting either unless you thought seemingly endless strings of figures were such.. but that was part of mapping this little known area...

She stretched again and decided she didn't want to head directly to her quarters, she'd stop by 8 forward first, she was more than a little hungry especially since she hadn't taken time for lunch.

She shut down her terminal and left the lab, heading for the turbolift. As she rounded a corner she sensed someone near, looking up she saw two men walking towards her. One she recognized as the shuttle bay officer, Marinus...but the other one, the tall blond man, she was sure she had not seen onboard before...and there was something about him...a feeling of strong emotions but kept controlled, so controlled...

"Lieutenant," Tyrrel greeted, respectfully acknowledging the senior officer first. "Chief," she said to Marinus.

Marinus smiled and Lieutenant Mak nodded at her with a courteous "Ensign Tyrrel, I believe."

"Yes, Sir!" Tyrrel piped, amazed that he knew her name even though they had never actually met in all the weeks she'd been aboard the Defiant. Wait a minute, she thought, now I remember him: from that party in 8-Forward when I first signed arrived. He was the bass player for the ship's band. Lt. Mak, the Intelligence Officer. Of course! No wonder he knew her while she was still in the dark.

Tyrrel had heard of the recent "sparring match" between the Lieutenant and Middy Daniel Clark on the holodeck. Various accounts of what had actually happened during that 'innocent' match claimed that Mak sent Clark into a brief coma with a single punch. Happily, Clark had since recovered with no apparent lasting damage. Funny, she thought, how could an officer so apparently into everything and presumably so popular with the crew be so elusive as to escape her eyes for literally weeks?

"Are you just getting off duty?" Marinus asked.

"Yes, it's been a long day…as usual." Now Tyrrel smiled. What a coincidence, Marinus was also Betazoid. "I thought I'd go to 8-Forward for a little refreshment."

"Sounds good," Marinus replied. "Wish I could join you, but my shift is just starting." Tyrrel looked over to Mak who was staring silently at the turbolift doors.

"Well, maybe next time," she replied. "I was hoping I'd run into someone I knew, though. Working all day in the labs with just a PADD just lacks that…personal feeling that another person can give. As good as computers are, there's no substitute for live conversation." Again, she looked at Mak. Odd. For some reason she seemed to receiving a telepathic interference of some sort coming from him. Why couldn't she read him anymore?

Marinus looked over at Mak. Being Betazoid, he felt something stirring within Tyrrel every time she looked over to his friend. Granted, he'd had his abilities purposely suppressed for most of his life, but after the run-in with that bizarre alien creature that probed into everyone's minds, he found himself becoming more emotionally sensitive to outside forces and something was definitely going on with her at that moment.

"Perhaps the Lieutenant could join you? He was just on his way there as well," Marinus suggested, turning to Mak with a grin. One of Mak's eyebrows raised in surprise, but he quickly composed himself. In those couple seconds, Tyrrel felt Mak's barrier dissipate and experienced a flaring surge of emotion, which was quickly squelched. She had never met a non-Vulcan with such control before.

"That would be lovely." she admitted, then suddenly realizing that perhaps she shouldn't have seemed so familiar in the presence of a superior officer. Sometimes she really hated military protocol. But she looked over to the Lieutenant as if awaiting a reply.

"Why of course, Ensign. I'd be delighted." Mak said with some semblance of a smile. But she wondered if it were really true.

They arrived at the appropriate floor and the lift doors opened. Mak motioned for Tyrrel to depart first while he threw a vicious glare at Marinus.

"Ensign, report to my office after your shift," He ordered sternly.

Tyrrel followed Mak into the lift, still trying to puzzle out the meaning of what she'd felt back there. Somehow it didn't seem proper to ask flat out about something like that, to someone she'd only just met...but it was definitely odd.

She noticed the way he looked at Marinus just before the lift doors closed and wondered about that too...had she missed something there? even without being telepathic/empathic she could tell Mak was upset at Marinus for some reason, the way he'd looked at him showed that.

