Etwas wie so. (Dylan/T'Ra)

[T'Ra Jones]

NOTE: This thread is open, but only by request (via PM to me or Dylan).

[Starbase Edmund]

With the Discovery docked at the station, much of the crew was taking the opportunity for some much needed reprieve. "Nice to be able to stretch my legs again," T'Ra murmured, watching the thrum of people as they mingled and progressed through the promenade.

"You can stretch your legs on a starship," Evan replied, his gaze resting on his wife, their child resting on his lap. T'Ra turned to face him, scowling. He knew what she meant. She was still adjusting to the smaller size of the Discovery, wreaking havoc with her claustrophobia.

"Don't worry, Schatz. You know I will protect you, no matter the cost," he added, signaling for a waiter. But something caused him to pause.

[Dylan Torngate]

NOTE: This thread is open, but only by request (via PM to me or Dylan).

[Starbase Edmund]

With the Discovery docked at the station, much of the crew was taking the opportunity for some much needed reprieve. "Nice to be able to stretch my legs again," T'Ra murmured, watching the thrum of people as they mingled and progressed through the promenade.

"You can stretch your legs on a starship," Evan replied, his gaze resting on his wife, their child resting on his lap. T'Ra turned to face him, scowling. He knew what she meant. She was still adjusting to the smaller size of the Discovery, wreaking havoc with her claustrophobia.

"Don't worry, Schatz. You know I will protect you, no matter the cost," he added, signaling for a waiter. But something caused him to pause.

[Starbase Edmund]

Dylan walked along the halls of the Starbase. The Challenger had just finished a basic supply run to the station, and was currently off on a different mission. The ship had been tasked with making a run out to one of the outlying stations just out of reasonable shuttle range, and retrieving a geological survey team. Dylan had figured that the ship could get away without him for a few days, and so had taken some of his leave, as it had been piling up.

So, here he was. Civilian clothes, walking along the promenade, and and looking now for some place to get some food. Unknowingly, he found the same place that T'Ra and Evan were. He entered, went to the bar, and ordered. Surrounding him were some of the crews of other freighters, from local short-range cargo jumpers to deep-space resupply vessels from the major trade routes. Dylan meshed in with them, talking, listening, and generally enjoying himself.

The last meeting of T'Ra and Evan with Dylan had been... less than ideal. He'd been ordered to place them all under arrest, under varying charges. He'd carried out his orders, even to the point of having to board their ship and take it, deck by deck. He'd done this not because he enjoyed it, but because that was his mission. Afterwards, in the aftermath and confusion from the mess of a mission, he'd been debriefed and sent back to Challenger. He hadn't even bothered to follow up on what had happened to those who he'd stopped. As far as he cared, his part in the mission was over and gone. He wasn't looking for, and didn't see, the two familiar faces in the establishment. But apparently, they saw him.

[T'Ra Jones]

[Starbase Edmund]

The last meeting of T'Ra and Evan with Dylan had been... less than ideal. He'd been ordered to place them all under arrest, under varying charges. He'd carried out his orders, even to the point of having to board their ship and take it, deck by deck. He'd done this not because he enjoyed it, but because that was his mission. Afterwards, in the aftermath and confusion from the mess of a mission, he'd been debriefed and sent back to Challenger. He hadn't even bothered to follow up on what had happened to those who he'd stopped. As far as he cared, his part in the mission was over and gone. He wasn't looking for, and didn't see, the two familiar faces in the establishment. But apparently, they saw him.

[Starbase Edmund - Pesto's]

Evan's brows flatlined, his face adopting an unusually stony expression.  T'Ra would have looked over her shoulder to see if something had caught his gaze, but he suddenly handed off the child to her, murmuring something about going to find the restroom. She was too tired to press the point, her body still recouping from having given birth to a healthy baby girl.

But something in the way he pushed his chair back, exhaling sharply as he moved away from the table, fists clenched unsettled her, and she turned to follow his brisk and steady pace. Too late she realized that the object of his search was not to relieve himself --though he might argue otherwise-- but rather a person.

In the short time it took him to reach Dylan's table, Evan was positively seething. Lacking his wife's knack for language and diplomacy, he wasted no time with words, instead greeting his fellow man with a swift punch to the jaw. "Für meine Frau, du Schlammblut!"

[Dylan Torngate]

[Starbase Edmund - Pesto's]

Evan's brows flatlined, his face adopting an unusually stony expression.  T'Ra would have looked over her shoulder to see if something had caught his gaze, but he suddenly handed off the child to her, murmuring something about going to find the restroom. She was too tired to press the point, her body still recouping from having given birth to a healthy baby girl.

But something in the way he pushed his chair back, exhaling sharply as he moved away from the table, fists clenched unsettled her, and she turned to follow his brisk and steady pace. Too late she realized that the object of his search was not to relieve himself --though he might argue otherwise-- but rather a person.

