(I'll Be) The Only Thing Between You and the Stars at Night 1/9
Title: (I’ll Be) The Only Thing Between You and the Stars at Night
Author: Moku-youbi
Bands: Panic(!) at the Disco, The Academy Is…, Cobra Starship, My Chemical Romance, and Fall Out Boy, with appearances by Gym Class Heroes, the Hush Sound and the Cab
Pairings: Panic GSF, with Gabe/William, Pete/Patrick, Alex/Victoria/Nate, Gerard/Frank and Mikey/Alicia, various others on the sidelines
Rating: overall NC-17
Summary: Pete likes to be the Admiral of the Fleet in his free time, the Cobra is after The Academy, the Helena is after the Cobra, and Brendon gets caught in the middle, leaving it up to Spencer, Jon and Ryan to come to his rescue. Oh yeah. Star Trek AU.
AN: Thanks to Jess (xmychemx), my wonderful beta, and my fiancé for saying Bandom Space Epic when I asked what I should write next...
Here is a primer, if you want to see what the different species look like, however, NO PREVIOUS KNOWLEDGE OF STAR TREK NECESSARY.
http://moku-youbi.livejournal.com/5361.html#cutid1
A
Sometimes, Spencer mused, Ryan just needed someone to make him stop. It wasn’t enough that he had to be the good son (Spencer’s mother had said pointedly to him, in that way she had, when Ryan wasn’t even biologically hers, and yet), and take over the jewellery shop so Spencer’s parents could retire to Kendra Valley. It wasn’t enough that Ryan was the vice-president of the station’s activities committee. It wasn’t enough that Ryan had decided that the station’s news media was extremely biased and therefore started his own weekly news broadcast, which had become immensely popular and was demanding more and more of his time.
No, because then Ryan had to go and tell Leeta that no, it wasn’t a problem at all, he’d be more than happy to help her draw up a list of complaints for the little strike she was planning.
If Ryan wasn’t so completely oblivious to everything around him, Spencer would think he was doing it just to impress a pretty girl, but Leeta was so obviously taken and Ryan hadn’t even blinked when she’d cosied up to him in her little dabo costume, so Spencer figured it just had something to do with solidarity among war orphans.
Or, Ryan was fucking insane. Because seriously? He was going to kill himself between his actual paying job and all the extracurricular activities he was juggling, not to mention personal favours.
Which is why Spencer had put his foot down after he got done with his double-shift, and dragged Ryan away from his computer.
Ryan might have put up a hell of a fight at the beginning, but he’d gotten over it pretty well. They’d chosen one of the less romantic, yet still remarkably scenic spots on the Holana River and Spencer had packed some honest-to-prophet, organically grown food (that had cost him a pretty portion of his salary, to be sure) and a moonlight picnic was apparently just the thing to get Ryan to chill the hell out.
It had been a while since Spencer had been to the Holana, and maybe it was simply that absence had made the heart grow fonder, but it was beautiful. Far from the larger cities, there wasn’t a spot of light that didn’t come from the sky above, but what came was clear and bright, casting a green glow over the smooth surface of the river.
Ryan finished off the last of the wine, but Spencer could tell just by looking at him that he was still working inside his head-maybe rewording some phrase for Leeta, or planning a new design for the shop, or trying to figure out whom he’d get to provide the entertainment at the Blessing Festival next month.
“You need to take a break,” Spencer said.
Ryan blinked at him. “I thought that was what I was doing right now.”
Spencer sighed. Ryan was probably the most impossible person in the galaxy, despite his mother’s protestations that he, Spencer, already claimed that title. “I mean a real break. A vacation. With all the extra hours I’ve been working, I’ve got a lot of time off coming up. You could close down the shop for a couple of weeks. If we went at the beginning of the month, you wouldn’t miss any activities…”
“And where would we go?” Ryan asked. He’d sat up and his shoulders were tense. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared across the river at something Spencer couldn’t see.
“Well, this place isn’t so bad,” Spencer said. Ryan snorted. “Hey, wouldn’t it be nice to go home for a little while?”
“Home,” Ryan echoed. Spencer knew it had been a poorly chosen way to phrase it as soon as the words left his mouth, but there was no taking it back, so he just held his breath and waited.
“I don’t have a home, Spencer,” Ryan said at last and dropped his legs. He stretched out next to Spencer, legs facing the opposite direction so their heads were together. Ryan looked at the sky. After a moment, Spencer followed his gaze.
