Shared Table

Posted on Sat Mar 7th, 2026 @ 11:08am by Lieutenant Hadir Prenar & Lieutenant Aelira Valan’thir

2,854 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: A marathon not a sprint
Location: Hadir's Quarters, USS Wolff

The corridor outside Hadir Prenar’s quarters was quiet in that late-cycle way ships settled into when duty rosters thinned and the hum of systems took over. Aelira paused there briefly, not out of nerves, but habit — a moment to arrive fully, to leave Sickbay and rank and expectation behind the door.

She wore a Toan’ta dress, cut to move rather than display. Soft layers of deep indigo and warm earth-tones wrapped and folded rather than clung, the fabric catching the light in subtle ways as she shifted. Fine stitching traced gentle patterns along the sleeves and collar — not decorative so much as intentional, each line placed with care. It was elegant without being formal, grounded rather than ornate, very much Aelira: something chosen to be lived in, not admired from a distance.

Her hair was loose tonight, falling down her back in its natural wave, threaded through with a single woven tie at the nape of her neck. No jewellery beyond that — the dress didn’t need it, and neither did she.

In one hand she carried a small, carefully wrapped parcel. Not elaborate. Just thoughtful. Inside was a Toan’ta gift piece — a low, hand-carved bowl made from dark, polished wood, smooth to the touch, with faint natural striations left visible rather than sanded away. It was meant to sit on a table, to be used, to hold something simple: tea leaves, fruit, small things gathered at the end of the day. Along its inner rim, almost hidden, was a single etched line — a Toan’ta mark meaning shared space, offered freely.

Aelira reached up and chimed the door.

She didn’t rehearse what she’d say. She didn’t need to.

Whatever this evening became, it would start the same way she approached everything else — present, open, and very much herself.

Hadir had not had a date of sorts in quite some time. In truth he was unsure if this was a date, or just two officers spending some time together. To that end Hadir was uncharacteristically nervous. He had planned to serve a Cardassian meal of Sabu stew and kanar. He even fretted over what to wear. Ultimnately he decided on something from Earth, which he thought suited his personality. A pair of blue denim jeans and a linen shirt that buttoned up the front. Everything seemed to be as ready as it would ever be and then the chime rang. Now the question was if Hadir was ready. "Come in."

The door slid open and Aelira stepped inside, the soft light of the corridor giving way to the warmer tones of Hadir’s quarters behind her. She paused just long enough to take him in — the set of his shoulders, the faint tension he hadn’t quite hidden — and something like a smile found her mouth.

“Evening,” she said simply, natural and easy, as if that alone might settle the room. Her gaze flicked briefly to the table, the care in the preparation obvious even without comment. “I hope I’m not late.”

She held up the small parcel in her hand. “I brought something. Nothing complicated — just a Toan’ta house piece. For your table, if you’d like.” A beat, lighter now. “I promise it doesn’t bite.”

Then she met his eyes again, steady and warm. “And for what it’s worth… I wasn’t sure what tonight was either. But I figured we’d work that out once I got here.”

Hadir smiled having been put somewhat at ease by her comment of not knowing what this was either. He took the gift and examined it. "It is beautiful." He said as he placed it on a table. "Please forgive the temperature. It takes a moment for the place to cool off. Is there anything I can get you to drink. I did prepare a traditional of sorts Cardassian meal."

Aelira’s eyes moved around the room as she stepped fully inside, taking in the space with an easy, appreciative glance rather than inspection. There was a lived-in quality to it — not staged, not sterile — and it showed.

“You’ve made this feel like home,” she said simply, setting the tone without fuss. “That matters more than people realise.”

At his comment about the temperature, she waved it off with a small smile. “You’re fine. Where I was born, this would count as pleasantly cool,” she added, lightly amused. “Warmer air helps me relax, honestly. I’ll take it over recycled chill any day.”

She turned her attention to the table then, curiosity genuine rather than polite. “Sabu stew, you said?” Her expression warmed. “I’ve had it a few times over the years. Not often enough, though. I’ve always liked dishes that take their time.” A beat, thoughtful. “I’ve also developed a soft spot for rek’tar bread — especially when it’s still warm — and zilm’kach. Strong flavours, but grounded. They don’t pretend to be anything they’re not.”

Her gaze flicked back to him, open and unguarded. “Kanar’s fine too, if that’s what you’re offering. I’ve learned to appreciate it… slowly.” A hint of dry humour touched her voice. “Five centuries gives you a fairly forgiving palate.”