Still she was here and Mak was here and if they were not to spend the rest of this evening in awkward silence she had to start the conversation off somehow..."I remember seeing you in the band, my first night on board." she said. "though no one told me who you were...and I sort of was distracted by Ensign Joel's...difficulties...that night. Have you been with the ship long?"

The lift had been moving while they talked and it slid into the berth on deck 8 moments later. The doors opened and she allowed Mak to go first, that too was protocol, though she had noticed that he kept looking at her, she had the definite feeling he was trying to hide something, she couldn't pick up his emotions exactly, not the way she had a few minutes ago, but there was a definite sense of something he was trying to conceal not only from her but in some way...from himself? could she be reading that right?

Mak entered the room and she followed him to a table. As they sat down she smiled trying to put him at ease.

"Well, Iet's just say I've been on long enough to rise from a Middy to full Lieutenant," Mak said cryptically.

Interesting, thought Tyrrel. Not only did the Lieutenant seem a man of few words, but what words he gave tended towards evasiveness. Did he ever give a straight answer?

"Oh, a man of mystery, eh?" she asked. He grinned. For some reason it seemed odd on him: like he didn't smile much. It was as if all he were capable of was the odd grin. She thought she felt something flare when she asked, but then it was immediately cloaked. She tried to recall what she remembered of those first few glances of the Novachron on the night she arrived aboard the Defiant. Even then, he seemed so intense, so focused on his bass playing: sort of like that classical Earth composer, what was his name? Oh, yes, Sting.

"Well, Ensign..." he began, only to be cut short.

"Please, we're off duty. I'm Kamiana." She smiled sweetly. It didn't even occur to her why she was becoming so personal. She held out her hand.

"They call me Mak," he replied, accepting her hand and looking at her eyes more directly. Suddenly, without being consciously aware of it, the Novachron's mind seemed to short circuit. Images whirred past his mind's eye in a dizzying flurry of ancient pictures long since forgotten. A strange sensation went up his arm almost like electricity. He blinked twice to clear the cobwebs, which in itself was weird because nobody had actually ever seen him do so.

Simultaneously, Tyrrel's mind flooded with a kaleidoscope of unexplainable images. A city with tall crystalline spires and fluffy clouds set against a pale pinkish sky. A large room....and then it was if her mind was spun around in all directions not allowing her to focus clearly. She suddenly found herself back in the 8-Forward lounge with both herself and the Lieutenant looking at each other blankly. She quickly composed her thoughts.

"Don't you have a first name?" She inquired. Mak's left eyebrow raised.

"I thought I was the Intelligence Officer around here, Ens...Kamiana," he quickly amended.

"I'm sorry, " she briefly blushed. "I didn't mean to pry." But I'll be damned if there isn't a WHOLE lot more than meets the eye going on with you, my dear, she thought.

My "dear"? What made her think that?

"Well, it's no secret, actually," Mak admitted. "Actually, Mak was my Trill's name."

"You were bonded?"

"Yeah, but the ol' fella was gettin' up there in age, even for a symbiont. One day he decided he'd had enough of this ol' life and thought he'd hang it up for good," Mak explained. "The only problem was, he wanted to take me with and I wouldn't let him." The Betazoid's eyes widened with interest.

"So what did you do?"

"Well, I basically chose to take him out before he took me out--in the most literal way." Mak mimed slashing across his abdomen with an invisible knife and pulling out an invisible vermiform. Tyrell was astounded.

"You cut into your own abdomen...? But how...?" Shouldn't he have died, Tyrrel wondered. "What about the pain?"

Mak grinned again. For no explainable reason, there was a powerfully roguish charm about him and that grin just tied it all together. It was a grin that said so much that simply couldn't be put into words. It just gave her feeling that no matter what the situation, Mak had things in control. It made her feel oddly...comfortable.

"It hurt like all frag." Then they both started laughing. Mak signalled for the bartender and she brought them a bottle and two glasses.

"What's this?" Tyrell asked.

"Merakite honey wine," he replied, pouring each of them a glass. She sipped it, savoring its sweetness despite a dark amber hue. It looked deceivingly strong, but it's flavor was warm and spread quickly throughout her body. It was as if she could taste it with all parts of her body, not just her mouth. "Just a little something I picked up on one of my travels."

