Embers We Carry
Posted on Wed Sep 10th, 2025 @ 6:27pm by Commander Marisa Sandoval & Major Hastios Eilfaren
Edited on on Tue Sep 30th, 2025 @ 4:23pm
2,733 words; about a 14 minute read
Mission:
In The Nick Of Time
Location: The Quarters of Marisa Sandoval - Deck 1 - USS Herodotus
Timeline: MD004 2000 hrs
Since Marisa invited Hastios to dinner, she decided that, for this first time, they could simply meet in her quarters. She had no doubt there would be other occasions where they could use a holodeck or go somewhere on the station. But this time, she wanted somewhere quiet so they could continue to get to know each other. She also chose to wear a long-sleeved silk dress in midnight blue with a matching pair of sandals. Her only jewelry was a pendant with a sapphire blue bird in flight.
Hastios stood outside her quarters for a moment before pressing the chime, one hand absently smoothing the front of his charcoal-grey shirt. He’d chosen something simple—no uniform, just clean lines and understated tones. Civilian enough to feel personal, formal enough to show respect. He carried a small container in one hand, sealed and still warm.
When the doors parted, he took a step in, eyes meeting hers—then drifting briefly over the dress she wore. Midnight blue. Subtle, elegant. It suited her.
“You look...” he paused, then smiled—not the wry smirk he wore on duty, but something quieter. “...really good.”
He held up the container. “Figured I’d bring something to go with dinner. It’s not replicated—old family recipe. Might be a little spicy, though.”
As he stepped further inside, he glanced around her quarters—not intrusively, just enough to take in the space. It felt like her. Thoughtful. Balanced. A place that knew itself.
“Thanks for the invite, Marisa. I’m glad you asked.”
She watched him as he entered. He brought an air of steadiness, of rightness. As if something missing was back. "I'm glad you came." She nodded to the container. "I spent my teenage years in the Andes on Earth. I learned to appreciate spicy food. We always had a bowl of ahí at hand if we needed to add it to a meal. Speaking of which, I hope you like traditional Latino food."
Hastios’ brow lifted slightly at the word. “Latino,” he repeated, tasting the sound of it more than the spice it promised. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had the real thing. If I did, I clearly wasn’t paying enough attention to remember it.”
He stepped closer to the table, the scent of peppers and slow-cooked seasonings already curling up from the container in his hand. “Guess that makes tonight my introduction,” he said, a faint smile warming his features. “And something tells me you’ve set the bar dangerously high.”
Setting the container down, he glanced at her dress — the deep midnight blue catching the soft light — and added with quiet sincerity, “You’ve certainly made the evening look promising.”
"Good. I hope it will be." She liked his choice of clothing. The classic style suited him. "You shared some of your past with me. I wanted to share some of mine." She nodded to two bottles of wine that were chilling on a side table. "Would you like a glass of wine? I have both white and red. I can also get you something else if you prefer."
“Red,” Hastios said without hesitation, a faint curve to his mouth. “It tends to keep better company with spice.”
He stepped closer to the table, letting his gaze flick briefly over the labels before looking back to her. “Besides… there’s a certain honesty to a good red. No hiding, no pretence—just the truth in the glass.”
She'd been watching him and smiled at his words. "I like that. Red it will be." She wouldn't forget, either. She liked red wine. She also like sangria, although it was a headier flavor. "Dinner is ready, if you would like to eat now. We have everything separated so you can choose what you want on your plate. If you wish, start with a tortilla, then add carne asada, beans, cheese, salsa or ahí, which is spicier, tomatoes, or kale." She smiled at him. "And we have what you brought."
He gave a slow nod, taking in the colours and scents of the meal. “You’ve put thought into this,” he said quietly. “I appreciate that. El Aurian gatherings aren’t complete without food at the centre of them—it’s how we anchor conversations, memories… even decisions.”
Stepping forward, he reached for a plate. “I’ll start simple—tortilla, carne asada, beans… and the spicier sauce. I’ve been told I can handle a bit of heat.” His gaze lingered on hers. “Besides, it wouldn’t feel right not to try what you’ve made part of your story.”
"Food and family are usually at the center of Latino gatherings." She smiled. "And we like things hot." When he was done, she filled her own plate. She had to try what Hastios brought as well.