She shifted slightly, the fabric of her dress whispering as she did. “Whatever you’ve prepared, I’m looking forward to it. And to not talking shop for a little while, if that’s alright.”

Hadir's green eyes flashed wide in surprise for a moment then returned to their normal state. Save, for the broad smile that he wore which made the scar on his left cheek a little more pronounced. "You know your Cardassian cuisine. That is impressive. It is said that not even Cardassians like Cardassian food." He laughed before he continued. "But a slow cooked Sabu stew cooked the traditional way is what is on the menu. There is kanar, the good stuff from Cardassia Prime. I have a loaf of Mapa Bread that is replicated. Baking on this ship is hard to do. Please let's sit." He motioned to the couch and poured two glasses of kanar. Hadir waited for her to be seated before he sat next to her.

Aelira took the offered glass with both hands, the faint amber of the kanar catching the light as she settled onto the couch. She didn’t rush the first sip — she never did — just let the weight of the glass and the warmth of the room ease into her shoulders. When Hadir sat beside her, close enough to share space but not crowd it, something in her posture softened almost at once.

“That’s… better,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him, before glancing over with a small, genuine smile. “You chose well.”

She took a measured sip of the kanar, lips curving slightly at the familiar bite. “Still dangerous,” she added dryly, then set the glass down within easy reach.

For a moment, she simply sat there, present, letting the room settle around them. Then her attention returned to him, thoughtful now rather than playful.

“Hadir,” she said, gently, “can I try something?” She didn’t frame it as a warning or a mystery, just a simple ask. And then, almost immediately after, with a quiet Toan’ta certainty, she added, “I’m going to — but I wanted you to know first.”

Her hand lifted and rested flat against his chest, over his heart. The contact was warm, steady, deliberate. Not intimate in the way most people meant it — but not casual either. It was grounding, intentional. Toan’ta believed truth travelled better through contact, through shared presence rather than distance.

She closed her eyes for a second.

Not to search him. To listen.

What she felt wasn’t hidden or dark. It was… layered. Duty worn smooth by repetition. Pride that didn’t need announcing. A lifetime of proving himself in rooms that were never built for him. Beneath it all, a surprising gentleness — carefully guarded, not out of fear, but because the world hadn’t always been kind to it.

Her thumb shifted slightly, almost unconsciously, before she opened her eyes again.

“You’re steadier than you think,” she said quietly. “And more tired than you let anyone see.” A small pause. “You carry responsibility like it’s something you chose — not something forced on you. That matters, in my culture.”

Her gaze met his, calm and unflinching. “From a Toan’ta view… you’re someone who builds safety by being consistent. You don’t dominate a room. You anchor it. People trust you because you don’t ask them to be anything other than what they are.” A faint smile touched her lips. “That’s rarer than people realise.”

She withdrew her hand slowly, giving the moment space rather than snapping it shut, and picked up her glass again.

“And,” she added lightly, a softer note returning, “you invited a near-stranger into your quarters, fed her something meaningful, and didn’t pretend you weren’t nervous. That tells me plenty too.”

Another sip of kanar, then a glance sideways at him. “I’m glad I came.”

When she touched him Hadir's normally pale skin flushed slightly as his body redistributed the warmth from her touch. A side effect of being cold blooded was that everyone knew when you were attracted. She was mesmerizing, and she simply took him for who he was with no further thoughts or questions. He sipped his kanar to cover the long silence. "I am glad you came too. How did you do that?" He asked with sincerity and with a combination of both an Intelligence Officer who wanted to know how she got all that information from him, and as a person who had just been touched deeply and wanted to know more. "You learned more about me in a touch than most have learned in a lifetime."

Aelira saw the dual question in his eyes. The officer and the man.

She didn’t rush to fill the space.

“It’s something I was born into,” she said simply. “Toan’ta children are taught to listen before they’re taught to speak well. We’re raised to notice what isn’t being said. Posture. Breath. The way someone’s energy settles in a room.”

She rested her hands loosely in her lap.

“El-Aurians already have heightened perception. Time feels… layered to us. Moments sit on top of one another. The Toan’ta refined that into practice. Into discipline. We call it attunement. It isn’t telepathy. I can’t read your thoughts. I don’t see secrets.”

A small pause.

“But I can feel coherence. Tension. When someone’s inner life and outer life don’t quite match. Touch makes it clearer. It removes the distance people hide behind.”

Her gaze held his steadily, without challenge.

“I don’t go looking. That’s important. I respond to what’s offered. You weren’t guarded just then. You were present. That makes it easier.”