They lay there for what felt like ages, the only sound the distant music of insects and the water rushing by. He hadn’t seen the stars from this perspective in such a long time that they seemed almost foreign.
Spencer tried to imagine a youth like the ones he heard children on the station mention-trading stories about the shapes in the stars, making plans to someday live among them. He tried to imagine a youth where the stars weren’t this remarkable source of dread, where looking up at the sky didn’t make something in his chest hurt.
When they left the holosuite, the bar was dark and empty. “Are you going to, like, lose your job for breaking us in here?” Ryan asked while Spencer fiddled with the control panel to unlock the door to the Promenade.
“Nah, Quark owed me one for looking the other way about his little under-the-table deal with this Romulan.” Spencer gave Ryan a little eyebrow waggle to show him he was still the same Spencer Ryan knew and loved, even if he wore a uniform that might suggest otherwise.
Instead of heading towards the lifts to take them to their quarters, Ryan turned to the Promenade proper. “I’ve got some things I have to take care of at the shop,” Ryan said vaguely, when Spencer tried to redirect him.
Spencer watched him go, feeling helpless and sick with it. Wiley Ferengi trying to bypass station security-whatever, handled. Cardassians casting aspersions on his ancestry-so totally done. Just insulted the mothers of a roomful of rowdy, drunken Klingons-bring it on. Sad, disconsolate Ryan, and Spencer was utterly defeated.
For a long time he couldn’t get to sleep and so he just stared up at his window. Maybe Ryan’s home on Bajor’s moon was literally gone, but sometimes Spencer thought that he too was without a home. Maybe it wasn’t even a question. Maybe Spencer knew Bajor wasn’t his home, not like a home should be.
As much as it would benefit Ryan, he wasn’t the only one who needed to get away. Spencer didn’t hate his life here like Ryan did, but it could get repetitive. Maybe they could get out of the system for a while. With little else to spend credits on than the occasional trip to the holodeck and non-replicated food, Spencer might be able to afford a shuttle to a nearby system.
He fell asleep still thinking about it, and dreamt about how his life might have been different if he’d been born on a Federation planet, how he and Ryan could have grown up to be whatever they wanted then-maybe gone to the Academy, joined Starfleet and explored the galaxy. How incredible would it be to live on a spacecraft that moved instead of hovering over a lonely, desolate planet? How amazing would it be to see a new solar system every week, and watch a hundred different suns rise over a hundred different planets?
Then he woke up and the bulkheads were the same grey as his carpet and his comforter and he put on the same uniform he did everyday, clipped on his earring even though he couldn’t remember why it was supposed to mean so much to him, and went to work.
B
So maybe it wasn’t the transport Admiral Urie had envisioned for his son (the Enterprise-D, no doubt), but the U.S.S. Albion was no slouch, in Brendon’s opinion. The only thing that had kept him in his quarters instead of exploring the twenty decks that the Albion had to offer was his father’s stern warning to behave himself and not do anything to embarrass the Urie name.
He’d been one of the youngest cadets admitted to Starfleet Academy, something his parents both liked to brag about and hold against Brendon when he wasn’t progressing as quickly as they would have liked. Yet despite their complaints, here he was, after three years. Finally, he was Ensign Urie, and he was away from Earth and that stifling home environment.
His first assignment hadn’t really garnered a lot of approval, however. Apparently Deep Space 9 didn’t live up to the standards set by his older siblings. It didn’t, in his parents’ eyes, provide a lot of opportunity for growth and learning.
Brendon saw it a little differently. Deep Space 9 was an exciting place to be. With the discovery of the wormhole, Bajor and DS9 had become major trading and diplomatic hubs, not to mention the fact that living there meant seeing and hearing about all the exploratory missions into the Gamma Quadrant. If he were lucky, maybe he’d get a chance to go through the wormhole himself.
He’d joined Starfleet because that was what was expected of him, and he’d gone into the command track because his parents didn’t leave him with much of a choice. He’d chosen a second track as a scientist because that was what really interested him, and maybe that was the biggest problem his parents had with the whole thing-he was still on the command track, but the uniform that had come with his posting aboard DS9 was green, indicative of the science track. He was still getting used to his new uniform, examining himself in the mirror, fingering the new, single round pip on his collar.
“Ensign!”