"This smells delicious," she told him when she took off the lid.
He gave a small smile at her words, a low chuckle in his chest. “Then maybe our peoples aren’t so different after all. Food, family, a little fire in the mix—it seems a universal recipe.”
As she lifted the lid, he leaned in slightly, the warmth of memory flickering across his features. “Glad it made the journey intact. It’s an El Aurian stew—simple, hearty. The kind we’d make after long nights listening, talking. I remember one winter, huddled with my kin around a fire that barely kept the cold off. We had little else, but that pot of stew… it felt like enough. More than enough, really.”
He took his plate in hand, eyes meeting hers. “I thought it might sit well alongside yours. Different stars, same sky.”
"Yes." Each word, each look, held a world of story and meaning. Of blending. Of...oneness. "I think they fit together perfectly." She added a serving of stew to her plate. "Sometimes I miss the family gatherings where everyone would bring a dish to share."
Hastios let her words hang for a breath before answering, his gaze softening. “I know that feeling. On El Auria, it was never just the food—it was the stories woven into every dish. Who brought it, what it meant to them, what memories it carried. A table could hold a whole history if you listened closely enough.”
He added a portion of her carne asada beside his stew, glancing at her with the faintest smile. “Sounds like your gatherings weren’t so different. Maybe the universe teaches us that sharing a meal is really sharing ourselves.”
He raised his glass slightly, the gesture more grounded than ceremonial. “To family—by blood, or by choice.” His eyes lingered on her just a moment longer, steady and sure. Not possessive, not heavy—but carrying a quiet promise that he would always see to it she was safe among whichever family she chose.
Marisa raised her glass as well. "To family. By blood...and now by choice." She met his gaze, acknowledging the tacit promise in his. There was also acceptance, appreciation, trust.
Setting his glass down Hastios let out a low chuckle. “You realise you’ve got the upper hand here, don’t you? You’ve read my book. That means you probably know more of my stories than I know of yours. I’d say that gives you an unfair advantage.” The words were light, but his smile softened the tease, letting her know he didn’t mind.
He shifted a little in his chair, relaxed but intent on her. “You mentioned the Andes before… what was it really like, growing up there? I’d like to hear more about the places that shaped you.” There was no casual politeness in the question—only the kind of interest that made it clear he meant to hold onto whatever she chose to share.
"The Andes are where I think I really fell in love with history. As a child, I was fascinated with the millennia of Vulcan history, but Andean history felt more alive. My parents—primarily my father—took me to a number of archaeological sites like Machu Picchu, Tiahuanaco, and Chan Chan where I could ask as many questions as I wanted. Well…until it was time for them to go home for the night." She smiled as she thought back. For her, the Andes held pockets of living history. "Some of the viejitas of the small villages knew stories and fables that had been passed down for generations. I found them fascinating." She smiled as they reminded her of some of the stories in Hastios' book. "That was my childhood. I thought it was perfect. I had history, family, and tradition. My family even helped me start my library. I now have a house in Cochabamba to preserve my books and mementos." She paused as she wasn't sure what would happen once she was declared dead, even though she'd put together a trust to preserve her collection and eventually donate it to a university library. "I have digital copies of everything, but I have always appreciated the feel and smell of a printed book." She paused again. "When I first joined DTI, I was not sure if I would stay with it, but I have found something here I value more than my past life."
Hastios listened intently, his food cooling, though he didn’t notice. Every word she spoke seemed to draw his focus tighter. When she finished, he gave a slow nod, his voice low and steady.
“You make it sound alive,” he said softly. “That’s what struck me most in some of the places I wandered. History wasn’t something buried—it was a fire still smouldering.”
He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as memory stirred. “There’s a story in my book—about Kaloris Prime. A colony half-buried in volcanic ash. They didn’t build monuments or keep archives. Their history was sung in the firelight. I sat with them one night while the ground shook under us, and they told me how their ancestors carried embers in clay pots down into the valley when the mountains bled fire. They said survival wasn’t just living through the flames—it was carrying the fire forward so the next generations would know what it meant to endure.”
