First Impressions
Posted on Sat Aug 30th, 2025 @ 8:00am by Lieutenant Aelira Valan’thir & Lieutenant Commander Jack Slattery
2,714 words; about a 14 minute read
Mission:
A marathon not a sprint
Location: XO's Office, USS Wolff
Lt. Commander Jack Slattery sat in his office, the low hum of the ship’s systems providing a constant background noise. His feet were propped up on the desk, and his fingers drummed absentmindedly on the PADD in front of him. The crew roster flickered across the screen...he’d been familiarising himself with the faces and names of those aboard the USS Wolff, but it was hard to truly know a crew from a distance.
His thoughts drifted to the new Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant Aelira Valan’thir. He’d requested to meet her today, more out of necessity than curiosity. As XO, he knew it was important to have a strong working relationship with every department, and that included Medical. But something about Aelira's background caught his attention. An El Aurian, someone with decades of life experience, though she’d only been in Starfleet for a little longer than he had. He had heard the rumours about El Aurian longevity, the calm, collected nature they often displayed. And from her service record, Aelira was no stranger to responsibility...she had held several prominent positions in her career, including stints as the Chief Medical Officer aboard the USS Elysion and more recently as a Senior Medical Practitioner at Starbase 211.
Jack didn’t have to be a medical expert to appreciate how impressive that was.
But he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from someone like her. He’d spent his entire career focused on flying and leadership. Sure, he had a respect for medicine, for those who worked in the trenches of saving lives. But what did it mean when the new CMO had seen as much as she had? When you had someone with centuries of experience, did they still see things the same way as someone like him? His mind wandered for a moment...wondering if she would be aloof, distant, or perhaps more grounded, her years of experience in the Federation making her wise beyond measure.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose. Part of him was intrigued, another part was more pragmatic. Aelira had been a Senior Medical Practitioner at Starbase 211 for nearly four years, so she clearly knew her stuff. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she could handle whatever the job threw at her. His job was to ensure she felt integrated into the crew, especially since she had just transferred to the USS Wolff. Even though she had an extensive history with Starfleet, it was still a new ship, a new crew, and that always made adjustments challenging.
“Get it together, Slattery,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s not some medical genius on a pedestal. You’re the XO here.” He needed to remind himself of that some days.
The door to the XO’s office slid open with a soft hiss, and Aelira stepped through, her posture relaxed but purposeful. Her black hair, loosely bound with woven thread, had begun to loosen around the edges—stray wisps brushing her cheeks. A faint smear of dried blood remained on her skin, tucked just below her left cheekbone, unnoticed in the rush from Sickbay.
“Apologies for not coming straight here,” she said gently, stepping forward. “I know the usual protocol, but I felt the urgency before I heard it. The wounded… they call out, in more ways than one.”
She didn’t elaborate, nor did she need to. There was no trace of apology in her tone, simply a calm explanation, like stating something self-evident.
Aelira offered a small bow, eyes flicking briefly over Slattery—observing, not judging. “Thank you for making time. I’m not here to cause trouble. Just to find my footing and be of service.”
She hesitated for just a moment, then allowed a flicker of dry humour to soften her tone. “And perhaps find a mirror at some point. Someone in Sickbay was a bit... enthusiastic with their plasma burns.”
Aelira’s expression was mild, but there was a quiet strength behind her gaze—a depth that suggested someone who didn’t just read situations, but felt them hum at the edges. A soft presence, yes, but one honed by years of walking between medicine and something older. Something deeper.
She clasped her hands loosely behind her back, waiting—not rushed, not expectant. Simply open to what came next.
Jack’s gaze flicked to Aelira’s left cheekbone, noting the faint smear of dried blood that had gone unnoticed in her rush from Sickbay. With a small frown, he rose smoothly from his chair and moved toward the replicator. A moment later, he returned with a damp cloth, offering it to her without a word.
“Left cheekbone, blood,” he said quietly, gesturing toward the PADD, now turned off, which would serve as a decent mirror. He often let his own PADD lapse into sleep mode, and the reflection it gave him was a familiar one.