Brendon was startled out of his reverie by Lieutenant Peaks. She smirked a little when he snapped to immediate attention. “Ready to go?”
From the view screen of the shuttle, Brendon was afforded a full view of the station. The docking ring was full which meant the Albion couldn’t have delivered him even if they hadn’t been redirected to a nearby dispute on the border of the Badlands.
Brendon wanted to go on about just how ready he was, but years of disapproving glares from his father made him clamp his lips shut on the excited babble. Peaks was nice, but she wasn’t that nice, and the last thing he needed was word getting back to his father about what a spaz he’d been. Instead, he shouldered his bag and stepped onto the transporter pad. He resisted the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet.
Operations was buzzing with activity when he arrived on the transporter pad. As he stepped down from the plinth, he was greeted by the Trill woman Brendon took to be his new direct superior, Lieutenant Jazdia Dax. She had a smile on her pretty face and stepped forward to shake his hand.
“Lieutenant,” Brendon said, and maybe he sounded a little awed. He’d never met a Trill with a symbiont before. She didn’t look any different from any other Trill, and she was much younger than he’d expected.
Ever since he’d received his posting, he’d been exchanging exciting waves with Dax about her current projects and what he hoped to study when he came aboard. He felt like he’d already learned so much from here, and they’d only been communicating for a little over a month.
“Ensign Urie,” Dax said, “I’m so excited to finally meet you.”
“Me too,” Brendon bubbled, before he could stop himself. “I mean, me, I’m excited to meet you, not that I’m excited that you’re excited to meet me, though that’s cool, too. Um.” He bit his lip and shut up.
Dax laughed. “Understood. I know your assignment doesn’t officially start for another couple days, but I thought you might be interested in a tour?” There was an upward lilt to her voice and Brendon nodded eagerly. “And the Commander would like to welcome you aboard.”
Brendon felt a fluttering of nerves in his stomach at the prospect. He’d been at the top of his class, and well liked by his professors and superiors in Red Squad. But they’d all known his parents, and he’d always wondered how much of their approval had to do with him and how much had to do with them.
Professor Larkin had warned Brendon that Commander Sisko wasn’t the sort to be swayed by an impressive military lineage. Brendon didn’t want Sisko to like him because Sisko had liked his parents, but he did want Sisko to like him.
The command office was on the upper level, and Commander Sisko was a large, intimidating man who greeted Brendon with reserve. Brendon was careful not to make the fool of himself that he had in front of Dax; somehow, he didn’t think Sisko would approve.
Dax had to leave him after showing him around Ops, and passed him off to Ensign Dorios who finished his tour of the station. They went through the central core first where Brendon was introduced to Doctor Bashir in the infirmary and several Bajorans in the security office.
One of the officers was busy arguing with a Klingon, and that was what had caught Brendon’s attention, because who in his right mind picked a fight with a Klingon? And then Brendon got a good look at the guy, and thought to himself he might have to stop by the security office more often.
He was Bajoran, though his ridges were more delicate and subtle than most. Above his astonishingly bright blue eyes he had severe brows that made Brendon wonder if maybe he was mixed with Romulan or Vulcan blood. His hair was longer than allowed by Starfleet regulation, falling just past his chin, and the Bajoran uniform he wore showed of a slender, curvy figure.
It wasn’t fair that the Starfleet uniform tended to make people look awkward and bloated. Too bad he wasn’t born Bajoran. But at least it meant he’d be afforded some nice views around the station.
The Promenade was like something out of a dream-he’d heard that Quark’s operated not by Starfleet’s standards, but by Bajoran ones, which meant they got away with a lot more. There were the sounds of dabo and the scent of various intergalactic cuisines drifting from the bar.
All up and down the three levels, people of all species were shopping and dining. These weren’t the neat, orderly, regulated shops of San Francisco. It was noisy, chaotic and beautiful. Brendon instantly thought of it as home and couldn’t wait to get out of his uniform and come back when he wasn’t acting as a representative of Starfleet.
They went next to the docking ring and Brendon made himself pay attention to everything Ensign Dorios was telling him. He wasn’t officially on duty, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to learn everything he could. He wanted to be promoted on his merit alone-wanted to prove himself to his parents at last.
The tour ended on the habitat ring. Dorios punched in the entry code and they stepped in together. “You can change the lock, of course,” she told him.
She pulled a face as Brendon looked around. “I know the quarters aren’t much around here; Cardassian design.” She shrugged.
