Second Star To The Right.....For 2 Days (Part 2)

Posted on Tue Aug 25th, 2026 @ 1:49pm by Lieutenant Commander Nicolette De St Pierre & Lieutenant Commander Dean Villarreal

4,441 words; about a 22 minute read

Mission: The Hand That Rocks The Babe
Location: Shuttle

Dean had been asleep for perhaps an hour when the first sound emotion reached him. At first, he barely registered it. The low hum of the shuttle's engines and the gentle vibration of the deck had become familiar enough that his sleeping mind had learned to filter most of it out. He shifted slightly on the seat, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting loosely across his chest.

Then came the whimper. Dean's eyes opened. For several seconds he remained still, listening. The sleeping area was separated from the main cabin, but the sound had been distinct enough to pull him from sleep. Another noise followed, more desperate this time, and he sat upright. "Nicolette?" There was no response.

Dean swung his feet onto the deck and stood, moving quietly toward the sleeping area. He hadn't intended to disturb her. Quite the opposite. He'd deliberately taken the sofa so she could have the proper sleeping quarters to herself, figuring she deserved the privacy and comfort after everything they'd discussed during the day.

Then the scream. As he reached the entrance to the sleeping area, he knocked, when he didn't get an answer but the emotions continued to rise, he opened the door hoping she was decent but also hoping to calm her, especially from what he can sense radiating from her.

Nicolette tossed again, the covers wrapped tightly around her, almost restraining her as she struggled, another scream escaping her parted lips as she tried to curl herself to make herself as small as possible.

In an instant her demeanour changed and her fight response eased, almost as if she had given up. “I’m sorry,” she whispered tearfully, though it was unclear if she were still talking in her sleep or if she was addressing Dean who was now standing at the foot of her bed.

Dean froze for a moment at the whispered apology. "I'm sorry."

The words were so quiet that he wasn't entirely certain she'd actually spoken them aloud. He watched her carefully, noting the sudden change in her movements. The frantic struggle had stopped, replaced by a stillness that somehow concerned him more. He moved from the foot of the bunk to her side, lowering himself slightly so he wasn't looming over her. "Nicolette" His voice was gentle. "You don't have anything to be sorry for." The emotional assault radiating from her was strong, what ever was the cause for her current condition was intense.

He hesitated before carefully reaching down and loosening the covers where they had twisted around her. He didn't pull them away entirely, simply gave her enough freedom to move should need it. "It's just a nightmare." Dean glanced toward her face.

"You're on the shuttle. We're still in transit. Everything is fine." He kept his voice calm and even, deliberately avoiding questions about what she'd been dreaming about. Whatever had brought her to this point clearly wasn't something she needed to explain while still caught between sleep and waking. "You don't have to fight anything."

A pause. "You don't have to run." His hand rested on the edge of the bunk rather than touching her again, giving her space while remaining close enough that she would know he hadn't simply walked away.

"Just breathe."

She startled awake, gasping rapid breaths, jerking away from him as shock registered on her face. She blinked quickly, hands reaching to brush tear stains from her eyes and cheeks.

“Dean…”

The surprise in her voice was obvious as she looked at him, still gasping in quick breaths.

“I…. I…. I’m s..s..sorry…”

Dean immediately withdrew his hand when she jerked away, giving her space rather than crowding her. His expression softened as he watched her struggle to catch her breath, the confusion and fear on her face making it clear she was still caught halfway between the nightmare and reality. "Hey. Hey, it's all right."

He kept his voice low and calm, careful not to make any sudden movements. "You don't need to apologize." Dean lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bunk, but kept a respectful distance between them. "You're okay. You're awake." He glanced briefly toward the cabin beyond them before looking back at her.

"We're still on the shuttle. Nothing's happened. We're still on course, and everything is operating normally." He let the reassurance sit for a moment. "Take a breath, Nikki. Just one."

He demonstrated it himself, taking a slow breath in and letting it out again. "That's it. You don't have to talk yet." His eyes caught the tear tracks on her cheeks, and his expression became gentler. "You had a bad dream. That's all."

“The borg…” the two words almost blurred into each other as she stumbled over them, shivering violently. She drew in another shaky breath, eyes welling with tears.

Before he could react, she leaned forward, closing the gap between them and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder before she started crying again.

