Something Worth Keeping
Posted on Fri Aug 29th, 2025 @ 11:52am by Ensign Millicent Ambrose & Chloe de la Vega
Edited on on Wed Sep 10th, 2025 @ 8:29am
3,638 words; about a 18 minute read
Mission:
Episode 16 - Silent Cries
Location: After 11 - Deck 11 - USS Pioneer
Timeline: MD009 1700 hrs
Millie had been to After-11 several times, but hadn't truly spoken to the one who ran the place. Chloe de la Vega. Matter of fact, Millie hadn't even tried the alcoholic drinks either.
There always seemed to be a sort of ambiance to the place, one that danced upon the edges of the mind. And Millie seemed to recall that, whatever it was, the music relaxed her.
Millie reached the doors which led into After-11, stepping through and making her way towards the bar. This time she was noticing things she'd not noticed before, the bar counter and its gleaming surface, something well cared for. Finely crafted.
Millie slid onto an available stool, watching as others were being served drinks, admiring the effortlessness of the service being given. She absent minded caressed the surface of the bar, feeling a warmth emanating from it.
The jazz was mellow tonight—soft saxophone weaving through the low hum of conversation and clinking glass. Behind the bar, Chloe moved with quiet grace, polishing a glass that didn’t need it, just to keep her hands busy. The crowd was steady, nothing rowdy, just a pleasant buzz. Exactly how she liked it.
She noticed the woman before she looked up—there was always a shift in the room when someone new walked in. Or maybe Chloe just had a sense for people trying to feel something.
As Millie slid onto the stool and brushed her hand over the counter, Chloe smiled faintly and stepped closer.
“You’re new,” she said—not unkindly, but with that husky lilt in her voice that always sounded a bit amused. “Or at least new to sitting still long enough for me to notice.”
She set the polished glass aside and leaned lightly on the bar, brown eyes watching her with a warmth that didn’t demand anything in return.
“Welcome to After 11. First time properly, is it? Tell me what kind of day you’ve had, and I’ll tell you what you’re drinking.”
The smile widened just a touch—inviting, relaxed, a hint of mischief behind it.
“And don’t worry, I won’t start you on anything that makes you dance on tables. Unless that’s what you’re after, in which case…” She winked. “We’ll talk.”
A little laugh with a tint of a blush. "I've done that before." Millie having a twinkle in her eyes.
She shifted forward slightly, placing an elbow upon the counter. "I've been here, three times." holding up three fingers.
"First two times, I had my cloak of invisibility on not wishing to be seen. Hiding beneath dark drab clothing, with a hoodie over my head." Millie's gaze serious.
A brief glimpse as if something were haunting her, in her eyes. Which disappeared as she continued.
"The third time, yes, I didn't stay too long as I went to see Tyr, upstairs, to hear him play." her voice and eye softened, a smile appearing, making the cloud disappear. as Millie spoke of Tyr.
Chloe let out a low chuckle, resting her hands lightly on the bar. “Well, dancing on tables or cloaking devices—you've definitely come to the right place.”
She took a slow moment to study Millie’s face, noting the flicker in her eyes. It was there and gone, but Chloe had seen it enough in others to recognise the shape of it.
She didn’t press. Just nodded, as if to say yeah, I see you—without dragging the spotlight.
“Funny thing about this place,” she said gently, turning to pull a clean glass from beneath the counter, “it welcomes ghosts, wallflowers, and storm clouds alike. No one has to be anything but what they are. Especially not here.”
She glanced up as she started pouring something light—warm amber, no sharp burn, just a drink that hummed at the edges.
“Tyr has that effect, doesn’t he?” she said, softer now. “That man plays like he's unravelling threads you didn’t even know were knotted.”
A half-smile curved on her lips as she set the drink down in front of Millie.
“Something soft, something safe,” she said. “On the house—though I’ll take a story next time in trade.”
Then, after a pause: “If you ever feel like being seen… well, I don’t think you need the cloak anymore.”
Her tone was light, teasing. But the warmth behind it? That was real.
"Yes, Tyr does have that affect." Millie picking up the glass taking an exploratory sip. Liking the flavor and its warmth.
"Thank you." Millie softly uttered after the first sip.
An impish gleam danced in Millie's eyes, "I'll have you know, I have danced upon tables before." bringing the glass back up to her lips, watching Chloe.
What she said was the truth though. Millie has danced upon a table or two.