“They’re bigger than the ones I had on the Albion, ” Brendon reasoned. And he didn’t have to share them with anyone, which was a big plus after three years of quad dorms at the Academy and sleeping in a row of bunks ten deep with the Red Squad.
Maybe it wasn’t as nice as his room back at home, with a breathtaking view of the Golden Gate bridge, but the bonus of living on DS9 was that his parents were a good two weeks away at top speed.
“Well, you can feel free to redecorate them however you want-there are some nice shops on the Promenade,” Dorios said.
“Anyway, I’ll leave you to get settled in. I’m sure I’ll see you around. A lot of the time, us junior offices get together on the holodeck and take turns playing sports from our home worlds.” She smiled and wiggled her brows. “My turn’s coming up. They aren’t going to know what to do with themselves when I introduce them to Karo-Net.”
Brendon knew a lot about Bolian politics and history, and he’d paid attention in the mandatory Starfleet sex education course, so he knew all about Bolian mating rituals and plural marriages, and he even knew enough to be glad that his name wasn’t Frederick, because it was a name remarkably close to an offensive word in the Bolian language. However, he didn’t know anything about the sports played on Bolarus IX, and he was intrigued.
Dorios left after arranging to meet him at the end of his first shift and Brendon took a little while to settle into his new rooms. Peaks had beamed most of his belongings directly to his quarters and they were waiting for him in the centre of the room. He’d wanted to pack more, but his mother had gone behind him and taken out much that he’d first put in.
As it was, he was left mostly with the clothing he couldn’t bear to lose. It had taken several years of research to find the proper patterns and earn enough credits to synthesize fabrics in the right textures. Through trial and error Brendon had taught himself to sew. His parents weren’t very keen on his sense of fashion and disallowed him the use of their tailor. Despite all the obstacles, Brendon had eventually built up the wardrobe he’d always wanted, and he knew he had no hope of finding anything to suit his liking in the depths of space.
He put up some pictures of his friends and family on the grey dress and hung a couple posters on the grey wall. He tossed a bright purple and blue throw over his grey sofa. The colour scheme was seriously depressing. The Cardassians were the most depressing species in the galaxy. The room needed some serious colour seriously quickly.
Brendon changed before heading out; it wasn’t that he didn’t like his uniform, because it was comfortable enough, but it wasn’t all that flattering. But after donning a t-shirt and sliding into his favourite pair of skinny jeans (an endless source of embarrassment for his mother was the fact that her son was wearing jeans designed for a girl, but it wasn’t his fault that most of the shops he’d found had a lot more women’s clothing than men’s when it came to 21st century fashion and anyway, he looked good in them), Brendon felt a little more comfortable in his own skin. His uniform was going to take some getting used to.
On his way out of his quarters, Brendon checked his reflection in the mirror. His peach shirt was a spot of colour in the otherwise drab room. He mussed his hair a little, out of its perfect Starfleet order, and grinned at himself. Promenade, here I come.
There was an awesome shop on the first level, where Brendon bought a bright blue, down comforter, several patterned pillows, rugs and curtains. Then he visited Garek’s tailoring business, but was, as he’d expected, remarkably unimpressed by the offerings; probably equally unimpressed was Garek by Brendon’s outfit. If he was going to purchase any new clothing, it wasn’t going to be there.
By the time he made it down the entire first and second levels, and down one side of the third level, most of the businesses were closing for the evening. There were still at least twelve shops he hadn’t visited, but he would have plenty of time for exploring them.
A jewellery shop tucked in the corner caught his eye in particular. Gems set in latinum, gold and silver sparkled in the windows. A man, presumably the owner, was locking the front door and drawing down the gate, and if he was going to be honest, Brendon might have admitted that perhaps the man was the one who’d drawn Brendon’s attention, not the jewellery.
He was Bajoran, but he was not dressed in the typical fashion worn by most of his species that Brendon had seen. He seemed to have embraced the fashion of 22nd century Betazoids. He wore loose, flowing pants and a ruffled button-down shirt, both in black, but had a multi-coloured scarf around his neck that made Brendon think of the tropical birds of Earth’s jungles.
His light brown hair was long enough that it fell into his eyes and mostly obscured the distinguishing nasal ridges that marked his species, and it had been styled to almost completely cover his earring. It was almost as if he was embarrassed of being Bajoran, or something, eschewing or hiding those things that denoted his heritage.