Dean barely had time to register the two words before she closed the distance between them. His expression softened immediately, and he didn't hesitate. His arms came around her carefully, one settling across her upper back while the other rested gently against her shoulder. He held her securely without tightening his grip, allowing her to decide how much contact she needed.

"It's okay," he murmured. His voice was quiet and steady beside her ear. "I've got you."

He didn't ask what the Borg had done. Not now. The tremor running through her body and the tears soaking into his shoulder told him enough to know that whatever she'd dreamed about had been terrifyingly real to her. "They're not here." Dean kept one hand moving slowly across her back in a reassuring rhythm. "There's no Borg aboard this shuttle. No alarms. No red alert. Nothing coming through that door."

He glanced instinctively toward the cabin entrance before looking down at her again. "It's just us." He let her cry, making no attempt to hurry her or convince her to stop. There was no embarrassment in his expression, no judgment, only patience.

With no way to track time she had no idea how long she cried into his shoulder for before she finally pulled away, tears gradually subsiding as she wiped her face with her hands, drawing in several quick, shaky breaths.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, not able to meet his eyes with her own. “I didn’t mean to disturb you…. I…. I’m sorry…”

Dean remained quiet for a moment after she pulled away, giving her the space to collect herself. He could see the embarrassment settling in now that the immediate terror had passed, and somehow that seemed almost as painful to watch as the nightmare itself. "Nicolette." His voice was gentle but firm enough to draw her attention. "You don't need to keep apologising."

He reached for the glass of water again, offering it toward her. "Here. Have a drink." Once she'd taken it, or if she declined. Dean settled back slightly, keeping his posture relaxed so she wouldn't feel as though she were being scrutinized.

"You didn't disturb me." A small smile touched his features. "Whatever you saw in that nightmare, it clearly meant something to you. I don't need to know what it was."

He gave her a reassuring nod. "But you're safe now, here."

“The nightmares still happen sometimes, I don’t know that they will ever stop…”. She paused, looking down at her hands wringing in her lap.

“It’s always the same, the same time, the same place, the same borg, the same experiences…”.

She drew in a shaky breath and looked across at him, embarrassment colouring her face crimson before she turned away again, gripping the covers still tangled around her body.

Dean listened without interrupting, the faint smile disappearing from his features as he heard the words. He didn't need to know every detail to understand that this wasn't simply a bad dream. The repetition, the certainty in her voice, the way she couldn't quite bring herself to meet his eyes, all of it suggested something that had been following her for far longer than tonight.

He lowered himself back onto the edge of the bunk, though he kept a respectful distance between them. "Every time?" His voice was quiet, more confirmation than question.

Dean watched her hands twisting together before looking back toward her face. "That sounds exhausting." He paused, considering his words carefully. "And I'm guessing you've gotten very good at pretending it doesn't bother you when you're awake."

There was no judgment in his voice. If anything, there was understanding. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms against his knees.

“I can’t afford for it to bother me,” she said softly. “Besides, what good is a broken counselor to the rest of the crew?”

The grip she had on the covered slowly eased and she leaned against the wall, pulling her knees up in front of her and hugging them against her chest, almost like a defence mechanism.

“You’re the first person that has found out about the nightmares,” she added quietly, eyes downcast again.

“No one else knows…. Please, please don’t tell anyone…”

Dean's expression changed at her words, the last trace of humor disappearing. He remained where he was, giving her the space she had instinctively created by drawing her knees toward her chest. "Hey." His voice was quiet. "Look at me for a second."

He waited rather than demanding it, allowing her the choice. "You are not a broken counsellor." Dean shook his head slightly.

"You're a person who has been through something terrible, and sometimes your mind decides to drag you back there when you're asleep. That doesn't make you broken. It makes you human." He paused, letting that settle. "And being good at your job doesn't mean you're supposed to be immune to everything that hurts."

His gaze remained steady on her. "As for the rest of the crew..." A faint, reassuring smile appeared. "They don't need to know about tonight from me."

“Thank you,” she whispered, finally looking across at him. There was something about his eyes, the warmth, the concern, the way he looked at her as if he were seeing more than just a hot mess of a woman.