In the short time it took him to reach Dylan's table, Evan was positively seething. Lacking his wife's knack for language and diplomacy, he wasted no time with words, instead greeting his fellow man with a swift punch to the jaw. "Für meine Frau, du Schlammblut!"

[Starbase Edmund]

Dylan had been enjoying the chit-chat with the others from his past life, very little giving away what his current profession was. If he'd been wearing the uniform, half the stories might have been... "Prettied Up" so to speak. But Dylan didn't mind. The vulgar details, the not-quite-legal boasts... most of it was just that. Boasting. But it was useful to keep an ear to the pipe, and listen for what came down. But in the ruckus, he'd not heard or noticed one angry man walking his way over.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, as he cracked a joke with another pilot- Helm crew on the SS Fer-De-Lance, a cargo hauler that was more warship than she was hauler. Enough weapons on that to take on a small army, it seemed at times. Of course, the rumors were also that the weapons grid hadn't worked right in years, but nobody'd wanted to test that theory. He felt himself get pulled around, as he tried to stabalize, and heard something yelled at him before a solid object connected with his jaw. That object had been a fist.

The Universal Translator moments later processed what the words had been- an obscure, archaic Earth language called "German". But right now, Dylan was worried about himself. The swing had had some pretty good force behind it, and as it connected with his jaw, spinning him around. He'd felt bone scream in pain as flesh and muscle gave way, his mouth getting cut on the inside from where the hit hand landed, as the harsh taste of iron filled his throat. He spit out the clump of blood forming, before turning around again.

Dylan had been in his fair share of fights, and this was no different. Just unexpected, is all. Fights in general were not common in this establishment it seemed, beyond the usual drunken brawls that were broken up and provoked. The sound in the bar dropped noticably, as the Freighter crews Dylan had been meshing with processed what had just taken place. As far as they saw, one of their own had been attacked, and they were ready to fight back too. Dylan shook his head at one of them, before winding up and unleashing a haymaker of his own straight back toward the other man's gut or face, whichever he could have a chance to reach. He didn't know or recognize this person, but Dylan was sure he would finish it.

[T'Ra Jones]

[Starbase Edmund]

The Universal Translator moments later processed what the words had been- an obscure, archaic Earth language called "German". But right now, Dylan was worried about himself. The swing had had some pretty good force behind it, and as it connected with his jaw, spinning him around. He'd felt bone scream in pain as flesh and muscle gave way, his mouth getting cut on the inside from where the hit hand landed, as the harsh taste of iron filled his throat. He spit out the clump of blood forming, before turning around again.

Dylan had been in his fair share of fights, and this was no different. Just unexpected, is all. Fights in general were not common in this establishment it seemed, beyond the usual drunken brawls that were broken up and provoked. The sound in the bar dropped noticeably, as the Freighter crews Dylan had been meshing with processed what had just taken place. As far as they saw, one of their own had been attacked, and they were ready to fight back too. Dylan shook his head at one of them, before winding up and unleashing a haymaker of his own straight back toward the other man's gut or face, whichever he could have a chance to reach. He didn't know or recognize this person, but Dylan was sure he would finish it.

[Starbase Edmund - Pesto's]

They say never to hit a man with a closed fist, but it was, on occasion, hilarious. Evan was not one to go looking for fights, quite the opposite. It was his job as a physician to patch people up, do no harm, but in this instance, he found himself grinning to see the blood the speckled his fist. He looked up in triumph as Dylan spat out blood to find the other men around the table posturing and gearing up to join the fight. That was fine. He knew all the weak points to hit. Though he really had no quarrel with them, so he was glad when they were waved away.

He turned back to focus his attention on the reason for this "gathering". It was inevitable, but Evan was still shocked by the force of the blow that caught him right in the nose, sending him flying into the next table. He thought he felt something crack, but it was hard to tell if the cartilage had actually been broken. Adrenaline did a lot to dull the pain, and his blood was boiling, in practically all senses of the word. Soon enough he was spit out blood of his own, surprised by the warmth of thick, coagulated liquid.

Evan had hoped that the German slur would have been enough to jog the other man's memory, but when he looked down into his eyes, he saw no sign of recognition in them, just fury. "Don't tell me you already forgot what you did to my wife," he spat. "She would lay her life down for your stupid federation, and you treated her like she was some kind of traitor." Evan reached for the man's collar. "You hunted her ship like an animal! You forcibly beamed onto the bridge with an armed guard! YOU POINTED A PHASER AT HER HEAD!" --he was all but screaming at this point-- "And it was set to kill."

A heavy silence filled the establishment. A pin could have dropped and the sound of it would have sent shivers down all their spines. "Schatz," someone whispered from behind.

"No, T'Ra," he replied. He was going to finish this, and he swung his fist.