Hmmm....she wondered. A well-traveled man of mystery. Most intriguing.

"Now back to your Trill-ectomy, " She tried to return to her inquiry rather than go on about how incredible the wine tasted. "It must have left an awful scar." Mak simply shook his head. Tyrrel was puzzled. Even with current technology, a haphazardly made gash like the one Mak probably made couldn't have been seamlessly healed.

"Nope. Not a trace."

"How?" Her natural scientific curiosity suddenly kicked in.

"I'm just funny that way." Mak shrugged, another grin surfacing as if to say, 'that's for me to know and you to find out'.

"I'll just bet you're just full of surprises," she smiled back at him.

There was that flicker of emotion again then the feeling of it being cloaked. "So..." she went on. "what else have you been doing besides that?" she -would- get a straight answer from him on -some- subject no matter if it took her all night...she felt the all over tingle of the wine and wondered again where he'd found it. "What do you like to do when you're not digging up information on someone or something..." she paused.

"When I'm not stalking around the ship, as some people claim I do?" Mak grinned. Tyrell nodded. "Keeping an eye out for temporal spatial anomolies, studying the usual batches of Starfleet Intelligence data gathered by the rest of the ships in case we encounter something. We don't want to accidentally have someone sneeze and have it be interpreted as an act of war, ya know." They both laughed.

"Sounds like you're prettty busy. When have you got time to sleep?"

"Oh, here and there," he replied. "I don't usually require as much as, say, a human...or Betazoid."

"You know, your job and mine are a lot alike when you stop and think about it..." she knew that probably sounded inane as all get out but it had been the first thing that slipped out...she suddenly saw where her hand was, on the table mere inches from his and she hadn't even realized...

Part of her wanted to pull back, embarrassed that she'd inadvertently gotten so close she could touch him...but then it seemed the most natural thing in the universe to do just that though she still wasn't quite sure why...her fingers slid forward almost of their own volition and brushed his hand ever so slightly before she caught herself...

Mak just looked at her at that moment. His face unreadable, but somehow softer than she remembered it. It was most likely the wine combined with the dim lighting.

"I...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...." (the words sounded lame, and she realized in some way she didn't really mean them she felt so drawn to him, was it his aura of mystery? If there was a Nobel/Z Magnees Prize for being enigmatic Mak would win hands down that was for sure...

And what was more in that second or so they'd touched she'd felt that tingling through her entire body again...was it just the wine, or something else? For with it also had come more of those strangely compelling images racing through her mind...what did those mean??

"Don't apologize. I'm certainly not complaining," He admitted. "It's been a very long time since I've had such...pleasant company. After a while, a guy gets used to field rations and eating on the fly because he never knows when somebody out there's finally gonna track him down with a bone to pick for one reason or another and then it's...."

At that moment he seemed so...human, for lack of a better word. Here she was, sitting with the man who was rumored to be one of the Federation's most dangerous men and she actually felt close to him, safe, like her spirit was being held gently in his palm. It was not unlike how she used to feel with Michael. She wondered if he had anyone special perhaps waiting for him somewhere.

They both took a sip of their drinks when Lloyd, the 8-Forward bartender, announced the last call. Both Tyrell and Mak felt considerably warmer inside. Neither was sure if it was because of the wine or the company; but in any case, both appeared quite happy.

"Well, Kamiana, " said Mak, "looks like it's time to turn in." He looked at her eyes, so soft, almost large, liquid, warm. She appeared as if in a daydream. For a brief second she thought he meant....he heart sped up. "Good night and thank you for a...lovely evening." For once his smile seemed perfectly genuine, it held no glimmer of its usual look of alien observational intelligence. He seemed honestly pleased.

Tyrrel's heart dropped briefly, but she, too, managed a smile. Relationships between crewmates rarely worked out, especially when one was a higher ranking officer. But then there was the Captain and Dr. Laine....Was it really worth the effort? Who knew what secrets lay behind the mask of Lieutenant Mak and could she handle what there might be? Yes. But what could she, a young Betazoid do to entice somebody so disciplined, so controlled? She had an idea.

