“I guess he’s gotten to know you already, then,” Vaughn said lightly, and when she looked up at him, he smiled at her, not quite so tentatively as before. She said nothing. All she wanted was for this conversation to end and to be left alone. “Really,” he went on, more serious, “you shouldn’t push yourself.”

“I should be able to return to part-time duty within the next week, according to the doctor,” she said, ignoring Vaughn’s admonition. “I’d like to do that.”

“I know,” Vaughn said. “Whatever the doctor’s recommendation, I’ll abide by it.”

Prynn nodded and looked down. Silence seeped into the room, and she tried to think of something to say to prevent it from surrounding them. She could only summon the most innocuous of words, words she could not utter because they would only demonstrate how she craved to avoid talking about anything substantial with Vaughn. Nothing she could think of to say would keep her afloat as the quiet rose around them.

“Prynn.”

It was only the second time since he had transferred to Deep Space 9 that he had called her by her given name—by the name that hehad given her. She knew that it meant he wanted to say something to her, not as her senior officer, but as her father. It made her skin crawl. She refused to look up at him, instead keeping her eyes focused down toward the floor. Beside her, Vaughn moved, walking around the table toward the chair opposite her. As he did so, she quickly reached forward, grabbed the picture of her mother, and lowered it facedown onto the table.

When he reached the chair, Vaughn turned to her. He did not sit, nor did he say anything right away. She cast about for something that would stop him from attempting to talk with her on a personal level, but again she failed.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. And she knew that he was, and why. For her injury, of course, though that was absurd; he could not be held responsible for the actions of the Jarada, or for the explosion on Defiant’s bridge. But she knew that he intended his apology to encompass much more than that anyway; he meant to apologize for what he had done to her mother.

Now she raised her head and looked at him. Though he appeared fit, his faced seemed drawn, his eyes old. This was not the first time he had told her he was sorry, but as in those other times, it did not matter. They were merely words to Prynn, and they meant nothing.

“It was an accident,” she told him, her tolerance for Vaughn’s visit rapidly diminishing. Then, wanting to be clear, she added, “The blast aboard the Defiantwas an accident. There’s no need to apologize for that, Commander.” The last word slipped from her lips before she could stop it. She desperately wanted him to leave, but antagonizing him would not serve that purpose.

Again, silence filled the room like rising water, threatening to drown her. In her mind, she heard herself yelling at him to get out—out of her quarters, off of the station, out of her life—but she would not do that. But she could do nothing else, either. She closed her eyes, simply wishing that he would just go.

Instead, Vaughn sat down in the chair. Prynn opened her eyes to find him staring at her. He sat unmoving, his arms resting along the arms of the chair. No trace of emotion showed on his face now. “Are you still planning to be aboard Defiantfor the mission to the Gamma Quadrant?” he asked, seemingly apropos of nothing. And then he added, “Ensign,” and she understood that he was drawing a line.

“Yes, I am,” she said, aware that Vaughn already knew this, and knew how much she loved piloting, especially starships. Her advancement from Mjolnirto Sentinelto Defianthad brought her to the point where she would be alpha-shift conn on the coming mission—which posed its own problems, of course, since Vaughn would also be on the bridge for the alpha shift. But during the evacuation of Europa Nova, she had demonstrated—to herself and, she had thought, to Vaughn—that she could work with him at a high, professional level. The mission to the Gamma Quadrant would be a wonderful opportunity for her.

“Then I think you need to establish a better relationship with me,” he said.

She felt another jolt, this time not of panic, but of rage. Is he threatening me?she asked herself. He could not force her to love him or like him or forgive him, she knew, but he could see her transferred, or reassigned to other duties, or kept away from the missions that would allow her to succeed and advance. She could not allow that. She had worked hard to attain her station; she would not go backward, and she would not stand still.

“Commander,” she said, careful to control her tone, to keep it civil and professional, and not accusatory. Past Vaughn’s shoulder, the avant-garde metal clock ticked off the seconds. “I’ve earned that position. I want to—”

“You’re an excellent pilot, yes,” he agreed, “but there’s more to functioning well as a Starfleet officer than the ability to perform a job. There are interpersonal skills, and they include getting along with your commanding officer, no matter how much you blame—” He stopped, apparently checking his choice of words. “—no matter how much you dislike him,” he finished.

“Commander,” she said, her anger dissipating somewhat as her need to defend her record asserted itself. “Commander, I have not allowed our personal differences to interfere with the performance of my duties.”

“No?” he asked. Prynn blinked, astounded. As much as she despised Vaughn, she had striven to follow his orders diligently and to the letter, and in professional situations to treat him accordingly. She found it unbelievable that he now suggested otherwise. “Ensign,” he went on, “wasn’t it you who said you had to pretend you could stomach just being in the same room with me, and then told me to go to hell?” She began to protest, but he held up his hand, stopping her. “We were alone, and I had given you permission to speak freely. And it’s not as though I don’t know how you feel about me. The problem is, it’s not just me who knows that; it’s clear to a lot of people on this station that our relationship is… strained.It provides for a tense working atmosphere, and it undermines my authority, particularly since I’ve been permitting it to go unaddressed.”

Prynn glanced away, and she saw the overturned picture of her mother on the table. She knew that she would have to tread lightly here. She wanted to tell him that, no matter his maneuverings, he could not make her love him, that whatever they once had between them had long ago perished. But she also understood that there was some measure of truth to what he was saying. She had seen the expressions—first of confusion, and later of recognition and sadness—on the faces of Nog and Shar, of Lieutenant Ro and Colonel Kira. Still looking away, she admitted it. “You’re right.”

“I might be able to deal with your attitude toward me indefinitely aboard the station,” Vaughn told her, “but if you’re going to serve on Defiantfor three months while we explore the Gamma Quadrant, then you’d better learn to get along with me.” He stood up.

“Yes, sir,” she said. She continued looking at the picture frame lying flat on the table, facedown.

“Look at me, Ensign.” His voice carried the tone of command, and she knew that she not only had to look up at him, but that she had to do so with nothing on her face: not anger or animosity, and not a mask covering those emotions. All at once, it came to her that this could be a defining moment in her Starfleet career. Resentment started to build within her, but she quelled it immediately. She would put herself beyond caring what kind of a father Vaughn was to her. From a professional standpoint, that was the appropriate action to take, but on a personal level, wasn’t that the right thing to do too? Wouldn’t her life—and his—be easier if they didn’t have a contentious personal relationship, but rather no personal relationship at all?