His gaze settled on her, lingering, unguarded. “When you speak of the Andes, your library… it reminds me of that. You’ve carried your fire, Marisa. You’ve made sure it won’t be forgotten.”
The faintest curve touched his mouth—half smile, half confession. “I think that’s what drew me to you from the start.”
Her gaze met his openly and honestly as his words spread through her like warm honey. "Thank you. It is rare to find someone who understands. That is one of the things that first drew me to you." Instinctively, she put her hand over his and smiled before pulling it back.
Hastios let the warmth of her hand linger even after she pulled back, his expression steady but more open than usual.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve spent a long time being understood for what I can do — the soldier, the discipline, the blunt edge of things. That part’s easy for people to see. But the rest?” He gave a faint shake of his head. “Not many look past it. Fewer still try.”
For a moment his eyes held hers, unguarded in a way he rarely allowed. “So, when you say that… it means more than I can really put into words. And I don’t say that lightly.”
The corners of his mouth lifted, a small, genuine smile breaking the gravity of his words. “Though I’ll admit, it makes dinner taste a whole lot better.”
"I find it hard to understand why they failed to see who you truly are." The warmth of her gaze was followed by a smile. "But I will cherish it for the gift it is." She was generally open with people, but not like she was with Hastios. Every conversation with him held layers of depth and meaning.
She looked down at her plate. "I am neglecting your stew." She took a bite and smiled as she savored the flavors. It had just the right amount of spice. "This is delicious."
Hastios’ eyes softened at her words, something unspoken settling between them. He didn’t try to answer directly—some truths didn’t need debating. Instead, he let the warmth of her smile linger before his own surfaced, quiet and sure.
When she turned her attention to the stew, he leaned back slightly, watching her reaction. A low chuckle escaped him at her verdict. “I’m glad it survived transport. My mother used to say a proper stew should wake you up, not burn you alive. Looks like I got the balance right.”
He picked up his fork, finally taking a bite, the flavours tugging faintly at memory. “She used to make it on long nights when the house was too quiet. Said food could remind us we were never really alone.” His gaze lifted to hers, steady. “Seeing you enjoy it… I think she’d have liked that.”
"I like that. I think I would have liked her as well." Because of her attitude about food, but especially because of the son she raised. "My abuela used to say that good food brings people together."
Hastios’ expression softened, the smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. “If that’s true, then maybe they were both saying the same thing in different ways. Food as company… food as connection.” He paused, holding her gaze. “Seems we both had strong women teaching us lessons that still hold.”
He let the thought hang for a moment before continuing, his tone shifting slightly, curious rather than probing. “But with all that—your history, your family, your traditions—what made you choose the DTI? Out of all the places you could have gone, why here?”
"Director Isaacs asked me." She didn't know much about DTI before that meeting. "I was not sure at first if I wanted the position because I like what I do--or did. But I found connections here I value as much as family."
Hastios considered that for a moment, rolling the stem of his glass lightly between his fingers. “Isaacs must have seen something in you worth more than a résumé,” he said. “That kind of call doesn’t get made by accident.”
He leaned in slightly, voice lower, more personal. “And I can see it. The way you hold to history, to family… it makes sense you’d find the same thread in the people here. DTI isn’t just rules and paradoxes—it’s trust. If you’ve found that, then you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth, warmer now. “Though, I’ll admit… I’m glad Isaacs asked. Otherwise, I doubt I’d be sitting here tonight. And that’s something I wouldn’t want to have missed.”
"Yes. I believe I am exactly where I belong." She made no attempt to hide the fact that she meant more than just the Herodotus. It was about connections. Connections with the past, with family, and with those around her. But here, it had become something more. A slow smile spread from her lips to her eyes. "I would not want to miss this, either."
Hastios met her smile with one of his own—smaller, but just as sure. He let his hand find hers this time, a light, steady touch that said he’d heard everything she’d left unsaid.
“Good,” he murmured. “Then let’s not rush it.”
He released her hand just enough to reach for his glass. “After we eat, show me the first book you’d save if you could only take one. I’ll trade you a story I never put in the book.”
A Joint Post By
Commander Marisa Sandoval
Executive Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
Major Hastios Eilfaren
Chief Security & Tactical Officer
Second Officer
USS Herodotus DTI-30656
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