"You really turned me on," very brief pause, "to something special with this honey wine, you know?" She added quickly, definitely on the verge of blushing.

"Glad you liked it. It's important to try new things every now and then." he admitted.

"So how about I return the favor with dinner perhaps?" She suggested. Mak looked surprised. "How does tomorrow at twenty-hundred hours sound?" Silence enveloped the entire lounge and clung like a blanket of timelessness awaiting the sound that would break its spell. Oh, what have I just done? Tyrrel suddenly thought to herself.

"Hmmm..." Mak mused, "as it happens, I do believe I'm free. Twenty-hundred it is." And with that, he exited the lounge doors and was gone.

Tyrrel grinned unlike she had in a long time....until she came out of it and noticed the half concealed smiles on the faces of several crewmembers still at nearby tables. She drew herself up and flashed a 'wouldn't you like to know' look at them, then turned and walked out of the room. There were advantages to having once had other career aspirations, she had to admit, one of which was how to play things close to the vest.

Mak was nowhere in sight when she emerged into the corridor, but then she hadn't really expected him to be. But she knew he was near, though she wasn't sure exactly how she knew, it wasn't anything she could've put into words, it was just a feeling.

She went to her quarters and changed into her nightrobe. Lying back on the bed she found herself actually relaxing. It wasn't easy for her to get to sleep, it hadn't been for a long time...longer than she cared to remember. But tonight...tonight for some reason it was different, she actually felt as if she were drifting off right away...

And she did.

The next day passed uneventfully, though she did have to field a few teasing comments from some who'd seen them in 8 forward...well, she supposed, that was understandable. Mak had sat down for a drink with others several times before but those instances had been different from what she'd heard.

The hours seemed to slip past though, and once she was off duty she went straight to her quarters. She wanted to get some idea of what Mak might like but a search of the computer for information on his homeworld turned up very little and what there was didn't go into the sort of details she wanted.

Well, she'd just have to make do. Somehow, she had the feeling Mak would understand....she hadn't felt that way about anyone in a long time, not in this way anyhow and it was...it just felt right, somehow.

By 2130 she had the room just right, she'd decided to go with traditional Betazed fare (though they'd have to make do without the gong, there being no attendant to ring it for her) and she spent the next half hour just getting herself ready....nothing too fancy, that wasn't her style, a simple but elegant dress would do...

Precisely at 2200, the chime at her door sounded, she went to open it and smiled. "Enter and welcome." she said holding out a hand (why was she doing that?) a part of her wondered...even as another part worried that he'd think her too stuffy or formal for using the traditional greeting.....

Lieutenant Mak smiled warmly at the invitation. It was amazing how much a change of clothing from a standard uniform and a new hairdo could change a person's appearance. Certainly the Ensign was attractive, but now she appeared … exceptional. The gentle hint of makeup, the tilt of her head, the way the lipstick accented her small, cupid's bow lips and the warmth in her soft brown eyes brought back images of another time, another place, of Laurana.

That was it! Laurana. The strange images that had been whirling around in his mind the previous night were of her. The more Mak looked at Tyrrel the more she began to remind him of the Novachron woman whom he'd promised to return to some day. But that was over a millennium and a half ago: several lifetimes and many generations by most species' standards. Who knew if she still waited after all these years. He'd been away a long time, even by Novachron standards. For all he knew she, perhaps the entire planet was...no. He couldn't think that.

"Good evening," Mak said simply, smiling.

"I'd ask to take your coat but I see you're not wearing one," Tyrrel offered and they shared a good-natured chuckle. She stepped aside and he entered, presenting her with a wrapped package, unmistakenly bottle-shaped. She accepted it and they walked to the small table she'd set complete with a tablecloth and candles. "Care to do the honors?' she asked, pointing to the bottle.

"Sure."

He unwrapped the bottle, it was obviously old, its label like parchment, a wax seal in place covering the cork. From his pocket, Mak pulled out a gadget resembling an old earth pocket knife. With a deft flick of his wrist he uncovered a small curved blade which he used to cut a groove at the bottle's neck. Moments later he had the cork removed and it dangled by an ancient auburn string by the side of the bottle. He inhaled the bouquet from the bottle's opening, savoring the memories it brought to mind.

