[ussbansheec] "Taking it back"

"Taking it back"
Moria McEntire

Page after page of the small leather portfolio were turned with extra care. 
Each sketch and drawing warranted the same questions, who's this? What made you 
do this this way? What do you think about when you see this one? Turning over 
another page Jamul's eyes widened, "She's stunning." 

Moria looked over to see who he was looking at and grinned. "That's Hawk's 
mother." 

"Vulcan?" 

Red hair danced as Moria shook her head. "(use other term)"

"And this one?" Jamul asked turned yet another page.

"Dakota, Noah's mother." 

Jamul whistled. "You have some fine looking women around you." 

Moria laughed as she moved to sit next to him on the hotel couch. She flipped 
past a few other pictures looking for on in particular. "Wanna see the most 
stunning of them all?" She didn't wait for an answer, she simple showed him the 
last one she'd done of her mother.

"You look like her." Jamul said as he looked over the sketch of a woman sitting 
alone in a garden. 

"Thanks." Moria grinned. She liked it when people told her she looked like her 
mother. 

After finishing the portfolio Jamul pulled a brand new sketch pad and a box of 
pencils and charcoals out of his bag and handed them to Moria. "Use them." 

Moria looked at the supplies as if he were handing her a rattle snake. 

"Take them, little girl, and use them." Jamul insisted. When questioning grey 
eyes met his he smirked. "Consider it a lover's gift."

"Is that what we are? Lovers?" Moria asked, still not reaching for the pad and 
box. 

Jamul shrugged. "What would you call us?" 

"Lover,." Moria smiled, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. "for now, while we're 
here." 

"And then?" Jamul asked putting the pad and box on the table and pulling Moria 
into his lap. 

Moria kissed him, her hands making quick work of the buttons on his shirt. "I 
go back to my ship and you go back to your art." 

"And what of your art?" The tall dark skinned man who's grandmother was Vulcan 
doctor, asked. "Your being wasted sitting behind a desk on a starship in that 
repressive uniform." 

Moria looked at the pad and box and then back at Jamul. "Why bother? I'm of use 
behind my desk on my star ship in my uniform."

"Because it's who you are, little girl." He slipped his hand under her skirt 
until it was pressed against the tattoo on her hip. "It's even inked into your 
very being." 

Moria closed her eyes and could almost feel the tiny inked wings on her skin 
flutter. "I don't know if I still can." She whispered. 

"Of course you can." Picking up the pad and box Jamul once again handed them to 
her. "All those people you love, admire, and respect in your portfolio and 
there isn't a single sketch of you." 

Moria opened her eyes only to blink. "Me?" 

Jamul nodded. "You." 

"I've done a self anything before." 

With his smirk in place Jamul replied, "Then it's long over do." Leaning in he 
kissed her hard and then sat her on the couch lone. "I've got a class. I'll be 
back later." 

Moria watched wordless as he left and then looked down at the pad in her lap 
for a long time. With a slight tremble in her hand she opened the box and 
picked up a pencil and then flipped open the pad. For the first time in years 
her hand moved in long and short strokes, her fingers became smudged with lead, 
and a smile dared to appear on her face. By the time she was finished her 
cheeks were wet with tears. 

She had her art back.

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