[Katra Station - Deck 22 - CMO office]
As she held out her hand, Saxon did all but roll his eyes and groan - this wasn't going to be just business, then. He should have guessed, but it was clear the good Doctor was in the mood for conversation...
Taking it in the spirit it was offered nonetheless, John noticed, with a smattering of embarrassment, the difference in skin quality. Hers was young, smooth, warm, tight. His, on the other..err..hand, was loose with age and rough with callous. They were spades that had seen a lifetime of toil; hands that had grabbed half-dead Ensigns from the battlefields and brought down hundreds of enemy combatants. They were also a little cold, despite the relatively new heart thudding in his elderly chest.
For a moment, he felt ashamed at the disparity.
Her rank was the same as his, and it brought home, again, the absurdity of being made an officer after so many decades of being in the ranks. But this wasn't time to mope. This was time to go through the motions and get it all over and done with as quickly as possible.
"Lieutenant" he managed, with a not-charmless smile. His voice, distinct with it's elegant gravel, pronounced her rank in an archaic manner - Left-tenant - but clearly not due to any particular result of his distant year of birth. He looked about, unnecessarily, at her offer of a drink and shrugged. Why not - for medicinal purposes, surely. "That would be wonderful. A port, please. Tawny, not ruby."