((Lounge – USS Salvation))

It was late. He was tired, and he wanted to get drunk.

There was no alcohol on the Salvation. Only synthehol. Unless, of course, someone had it stowed in their quarters. And in the past that someone might be him, but Lt. Commander Jason Ibanez was trying very hard to clean up his bad boy image and make something of himself before he faceplanted into forty as a washed-up loser with three pips and a pile of regrets.

But damn did he want a real drink right now.

Maybe to make the world go away. Maybe to help him process his feelings. Or maybe, just maybe to pull the plug on his overactive mind and let it rest for a while. Let it grey out, fuzzy, like an old fashion commline feed that was silver with static. Let the words, the half-formed feelings, the gnawing sense of dread and futility fade into a peaceful haze of white noise and warp engine thrum, one with the universe. Just one more tiny speck of sentient stardust in an endless sea of galaxies.

At the very least he would take a cold empty room to brood in, but at the doors opened he scowled into the dim light to find that someone had beaten him to the best brooding spot in the entire ship. Puffing his chest out, he took three steps ready to scare some lovelorn junior officer back to the mess hall, when he saw the antennae.

Shit.

There was no way he was chasing the captain of the ship out of the best brooding spot.

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he watched those antennae curl slightly.

Double shit.

Dal knew he was there. And that meant there was no graceful way out of this situation, and he was going to have to talk.

Which struck him as funny because Captain Dal didn’t seem to be the sort of person to enjoy small talk of any kind, and while Jason considered himself socially adept, he was currently drained dry and wrung out, feeling like each step across and all too soft and soggy carpet was difficult enough. Like dragging your heels through quicksand. Forming words felt Herculean.

Maybe he didn’t have to do anything. For a moment he stood in the center of the room, eyes fixated on the stars streaking past, watching each flash of light as it melded together in a visual symphony painting patterns as the Salvationheaded back to SB86. Moving under her own power. Ibanez had seen worse, for sure. They were even able to tend all their own injured. In every metric this mission was a success.

The junior officers were partying on the lower decks, and Jason had an invitation. And he kept thinking he should go down there, toast a few synthehols, play some cards, and forget about life for a while.

So why was he here?

“You are welcome to sit with me.” Ishreth Dal’s soft voice cut through the still, cool air.

Jason flinched. He wondered when that soft calm voice would not make him flinch. Which, he told himself, was stupid. You were supposed to flinch when it was loud, when people yelled at you, when there were emotions and explosions and manipulation.

Somewhere along the way he had gotten used to the yelling. At some point in the height of his struggles yelling was a beacon in a dull, numb landscape where only the most pointed things broke through the haze. He had chosen to work with the most savage, argumentative, sometimes abusive researchers just to feel anything. And even as he started to heal, and he started to feel, yelling became so commonplace in his life that he started to internalize it. He yelled, people yelled back, no one called him on it, the cycle continued.

Until Ishreth Dal stepped in with his calm voice and unwavering intolerance of emotional outbursts. Which Jason found strange for an Andorian, he might have through that was more befitting of a Vulcan. But he was starting to understand that still waters ran deep.

He, in comparison, was a very choppy river that was probably so shallow that all the fish jumped out long ago. And yet he was still running and that was something.

“I, uh, didn’t mean to intrude.” Smooth, Jason, real smooth.

One antenna arched. “It is a public space. I make no claim to it.”

Sucking in one long, slow breath, Jason inched forward and lowered himself gingerly into one of the lounge chairs, as if he would wake a great and mighty beast if he sat too fast or made too much noise. “It’s got a good view.”

An awkward silence filtered in between the two men, as if neither one could figure out how to start this conversation without royally screwing the whole thing up. And for perhaps the first time Jason wondered how different he was from Captain Dal.

They were from different worlds, sure. But sometimes that meant very little.  And sometimes it was profound. He knew very little about Dal – partially Jason knew this was his own fault. He was none too fond of the man when he was first assigned, and he didn’t hide it. In retrospect he was grateful that Dal never retaliated – and he would have been well within the rights of fairness to do so – and only reprimanded Jason based on regulations violated and not personal things said.