[Dylan Torngate]

[Starbase Edmund - Pesto's]

They say never to hit a man with a closed fist, but it was, on occasion, hilarious. Evan was not one to go looking for fights, quite the opposite. It was his job as a physician to patch people up, do no harm, but in this instance, he found himself grinning to see the blood the speckled his fist. He looked up in triumph as Dylan spat out blood to find the other men around the table posturing and gearing up to join the fight. That was fine. He knew all the weak points to hit. Though he really had no quarrel with them, so he was glad when they were waved away.

He turned back to focus his attention on the reason for this "gathering". It was inevitable, but Evan was still shocked by the force of the blow that caught him right in the nose, sending him flying into the next table. He thought he felt something crack, but it was hard to tell if the cartilage had actually been broken. Adrenaline did a lot to dull the pain, and his blood was boiling, in practically all senses of the word. Soon enough he was spit out blood of his own, surprised by the warmth of thick, coagulated liquid.

Evan had hoped that the German slur would have been enough to jog the other man's memory, but when he looked down into his eyes, he saw no sign of recognition in them, just fury. "Don't tell me you already forgot what you did to my wife," he spat. "She would lay her life down for your stupid federation, and you treated her like she was some kind of traitor." Evan reached for the man's collar. "You hunted her ship like an animal! You forcibly beamed onto the bridge with an armed guard! YOU POINTED A PHASER AT HER HEAD!" --he was all but screaming at this point-- "And it was set to kill."

A heavy silence filled the establishment. A pin could have dropped and the sound of it would have sent shivers down all their spines. "Schatz," someone whispered from behind.

"No, T'Ra," he replied. He was going to finish this, and he swung his fist.

[Pesto's]

Dylan watched and stood ready as the man fell. He didn't recall at the moment who this man was and what he wanted, but he still had enough control not to grind his boot into the man's face while he was still down. With his off hand, he reached up and swiped away a trickle of blood that had formed, glancing at it for a minute. It wasn't enough to be severe damage, but he'd still want to go to the medbay after this. He shook his hand once to clear it off, and prepared for another strike if it'd be needed. He hoped the man had come to his senses, whatever they may be, and stick down. It'd been a while since he'd had to use Starfleet's personel defense or his own history of fighting, but he was glad for it now.

He had felt his blow connect, and had felt resistance from the bone beneath. Hopefully, the man's brain wasn't as thick as his skull had been. He locked his eyes on the man, not taking them off of him, the smell and taste of iron still permeating his senses. It was a rotten taste, but it kept his mind sharp, as his fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. He processed what the man yelled, but didn't have time to retort before the silence fell. He didn't notice it. What he did notice was the name of who he replied to.

Seemingly unlike Evan, Dylan still had Operational Security in mind. However, the name of T'Ra Jones, former target of two Starships Dylan had been in command of, brought back the incident full force. The man rushed forward, seemingly in a blind rage, as Dylan sidestepped and angled so the man ran past him, fighting fully defensive now, resisting the urge to beat the man into a bloody pulp. Knowing anything he said would likely be broadcast all over the place, or anyone here would hear what he said, he paused and thought, and eventually gave the best answer with no context. "I follow my orders, Lieutenant." he said, direct, pointedly, and coldly. "I complete my missions, no matter how distasteful. Stand down." he ordered, falling from his role and relaxation of a freighter in port to a Starfleet Captain, with temper aflame.

He began to circle around the man slowly, rotating clockwise, as he waited to see what the man would do. But by now, he'd recognized Evan. He'd made it a point after the incident on the Shran to know who was on the bridge. The Lieutenant with a temper, and now, a good hook, who just didn't know when to let things go.

He then glared at the man, hissing in a low voice, but loud enough to be heard by Evan, and probably by bystanders. "It was a bluff you daft moron. Stand down before you say something you can't walk away from."

[T'Ra Jones]

[Pesto's]

Dylan watched and stood ready as the man fell. He didn't recall at the moment who this man was and what he wanted, but he still had enough control not to grind his boot into the man's face while he was still down. With his off hand, he reached up and swiped away a trickle of blood that had formed, glancing at it for a minute. It wasn't enough to be severe damage, but he'd still want to go to the medbay after this. He shook his hand once to clear it off, and prepared for another strike if it'd be needed. He hoped the man had come to his senses, whatever they may be, and stick down. It'd been a while since he'd had to use Starfleet's personnel defense or his own history of fighting, but he was glad for it now.

He had felt his blow connect, and had felt resistance from the bone beneath. Hopefully, the man's brain wasn't as thick as his skull had been. He locked his eyes on the man, not taking them off of him, the smell and taste of iron still permeating his senses. It was a rotten taste, but it kept his mind sharp, as his fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. He processed what the man yelled, but didn't have time to retort before the silence fell. He didn't notice it. What he did notice was the name of who he replied to.