Tyrrel turned from the replicator where she'd been programming a rather complicated side dish that she had no time to actually prepare herself.

"A good vintage?" she asked. Mak smiled, his eyes called as if in recollection.

"Cognac, bottled in 1865." Tyrrel looked at the Lieutenant as if he were in a trance. "1865 was an interesting year," Mak continued. "Gregor Mendel published the first findings in the science of genetics; James Maxwell introduced his theory of electromagnetism, and President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated." The Novachron sighed, looking up. He found her staring at him.

"Oh, " she said, caught in the act, feeling a slight blush. "I'm sorry." Mak chuckled.

"Don't be," he said simply. "Shall I pour?"

Tyrrel suddenly felt herself get rather warm, despite her strapless evening dress. "Certainly." And Mak poured them each a glass. They raised the Arcturan stained glass-stemmed snifters and clinked them together.

"To...recollections of the past," Mak began.

"...And visions of a future yet to come," Tyrrel finished.

The cognac was warm and smooth and worked well in whetting their appetites for the sumptuous Betazed meal Tyrell had prepared. They talked and joked for seemingly hours as if they'd known each other for years rather than crewmembers for a scant few months.

"So what's your secret, Lieutenant Mak?" Tyrell finally mustered the courage to ask. Mak looked at her evenly.

"Secret? What do you mean?"

"I'll confess I tried to look into your files," Mak's eyebrows raised in surprise."....but there doesn't seem to be much of a background on you. Most of it is classified. Why? Who really are you? I've heard all kinds of rumors and hearsay aboard the ship about the mysterious Mr. Mak, and I want to know the truth."

"Why?"

"Because from the first time I saw you I felt something."

"You -are- a Betazoid."

"Not that, something more, something strange, yet exhillerating. Like an aura about you. I can't explain it, but I know you're no ordinary man."

Lieutenant Mak looked at her deep brown eyes. They seemed fuller than ever, almost pleading with him. He could sense what she felt and for the first time in literally ages, he began to feel it as well. What was happening? He was centuries older than her. She was mortal. He was her senior officer for crying out loud! In the dim cabin lighting, on a small couch, with the stars of a thousand constellations flying by, he made a decision.

The Novachron reached into his boot and removed a fierce looking, albeit smaller version of a Klingon d'k tahg. He presented it to Tyrell handle first. She grasped it and he put his hand over hers, securing it to the blade.

"I am Takila Mak, a Novachron Sentinel. I was sent to Earth in their year 1095 to study the development of humanity and report back to my superiors. One day my homeworld contacts disappeared, leaving me abandoned to my own devices, never to hear from them or see my family again." With that, he guided her hand to plunge the dagger into his abdomen. The look on her face was one of sheer terror and shock.

Moments later, grimacing as if from no more than a sprained ankle, Mak removed the dagger and parted the sides of his shirt open. Tyrrel watched as the bleeding subsided and then the wound began to close. Her chin quivered and her eyes filled with tears at not only his story but at the pain she felt coming from him at that moment. She looked at him questioningly.

"And as far as is known, I am Immortal."

With that she threw her arms around him in a tight embrace.

She just held on for the longest time, wanting somehow to convince herself that he was indeed still here..

Then she slowly raised her head from where it lay against his shoulder, meeting his eyes...

What she'd just seen, heard, had surprised her. But it didn't -matter- right now...it just didn't matter. it still felt -right- being this close to him..."Mak" she whispered softly. "thank you." The shock and fear she'd felt when he'd made her stab him had faded away...she could see past them now to realize it was the only way he'd known to tell her, -show- her what he was.

She hadn't been this close to anyone since Michael...and what she'd felt for him had been different. (and look what you did to -him-, another part of her mind whispered even as she tried to push it away, she couldn't let Mak see that darkness inside her, he'd turn away from her and that would be unbearable she knew it...with an effort she pushed those memories back into their hiding place and slammed the door on them.)