Carefully she extracted herself from the covers, stretching her long legs out, oblivious to the soft fabrics of her night gown riding up her thigh or the way it clung alarmingly to her body.

Instead she reached up and bunched her curls into one hand and pulled them forward over her shoulder before looking back at him again, this time meeting his gaze.

Dean had been halfway toward the sofa when he heard her quiet thank you. He stopped and looked back, his expression softening when their eyes met.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. He noticed the exhaustion still lingering in her features, the vulnerability that hadn't quite disappeared now that the nightmare had passed. He deliberately kept his attention on her face, offering the same calm reassurance he'd given her moments earlier. "You don't have to thank me."

His voice was gentle. "Anyone would have done the same." He knew that probably wasn't entirely true, but it was what he wanted her to believe.

Dean leaned lightly against the bulkhead, folding his arms loosely. "And for what it's worth, I don't see a mess." A faint smile touched his lips. "I see a woman who had a rough night and needed someone to remind her that she wasn't alone."

His gaze remained steady on hers. "That's all."

Nikki not down on her bottom lip as she watched him for a moment in silence. “Do you think…. Maybe…. Do you…. Could you….” She stumbled over words as she tried to speak until finally they all tumbled out together.

“Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldstay?”

Dean's expression softened immediately. He could hear how much effort it had taken for her to get those few words out, and he didn't make her repeat them. "Yeah."

The answer came quietly, without hesitation. "I can stay." He stepped back toward the bunk, but stopped a respectful distance away. "The second bunk is there, and I promise I don't snore."

“Thank you, I don’t want to be alone.” She stood up from the bunk and walked to the small bathroom, splashing her face quickly with cool water before drying her face off and heading back into the small bedroom area.

“Tell me something about you?” She asked as she sat back down on the edge of the bunk and looked up at him.

Dean watched her return, his expression gentle as she settled back onto the bunk. He remained in the chair beside the sleeping area, making no attempt to crowd her. "Something about me?"

He leaned back slightly, considering the question. "Well, you've already learned I'm a terrible judge of how much food two people need, apparently enjoy spending hours in a kitchen, and have somehow survived fifteen years of Starfleet." A faint smile appeared.

"But I suppose you've already got enough information to write my official biography." He thought for a moment, then his expression became more thoughtful. "Here's something you probably wouldn't guess."

Dean folded his hands loosely in his lap. "I like to just gaze at stars." He spoke. "It doesn't matter what's happening hundreds of lightyears away, but the simplistic beauty of it all. In that moment, stolen just briefly."

“I grew up on starships,” she said softly. “The stars have always been my home, I never quite feel right being planetside.” She gave a soft sigh. “The years I spent at the academy were the worst.”

Dean listened quietly, his expression softening as she spoke. He didn't immediately respond, allowing her words to settle in the quiet of the shuttle. "I think I understand that."

He glanced briefly toward the small viewport, where distant stars drifted silently beyond the glass. "There's something different about growing up out here. Ships have their own rhythm. The hum of the engines, the artificial gravity, knowing that every sound has a purpose." He looked back at her.

"After enough time, I suppose a planet can feel almost too still." A faint smile touched his lips. "And the Academy..."

He gave a small sympathetic nod. "I can imagine." Dean leaned back in the chair. "Everyone tells you it's going to be the best years of your life. Then you arrive and discover that half the experience is being evaluated, compared, tested, and told you're not quite good enough yet."

A quiet chuckle escaped him. "I had my share of miserable days there too."

Nicolette smiled faintly. “It wasn’t all that bad, I have lots of good memories. I got married at the academy and had my daughter while I was there. It just wasn’t the same as being among the stars”

She sighed softly. “The stars feel like home…. Like you said, life planetside feels still, almost stagnant.”

Dean smiled softly, listening as she spoke. There was something warmer in his expression when she mentioned her daughter, a small indication that he'd caught the significance behind those words without prying. "Married and a mother while you were at the Academy?"

He gave a quiet, almost impressed laugh. "You really did have a busy time there." He leaned back in the chair, his eyes briefly wandering toward the viewport.

"But I understand what you mean." His gaze followed the stars for a moment. "There's something about being aboard a ship that you don't really appreciate until you've spent enough time away from it. The constant hum, the movement beneath your feet, knowing you're travelling somewhere even when you're standing completely still."