Seemingly unlike Evan, Dylan still had Operational Security in mind. However, the name of T'Ra Jones, former target of two Starships Dylan had been in command of, brought back the incident full force. The man rushed forward, seemingly in a blind rage, as Dylan sidestepped and angled so the man ran past him, fighting fully defensive now, resisting the urge to beat the man into a bloody pulp. Knowing anything he said would likely be broadcast all over the place, or anyone here would hear what he said, he paused and thought, and eventually gave the best answer with no context. "I follow my orders, Lieutenant." he said, direct, pointedly, and coldly. "I complete my missions, no matter how distasteful. Stand down." he ordered, falling from his role and relaxation of a freighter in port to a Starfleet Captain, with temper aflame.

He began to circle around the man slowly, rotating clockwise, as he waited to see what the man would do. But by now, he'd recognized Evan. He'd made it a point after the incident on the Shran to know who was on the bridge. The Lieutenant with a temper, and now, a good hook, who just didn't know when to let things go.

He then glared at the man, hissing in a low voice, but loud enough to be heard by Evan, and probably by bystanders. "It was a bluff you daft moron. Stand down before you say something you can't walk away from."

[Pesto's]

His second blow didn't land. Fighting wasn't his strong suit, and he no longer had surprise on his side. But he didn't care. His first punch had done more than enough damage, and it still gave him a rush to see the other man bleed. Evan braced himself for the next punch, but it never came. Dylan began to circle him instead, so Evan took it as a chance to breathe and size up his opposition.

"Before I say something I can't walk away from?" he retorted. "Did you think you could just walk away after what you did, like nothing happened? Do you think I give a damn whether it was a bluff?!"

Evan paused, but only long enough to spit out some of the blood that had welled up in his mouth, dripping down his throat from the nose that he was starting to think was broken. "Just following orders, eh? My wife was just following orders, not blindly like some sort of Nazi pig, but because she believed in what she was doing."

"Schatz, bitte." Evan twitched, trying to resist. "Schatz," T'Ra repeated, slowly pushing her way through the crowd, as the little one in her arms began to cry. "Ich hab kein Disput mit ihm. Bitte, lass es los." Evan twitched again. He couldn't just let it go.

[Dylan Torngate]

[Pesto's]

His second blow didn't land. Fighting wasn't his strong suit, and he no longer had surprise on his side. But he didn't care. His first punch had done more than enough damage, and it still gave him a rush to see the other man bleed. Evan braced himself for the next punch, but it never came. Dylan began to circle him instead, so Evan took it as a chance to breathe and size up his opposition.

"Before I say something I can't walk away from?" he retorted. "Did you think you could just walk away after what you did, like nothing happened? Do you think I give a damn whether it was a bluff?!"

Evan paused, but only long enough to spit out some of the blood that had welled up in his mouth, dripping down his throat from the nose that he was starting to think was broken. "Just following orders, eh? My wife was just following orders, not blindly like some sort of Nazi pig, but because she believed in what she was doing."

"Schatz, bitte." Evan twitched, trying to resist. "Schatz," T'Ra repeated, slowly pushing her way through the crowd, as the little one in her arms began to cry. "Ich hab kein Disput mit ihm. Bitte, lass es los." Evan twitched again. He couldn't just let it go.

He sighed. The man wasn't going to back down. He knew Security was already on their way, and so had to keep the man from committing even more crimes. He already planned to bring him up on striking a superior officer charges, but he still wanted to contain the situation. He sized up the man- strong, with delicate hands and precision, but untrained. Besides the basic Starfleet martial training, it was pretty doubtful this man had ever faced physical combat. Dylan had fought fair so far, but even his patience had limits. He heard T'ra speak and yell out, but didn't think it'd stop him.

Predictably, it didn't.

He clenched his fist, as the man retorted. Of course, the man had found a way to royally set Dylan off. Dylan was not a mindless soldier. He followed his orders, but let his morals guide him above that. "Let me tell you the difference between our two ships that day." He hissed, venom in his voice. "Twenty people died on the Excalibur that day. Zero died from my teams. Think on that." he said, his voice growing cold. All the bets were off the table... and the rules no longer applied to him. "I believe in the principles of the Federation... and that your crew's unwillingness to share what they learned caused a great tragedy that day." he said, intentionally being vague, but his voice concealed danger.

He then moved on the man. He didn't care about the rules, or morals, all he cared about now was causing some pain. He charged the man in a few strong strides, moving up quickly on him and striking with a sweeping blow for the legs, before he feinted to the right and then attempted to grapple the man, either to push him back into the bar or hit his head against the bar. "My people died that day. Not yours, you rat-faced bastard." he snarled, as he swung, fighting dirty now.

