Teatime

The second prompt in the November challenge!

“Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”

Clark was sitting across from Shilo in the ship’s mess hall, which the crew referred to lovingly as the “dining room,” since there was only one big table to fit all ten of the crew members. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her stuffed animal, a toy from Earth that the crew called a “teddy bear,” clutched to her chest. Shilo had been hesitant about Clark having such an item, but the ship’s doctor assured him that her having a “comfort item” would help her with her sleep troubles. The crew members told her that it was traditional to give stuffed animals a name, but so far she hadn’t thought of one. 

“Nothing you don’t already know,” Clark replied, pulling her legs up to her chair. “Same shit, different day.” Shilo raised his eyebrows in response to Clark’s bad language. She was trying to do better, since being “adopted” by the crew of the Baroque, an exploration and science vessel, six months ago. When he wouldn’t break his eye contact with her, she looked away and pulled the blanket tighter around her. “I just…had another nightmare, that’s all.”

Clark had woken up shaking, the memory of the nightmare still burning in her brain. It felt tacky to even thinksomething like that. It was just a dream, a bad dream. It wasn’t real, it’s not real. Yet she had ran through that forest many times in her life. The same path, with the same trees and the same roots she would trip on. She thought the nightmares would subside after leaving Triva IV.

Obviously, she was wrong. 

To try and clear her mind, she decided to come into the mess hall for a midnight snack when she came upon Shilo, her mentor and the ship’s science officer. From her initial guess, he was either working a late night or getting an early start. 

“Is it the same one you mentioned to me before?” 

Clark closed her eyes. Even though she had been with the crew of the Baroque for a year now, she could still feel the crunch of the forest pines beneath her feet, see the dark green and browns of the surrounding trees. The earthen scent still haunting her senses. “Yes,” she replied, opening her eyes again.

Shilo nodded and, after thinking for a second, he stood. 

He was a hard one to read. Clark did her best not to read the minds of her commanding officers, since she felt that was a little rude and weird. But it wasn’t just that—it was hard to gauge Shilo’s moods, his feelings. The captain of the Baroque had told her on her first full day there that Shilo takes a while to open up to people; the man is very quiet and reserved, and she shouldn’t take it personal.

“Would you like some tea?” He asked, walking over to the kettle on the stove. 

“Uh…sure,” Clark replied, crossing her legs on her seat. 

“Any preference?”

“I don’t really know my teas,” Clark admitted, letting her eyes fall to the table, where Shilo’s information pad was lying face-up. “Whatcha reading?” She asked, calling over her shoulder.

“Do you really want to know the answer to that,” Shilo said, not turning around to face her, “or are you just trying to avoid talking about your dream?”

Clark rolled her eyes. “Which do you think?”

He made a “Hm” sound and walked back to the table, holding two steaming cups of tea. “I gave you one without caffeine. It might help you sleep.” He handed her one of the mugs, and she took a sip and recoiled slightly. “Be careful, it’s hot,” he said, sitting back down in his seat. 

Clark grimaced and put her cup down. In the pale light of the kitchens, the steam from the cup drifted up into the air. It was peaceful to look at. 

Shilo took a sip from his own mug—the people from his planet had high pain tolerances—and went back to reading his information pad. 

There was a tense, awkward air between the two. The Captain had given Shilo the role of Clark’s mentor when they had been given clearance to keep her aboard the ship. Their daily lessons had been rigorous, but she found them interesting. Enjoyable, even. The universe was so much wider than she believed on Triva IV.

She hesitantly took another sip of her tea. It was still hot, but now slightly more bearable. The taste of the drink was bitter, almost tasteless. 

“How do you like it?” Shilo asked, not looking up from his pad. 

Clark wrapped her hands around the mug. “It’s…fine. I can’t really taste it.”

“Give the tea a while to seep,” he replied. “That way there’s a bit more flavor.”

She nodded, still clutching the cup. She held it under her face, letting the steam condense on her skin. I need to say something, she thought, it feels so awkward, just sitting here with him.

“Um…” she began. Shilo looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing up so late?”

He put down his pad. “I myself could not sleep,” he said, taking another sip. “So, I came here to make some tea. This is already my second cup.” He held up his mug.

“And you still can’t sleep?” Clark asked. If two cups of tea didn’t get Shilo to fall asleep, was there any hope for her?

