'I don't need any help, you know,' said Cadet Ro. She was sitting sideways on the chair with one knee pulled up to her chest, torn between defensive and nonchalant.
'Of course you don't,' said Tasha. 'You can manage just fine on your own, you've had to.'
Ro glared at her. 'Don't patronise me.'
'Did you talk this way to your admissions board?' Tasha asked. 'I'm surprised they let you in.'
'I just... I don't want any special treatment.'
'So what,' said Tasha, 'you think you'll be able to keep up with fleet-level engineering? Complex first contact protocols? All the hundreds of regulations you'll have to know off the top of your head before you can serve on a starship? With barely any formal education and the reading ability of a fourth-grader?'
Ro shrugged. 'I got this far, didn't I?'
'You got this far because you're from a war-torn place and they're giving you the benefit of the doubt. But you can't go any further on potential alone. You need to shape up.'
'And I suppose you're the person to help me do that?'
Ro's smile was mocking.
'Yes,' said Tasha. 'I am.'
* * *
Tasha wouldn't have cared if they had only let her work waste reclamation, as long as it was on a Starfleet ship. As it was, she'd applied to do basic training and become a crewman, but after her aptitude test they'd offered her a place at the Academy instead, on probation.
'If you can't keep up, it's nothing to be ashamed of,' said the kind admiral who chaired her admissions board. 'You can go back and do basic, and we'll give you the rank of Crewman, first class, and it won't be any blemish on your record, or your character. But try the Academy, and talk with the group, and see how you get on.'
The group turned out to be larger than she had expected – some thirty or so cadets from all the branches of the Academy. There was an Orion girl in Sciences, a Genton boy who was top of his class in Engineering.
Most of the other cadets probably didn't even realise they were there – they all came from official Federation worlds where war and crime and hunger were things that happened somewhere far away, on the newscasts. But the other cadets in the group understood.
There was a professor assigned to coordinate them, but they mostly arranged things for themselves. The older ones each mentored one of the younger ones. They ran catch-up classes in everything from essay writing and basic math to etiquette, Federation pop culture and the rules of sports.
Tasha hadn't expected to fit in so easily.
* * *
Ro had a harder time fitting in. She skipped her catch-up classes, she didn't come to the socials, every time she and Tasha met up for progress chats, she was sullen and apathetic and rude.
But she came to them. That was something. Tasha kept inviting her places – out for coffee, Parrises Squares games, tours of the campus, shopping in the city. Ro came, more often than not. Her grades were dreadful and after six months she already had three disciplinary marks, but she spoke to Tasha with something approaching cordiality, or at least when she called her names there was a chance it might be affectionately meant.
* * *
Tasha was awake late. She had dressed for bed – after four years she still hadn't grown tired of the luxury of pyjamas – but she was worried about a test and she had stayed up studying instead. Or else she might not have heard the door chime.
It was Ro. 'I can't do it,' she announced, pushing into the room and sitting heavily down on the end of Tasha's bed.
'Do what?' Tasha asked.
'Any of it!' Ro said. She glared at Tasha.
Tasha shrugged. 'You could do it, if you let me help,' she said.
'I don't want your help.'
'Then why did you come?'
Ro said nothing. After a moment, Tasha went to sit beside her. She put a hand on Ro's shoulder. Ro sighed a long, deep sigh. Tasha wondered if she was about to cry.
'All right,' said Ro. 'I do need your help.'
She looked up at Tasha, clear-eyed. Tasha nodded. 'All right then. But tomorrow. Get a good night's sleep, and we'll work out a new catch-up schedule in the morning.'
Ro nodded. Then, thoughtfully, she leaned over and kissed Tasha.
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timeasmymeasure
Ro Laren/Tasha Yar, G, mentions of war
Date: 2011-01-26 11:36 pm (UTC)'Of course you don't,' said Tasha. 'You can manage just fine on your own, you've had to.'
Ro glared at her. 'Don't patronise me.'
'Did you talk this way to your admissions board?' Tasha asked. 'I'm surprised they let you in.'
'I just... I don't want any special treatment.'
'So what,' said Tasha, 'you think you'll be able to keep up with fleet-level engineering? Complex first contact protocols? All the hundreds of regulations you'll have to know off the top of your head before you can serve on a starship? With barely any formal education and the reading ability of a fourth-grader?'
Ro shrugged. 'I got this far, didn't I?'
'You got this far because you're from a war-torn place and they're giving you the benefit of the doubt. But you can't go any further on potential alone. You need to shape up.'
'And I suppose you're the person to help me do that?'
Ro's smile was mocking.
'Yes,' said Tasha. 'I am.'
* * *
Tasha wouldn't have cared if they had only let her work waste reclamation, as long as it was on a Starfleet ship. As it was, she'd applied to do basic training and become a crewman, but after her aptitude test they'd offered her a place at the Academy instead, on probation.
'If you can't keep up, it's nothing to be ashamed of,' said the kind admiral who chaired her admissions board. 'You can go back and do basic, and we'll give you the rank of Crewman, first class, and it won't be any blemish on your record, or your character. But try the Academy, and talk with the group, and see how you get on.'
The group turned out to be larger than she had expected – some thirty or so cadets from all the branches of the Academy. There was an Orion girl in Sciences, a Genton boy who was top of his class in Engineering.
Most of the other cadets probably didn't even realise they were there – they all came from official Federation worlds where war and crime and hunger were things that happened somewhere far away, on the newscasts. But the other cadets in the group understood.
There was a professor assigned to coordinate them, but they mostly arranged things for themselves. The older ones each mentored one of the younger ones. They ran catch-up classes in everything from essay writing and basic math to etiquette, Federation pop culture and the rules of sports.
Tasha hadn't expected to fit in so easily.
* * *
Ro had a harder time fitting in. She skipped her catch-up classes, she didn't come to the socials, every time she and Tasha met up for progress chats, she was sullen and apathetic and rude.
But she came to them. That was something. Tasha kept inviting her places – out for coffee, Parrises Squares games, tours of the campus, shopping in the city. Ro came, more often than not. Her grades were dreadful and after six months she already had three disciplinary marks, but she spoke to Tasha with something approaching cordiality, or at least when she called her names there was a chance it might be affectionately meant.
* * *
Tasha was awake late. She had dressed for bed – after four years she still hadn't grown tired of the luxury of pyjamas – but she was worried about a test and she had stayed up studying instead. Or else she might not have heard the door chime.
It was Ro. 'I can't do it,' she announced, pushing into the room and sitting heavily down on the end of Tasha's bed.
'Do what?' Tasha asked.
'Any of it!' Ro said. She glared at Tasha.
Tasha shrugged. 'You could do it, if you let me help,' she said.
'I don't want your help.'
'Then why did you come?'
Ro said nothing. After a moment, Tasha went to sit beside her. She put a hand on Ro's shoulder. Ro sighed a long, deep sigh. Tasha wondered if she was about to cry.
'All right,' said Ro. 'I do need your help.'
She looked up at Tasha, clear-eyed. Tasha nodded. 'All right then. But tomorrow. Get a good night's sleep, and we'll work out a new catch-up schedule in the morning.'
Ro nodded. Then, thoughtfully, she leaned over and kissed Tasha.
'Goodnight,' she said.
'Goodnight, Laren,' said Tasha.