[T'Ra Jones]

He sighed. The man wasn't going to back down. He knew Security was already on their way, and so had to keep the man from committing even more crimes. He already planned to bring him up on striking a superior officer charges, but he still wanted to contain the situation. He sized up the man- strong, with delicate hands and precision, but untrained. Besides the basic Starfleet martial training, it was pretty doubtful this man had ever faced physical combat. Dylan had fought fair so far, but even his patience had limits. He heard T'ra speak and yell out, but didn't think it'd stop him.

Predictably, it didn't.

He clenched his fist, as the man retorted. Of course, the man had found a way to royally set Dylan off. Dylan was not a mindless soldier. He followed his orders, but let his morals guide him above that. "Let me tell you the difference between our two ships that day." He hissed, venom in his voice. "Twenty people died on the Excalibur that day. Zero died from my teams. Think on that." he said, his voice growing cold. All the bets were off the table... and the rules no longer applied to him. "I believe in the principles of the Federation... and that your crew's unwillingness to share what they learned caused a great tragedy that day." he said, intentionally being vague, but his voice concealed danger.

He then moved on the man. He didn't care about the rules, or morals, all he cared about now was causing some pain. He charged the man in a few strong strides, moving up quickly on him and striking with a sweeping blow for the legs, before he feinted to the right and then attempted to grapple the man, either to push him back into the bar or hit his head against the bar. "My people died that day. Not yours, you rat-faced bastard." he snarled, as he swung, fighting dirty now.

[Pesto's]

Evan rolled his shoulders. That dude had the nerve to sigh, like this was some tedious affair. That pissed him off. "I'm starting to think you weren't burdened with an overabundance of schooling, boy," he snarled, tensing up for another blow. "Did you even stop to think what your orders really were? Perhaps if you had learned to read between the lines, you would have known that we did share the information we had. Captain Hawke contacted the admiralty as soon as he figured out what was going down. And you know what they replied? They told us to stand by and sent your lot to keep us away."

Taking a step closer (which may not have been the smartest thing to do), he added in a hushed voice, "But we weren't about to just sit there and not try to do anything to stop the plot to assassinate the president. And if you hadn't intereferred, we damn well might have been able to save him."

Maybe it was the pain that dulled his his reflexes, but Evan went crashing to the floor when his legs were suddenly kicked out from under him, landing with a hard thud. The force was enough to knock the wind out of him and leave him gasping. He lay there dazed for a moment. Evan tried to push himself back up, but the room started to spin.

A shadow loomed over him, briefly looking down before turning to address Dylan. "I suppose I should thank you for saving me the effort of having to do the neck pinch," T'Ra mused. "Some whiskey, please," she added, signaling for the bartender.

[Dylan Torngate]

[Pesto's]

Dylan thought about his next reply. He had several things he wanted to say, many of which he couldn't. He did retort, however, to the comment about schooling. "Habit of the lifestyle. School wasn't exactly my forte." he said, before the man dropped. He thought about how much had been spoken, and how much this was going to cost to clean up. Thankfully, Security had already taken up positions and were keeping people contained.

Dylan wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to remind the man that the Sol Defense Fleet should have been on the issue, but had to deal with the Shran. They were forced to dedicated security teams and two ships to stop them. Starfleet had even had some idea that there may have been a threat on the Shran. Instead of letting the issue be resolved, they'd been forced to other problems.

He was satisfied to hear the solid sound of the man landing unprepared on the floor. He looked down, having enough decency to not continue attacking the man, provided he had the brains to stay down. What he wasn't prepared for, however, was the appearance of someone else right next to him. He took a half step back, turning as he prepared to take a swing. Had Evan brought someone else to the fight? He was all instinct now, not really processing at first who the person was.

As he finished the pullback for another strike, he saw who it was and immediately checked his momentum. He defused the energy, moving his arm back down to his side. He stood upright, his hand then going, as soon as he could tell he was no longer in a fight, to his mouth. His hand came away covered in a crimson red, which he idly ran his thumb through a spot of the liquid, making no attempt to staunch or find the wound. It seemed to be slowing down, anyways. Adrenaline had kept him from feeling the pain. He turned to face the figure next to him. "That's one hell of a hook..." he muttered to himself, before remembering there was someone still next to him.

"Commander Jones." he said, his voice neutral but guarded. "I would say it was agreeable to see you again, but that would likely be a lie. Always a pleasure to do Starfleet's dirty work," he said, his voice sarcastic and laced with annoyance.

[T'Ra Jones]

[Pesto's]

Dylan thought about his next reply. He had several things he wanted to say, many of which he couldn't. He did retort, however, to the comment about schooling. "Habit of the lifestyle. School wasn't exactly my forte." he said, before the man dropped. He thought about how much had been spoken, and how much this was going to cost to clean up. Thankfully, Security had already taken up positions and were keeping people contained.