After a moment, he returned to his seat, glancing at her with sharp blue eyes, though his lips tugged into a small, knowing smile, the sort that softened the edges of his otherwise impassive expression. “You could’ve cancelled, you know,” he said lightly, his voice a shade warmer. “Sickbay must be chaotic, no reason to pull yourself away from that just to see me.”
Aelira took the cloth with a small nod, her fingers brushing his in passing. The contact was light, but enough that her senses stirred, catching a faint thread of weariness beneath his calm. Not a wound, exactly. Just the quiet strain of someone holding too much, too often.
“Thank you,” she said, tilting her head toward the dormant PADD to find her reflection. “Not mine,” she added with a dry smile, dabbing at her cheek. “Plasma burns aren’t tidy things. They don’t care where they leave their mark.”
She set the cloth aside with an ease that spoke of someone long used to blood—others’ more than her own—and move to take the seat in front of him. There was no formality to the movement, only quiet intention.
“I didn’t think to cancel,” she said after a moment, brushing a stray thread of hair behind her ear. “Sickbay’s steadying now. We all needed to move, to do, after what happened. Besides…” Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Showing up matters. Even if you’re still a little scorched around the edges.”
Aelira’s voice gentled further, low and thoughtful. “I’ve always believed presence heals more than protocol ever could. You don’t have to say anything—most don’t. But I felt the ship the moment I came aboard. And her crew. The way pain lingers in the air, in the floor. You learn to listen for it, after a while.” She didn’t make it sound eerie or dramatic. Just a truth she’d lived with too long to doubt.
"We lost people," Slattery said bluntly, his expression hardening for a brief moment as he glanced at her. The weight of it was always there, even if he didn't speak of it often. But then his lips twitched upward, softening the moment, the small smile almost a reflex for him. "But that's not why you're here." His tone became lighter, the pragmatist and protector inside him taking charge. "Please, get whatever you need from the replicator and make yourself comfortable. I wanted to take the chance to properly get to know our new Chief Medical Officer."
His eyes studied her for a second, but there was no judgment in them...only an unspoken understanding. He could see how much she carried, how her years in medicine had shaped her. He might have only been the XO, but he knew the weight of command was the same, regardless of the department. And just like her, he wasn't one for standing on ceremony. He had spent too many years as a pilot to enjoy the formality. "You've had a busy start," he added, leaning back in his chair with an easy but attentive gaze. "And this ship...it carries its share of...lived in history, doesn't it?" His voice was softer now, though still grounded, as if he were allowing her a chance to speak, without the usual pressures of rank. He'd seen the way she'd walked into the room, how she held her presence like someone who knew her value without needing to prove it. There was something in that he respected. Self-assurance.
Aelira gave a slow, acknowledging nod at the mention of the losses, a quiet thread of empathy flickering across her features. She didn’t press further — she knew grief when she heard it, even wrapped in command tone. Some things needed space more than words.
Instead, she turned toward the replicator. “Hot water, with lemon and cloves,” she requested softly. When the cup materialised, she wrapped her hands around it, letting the heat soak into her fingers. The scent was faint — citrus and spice — grounding. She returned to the chair across from Slattery and settled into it with a quiet ease.
“Busy start, yes,” she agreed, a subtle warmth returning to her voice. “But not unwelcome. I’ve served on ships that were too quiet. They hum differently.” She lifted the cup slightly as if in a half-toast, an old gesture more instinct than thought. “The Wolff has... weight. Not just history, but intent. There’s something in her bones. You feel it the moment you step aboard.”
She took a sip, her gaze drifting across the room before returning to his. “People often think I listen with just my ears,” she added, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “But sometimes it’s the space between things that speaks the loudest. This ship, and her crew, have seen more than they let on. But they still move forward.” Her tone turned thoughtful, not heavy. “I find that admirable.”
Then, a beat, a flicker of her dry humour again. “Also, I’ve been told I ask too many questions. I try not to do it all at once.” A pause. “But I am curious, Commander. About the Wolff, about her crew… and about how you ended up in that seat.” Her gaze held his with genuine interest, not as a challenge, but like someone ready to listen, not just hear.
"I..." he stopped, looked and her. And then gave a small smile. "I wish I could give you insight. But I can't," he admitted, his voice honest. "I've not been here long myself. It's a crew of very capable individuals that work well together under the Captain."