It had stung, but it also made Jason realize how far he had slipped from the bright up and coming officer that he once was. Now he was on his first baby steps in trying to do better.

“There’s a party on Deck 12. I don’t suppose you were planning on going?” Jason asked, chancing a glance at his Captain.

Dal arched one antenna upwards, pausing before speaking. “I assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that it was a lower decks party for the lower decks.”

“Were you invited?” A fair and honest question. Jason knew that he and Commander Roix had been. Then again with a crew of 97, just about everyone was invited.

“I was. At least insofar that the crew was invited and last time I checked I was still part of the crew.”

That soft lisping deadpan humor had Jason doubletake. He had at one point believed that Ishreth Dal could not crack a joke. Now he knew that he could, but he would also take you completely off guard every time. “Ha. Well, if Starfleet Command removed you then we’re all getting court martialed.” That earned him a double antennae curl, which he had learned meant a smile. At least an Andorian smile. However Captain Dal was raised, he tried his level best to not emote with his facial expression, only his antennae. Jason had seen Dal’s expression twitch a few times, usually around people he had known for far longer than anyone on the Salvation. But Jason had a new internal challenge.

Still, he would take the antennae curl.

“Let us hope not. We were successful in our mission, and Starfleet Command was very pleased at the results.” Dal returned evenly, with an encouragingly positive tone.

Jason nodded and then shifted his position to fix his eyes on Dal. “Good. I like hearing that.” He paused strategically before returning to their previous topic of conversation. “But you didn’t answer my question. There’s a party on Deck 12, are you going?”

He was betting the answer was no. Or at least the answer had been no until several seconds ago. He could see Dal chew the question over.

“I had not planned on it, but you are making me rethink my decision.” He admitted.

“You don’t like parties?” Jason could play stupid all day, but that wasn’t actually a question.

Ishreth Dal’s antennae twitched in unison. “They are not my favorite. Generally, they are loud and superficial.”

Which was not untrue, and it was exactly why Jason did like them. But he also didn’t have antennae, and he knew that Captain Dal preferred deep introspective cerebral conversations to any sort of small talk.

“But you’re also the captain, and it would do well for crew morale to be there.” Counterpoint.

Dal considered, shifting his position to meet Jason’s gaze. “I cannot argue that.” He trailed off, in a way that made Jason uncomfortably aware that he had more to say but had put the ball back in Jason’s court.

So, Jason laughed it off, a bit of a nervous laugh, not his best showing. “See, I’m good at this advising thing. Hopefully you’re glad you kept me around.”

“I am.” Dal offered without hesitation. “But it begs the question – why are you not at the party?”

Crap.

“I came here to get you.” Jason played it cool.

He totally had not come to get Dal. He had been planning on avoiding the party completely. Not because it was too loud or too superficial, but because he would have an evening of syntheholic drinks and meaningless conversations and go home alone. It would only reinforce how empty his life was.

He would go to bed in a dark room, ruminating on what he had lost, what he gave up, and all the stupid decisions that brought him here. Alone, unseen, unheard. The party would go on. Young people – people like he once was – would share meaningful experiences, crush on one another, maybe fall in love, find connections, who knew.

Somewhere along the way Jason decided he wasn’t like them anymore, and he couldn’t explain how. He simply felt like something had changed and he couldn’t connect.

And for a moment his eyes met Ishreth Dal’s. Dal knew he was lying. Jason knew Dal knew he was lying. And neither one said a damn thing.

Dal stood. “Then let’s go. We should both make an appearance.”

Oh no he didn’t. Oh yes, he did. Jason Ibanez felt his chest get tight, more than a little surprised at Dal’s strategy. But there was no way he was losing his cool now. He stood, brushing imaginary dust off his uniform slacks and stepped towards his unlikely companion. “Lead on Captain.”

This was either going to be an enlightening night or a complete shitshow.  Maybe both.