She tilted her head slightly, curious now rather than clinical.

“It isn’t something mystical to me. It’s practice. Centuries of sitting with people at their worst and their most honest. You learn the language of it.”

A faint smile touched her mouth.

“And I only ever use it to understand, not to control.”

"On the old Cardassia, the one that I was raised on there would be people who would pay you handsomely simply for that. To them knowledge is power, but to you its understanding and that is refreshing. It is a new and interesting sensation to be put entirely at ease. That is something that I do not do easily." Hadir smiled and sipped his kanar.

In the moment of silence that followed he thought about the moment, about being present as she had put it. He truly had never been put entirely at ease, it was Cardassian nature to be somewhat on guard. However, she had made him lower every barrier he had up, every barrier that he cultivated over the years. She was like a breath of fresh air.

Aelira listened without interrupting, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly at the mention of old Cardassia.

“I’m sure they would,” she said quietly. “But that’s not a bargain I’d ever make.”

She let the silence sit for a second longer, not uncomfortable with it. Not needing to fix it.

“I don’t think ease is something you can force,” she added gently. “It only shows up when it feels safe to.”

Her eyes met his, steady and unguarded.

“If you lowered your guard tonight, that wasn’t something I did to you. You chose to.”

"I would agree with you. However, the company one keeps always helps." Hadir's pale skin flushed as the warmth from the contact with her spread through his cold blooded system. It was a side effect of being Cardassian, one always knew when a Cardassian was interested.

Aelira noticed it immediately.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just a faint shift of colour beneath the pale tone of his skin, warmth spreading where her hand had rested earlier. For someone who spent her life reading rooms and the people inside them, it was as obvious as a change in the weather.

But she didn’t react to it. Not directly.

Instead, the corner of her mouth curved in the smallest hint of a smile as she lifted her glass again, giving him the space to keep his dignity intact.

“That tends to be true,” she said lightly. “Good company makes most things easier.”

She took a slow sip of the kanar, letting the moment breathe rather than shining a light on it. When she set the glass down again, her attention drifted briefly toward the table where the stew waited, the rich scent beginning to fill the room.

“I should probably let that stew have its moment before it starts to think we’ve forgotten it,” she added with quiet amusement, glancing back to him. “You said it was cooked the traditional way. That usually means someone put real patience into it.”

Her expression softened a touch.

“And I’ve learned over the years that patience deserves to be appreciated.”

"Quite so, quite so." Hadir began grateful for the change in subject. For a man who was in control of information that could topple governments he was damned awkward when it came to women. "I prepared it on the holodeck actually. Traditional sabu stew is prepared in a crock and buried in the dirt with coals all around it. Some stews can take days to cook fully. Let us adjourn to the table and tuck in as it is said." He stood and motioned toward the table that she should lead the way.

Aelira rose easily when he stood, smoothing the folds of her dress with an absent motion before lifting her glass again. She moved toward the table at the easy pace she seemed to carry everywhere, not hurried, not tentative either. Just present.

The scent of the stew had deepened while they talked, richer now, earthy and warm in a way that spoke of slow cooking and careful attention. When she reached the table she paused for a moment, letting herself take it in properly. Steam curled gently from the bowl, the bread beside it still holding a trace of heat.

“Now that,” she said softly, “smells exactly the way a meal like this should.”

She waited for him to sit before settling into her chair, lifting her glass of kanar once more. For a moment she didn’t speak, simply holding it between her hands as though feeling the shape of the evening rather than rushing through it.

Then her gaze lifted to his.

“In my culture,” she said, tone warm but unceremonious, “we toast simple things. Not victories, or status, or anything that belongs to the outside world.”

A small, easy smile followed.

“We toast shared tables.”

She raised the glass slightly.

“To patience,” she added, glancing briefly at the stew. “To good company. And to the small, unexpected moments that turn an ordinary evening into something worth remembering.”

The kanar caught the light between them as she tipped her glass gently toward his.

“Na’resh,” she finished softly, the Toan’ta word settling into the room like a quiet blessing.

Then she took a sip, set the glass down beside her bowl, and reached for the stew with an appreciative calm that suggested the rest of the night could unfold exactly as it wished.

Hadir raised his glass and clinked hers. He tried to think of something poignant to add to the toast. However, anything from Cardassia would be nowhere close to appropriate. So, he simply smiled and tilted his head toward. To Cardassians small movements spoke volumes. This movement was an agreement to what she said, and a sign of affection. For the first time in a long time Hadir Prenar had no idea where the day was going to go.

 

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