Something about him was intriguing to Brendon, maybe the fact that he wasn’t a crazy fashion victim like ninety-eight percent of the people he’d seen so far on the station. Or maybe it was the sad look he had, and no one was supposed to be sad, right? Not when the area was mostly at peace (for once), and Bajor was successfully rebuilding and the Gamma Quadrant was this amazing source for commerce.
The man hurried toward the lift, arms clutched around a stack of pads, which he was trying to juggle along with a beverage cup, while reading the topmost pad, paying little attention to his surroundings. He ran into a couple people and almost lost all of his pads more than once before he disappeared from Brendon’s view. And for some reason, it made Brendon smile.
Two hot Bajorans in one day. Brendon had never considered himself more attracted to one species than another, but maybe Bajor just bred their men ridiculously good-looking. He’d only known a few Bajorans on Earth, mostly older-professors or shopkeepers, and predominately female. Earth didn’t know what it was missing, apparently.
Though the shops had closed, the crowd on the Promenade wasn’t thinning out. Live music spilled forth from Quark’s and Brendon’s stomach growled, reminding him that the last thing he’d had to eat was a ration bar on the shuttle that morning.
Quark’s had the same unfinished look to it as the rest of the station, but it was dressed up in sparkling metals, bright tapestries and a lot of mood lighting, and Brendon decided he liked it at once. It was nothing like the tidy little bar he’d used to visit with his friends on Earth.
By some bit of luck, Brendon arrived at the bar just as someone was leaving her seat and as he moved forward to snag the stool, another guy moved toward it. “Sorry,” he said, and gestured for Brendon to take it.
“No,” Brendon argued, “go ahead. I don’t need it.”
The guy smiled; it was a nice look on him, a gentle wry quirk of his lips that looked self-deprecating and really charming. And okay, maybe Brendon was just really, really horny, because it was ridiculous how turned on he’d got by the last three hot guys he’d seen.
“I’ve spent the past several months on a cramped little ship; standing is nice,” the guy said.
Brendon vacillated and was saved from being rude and taking the seat, and being annoying and insisting that the guy take it, when another customer got up from the stool beside it. Brendon and the guy shared a look and took the seats.
“You with a transport ship? Or did you come from the Gamma Quadrant?” The guy was wearing civilian clothing and his hair was long in the front, falling into his eyes, non-regulation style. His general appearance led Brendon to assume that the guy wasn’t with any military crew.
“The crew are explorers. Ostensibly.”
“Ostensibly?” Brendon asked, amused and curious.
The guy shrugged. “They picked me up at Taros V. They needed someone to help with some repairs and maintenance in their engine room and I sorta just go from ship to ship as needed and I was ready to get out of the Taros system, anyway. They said they were explorers, but in six months they didn’t seem to do a lot of exploring.”
“What did they do?” Brendon asked.
“Went through their impressive collection of fine-and sometimes not so fine-alien wines and liquors, engaged in some questionably legal activities on the outer worlds, played some music that got progressively better the more drunk they were, and, I’m pretty sure, engaged in orgies in the Captain’s quarters, but I was operating on a strict don’t ask, don’t tell policy.”
Brendon stared at him with wide eyes. “That sounds like the best ship ever.”
“Well…yeah,” the guy agreed. “But I figured after six months I had to either get away or resign myself to a lifetime of debauchery, and well, I’m young, you know. I shouldn’t resign myself to anything just yet. Besides, the Captain is a little, well…” He made a gesture with his hands, perhaps indicative of something, but Brendon didn’t know what.
“I’m Jon, by the way,” the guy added.
“Brendon,” he said, and offered a hand to shake. “So you’re not going to travel with them any more?”
“I thought I’d hang out on the station for a while. I was able to get a room by helping some Starfleet guy rig the atmospheric controls on section eight of the outer deck, and apparently I can earn a few credits with some repairs on the Promenade.”
Brendon had never considered doing anything with his life other than going into Starfleet, because since he’d been born that was what he was told he would do. But Jon seemed to do okay for himself. Brendon wondered what it was be like to explore the galaxy without following Starfleet regulations (which could be somewhat stifling at times), just hopping from system to system, going wherever the universe took him.
“You have, like, the most awesome sounding life ever,” Brendon told him, unashamed by the naked admiration in his voice. Because, well, it was true. And it was worth it when Jon smiled at him. Yeah, he was seriously horny, ‘cause, whoa.