Dylan wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to remind the man that the Sol Defense Fleet should have been on the issue, but had to deal with the Shran. They were forced to dedicated security teams and two ships to stop them. Starfleet had even had some idea that there may have been a threat on the Shran. Instead of letting the issue be resolved, they'd been forced to other problems.

He was satisfied to hear the solid sound of the man landing unprepared on the floor. He looked down, having enough decency to not continue attacking the man, provided he had the brains to stay down. What he wasn't prepared for, however, was the appearance of someone else right next to him. He took a half step back, turning as he prepared to take a swing. Had Evan brought someone else to the fight? He was all instinct now, not really processing at first who the person was.

As he finished the pullback for another strike, he saw who it was and immediately checked his momentum. He defused the energy, moving his arm back down to his side. He stood upright, his hand then going, as soon as he could tell he was no longer in a fight, to his mouth. His hand came away covered in a crimson red, which he idly ran his thumb through a spot of the liquid, making no attempt to staunch or find the wound. It seemed to be slowing down, anyways. Adrenaline had kept him from feeling the pain. He turned to face the figure next to him. "That's one hell of a hook..." he muttered to himself, before remembering there was someone still next to him.

"Commander Jones." he said, his voice neutral but guarded. "I would say it was agreeable to see you again, but that would likely be a lie. Always a pleasure to do Starfleet's dirty work," he said, his voice sarcastic and laced with annoyance.

[Pesto's]

T'Ra didn't flinch to see Dylan rear back, poised to strike again at her approach, recognizing the signs of an adrenaline rush and a body acting on pure instinct. But unlike her husband, Dylan stopped himself, instead bring his hand to his bloodied mouth. Evan still lay on the floor, but given his conduct, T'Ra saw little harm in letting him lie there for a few moments more and reflect on the scene he had just caused.

"Mr. Torngate," T'Ra replied curtly, holding the newborn close to her chest. "What happened was regrettable, but I still stand by my actions."  T'Lana had not yet been born the last time they met, still in the womb when the phaser had been pointed at her mother's head. The young hybrid did not recall any of this, nor did she understand the implications of the current altercation. T'Lana, who had slumbered through most of it, now woke, but her eyes held no sign of recognition for the bristling man beside them.

A soft sigh. And she closed her eyes again. T'Ra sighed as well, cocking her head. "I don't suppose you would mind holding her for a second?" she asked Dylan. Taking a calculated risk, she didn't wait for a reply, simply handing the child off to him so that she could stoop down and help Evan into a seat. "Now that that's settled," T'Ra added, "do you want me to take a look at your injury?" Not that he needed to know, but she had taken more than her fair share of medical courses in the academy.

[Dylan Torngate]

[Pesto's]

T'Ra didn't flinch to see Dylan rear back, poised to strike again at her approach, recognizing the signs of an adrenaline rush and a body acting on pure instinct. But unlike her husband, Dylan stopped himself, instead bring his hand to his bloodied mouth. Evan still lay on the floor, but given his conduct, T'Ra saw little harm in letting him lie there for a few moments more and reflect on the scene he had just caused.

"Mr. Torngate," T'Ra replied curtly, holding the newborn close to her chest. "What happened was regrettable, but I still stand by my actions."  T'Lana had not yet been born the last time they met, still in the womb when the phaser had been pointed at her mother's head. The young hybrid did not recall any of this, nor did she understand the implications of the current altercation. T'Lana, who had slumbered through most of it, now woke, but her eyes held no sign of recognition for the bristling man beside them.

A soft sigh. And she closed her eyes again. T'Ra sighed as well, cocking her head. "I don't suppose you would mind holding her for a second?" she asked Dylan. Taking a calculated risk, she didn't wait for a reply, simply handing the child off to him so that she could stoop down and help Evan into a seat. "Now that that's settled," T'Ra added, "do you want me to take a look at your injury?" Not that he needed to know, but she had taken more than her fair share of medical courses in the academy.

[Bar]

Dylan looked at the Vulcan beside him. Unsurprisingly, no emotion could be seen. He kept his face as neutral as possible, while speaking. "I too stand by what I did, but this is neither the time nor place for this discussion." he said, making it abundantly clear in those words how we felt about the issue. He noted the newborn child, something he registered but didn't quite understand. Then he remembered. Last time they'd met, he'd been yelled at that she was with child. Apparently, given the subtle non-vulcan traces, this was indeed that child.

With fresh blood on his face, Dylan wasn't exactly ready as a child was deposited in his arms. He quickly moved to recover from the sudden added weight, the task taking enough mental energy to kickstart his brain back into a more calm mode, less about fighting and more about the child. "Hello there..." he said to the little one, his head leaned back and to the side to look at the child, as he shifted to keep the more blood-covered areas away from the child while still looking at the face. He shifted to carry the child as he had seen before, in a few places. He'd never actually held a child before, so it was a bit awkward. Regardless, he managed.