Chloe arched a brow, the corner of her mouth curling as she leaned in, elbows resting on the bar with studied ease. Her body language was open—welcoming, relaxed—but there was precision in it too. Every gesture practiced, every smile sharpened just enough to keep the upper hand.
“Is that so?” she said, voice low and warm, laced with amusement. “You’ve been holding out on me, Ensign.”
She polished a glass without needing to, her eyes drifting back to Millie with a glint that was equal parts mischief and something more calculated.
“You realise,” she added, casually enough to feel offhand, “now I’m picturing you in boots and a dress about two inches too short, commanding the room from atop my furniture.”
She let the image linger between them for a beat, then exhaled a soft “Madre mía…” (My goodness…) with a mock sigh. “You’re lucky I like a little chaos in my lounge.”
It was playful—light on the surface—but Chloe never said anything without purpose. Flirtation, for her, wasn’t just habit. It was control. A way to lead the dance before anyone else knew they were on the floor.
She leaned back just slightly, giving Millie space to sip her drink.
“Tyr’s got a gift,” she said more softly, the amusement in her tone giving way to something quieter. “He plays like he’s got all the time in the world, and none of it belongs to anyone else.”
She gave Millie another look—sharper this time, though not unkind.
“I see why you came out of hiding. You’ve got good taste.”
Then she nodded toward Millie’s drink, tilting her head just so.
“Finish that, and maybe I’ll tell you about my table-dancing phase. Let’s just say it involved Andorian tequila, three cocky lieutenants, and one very unimpressed Vulcan who definitely filed a complaint.”
She smirked. “Totally worth it.”
And then, with a wink as she turned to serve another patron—just far enough to give space, but not so far Millie might think the moment had passed—she added:
“Stick around, cariño. (darling) It’s only just getting interesting.”
Millie finished the drink, her eyes crinkling up with her soft laugh.
"You are very good at drawing things out of people. That isn't a bad thing though. As for Tyr, he did bring me out of the shadows."
She leaned in close for only Chloe to hear, "No one knows about my dancing on tables, it's something, I have kept quiet about."
Drawing back Millie, remarked, "three lieutenants, an unimpressed Vulcan, and Andorian tequila, that packs a punch."
Chloe took the empty glass, her fingers brushing Millie’s just enough to make it deliberate.
“Claro…” (Of course…) she said with a faint smile, “I’ve got a habit of getting people talking. Comes with the job… and maybe a little talent.”
Her gaze lingered, brown eyes steady. “You don’t strike me as someone who hides for no reason. Shadows can feel safe, sí, but they don’t give much back.”
There was no judgement in her voice — just quiet certainty. Then, for the briefest beat, something flickered across her expression, gone almost as quickly as it came. Without seeming to think about it, her fingertips brushed the faint line along her right cheekbone — the small, silvery scar barely visible in the lounge lighting.
The motion stopped as quickly as it began, and she straightened, her voice softer now. “Some of us stay in them so long, we forget what it’s like to stand in the light.”
A heartbeat later, the easy smile returned, warm and inviting, as if nothing had happened. “So… welcome to the light, Ensign. Feels different, doesn’t it?”
She turned to pour another drink, leaving the words — and that fleeting glimpse — hanging between them like an open door neither had to walk through just yet.
Chloe's slight touch to a faded scar, reminded Millie of her own action touching the place in her neck, where a tranq dart had hit.
Her own brown eyes locked with Chloe's.
"It is lovely to come out of the shadows into the light, and forgive me, I know your name, but I've not said mine. My name is Millie."
A twinkle in her eyes, as Millie held out her hand, the handshake was firm, there was strength there was but also gentleness.
"It can be frightening at first, coming out of the shadows. Second guessing the decision, worried about being--found."
Millie nudged the door that Chloe had opened, just a little bit wider. Her mind went back to that fleeting expression in the eyes, of the woman across the bar from her. Who will step through that door first or will they do so together.
Millie released Chloe's hand, realizing she held it perhaps a bit longer than she should have, but that human contact was something of great value, it not being intimidating.
Chloe let the quiet settle for a breath, her fingers still brushing the edge of the glass Millie had touched.
Then, with a small breath—half laugh, half sigh—she stepped back from the edge of whatever they’d both been dancing near and gave a faint shake of her head.
“Come with me,” she said suddenly, voice soft but certain.
She circled the bar without waiting for an answer and gestured toward one of the smaller tables tucked into the far corner of After-11—low lighting, out of the way, intimate without being obvious.