He shook his head. “Not particularly. But when that’s the case, I make sure to take care of myself. Not to force myself or…” he paused, thinking for a minute, “be cruel to myself, if I find myself falling back on old habits or am struggling to sleep. Getting better requires patience, and compassion. If something goes wrong, or another thing doesn’t turn out right, then tomorrow is a new day, a fresh start. This may not be the best advice, but sometimes, an instance like this happens.”

“And what do you do when it does, if not beat yourself up?” That last part had slipped out of Clark, and she looked down at her mug, trying to fall into the hypnosis of the steam again.

Shilo didn’t seem to be concerned with Clark’s statement. He set down his mug and folded his hands, gazing softly in the distance. 

“I remind myself that this is feeling is temporary. If I am unable to sleep, I rest in other ways. I read—” he held up his pad. Clark could briefly see there were many charts and diagrams, some familiar from her studies, others completely foreign. “I do things that still give me that feeling of rest. I also make tea.”

He took a sip, and Clark took that as a cue to do the same. Shilo was right: there was a bit more flavor in the drink now. It still tasted bitter, but she kept drinking, the warmth spreading through her body like a river. Her shoulders untensed, and she let out a long, slow breath. “Yeah?” 

“Yes. On my planet, when one is in distress, we most often make them a cup of tea, if it is available, and if the occasion is appropriate. 

“Like, if someone where in mental distress, not if someone is bleeding out.”

“Correct. Each act of the process is important: the boiling of the water, the seeping of the tea, even holding the mug as you wait. It’s a centering process, something to focus on. And often, while we drink, sometimes we talk about what’s troubling us.”

Clark nodded. “I see…well…” she took another sip of her tea. This was probably the most Shilo had spoken to her about himself and his home planet, ever. “It was the same dream as before. Running through the woods, away from the laboratory. But, this time…” she paused and took in a deep breath, remembering the figure in her dream. “Instead of Abigail being on the other side of the woods, it was…someone else.”

She didn’t want to admit, in her recent nightmares, the figure was the captain, or the doctor, or even Shilo himself. Any member of the crew. 

Shilo had shifted his gaze to Clark, who in turn focused her eyes on her mug, now taking bigger gulps of the lukewarm drink. 

“Someone I care about. Someone I trust,” she continued, answering his unspoken question. “Someone who…who means a lot more to me than Abigail.”

She finally looked up and caught his gaze. They looked at each other, Clark’s green eyes to his brown. 

“I feel…it doesn’t feel right, saying I care about this person or saying I trust them, because I don’t know if they feel the same about me. I mean, I don’t know them very well, still. And I can’t really…read them. Like their facial expressions or body language,” she added.

Shilo nodded. “Whoever this person is,” he began, after a long silence, “I do not believe they would want to hurt you the way your dreams predict. In fact, they may want to help you. If you only give them the chance.” He peered over her as he sipped the rest of his tea.

“Then, why do my dreams…tell me this?”

“I am unable to answer that question with confidence. However, talking to the doctor or the ship’s counselor might be of use.”

“Do you have any working theories? Educational guesses?” Clark asked. Her eyes were beginning to grow heavy, the warmth of the tea still lingering in her body. 

Shilo shrugged, picking his pad back up. “Not at the moment. A fear of authority figures becoming abusive, like Abigail was?”

Her already sleepy demeanor was slightly shocked awake. “How’d you come up with that?”

“Educational guess,” he said simply. He tapped the pad and looked at the time. “How are you feeling, Clark?”

“Better,” she admitted, letting out a yawn and covering her face. “That tea really hit the spot.”

“It usually does,” Shilo said. Clark didn’t know if it was a trick of the light, but she could have sworn one of the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “Then I suggest returning to bed. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Right, yes,” Clark said, standing up and stretching out her legs. “Thank you, Shilo. Really.” 

“Of course. And Clark,” he said, standing up. He was a good foot taller than her. “I want you to know you are safe here. And if that feeling of danger or uncertainty is lingers, we will find a way to ease that.” The way he said “we” didn’t feel like he was referring to him and the crew; it felt more like him and Clark.

“Thank you,” she said again. In that moment, she wanted to hug him but knew better. 

She looked down at her stuffed bear. “I think I know what to name this,” she said. 

He raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

“Bear.” 

Shilo looked at Bear, then nodded. “It suits him.”