“It’s okay,” Jon allowed. “Some ships are better than others. Like, there was this one time I was stuck with a bunch of Vulcan scientists on this little survey ship and,” he paused, but his expression was very expressive.
Brendon was seriously taken in. He spent the next hour alternating between breathless amazement and breathless laughter at Jon’s stories, and by then the bar was almost full to the bursting.
“So, what do you guys do for fun around here?” Jon asked, sipping his drink.
“This isn’t fun?” Brendon asked. He was still entranced by Quark’s. Patrons kept jostling against him and the dabo games were getting progressively louder, but this still had to be the best time he’d ever had in a bar. And, okay, maybe a great deal of that had to do with Jon.
“Too many Starfleet officers around,” Jon muttered into his drink.
Brendon coloured. “Er.”
Jon gave him a look. “You’re Starfleet?” Brendon nodded sheepishly. “Shit, now you’re not going to believe me now when I say I don’t have a problem with Starfleet, but seriously, I don’t. Just, get a bunch of you guys together and it doesn’t really equal wacky fun.”
Brendon couldn’t necessarily argue with that. Sure the guys in the Academy knew how to have a good time, but it was like, as soon as they graduated this switch flipped and everyone had to be serious all the time. Every officer in Quark’s was off-duty, but at least half of them were still in uniform. Probably even more. And it was unnecessary, but it was like they didn’t know how to be anything other than Starfleet officers. Brendon didn’t want to become like that.
“Well, anyway, I’m new here too. I don’t know what there is to do that’s fun. Oh! But I saw there was a bowling alley on the third floor of the Promenade,” Brendon said, remembering seeing the sign and thinking it would be fun to come back when he wasn’t alone, maybe with Dorios and her friends.
“Bowling alley? There’s honest to god a bowling alley on this thing?” Jon asked, arching a brow. “Do they have drinks there?”
“They probably have a replicator,” Brendon said with a shrug.
“Good enough for me,” Jon said. He signalled the girl behind the counter and when he shifted, Brendon saw, at a table over his shoulder, both the Bajoran men he’d noticed earlier.
“Hey, hang on a second,” Brendon said as the girl came over to take their payment. He tipped his head toward the table and Jon followed his line of sight, lips curving a little when he saw the men.
Γ
“Have you met the new Ensign yet?” Ryan heard Lieutenant Dax ask.
“Ensign Dorios brought him by the infirmary earlier.” Bashir shrugged. “Why?”
Dax got a dreamy look on her face. “He’s just too adorable, don’t you think? And so promising. You know, just the other day we had a fascinating communication regarding an unusual incident near Omicron Ceti III.”
Bashir made a face. “He’s a little young for you, isn’t he?”
“Don’t be bitter, Julian,” Dax said, and patted his hand.
“Just what we need,” Ryan muttered under his breath, “another Starfleet officer.”
Spencer didn’t look too concerned about it. Spencer was happy pretending that Deep Space 9 was still sovereign Bajoran territory, even with Sisko lording over everyone. Spencer was happy working under Odo, pretending that Odo didn’t just do whatever Sisko wanted. Spencer wasn’t even very concerned about all the ridiculous talk of Sisko being the Bajoran Emissary.
Sometimes Ryan wished he’d been born earlier, that he’d been around when the Cardassian occupation was in full force. Maybe then he could have grown up learning important things from the resistance, like how to pilot or repair or maintain a ship. Instead, he was the damaged little kid who’d lost his parents and now had to be coddled by the provisional government and it made him feel useless.
If he had any skills, he could join the Maquis, fight the Cardassians, and have nothing to do with Starfleet. As it was, he was left watching people he’d admired in the resistance becoming complacent with Starfleet’s interference. Like they just forgot when Bajor had asked Starfleet for help and Starfleet had refused and now, now that the Cardassians had already left, now when Bajor possessed a wormhole, now Starfleet was happy to sweep in and run the show and reap all the benefits.
“I’m going to get you another drink,” Spencer said.
“I’ve got a lot of work, Spence,” Ryan said, and suppressed the urge to sigh. He knew Spencer meant well, trying to get him to go out more, but Ryan had too much on his plate right now to sit in Quark’s and listen to the endless chattering of the Starfleet officers. In fact, Ryan purposefully looked for more things with which to occupy his time in order to avoid the very situation in which he now found himself.