He looked back toward her. "On a planet, everything feels... fixed."

"Do you remember the cherry blossom grove on campus?" Nicolette asked softly, a wistful smile forming on her lips as she spoke. "It was down behind the library, but before the koi ponds?"

Dean's eyes softened at the question, and a faint smile of recognition slowly appeared. "The cherry blossoms?" He gave a quiet laugh, leaning back in the chair.

"Yeah. I remember them." His gaze drifted toward the small viewport, though it was obvious he wasn't really looking at the stars anymore. For a moment, his mind seemed to be somewhere else entirely. "Behind the library, past the old stone walkway, before you reached the koi ponds."

He nodded. "Hard to forget." A faint chuckle escaped him. "I used to go there when I needed to get away from everyone."

"It was the only place that really felt alive," she said with a smile. "The breeze, the sweetness of the air, everything. It felt like a refuge among the rest of the crazy."

Dean listened quietly, his expression softening as she described it. He could almost picture the place from her words—the trees moving gently in the breeze, the scent of blossoms carried through the air, the distant sound of water from the koi ponds. "A refuge."

He repeated the word softly, nodding. "Yeah. I think that's exactly what it was." His gaze drifted toward the viewport again. "Funny how places like that stick with you."

He looked back at her. "You can spend years travelling between worlds, visiting places that are objectively more beautiful, more impressive, more exotic..." A small smile appeared.

"And somehow you still remember a little patch of trees behind a library."

"Sometimes it's the little things that leave the most impact," she said with a soft smile. "A fragrant breeze, the feel of that breeze on my skin..." She sighed softly and closed her eyes, almost as if she were reliving a long lost memory.

Dean watched her quietly, letting the silence sit rather than interrupting the memory she seemed to be slipping into. There was something almost peaceful about the expression on her face now, so different from the terror that had occupied it only minutes earlier. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think you're right."

His gaze drifted toward the viewport, the endless stars stretching beyond the shuttle. "The big moments are the ones we remember because we're told they're important. Graduations. Promotions. First assignments." He paused. "But the little things..."

A faint smile touched his lips. "They sneak up on you." Dean leaned back in the chair, his voice taking on a quieter, reflective quality. "The smell of something cooking when you walk into a room. Hearing someone laugh from halfway down a corridor. The first cup of coffee after a long shift." He glanced toward her.

"Or sitting beneath a tree with nowhere you need to be." He let out a soft breath. "I think those are the moments that actually make a life." For a moment he simply watched her with her eyes closed, seeming to recognize that she was somewhere else entirely.

"I used to sit there with my daughter and study, she was always so relaxed and happy there, it was our favourite place to just relax." Nikki sighed softly and stood up, moving about the small space. "I miss those moments."

Dean watched her rise, his expression softening at the mention of her daughter. He didn't rush to fill the silence this time. He let her move around the small cabin, giving her room to sit with the memory. "I can see why."

His voice was quiet. "Some places become special because of the people we share them with." He glanced toward the viewport, then back to her. "And if it was somewhere the two of you could just be together, without Academy schedules or assignments or everything else demanding your attention..."

A faint smile appeared. "I'd imagine those memories would be hard to let go of." Dean leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees. "You shouldn't have to let go of them, though."

He looked up at her. "Missing something doesn't mean you're trapped in the past. Sometimes it just means it mattered." He paused, allowing the words to settle. "And from the way you talk about her, I'd say those moments mattered quite a lot."

There was a gentle warmth in his expression.

Nikki didn't look at him. She walked to the small view port and looked out, taking a deep breath as she reached up and brushed curls back behind her ear. "Those moments are all I have."

She drew in a deep breath, tracing a finger over the view port as if she were playing connect the dots with the stars beyond.

"It was the Borg," she finally said quietly. "Our ship was attacked, I made it out, they didn't."

There was a long pause, a lapse of silence as the unspoken words hung heavily. "Memories, and nightmares, are all I have left."

Dean didn't answer immediately. He remained where he was, watching her silhouette against the stars, allowing the silence to exist rather than trying to fill it with words that could never be enough. The revelation explained more than he wanted to admit, the nightmares, the fear, the way she'd reacted to the mention of the Borg.