Once Millie followed (and Chloe was sure she would), she set two fresh drinks down and slid into the seat opposite her.
“I’m not one for sitting still,” she said, almost apologetically. “But sometimes the best conversations happen when you're not stuck behind a bar… or hiding behind polite small talk.”
She paused, studying Millie for a moment—just enough to make the next part feel deliberate.
“Ask me something real.”
A faint smile curved her lips—welcoming, but edged with challenge. “I’ll answer. One question. Anything.”
A soft beat.
“Just don’t waste it.”
Now there was a challenge, asking that one question which was pertinent. One wrong question and that simple small door opening would close forever.
Now just how to figure out the real question to ask.
There was that subtle clue, the unconscious brushing of that faint scar upon Chloe's cheek. That flicker of a painful memory.
Millie knew the sign.
Millie brushed her own cheek as if to mirror of Chloe's motion, not in mockery but, a reflection.
As she thought of her question, she picked up the drink, to take sip. The glass lowered with a quiet clink when she set it down upon the table.
A deep breath, as she rolled the proverbial dice.
"I-I would like to know the real story of how this came to be, would you share it with me, please?" once more touching her own cheek, where Chloe's faint scar would be on her own face.
Her eyes were open and honest, a genuine warm, soft look of kindness and compassion was there. No judgement on her part. Millie honestly cared and wanted to know.
For the first time all evening, Chloe didn’t answer right away.
She looked at Millie for a long moment—really looked—and when her eyes dropped to the mirrored gesture on the other woman’s cheek, something inside her shifted.
She sat back slightly, a breath leaving her that felt too slow to be casual. One hand came up again, fingertips brushing the faint scar like muscle memory. Not hiding it. Not explaining it yet.
“That’s the question you ask?” she said at last, quiet and almost... surprised. “Most people don’t even see it. Or pretend not to.”
Her gaze drifted down to the table, to the drink she hadn’t touched. When she spoke again, her voice was different. Lower. Rougher around the edges.
“I was seventeen. I’d been out late with people I shouldn’t have been with—older, reckless, exactly the kind of crowd my father hated.” A small, bitter smile tugged at her mouth. “He’d been drinking. I’d been drinking. But only one of us was dangerous.”
She looked back at Millie then—not ashamed, not wounded, just... honest.
“We argued. He said things. I said worse. I think I wanted him to hit me that night. Just so I could finally stop pretending he wasn’t already hurting me.”
Her fingers absently traced the rim of the glass.
“He wore a ring. Class ring, maybe. Whatever it was, it caught my cheek when he hit me. Cut clean through. My brothers didn’t know. Or maybe they didn’t want to.”
Chloe leaned forward now, resting her forearms on the table, her voice softening.
“That was the night I left. Packed what I could, walked out the door, and never looked back.”
She finally picked up the glass, holding it in her hands but not drinking from it. “It healed better than I thought it would. But I kept it.” Her tone grew lighter—forced, but only slightly. “A souvenir. Reminder of what not to forgive.”
Then she met Millie’s gaze again, the edge returning to her smile—but not coldly. There was warmth there. A rare kind.
“You asked the right question.”
And somehow, that felt like the highest compliment Chloe could give.
Millie quietly let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, gazing quietly at Chloe. She did feel that Chloe had complimented her.
There was no expression of pity, only one of respect, and a nod of understanding and genuine warmth.
She reached over to pick up the glass which still held some of her drink, lifting it up in a silent salute to Chloe, drinking of it.
The silence didn't drift uncomfortably between them, though, since Chloe had opened the door, Millie would step through. If Chloe would like to know.
Millie reached up to feel her neck, where the dart had hit.
"Thank you for answering my question. It is only fair for you to ask one of your own." her mouth curving upwards and a twinkle in her eyes.
Chloe lifted her glass in return, tapping it gently against Millie’s in silent acknowledgement. The faintest smile ghosted across her lips—not performative this time, not flirtatious. Just… present.
“Gracias, Millie,” she said, her voice low. “For listening. And for not looking away.”
She leaned back slightly in her chair, letting the silence linger just long enough to be intentional, then tilted her head.
“You said being seen was frightening. That it meant risking being… found.”
A pause.
“So my question is this—” she met Millie’s gaze, steady and calm, “—when you think about being found… what do you imagine happens next?”
Not what happened to you.
Not who hurt you.
Not even why were you hiding.
Just… what comes after.
Because Chloe knows the stories people carry aren’t always ready to be told. But how they imagine the future? That’s often where the truth is hiding.
