Lt. Commander Jasmine Reese stepped off the shuttle onto the landing pad at Monterey Shore Facility and inhaled so deeply she almost worried she’d pull an intercostal muscle. Sea air. Real, salty, humid, gull-screeching, sun-baked sea air. After eight months of recycled starship atmosphere, it hit her so hard she actually laughed.

The ensign checking her in blinked at her. “Commander? Are you… okay?”

“I’m about to be,” Jasmine said, already unzipping the top of her duffel. “The galaxy tried very hard to ruin my year, Ensign. But not today.”

Ten minutes later she strode across the parking path wearing flip-flops, sunglasses, and a bright teal bikini she hadn’t worn since her last shore leave. The sun kissed her skin like an old friend. Her shoulders relaxed. Her brain slowly powered down from tactical-alert readiness to something dangerously close to joy.

She headed toward her favorite beach—a crescent of warm golden sand shielded by high rocky outcrops where the waves rolled in with a rhythm like a heartbeat. A place she could finally stop being a Starfleet officer and just be a human woman who deserved a break.

And she really, deeply deserved one.

Her last mission alone involved two plasma storms, a wormhole that should not have existed, and a tense negotiation with insectoid diplomats who considered blinking a sign of weakness. Somewhere along the way she’d accepted that stress was her new baseline.

But then her boots touched the sand, warm and impossibly soft beneath her feet, and the shift was almost audible—an internal click back into something resembling a person.

She spread out her towel, dropped her bag, and lay down with a groan that carried the weight of every unreasonable order she’d ever received.

“Terra Firma,” she murmured. “You gorgeous miracle.”

She wasn’t alone for long. Something small and fuzzy trilled in her bag.

“Oh no,” Jasmine said flatly. “I knew I forgot something.”

The Tribble popped its head out, shimmering fur sparkling in the sunlight.

“Snuggles. You were supposed to stay with my sister.”

Snuggles chirped defiantly. Jasmine sighed, scooped it up, and placed it beside her on the towel, where it immediately flopped over and started sunbathing like a pampered cat.

“You can’t even get sunburned,” she muttered. “Show-off.”

A faint purring filled the air anyway.

For a long while Jasmine did nothing but listen to the surf, stretch her legs, and let the sun soak deep into her tired bones. Her bikini straps warmed against her skin, and the breeze teased through her hair. She let her fingers dig into the sand, grounding herself in a way no starship gravity plating could replicate.

Eventually she propped herself up on her elbows and looked out at the water. Families splashed near the shore. A group of teenagers tried and failed to play volleyball. Somewhere behind her someone dropped their ice cream and declared it a galactic tragedy.

It was perfect.

Exactly the opposite of dodging phaser fire.

She stood, brushing the sand from her skin, and wandered to the edge of the surf. The cold water rushed over her feet, shocking and wonderful. She waded in higher, then dove beneath the surface, kicking smoothly into the deeper water.

The ocean wrapped around her like an embrace. Weightless. Silent except for the muted roar of waves above. Peaceful in a way deep space never quite managed.

She surfaced, slicking her hair back with both hands, laughing as the sun stung her eyes.

“This is therapy,” she announced to no one.

A surfer paddling by gave her a thumbs-up. She returned it.

By the time she swam back to shore, Snuggles had somehow migrated into the shade of her bag and was snoring.

“Lazy furball.”

She flopped back down onto the towel, stomach pressed into the warm fabric, cheek resting on her arm. Her body hummed happily. Somewhere in her bag was a book she fully intended to read. Eventually.

But for now, she wanted only sun, silence, and Earth.

Later—after a nap she refused to admit was a nap—she pulled the book out anyway. It was a dog-eared paperback she’d read a dozen times, but she smiled the moment she saw the cover. She tucked one leg under the other, crossing her ankles, and started reading to the steady rhythm of the waves.

At some point she sensed eyes on her and glanced up. A dog—a terrier mix—stood beside her towel staring at Snuggles with profound suspicion.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jasmine warned.

The dog barked once. Snuggles awoke, fluffed to maximum size, and emitted an indignant squeak.

The dog fled.

“Victory,” Jasmine said proudly, scratching the Tribble. “You won the territorial dispute. Starfleet would be proud.”

Snuggles purred, smug.

The sun climbed overhead. Jasmine dozed, read, swam, and repeated the cycle in no particular order. Hours slipped by effortlessly. She forgot about her duty roster. She forgot about the navigational crisis near the Romulan border. She forgot she had ever used words like “containment field integrity.”

At one point she lay on her back, arms stretched above her head, bare skin glowing warm under the sun. She smiled without thinking—an open, quiet smile she rarely allowed herself.

And that’s when it hit her, unexpectedly and deeply:

She felt like herself again.

Not the officer. Not the negotiator. Not the problem solver or crisis handler. Just Jasmine. Human. Tired. Healing.

By late afternoon the wind picked up, carrying the smell of grilled food from a nearby vendor. Jasmine’s stomach reminded her that breakfast had been a long time ago. She packed up her things, tucked Snuggles back into the bag (where it curled up like a marshmallow in a nest), and strolled toward the boardwalk.

Flip-flops slapping, bikini still damp, salt on her skin, hair wild from the ocean—she felt alive in a way she hadn’t in months.

She grabbed a fish taco and ate it while leaning against the railing overlooking the water. The waves glowed gold under the lowering sun. The breeze cooled her warm skin. Snuggles peeked out of the bag and stole a piece of cabbage.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she warned.

Another trill. Another stolen piece.

She walked home along the sand, footprints trailing behind her until the incoming tide wiped them clean. The sky turned amber, then pink, then violet.

Once she reached her house, she set her bag down, peeled off her flip-flops, and stepped inside. The cooling air against her sun-warmed skin sent a little shiver through her. She grabbed a soft towel and wrapped it around her shoulders, sinking into the sofa.

Snuggles curled up beside her and purred in the quiet.

She breathed deeply.

Tomorrow she might visit friends. The next day she might call her crew. Eventually she’d have to return to the Hathaway and jump back into chaos.

But tonight?

Tonight was still hers.

She closed her eyes, listening to the distant surf beyond the window, feeling Earth beneath her—solid and safe and home.

And she whispered, content and sleepy and sun-drunk:

“Terra Firma… you beautiful miracle. Don’t ever change.”

If you’d like, I can continue her R&R, write a romance subplot, or show what her crew thinks when she returns glowing from beach relaxation.