His jaw tightened briefly before he relaxed it again. "I'm sorry."

Two simple words, spoken quietly. Dean moved from the chair and stopped beside the viewport, leaving enough space between them that she wouldn't feel crowded. He looked out at the stars with her. "I don't know what it's like to lose everyone like that."

He paused.

There was something about his presence that was calming, reassuring... she shifted slightly, moving closer to him, changing her position so her shoulder touched his chest. A small movement, but one that seemed to give her some sort of comfort as she relaxed her stance ever so slightly. "It's been years," she said softly. "The memories, and the nightmares don't stop."

Dean noticed the small movement but didn't make anything of it. He simply remained where he was, allowing her to lean against him if that was what made the moment a little easier.

"Years..." He repeated the word quietly, his gaze still fixed on the stars beyond the viewport. "And you're still carrying it."

There was no judgment in his voice. Only understanding that this was something far deeper than a single bad night. Dean lowered his voice. "I think people underestimate what time actually does."

He paused. "They assume that if something hurts long enough, eventually you stop feeling it." A faint shake of his head. "Maybe sometimes you do. But sometimes you just learn how to carry it better."

He looked down toward her for a moment. "And then something reminds you." His attention returned to the stars. "A sound. A place. A smell. A name."

He let out a slow breath. "Or a nightmare."

A shudder ran through her spine, a deep chill that she couldn't fight. She shivered violently against him before closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For unloading all of this on you."

Dean felt the shudder run through her and his expression softened further. He didn't pull away when she leaned against him; instead, he shifted slightly so she had a steadier place to rest without making the movement feel like an attempt to hold her in place. "Hey."

His voice was quiet. "Don't apologize." He glanced down at her briefly before looking back through the viewport. "You haven't unloaded anything on me."

A small pause. "You told me something about yourself. Something painful." He drew a slow breath. "There's a difference."

Dean remained beside her, letting the quiet hum of the shuttle fill the space between them.

Nikki turned toward him, looking up, her gaze meeting his. "Why are you so polite?" she asked softly. "Why haven't you told me to just shut up and go away?"

Dean met her gaze, a faint smile touching his features. For a moment he seemed genuinely puzzled by the question. "Because you've given me no reason to."

He paused, considering his answer. "You haven't done anything wrong, Nicolette. You had a nightmare. You got scared. You told someone what happened." His expression softened.

"That's not something I'd tell you to shut up about." He glanced toward the stars before looking back at her. "And as for going away..."

A quiet chuckle escaped him. "I could. I suppose. But I don't particularly want to." He shifted slightly against the bulkhead, keeping his voice gentle.

"Maybe I'm polite because that's how I was raised." A faint smile.

For a moment she let his words linger before she drew in a deep breath and pulled away from him, despite the fact that physical contact with him had been something giving her warmth and security.

"My grandfather would be horrified that I let my emotions fall so freely, he very much believed that emotions should not be seen or heard."

She drew in another deep breath. "My other grandmother, on the other hand, would be utterly thrilled."

Thank the four deities... she thought to herself.

Dean gave her the space as she pulled away, though his expression suggested he understood that the distance wasn't necessarily what she wanted. He didn't try to reclaim the contact, simply letting her decide where she was comfortable.

"Sounds like your grandparents had very different philosophies." A faint smile appeared. "I think I'd probably get along better with your grandmother."

There was a touch of humour in his voice, but it faded into something more thoughtful as he continued. "Your grandfather wasn't entirely wrong about one thing. There are situations where you have to keep your emotions under control."

He glanced toward her. "Starfleet officers have to do that all the time." His expression softened. "But there's a difference between controlling your emotions and pretending you don't have them."

He gestured lightly toward her. "What happened tonight isn't weakness."

Without saying a word she turned in to him, leaning into his bare chest, her arms falling by her side. She drew in a shaky breath, closing her eyes, not saying a word, just waiting for the next reaction.

Dean didn't move at first. He understood the hesitation in the way she'd approached him, the uncertainty, the quiet expectation that perhaps she'd gone too far and would be pushed away.

Instead, he simply let her lean against him. After a moment, his arms came around her, slow and deliberate, one settling gently around her upper back while the other rested lightly at her side. There was nothing possessive in the gesture, only reassurance.

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