As Evan was hauled to the seat, Dylan thought. By all rights, he could have the man arrested on any number of counts, but he also had to worry about Evan trying to bring on round two. But for now, he listened to T'Ra again. As loathe as he was to admit it, he hadn't come away from the altercation scratch-free. He probably would need medical treatment to clean himself up. As such, he nodded. "If you wouldn't mind." he said, his hand reaching up and feeling his jaw for a moment. It'd be sore for a week or two."That is, unless you'd rather escort him to Sickbay." He said, nodding his head toward Evan.

[T'Ra Jones]

[Bar]

Dylan looked at the Vulcan beside him. Unsurprisingly, no emotion could be seen. He kept his face as neutral as possible, while speaking. "I too stand by what I did, but this is neither the time nor place for this discussion." he said, making it abundantly clear in those words how we felt about the issue. He noted the newborn child, something he registered but didn't quite understand. Then he remembered. Last time they'd met, he'd been yelled at that she was with child. Apparently, given the subtle non-vulcan traces, this was indeed that child.

With fresh blood on his face, Dylan wasn't exactly ready as a child was deposited in his arms. He quickly moved to recover from the sudden added weight, the task taking enough mental energy to kickstart his brain back into a more calm mode, less about fighting and more about the child. "Hello there..." he said to the little one, his head leaned back and to the side to look at the child, as he shifted to keep the more blood-covered areas away from the child while still looking at the face. He shifted to carry the child as he had seen before, in a few places. He'd never actually held a child before, so it was a bit awkward. Regardless, he managed.

As Evan was hauled to the seat, Dylan thought. By all rights, he could have the man arrested on any number of counts, but he also had to worry about Evan trying to bring on round two. But for now, he listened to T'Ra again. As loathe as he was to admit it, he hadn't come away from the altercation scratch-free. He probably would need medical treatment to clean himself up. As such, he nodded. "If you wouldn't mind." he said, his hand reaching up and feeling his jaw for a moment. It'd be sore for a week or two."That is, unless you'd rather escort him to Sickbay." He said, nodding his head toward Evan.

[Pesto's]

A new mother, T'Ra was exhausted, both emotionally and physically from what had just transpired. She shook her head. "I see no need to move him, for the time being." Pulling out the tricorder she always carried of her pocket, T'Ra began a simple scan to get a general idea as to the extent of the injuries that Dylan had suffered. "I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear this, Captain, but you'll live." And having lived previously on the starbase, T'Ra was already aware of the medkit that was stored behind the bar. While this was certainly one of the more brutal fights to take place in the establishment, it certainly wasn't the first.

As far as she was concerned, the discussion had ended then and there on the bridge. She knew he had his own reasons for acting the way he did, so she bore him no ill will. They were both just Starfleet officers doing what they perceived to be their duty, though their objectives differed dramatically. T'Ra would have preferred to forgive and forget, but Evan was undeniably of another school of thought. Men, she thought, such emotional creatures.

Dylan had reacted remarkably well for having a child suddenly thrust into his arms. From his stance it was clear that this hadn't happened to him before. His quick reflexes were phenomenal, though what really impressive was to watch the transformation of his face. At once, his expression softened, his head tilted as he spoke gently to the little one. T'Ra turned back to glance at her husband, pleased to note that his posture had relaxed as well. Whatever grudges he still held against the man, he had to feel some modicum of respect to see the way Dylan handled their child with such great care. Evan groaned in pain as she fished a tool out of the medkit. She would get to him in a moment. First would be Dylan, and so she began, running the instrument slowly along his jawline.

[Dylan Torngate]

[Pesto's]

A new mother, T'Ra was exhausted, both emotionally and physically from what had just transpired. She shook her head. "I see no need to move him, for the time being." Pulling out the tricorder she always carried of her pocket, T'Ra began a simple scan to get a general idea as to the extent of the injuries that Dylan had suffered. "I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear this, Captain, but you'll live." And having lived previously on the starbase, T'Ra was already aware of the medkit that was stored behind the bar. While this was certainly one of the more brutal fights to take place in the establishment, it certainly wasn't the first.

As far as she was concerned, the discussion had ended then and there on the bridge. She knew he had his own reasons for acting the way he did, so she bore him no ill will. They were both just Starfleet officers doing what they perceived to be their duty, though their objectives differed dramatically. T'Ra would have preferred to forgive and forget, but Evan was undeniably of another school of thought. Men, she thought, such emotional creatures.

