It was somewhat dark, mid-afternoon with generous cloud-cover occasionally blotting out the sun. Jesa sat relaxed in a natural wooden chair, her hair pinned up on the back of her head. She wore a white blouse with a long dark blue skirt, and stout boots made for dealing with the mud of this somewhat new outpost for those who preferred a more natural setting than the artifice the paradise of Earth had become. Jesa had to admit she did feel more relaxed here. But there was always the restlessness.

She was sitting where she seemed to spent some time each day, at a desk beneath the window, looking out and trying organize some thoughts and memories she had always wanted to put down but never had the time to do so. Now she had nothing but time, time, and worry. She knew that even secluded out here, there were still people who wanted her dead. Maybe they had been content driving them off - out of Starfleet and her perceived threat to their power. But she didn't always want to live hiding from the universe.

Jesa had been doing that since her time began.

Buck lay in the shadow of a weeping willow tree - or, at least, a close approximation - a hundred years older than he was. He listened to the rhythmic beating of a nearby kingfisher's wings. He felt its mind. Simple. At peace. Just as he was.

He was wearing a white cotton shirt and heavy trousers - this planet demanded that sort of rugged approach. His eyes closed, he idly ran his thumbs up and down his elasticated braces, smiling at everything and nothing all at once. Beside him lay a notepad. Not a padd - the data on a padd could be copied, decoded, and never fully erased - no, a notepad. And a quill-shaped pen.

If one looked closely at the notepad, one would see a long, LONG series of scritches and half-letters. Gibberish. It was just Buck's own, personal shorthand. If anyone besides Buck knew his shorthand - even Jesa was not privy to that secret, though only because she had the good grace not to ask it of him - then one would see his deepest and most private thoughts. On natural philosophy, the practice of medicine, the life of the Intelligencer, and, of course, his beloved.

Their life had become more complicated - or less complicated - since they took their dual leave-of-absence from Starfleet. It depended on what scale one measured 'complicated'. Now they lived at a much slower pace - a pace that allowed them to learn about one another in ways 'Fleet life did not permit. But, by the same token, they lived under the constant fear that, some day soon, they might be discovered.

Buck picked up his notepad and quill and began to write.

~~

This state of affairs cannot continue. I refuse to see Jesa "withering in her bloom, lost in a convent's solitary gloom". No more. I shall not have it. Not if it is within my power to stop. But, to stop it, I must do that which I fear most - give away our location... But to this person - this solitary individual - Jesa mayn't mind as much...

I find my feelings towards Jesa strengthen with time, rather than diminish. It is an exponential curve of emotion that I expect shall soon consume me. And it is a consumption whose embrace I anticipate with unequalled relish. If I can, by love, life or death, keep her from harm, then I shall.

I have noted with interest a two percentile difference in local DNA strand-forms when compared with those of Earth. I feel that, with some equipment and time, it may be worthwhile for an archaeological expedition to explore the southern reaches of this continent for one of the old Terran Colony Vessels. If my supposition is right, then it may be a colony existed here anything up to 200 years ago...

~~

Buck put the quill and pad back down, and nestled back against the grass. He would have to move in a quarter of an hour - the chickens needed feeding, and that was no work for a Lady. But for now, he just relished the peace and silence...

From inside the house Jesa had roused herself from a tunnel of thoughts which led her back decades. She felt guilty, somewhere deep inside of her. She had abandoned the Isannah crew to whatever fate may hold for them - Fate, or Wolfe's hand - She wasn't sure which. Hopefully he would leave them alone, and the ship, and nothing further would happen to them. But she *knew* that voice inside of her was the wishful one. There was a certain peace that Jesa could find here, but only if she was at peace with herself. Jesa rose from the chair, pushing it back under the small desk and putting away her notes.

Like Buck, she was preferring the pen-and-paper method, though she chose something a few hundred years more current without the quillishness. There was something more immutable about holding the physical form of the pen, and feeling the texture of the paper.

She shook off the thoughts and proceeded outside, closing the door and latching it behind her. Jesa made her way to where she knew Buck likely was, the spot he enjoyed doing his writing. A very modest flower garden in front of the small two-story cabin was beginning to come into bloom as spring in this area began to truly awaken everything living.

Buck sensed Jesa's arrival before he saw her. Not through his third eye - just... a feeling. He sat up as she reached his weeping willow and smiled to her. He slipped his notepad into his shirt pocket and popped his quill behind his ear. "I know, dearest dove - I know. The chickens need feeding." He got up, dusting himself off, and walked over to her, scooping her up in his arms. "I'll get on it in a minute." He flashed her a lopsided grin.

That grin always lightened Jesa's mood, and its effect was no lessened at this point in time. She laughed, "I didn't come to bother you about the chickens."

Buck laughed, pecking her on the cheek. "Well, you should have done. Poor birds won't feed themselves." He put her down and took her hand, walking towards the barn, swinging their arms like children. Jesa smiled, enjoying seeing him so happy. She squeezed his hand gently.

"I need to pop into the village today - there are some..." he paused, his face darkening slightly, "Things that need to be taken care of."

Jesa understood his implied meaning and nodded. "Alright. Anything you need me to do?"

Buck sighed. "Stay safe. I'm just going to have a talk with some of the village elders. They have been very good to us, and it's time I explained to them some things. Not-", he began, seeing her expression, "anything that should cause us complications. But enough that they know, if trouble comes, to stay in their homes and bar their doors and not to try any damn fool rescues armed with pitchforks. These are good people, and I have become very fond of them - I would not see them hurt if I can avoid it." He squeezed her hand, tightly.

"I know," Jesa said solemnly. The idea of bringing trouble to these people bothered her exceedingly. But she did seem to have that effect on those around her. 'No,' she told herself firmly, 'I will not start thinking like that again.' "Do you need me to postpone dinner?"

Buck laughed, quietly. "No - I shouldn't be long. Besides, there are things we need to discuss over dinner, and if you postpone the meal I might lose my resolve and put off the discussion until tomorrow." He paused as they reached the hen coop. "It involves... Making contact."

Jesa visibly became more attentive at what he said. She just nodded. After all, she'd hear the whole thing over dinner. She was wondering if either one of them would feel like eating. Jesa smiled, squeezed his hand and kissed him on the cheek before turning back to their cabin pondering what she was going to make for tonight.

Buck smiled and turned to the chickens, entering their very, very simple minds... 'Okay, my dears - grub's up...'