Leeta caught his eye as she wove her way through the crowd toward the dabo wheel and stopped by their table with a drink for each of them. “From the guy at the bar,” she said, and tipped her head in that direction. “I had to bring them over, because, I know you said you’re too busy to see anyone right now, but Ryan, he’s cute.”
Spencer leaned around Leeta to get a better look and made an appreciative face and Ryan was curious, alright, but he was too busy to see anyone, and he wasn’t going to encourage this guy by looking over there. He pushed the drink away and arched a brow at Leeta. Spencer sighed.
Leeta put her hands on her hips. “Ross Ryan, at twenty-two you are the most miserable old geezer I’ve ever met.” She gave him an exasperated look and went back on her way to her job.
“Wow, I didn’t know pants could get that tight,” Spencer said, still, apparently, examining the guy.
“Stop staring at him,” Ryan snapped. “You’re going to give him the wrong impression.”
“He bought drinks for the both of us. And if it’s the impression that while my best friend is apparently dead from the waist down, I would be more than interested in keeping him company for a while, then I think I’m giving him the right impression,” Spencer countered.
The humour in his voice made Ryan relax a little. It meant the guy was attractive but Spencer wasn’t actually considering sleeping with him. And really, it shouldn’t have been any business of Ryan’s at all if Spencer wanted to sleep with the guy, but he was a little protective of Spencer.
“Oh, hey, he’s coming over, and he’s got a friend.” Spencer made a face that suggested his friend wasn’t bad looking, either. “Be civil, will you,” Spencer admonished. Ryan made an indignant sound. He was the very picture of civility.
The taller one had to have been the one who bought them the drinks because, yeah those were very tight pants. And, wow. Ryan had never seen that material before, but he definitely liked it. He had dazzling smile that almost rivalled the magnificence of a Spencer smile. The shorter guy had a lazy look about him and was dressed in loose, casual shades of cream that reminded Ryan of Andorian sleepwear.
“Not a fan of synthale?” the taller one asked, gesturing to Ryan’s untouched drink.
“Not when it comes from strangers,” Ryan said, and he’d meant to be standoffish, to let his tone say, unequivocally that he was not interested. Instead, his tone ended up being coy and playful.
“Well, in that case, my name is Brendon, and this is Jon, and we’re pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He offered his hand to Spencer first, who took it with a soft smirk. “Smith Spencer,” he said, then, with a nod towards Ryan, “Ross Ryan.”
Jon’s brow furrowed a little. “Those don’t sound like any Bajoran names I’ve ever heard before.”
Ryan knew it wasn’t meant to be insulting so he stamped down on the urge to say something caustic. He was saved from having to say anything at all by Spencer. “Well, our parents were really interested in other cultures.”
“So,” Brendon said, and took one of the empty seats at the table even though he hadn’t been invited, and pushed Ryan’s drink back toward him. “We’re not strangers anymore.”
Against his will, Ryan felt the corner of his mouth quirking in a small smile. “I hardly think that an introduction suddenly makes us friends.”
Brendon’s eyes got really, really wide. “Oh, but it totally does. Because, see, I just met Jon and he’s already, like, the best friend I’ve ever had, because he is really just too awesome.” He shared a smile with Jon and Ryan thought oh, and wondered why the guys were over here bothering him and Spencer when they were obviously into each other.
“So, yeah, that’s how it works,” Brendon said. “Drink your synthale.” He nudged the glass even closer.
Ryan stared at him in disbelief, then at Jon, whose shrug seemed to say, “What can you do,” then to Spencer, who was struggling with not laughing out loud. Outnumbered and slightly fazed, he took the glass and put it to his lips, sipping. Brendon approved, if his growing smile was any indication.
“So, you’re new to the station?” Spencer asked, because was that ever obvious. If Brendon had been here any length of time, Ryan was pretty sure he would have noticed.
“Just arrived today,” he said cheerfully. Jon nodded his agreement.
“Not that I’m not a big fan of this scene, because one can never go wrong with strong alcohol and barely dressed dabo girls,” Jon said, “but we were going to check out the bowling alley.”
“Yeah,” Brendon agreed, “but one on one isn’t very exciting.”
“So, you guys wanna be our partners?” Jon asked, and yeah, Ryan wasn’t imagining the suggestiveness of that question at all. Spencer blushed. Like, no one made Spencer blush. Ryan had even lost that ability by the time Spencer was sixteen.