Dylan had reacted remarkably well for having a child suddenly thrust into his arms. From his stance it was clear that this hadn't happened to him before. His quick reflexes were phenomenal, though what really impressive was to watch the transformation of his face. At once, his expression softened, his head tilted as he spoke gently to the little one. T'Ra turned back to glance at her husband, pleased to note that his posture had relaxed as well. Whatever grudges he still held against the man, he had to feel some modicum of respect to see the way Dylan handled their child with such great care. Evan groaned in pain as she fished a tool out of the medkit. She would get to him in a moment. First would be Dylan, and so she began, running the instrument slowly along his jawline.

[Pesto's]

The murmur of the crowd began to return to normal, as Security dispersed the final groups of people and the entertainment, such as it was, returned to it's normal events. By the end of week, everyone on the base would know about this. By the end of month, it'd be old forgotten news. He gave a half chuckle when his prognosis was given. He bit back a comment that would likely be derogatory to Evan. "I suppose you're right." he settled on saying, but the now moving little weight in his arms took most of his attention. He felt the tools flow up his injuries, skin being meshed back together and blood vessels repaired. The Vulcan in front of him certainly had Medical training, with the ease and efficiency of the fix.

As the tools finished their job, he spoke again. "I guess the human body is a little more complex than a Ship's engines." he said, falling back in his now-more-relaxed state to things he was more familiar with. Miles of blood vessels were crammed into a human, where Engines had kilometers of parts over a much larger distance. Still, no computer had been made yet to meet the Human Mind in sheer raw processing power. Regardless, Dylan forced himself to focus on the here and now. Theoretical computing could wait.

Dylan hadn't consciously softened his face. In fact, he didn't even realize it had happened. It just was instinctive. Regardless, he held the child with care- as if it was the most important thing in the room. For at least two people, that was probably the case. He did turn however as Evan reached down, and fished for tools himself. Dylan knew the Doctor would likely be able to care for himself, so Dylan didn't have any issues being treated by experienced hands first. As the tools finished their work, Dylan already felt better. He knew he'd still be sore, but that was a given. At the very least he could claim it was his physical activity for the day. "Much obliged, Doctor." he said, as he moved his jaw.

[T'Ra Jones]

[Pesto's]

The murmur of the crowd began to return to normal, as Security dispersed the final groups of people and the entertainment, such as it was, returned to it's normal events. By the end of week, everyone on the base would know about this. By the end of month, it'd be old forgotten news. He gave a half chuckle when his prognosis was given. He bit back a comment that would likely be derogatory to Evan. "I suppose you're right." he settled on saying, but the now moving little weight in his arms took most of his attention. He felt the tools flow up his injuries, skin being meshed back together and blood vessels repaired. The Vulcan in front of him certainly had Medical training, with the ease and efficiency of the fix.

As the tools finished their job, he spoke again. "I guess the human body is a little more complex than a Ship's engines." he said, falling back in his now-more-relaxed state to things he was more familiar with. Miles of blood vessels were crammed into a human, where Engines had kilometers of parts over a much larger distance. Still, no computer had been made yet to meet the Human Mind in sheer raw processing power. Regardless, Dylan forced himself to focus on the here and now. Theoretical computing could wait.

Dylan hadn't consciously softened his face. In fact, he didn't even realize it had happened. It just was instinctive. Regardless, he held the child with care- as if it was the most important thing in the room. For at least two people, that was probably the case. He did turn however as Evan reached down, and fished for tools himself. Dylan knew the Doctor would likely be able to care for himself, so Dylan didn't have any issues being treated by experienced hands first. As the tools finished their work, Dylan already felt better. He knew he'd still be sore, but that was a given. At the very least he could claim it was his physical activity for the day. "Much obliged, Doctor." he said, as he moved his jaw.

[Pesto's]

T'Ra paid no heed to the other patrons of the café and bar, who bit by bit, returned to their drinks as she continued to work, running the tools up and along Dylan's injuries until the skin had knit itself back together again. "Perhaps," T'Ra mumurred, taking one last scan with her tricorder, "but I really couldn't say. Engineering has never been my forte, whereas science and medicine practically go hand in hand." She glanced at her husband from the corner of her eye, the trace of a smile on her lips. It was thanks to this proximity of their fields that had brought them together.

With a grunt, Evan reached over to fish a tool or two from the medkit himself. The first he did was to press the hypospray to his neck, sighing audibly when its contents released, a little something to dull the pain. He tenderly touched his nose to see if it was all in one piece before he reached for another tool to repair the torn cartilage. It wasn't going to win him no beauty contest, but it got the job done.

Evan regarded the other man with apprehension. He would never be able to forget the torment Dylan had inflicted on his wife, but perhaps, he could learn to forgive. Where his daughter was concerned, Evan found he could not be angry. That this man held her in his arms with such care actually made him smile. "I relieve you, sir," Evan said, reaching to gently take little T'Lana. "Now you'll have your hands free to get a drink." It was the closest he could bring himself at the moment to making any sort of apology.