She said nothing more. Just let the question sit between them, waiting—but never demanding.
Millie was quiet and still, pondering over that question. She actually knew the answer.
"I'll face whatever comes along, without shrinking. And I choose to embrace life, the storms, the sun."
Millie's eyes were filled with a firm conviction but there was a light in them as well.
"If or when I am found, I will be victorious in one form or other. And I have won already. I've come out from the shadows."
Millie put down her now empty glass, leaning forward once more. Her right forearm upon the top of the table and her chin cupped in her left hand.
"I've begun a treasure box in my mind where I keep, memories of those whom I've met.
She had a fond gaze, as Millie looked at Chloe
"Precious memories, and you are one of them."
Chloe blinked once. Just a flicker—barely a heartbeat—but something shifted behind her eyes.
Her lips lifted into a soft smile, perfectly shaped but distant around the edges. One of the practiced ones. Not the kind she gave freely.
“That's… very kind,” she said, her voice smooth, but quieter now. The warmth wasn’t gone—it had just cooled to something more careful.
She looked down at her empty glass, fingers curling around it like a habit. “People say memory is precious,” she murmured. “But some of us carry things we never asked to keep.”
Her gaze drifted back up to Millie, meeting her eyes—but only for a moment.
“And sometimes,” she added with a faint breath, “we share something raw and real, and the moment passes like it never happened.”
A beat. Not sharp. Not cruel. Just honest.
She rose from her seat, glass in hand, the motion fluid but quieter than before.
“I should refill this,” she said, voice light again. “After-11 loses its magic without something to hold onto.”
She took a step, then paused—glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes catching Millie’s once more.
“Leave some space for yourself too, cariño. Not just for the people you collect… but for who you are.”
A beat. Softer now.
“My mother used to call me that. Cariño. It means ‘darling’—but it always meant more when I needed it most.”
And with that, she turned and moved back toward the bar—present, composed, and just a little further away than before.
A quiet knowing smile appeared, Millie watching Chloe's exit from the intimate corner of After-11.
"Cariño" Millie softly uttered, the word was filled with warmth, intimacy and love.
She didn't feel offended by Chloe raising up her walls, knowing it was part of protecting oneself.
Millie found herself admiring the way Chloe slipped into her public personae, she had style and grace.
As Millie let the moment she shared with Chloe settle, she noticed something about the table that they sat at. It was made from the same sort of wood that the bar counter was made from.
Millie caressed the top of the table, feeling the warmth and love she felt emanating from it. She could see it; Chloe making certain that each piece was just right. Closing her eyes, Millie basked in the warmth.
Her nostrils caught the scent of citrus, it was subtle but, it was there, bringing up another smile. It was uplifting, and it made her feel good.
It was time to go, Millie felt it in the air. She moved from the table, picking up the empty glass and made her way to where Chloe was, slipping the glass upon the bar.
"Thank you, and I do have space in the box for me." Millie had a twinkle in her eyes when she made that comment.
There was an expression of confusion from another patron at her comment. Millie gave Chloe a glance, one of knowing.
"I'll see you later Chloe."
As she stepped away, Millie made a motion near her hips, as if flirting with a rather short skirt and boots on her feet, giving a quick spin. And a tip of an invisible cowboy hat.
She gave Chloe a wink and had a light laugh before she exited After-11.
Chloe watched Millie approach from behind the bar, her expression unreadable at first—cool, calm, the picture of hospitality.
She took the empty glass with a nod, setting it down gently behind her.
The comment about the box earned the faintest lift of Chloe’s brow, but the twinkle in Millie’s eyes softened the edge. So she let the corner of her mouth curl up—just enough to be seen, not enough to be caught.
“Muy bien,” she murmured. (Very good.)
As Millie turned to go, Chloe caught the playful gesture—the imaginary hat, the twist of a skirt that wasn’t there—and gave a low, amused exhale through her nose. Not quite a laugh. But something close.
She didn’t call after her. Didn’t offer a wave. Just a single word, quiet and deliberate as Millie passed through the doors.
“Hasta luego.” (See you later.)
And then she turned, picked up the glass Millie had left behind, and ran her fingers along the rim.
For just a moment, she lingered in the place between performance and truth. Then the music picked up again, and Chloe—graceful, practiced—slipped back into the rhythm of the lounge.
A Joint Post By
Ensign Millicent Ambrose
Engineering Officer, USS Pioneer
Chloe de la Vega
Owner, After 11, USS Pioneer
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