Aelira leaned back slightly, cup still nestled between her hands, eyes steady on his. “Then we’re both still finding our footing,” she said, voice quiet but unforced. “That’s not the worst place to start. At least we know the ground isn’t standing still.”
A small smile ghosted at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve always found ships have a way of showing you who they are, once they decide you’re listening. I’m hoping the Wolff and I can come to an understanding.” Her tone held a dry, almost conspiratorial warmth—as if she and the ship had already begun a silent conversation no one else was privy to.
"I am sure you will," Jack said, the smile fading as he watched her. Not cold, just calculating, as if she was a new course he had to navigate through. A pause. A beat, longer, quieter. He let the silence stretch, not having an urge to fill it, or kill it. He was also curious to see if she would ask him anything specific.
Aelira didn’t press the pause or rush to end it — she let the quiet linger a breath longer, as though she were listening for something just beneath it. Then, with an easy shift of her posture, she looked back at him properly.
“If you’d like to know anything about me,” she offered gently, “you’re welcome to ask. I imagine reading a personnel file isn’t quite the same as sitting across from the person it’s written about.” Her voice held no edge, no guardedness — only a soft invitation. “You might find I’m not quite what the record makes me out to be.” A hint of dry amusement touched her eyes, like she was half-letting him in on a quiet secret.
"How so?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched her, expectantly. She had mentioned it, so he was waiting for her to elaborate.
Aelira tilted her head slightly at his question, not in hesitation, but consideration — as though deciding how much of the curtain to draw back.
“I suppose it’s because the record shows what I’ve done… not why I’ve done it.” Her voice was soft, but clear. “It lists titles, assignments, promotions — all very clean, very tidy. But it doesn’t show the in-betweens. The moments I questioned if I was helping at all. The lives I couldn’t save. Or the quiet ones I did, with no one watching.” She gave a small shrug, not dismissive, but accepting. “It won’t tell you that I walk into Sickbay every day reminding myself that healing isn’t just about fixing what’s broken. Sometimes it’s just about being there, even when there’s nothing you can do.”
She glanced down briefly at the tea in her hands, then back up, expression open but grounded. “I’m not some distant, timeless El Aurian sage, and I’m not here to mystify or impress anyone. I’m just… me. I’ve seen a lot, sure. But it hasn’t made me untouchable. It’s made me slower to judge, maybe, and quicker to sit with people where they are.” Her lips curved slightly. “And I still swear under my breath in three languages when a cortical stimulator glitches mid-procedure.”
A beat. Then, quieter: “The record won’t tell you any of that. But maybe that’s the part that matters.”
Jack studied her at the words before he raised an eyebrow, his eyes honest. "And maybe...you're using this opportunity to tell me, rather than take the time for us to get to know each other as colleagues so you can show that to me," he said, but there was a playfulness in it. "Almost as if you're in a hurry. Very unusual for your people from what I know..." he gave a nod and turned the PADD over. Almost as if it say that he was done with her record from that point of view.
Aelira gave a quiet chuckle, her expression warming with faint amusement. “Fair observation,” she said, meeting his eyes with a steady calm. “But for my people, opening up isn’t always a sign of rushing things. Sometimes it’s just... meeting the moment honestly.”
She glanced down at her cup, then back up. “We listen — it’s what we’re known for. But now and then, it feels just as important to be heard. Not to skip the getting-to-know-you part… just to be real in it.”
A small shrug followed, easy and unguarded. “I’m not here to fast-track trust, Commander. That takes time — and I’ve got plenty of it.”
Not all do, Jack thought but he didn't show it on his face. "I am sure you will do well on this ship," he said, giving a small nod at the words. "I should let you...go and get cleaned up, Doctor."
Aelira stood, setting the cup down gently on the desk’s edge. She gave a small nod, her tone lighter now — plain, direct, but still warm.
“Thanks for the chat, Commander. It’s good to start putting names to faces properly.” A brief pause, then a faint smile. “I’ll head back to Sickbay."
She gave a small, appreciative glance his way. “If you need anything from Medical — or just want to check in — my door’s open.” With that, she turned and stepped out, the door hissing quietly closed behind her.
Lieutenant Aelira Valan'thir
Chief Medical Officer
Lieutenant Commander Jack Slattery
Executive Officer
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