"You know I'm Betazoid." she whispered aloud. hoping her voice didn't show any sign of the struggle inside her. "I told you I was feeling something odd and I meant it. I just...I never thought it could happen..."

"I understand what you mean Kami," he admitted. "I felt the same way for a long time, longer than you can imagine." He grinned slightly at his own situation.

"I imagine things must be worse for you in many ways."

"For millennia people have sought ways, both scientific and arcane to achieve what I have. What they don't know is how it can really be on a daily basis, monthly, yearly....knowing that you'll probably outlive anyone you meet. Friends, lovers, all growing old and dying and me never seeming to change. Oh, sure, on the outside I look the same, but deep down, well...." She interrupted his train of thought in the gentlest way she could.

She released Mak from the embrace but only so that she could touch his face with one hand...slowly, tentatively, still uncertain of how he'd react she only knew this felt right, in spite of everything she knew she couldn't NOT do this...

"You don't frighten me, Takila Mak. Surprise me, yes, intrigue, definitely...what I'm trying to say is, I...I'd like to know -you-, if you'll let me...?"

In the dim candlelight she took on her own luminosity. She looked right, there among the stars. How long had it been since he'd felt something for a woman, a real woman, not a fly-by-night party girl during a drunken binge on the outer rimworlds. Kamiana Tyrell was not just a woman, she was a lady.

In the short time he'd known her they'd spoken of many things but still harbored their own mysteries. He saw in her something he thought he'd never see again, a woman who genuinely seemed to care. One who was interested in him as more of a person than a means to her own selfish ends. She was Betazoid and she radiated her feelings enough that even he could pick up what she exhuded was genuine. He was no telepath, but his Sinanju training allowed him to discern the impersceptible internal chemical changes in most beings that told if they were telling the truth or not. She was real alright, she could be trusted. She was beautiful.

The soft music continued to play on and an old song began, culled from Starfleet's Classical archives from Mak's favorite quartet. It was a hauting rendition of a song called 'Forever' and somehow, it's timing was just perfect. Mak reached out, his hands gently carressing the warm smoothness of her shoulders. He looked into the dark fullness of her eyes, nearly losing himself in their bottomless depth.

Tyrrel felt warm inside and she smiled as the Novachron touched her. They moved closer to each other, closer, moving in there own self-contained universe where only they existed and nothing else mattered: not Michael, not Laurana, Starfleet, the Federation, the ship, crew, the whole universe. All that was, was dark, the music, and the meeting of their lips. . . . Who lived forever anyway?

The next morning, clad in a robe of Betelgeusan silk brocade, Tyrrel woke Mak up with another kiss. His eyes lazed open and she handed him a Halkasian rose. He looked up at her and reached over for the hand holding the flower and kissed it.

She gestured with her other hand back towards the table where a hot breakfast lay steaming. "I fixed us something to eat. Why don't we go on..." she managed a smile. "and you can tell me some more about where you've been...what you've seen." Her eyes sparkled with curiosity she hoped he wouldn't think she was prying, just that she wanted to know because of how much she was coming to care for him.

From what he'd said he'd been alone for a long time, and at least for now she wanted him to know he wouldn't be, that at least one person would be there for him.

And if she kept him talking about himself he wouldn't have a chance to see what she couldn't let anyone see, whispered the other, hidden, part of her mind.

What -had- she seen when she touched his hand last night? she wondered forcing herself to concentrate on him. "Was...what I saw last night..was that Novachron?" she went on to describe the images that had rushed through her mind then.

Mak let out a loud chuckle. "Well you're an inquisitive one aren't you?" He grinned. "If I didn't know better I'd have tought you were trying to make me the object of some kind of case study." She paused hesitantly, wondering if her curiosity had perhaps offended him.

"Oh, Takila, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." She apologized, "It's just that there's so much, I've never....you, your life, a mysterious homeworld, it's like some kind of fantasy, some kind of..." She searched for the right word, "Magic."

Mak pulled her back to the bed, cradling her, smiles on both their faces. "Well, my dear Kami, I suppose in a way it is. But we have more than enough time for that later."

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