Fitzgerald stepped off the turbolift and made her way down the familiar curve of the corridor toward her quarters. It had been a long day, much longer than she’d anticipated when she’d woken up that morning. The silence that met her in the corridor was a welcome reprieve from the constant background hum of duty reports, comm chimes, and the occasional tense moments in Ops. She tapped the door pad, and the computer recognised who she was and let her in.

She stepped inside, and her pace slowed almost immediately by what was waiting for her.

The lights were dimmed, casting a warm golden glow across the room, and the dining table by the viewport was set with an elegance she had not expected. Two place settings. Tall candles, their flames dancing lazily. A small vase in the centre held a single, deep-red rose, one she recognised from The Plaza, the station’s large arboretum. Soft piano music, barely audible, floated from the sound system. It was very romantic, very much what she loved. Instantly, a small smile crept across her face. She knew who had done all of this, and her heart was overwhelmed by love.

“Sturok?” she called, still smiling as she walked over to the table, picked up the rose and smelled it.

Her husband emerged from the other end of their quarters, his hands behind his back in that perfectly Vulcan, perfectly composed stance he so often adopted.

“You’re home,” he said simply, but there was a faint lift to his brow ridge, typical Vulcan shorthand for satisfaction.

Fitzgerald moved toward him, already understanding what she was seeing. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble,” she said warmly, leaning in to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “And here I thought I’d be replicating soup and collapsing on the sofa.”

“I considered soup,” Sturok replied, his tone as level as ever, “but I judged that a more thoughtful approach was warranted.”

She took in the table again and raised a curious eyebrow. “What’s the occasion? Or should I be worried?”

“No cause for concern,” he assured her. “With the majority of the senior staff currently planetside, we have, for the past several days, been responsible for the station’s command, myself as acting captain, and you as acting first officer. Your support has been essential.”

Fitzgerald felt her cheeks warm slightly at his choice of words. “You’re thanking me for doing my job?”

“I am acknowledging,” he said, stepping aside to reveal a tray with a chilled bottle and two glasses, “that your efforts have ensured smooth operations despite the increased workload. I wished to express my appreciation.”

He poured her a glass of Sauvignon Blanc (her favourite) and handed it to his wife. Fitzgerald took a sip and sighed with pleasure. It was crisp and cool, just the way she liked it.

“Thank you,” she murmured, brushing another kiss against his cheek. “This means a lot.”

“Your work as acting first officer has been exemplary,” Sturok said almost plainly. “Especially your assistance in dealing with Senator Valer. He is a complex individual. I am somewhat perplexed at how Captain Levy, even Admiral Jaret, remain so patient with him without undertaking some sort of meditation beforehand.”

Fitzgerald smirked, tilting her head. “That’s one way to look at it. That said, I still think he only agreed to those trade route revisions because he’s secretly fond of you.”

“I do not believe that is the case,” Sturok replied, one eyebrow subtly raised. “His tone and body language suggest his tolerance for me is strictly professional. However, his willingness to listen to your proposals was noticeably greater than his response to mine.”

“That’s because I smiled more,” Fitzgerald teased, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Besides, you’re the one who held the line when he tried to sneak in those mining rights provisions.”

Sturok inclined his head in quiet acknowledgement. “It was a joint effort. One I found agreeable.”

“I’m sure Dawn and the admiral will appreciate our efforts when they come back tomorrow,” Fitzgerald said, still smiling.

“I have also drawn a bath for you,” Sturok added matter-of-factly. “When you are finished, I will replicate our dinner.”

Her lips curved upward. She was falling more and more in love with her husband. She knew why she married him. Under that logical Vulcan heart did beat a hopeless romantic. “A bath, wine, and dinner? If you weren’t already married to me, Commander Sturok, I’d be suspicious you were trying to woo me.”

“Your suspicion would be unfounded,” he replied, deadpan.

Shaking her head, still smiling, Fitzgerald slipped into their bedroom to prepare for her bath. By the time she returned, she had changed into a simple, elegant bronze dress, with a subtle shimmer that caught the candlelight. She’d made the small but deliberate choice to match the atmosphere Sturok had created. She owed him that.

“You look…” Sturok paused, considering his words as he pulled her chair out for her. “Entirely appropriate for the evening’s tone.”

“I’ll take that as Vulcan for ‘beautiful,’” she teased, settling into her chair as Sturok pushed it in for her.

They sipped their drinks, enjoying a few moments of companionable quiet. Then Sturok, as if recalling something, asked, “Have you read the admiral’s transcript from her speech at the Governor’s Ball? I am sure upon her return, she or Captain Levy will be asking us all for our opinions.”

“I did,” Fitzgerald replied. “I read it over lunch and in between a joint staff meeting between the science department heads. I also read a rather charming letter from Ensign Horin about a diving expedition he took while on that yacht trip with his parents. He enjoyed himself with some marine biologist while exploring the Kovar’s oceans. He thinks I should send a team down to study it further.”

Sturok’s brow lifted slightly. “Charming? How was his trip charming?”

She gave him a knowing look. “Don’t tell me you’re fishing for gossip about Jaxxon and Anizza.”
“That was not my intent,” he said evenly.

“Oh, I know you, Sturok.” She arched one eyebrow at him in a perfect imitation of his own Vulcan expression, and his eyes narrowed minutely at the mimicry. “I know you enjoy station gossip. You strategic operations officers are all the same.”

“I believe you are confusing gossip with intelligence,” Sturok remarked, remaining cool in his tone.

Sturok moved to the replicator to begin preparing their meal, Fitzgerald leaned back, swirling her wine.

“Speaking of gossip,” She started, “I hear from Lenara that Tom and Orlando are planning a gathering at The Clock Tower Inn when everyone is back from Kovar. Another wedding celebration.”

Sturok appeared as if he was about to sigh, but stopped himself before doing it. Instead, he stood up straighter. “Is it human tradition to host multiple post-nuptial events? I recall we had only one.”

She chuckled. “I think they’re just thrilled their marriage is finally legal, and they want to celebrate with as many people as possible. We both know what they went through, especially Tom. I think it’s nice they’re celebrating their love. If it were me, I’d probably be doing the same.”

He inclined his head slightly, as though conceding the point. Sturok brought their meal over to the table, placed Fitzgerald’s plate in front of her carefully, before taking his and sitting down. The candles flickered between them, and the music still played softly in the background.

“Have you heard from Captain McCord?” Sturok asked between bites.

Fitzgerald shook her head. “No. But I hope Sandra’s had time to see her son while she’s away. If anyone deserves a little downtime, it’s her.”

They let the conversation lapse into comfortable silence after that, focusing on their food, the wine, and each other’s company. Every so often, their eyes would meet, and Fitzgerald would find herself marvelling at how much could be said without words when you truly knew someone. She loved this man, and she knew that he loved her too. He always surprised her with his unexpected romantic gestures, like this dinner tonight. It was needed after a few busy days of managing the station with limited senior staff.

This evening was, in every sense, precisely what they both needed. It was a night away from duty, where the only orders to follow were the ones they quietly set for themselves. For tomorrow, everyone returned from their few days away.