In the Warmth of the Fire
Personal Log: Lieutenant Alexandra "Alex" Taren
Stardate 5878.4
I don’t know why I went to the holodeck. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was longing. Or maybe it was because I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Robert had mentioned, offhandedly, that he’d been working on a holodeck program—something about a cabin in the woods in Maine. I hadn’t told him I planned to check it out. I told myself it was a coincidence, but deep down, I knew better.
When I stepped into the holodeck, I was immediately transported to another world. Snow blanketed the ground in a pristine white sheet, and towering pines stretched toward the sky, their branches heavy with frost. A wooden cabin stood nestled among the trees, its chimney puffing out tendrils of smoke. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and woodsmoke, and I could hear the faint crackle of a fire within.
My boots crunched in the snow as I approached the cabin. I hesitated at the door, my hand hovering over the wooden frame. Part of me wanted to turn back, but something stronger urged me forward. I knocked.
A moment later, the door swung open, and there he was, his face lit with surprise and warmth. “Alex,” Robert said, stepping aside to let me in. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I replied, brushing the snow from my coat as I stepped inside. “I heard you’d created this program and thought I’d see what it was like.”
The interior of the cabin was as cozy as the outside promised. A roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. Wooden beams arched overhead, and the air smelled of something delicious.
“I’m in the middle of making dinner,” Robert said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Hope you don’t mind joining me.”
I followed him, curious. The kitchen was a charming blend of rustic simplicity and functional design. Robert was chopping vegetables at a wooden counter, a pot simmering on the stove beside him.
“You’re cooking?” I asked, fascinated. “Like, real cooking? No replicators?”
He chuckled. “Yep. Back in my time, this was the only way to do it. Replicators are great, but there’s something special about making a meal with your own hands.”
I watched as he worked, his movements sure and practiced. He explained each step, from seasoning the meat to folding the dough for fresh bread. It was mesmerizing, like watching an artist at work.
When the meal was ready, we sat at the small wooden table, the warm glow of the fire illuminating the room. The food was incredible—simple, hearty, and full of flavor.
“This is amazing,” I said, savoring a bite of roasted vegetables. “I can’t believe you made all this.”
Robert smiled. “There’s something satisfying about it. It reminds me of home.”
After dinner, we moved to the living room, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. The firelight danced in his eyes as he leaned back against the couch, looking more relaxed than I’d ever seen him.
“Robert,” I began, my voice hesitant. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
He turned to me, his expression open and curious. “What’s on your mind?”
I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. “I’ve been…fascinated by you since the moment we met. Not just because of where you’re from or what you’ve been through, but because of who you are. You’re kind, and thoughtful, and…you make me feel things I’ve never felt before.”
For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then he smiled, his eyes softening. “Alex, I’ve felt the same way. You’ve been one of the brightest parts of my time here. But…”
His smile faded, replaced by a melancholy I’d seen before. “There are things I haven’t told you. People I left behind.”
He spoke of May, a woman he’d loved in his own time. “She was everything to me. Smart, kind, with the most beautiful long hair you’ve ever seen. She was deaf, but we had our own way of communicating. Losing her…it still hurts.”
Then he told me about Amanda Higgins, a young woman who had shared his love for simple joys. “She was into something called hobby horsing,” he said, a faint smile returning to his face. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s like competitive pretend horseback riding. She was passionate about it, and it was one of the things I admired most about her.”
I listened intently, fascinated by the glimpses into his past. “It sounds like you cared deeply for both of them,” I said.
“I did,” he admitted. “And I still carry them with me. But meeting you…you’ve helped me start to move forward. You’ve made me feel like I belong here.”
The room fell quiet, the only sound the crackle of the fire. Then Robert stood, retrieving a guitar from the corner of the room. He strummed a few chords, his fingers moving deftly over the strings.
“This is a song from my time,” he said. “It’s called Only You by The Platters. I used to play it for someone special.”
His voice was smooth and rich as he sang, the lyrics filling the cabin with a haunting beauty. When he finished, he set the guitar aside, his eyes meeting mine.
Without thinking, I leaned forward, closing the distance between us. Our lips met, and for a moment, the world disappeared.
When we pulled apart, he smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he said softly.
He stood, taking my hand and leading me toward the bedroom. The firelight followed us, casting its warm glow as the door closed behind us.
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