“Actually,” Ryan said, and was going to excuse himself when Spencer kicked him hard in the shin.
“Actually,” Spencer said quickly, “we’ve never been, before.” He twirled the straw in his drink and looked at Jon and Brendon from under his lashes. “Is it hard?”
He was flirting. Ryan felt his throat clench like he wanted to swallow but couldn’t. He took a drink and didn’t feel any better.
Brendon smirked and Jon bit his lip and they were flirting right back. “We’ll go easy on ya,” Jon said, and was everything he said just layered with suggestion?
So that was how Ryan found himself in the bowling alley he’d only ever passed by before. Brendon said it looked just like the reconstructed ones on Earth, and Ryan was just going to take his word for it. The interior was dimly lit and vaguely smoky. There was an arcade and several pool tables along the far wall, as well as a bar and a selection of shoes and balls in squares on the wall.
They picked out their equipment and Jon took care of securing them a lane. He used latinum, which told Ryan he probably wasn’t with Starfleet, which made him relax a little. He hadn’t thought either of them was anyway, what with the lack of uniforms, but still.
Several other people were playing in the first six lanes, but Jon had got them a lane at the very end, far from the crowd and the distant noises of the arcade. Brendon had replicated a great deal of Earth snacks, most of which was actually pretty good. Then he’d got them their first round of drinks from the replicator, but those had gone though pretty quickly, and Spencer had volunteered to get the second round and when that was finished, Ryan knew he’d look like a jerk if he didn’t, so he got the third round.
Ryan wasn’t sure what round they were on anymore, but it hardly mattered. None of them were very good at bowling. Jon had played it a couple of times on a holodeck and Brendon had only ever played casually and they knew the rules, but that didn’t mean they could play. Mostly everyone was trying to just keep the ball on the lane and Ryan had started laughing along when his ball, inevitably, ended up in the gutter.
And, okay, so Jon flirted equally shamelessly with Ryan, Brendon and Spencer. Ryan figured he just wasn’t supposed to take it seriously and dismissed it, and then he got what Brendon meant about Jon because, yeah, he was awesome. He had all these terrific stories about travelling around the galaxy-stories filled with crazy hijinks and cases of cultural misunderstandings that led to high comedy.
After a while Ryan decided he’d just sit out of the game, because his ball was pretty much resigned to the gutter. Then Brendon followed in suit because he said his arm was getting sore from all the swinging. Spencer was determined to figure this game out, though, and Jon was happy to oblige him (even though his score was only marginally better), using it as an excuse to get close up behind Spencer, guiding his arm through the roll of the ball.
Brendon took a seat by Ryan, who was watching Spencer and Jon with great amusement, and maybe the slightest twinge of jealousy. He redirected his attention to Brendon who was leaning rather close and chewing his gum loudly, occasionally blowing bubbles. “So, you have a jewellery shop, right? Here on the Promenade?”
Ryan’s brow furrowed. He didn’t feel very drunk, but he didn’t remember saying as much. “Yes,” he answered slowly.
“I saw you earlier, when you were closing. Some of those designs in the window were really cool. Do you make them yourself?” Brendon asked.
“Oh. Well, some of them. I mean, the rings and necklaces and bracelets and such. But the majority of my people prefer traditional designs for their earrings,” Ryan explained. He didn’t really like talking about his work with people who weren’t Bajoran, because most people didn’t understand the importance of it in Bajoran culture.
Brendon was smiling, though. He reached out and flicked back Ryan’s hair and Ryan felt a shiver go through him when Brendon’s finger traced the chain between his earring and his cuff. “I like this,” Brendon said.
“I…some like more personalised or individual designs,” Ryan said, reaching up to adjust his cuff and knocking Brendon’s hand away in the process.
“What D’jarra does that indicate?” Brendon asked, leaning even closer to look at the design.
“D-D’jarra?” Ryan repeated. He couldn’t believe how bold this Human was, nor that he knew what a D’jarra was and that it was indicated by his earring. “I-you know the D’jarra is obsolete,” he finished at last, with a scowl.
Brendon was undeterred. He even smirked. “Yeah, but you made this earring, right?” Ryan nodded hesitantly. “So which caste?”
Ryan sighed. “You’re sort of a jerk, you know?” Brendon nodded and snapped his gum. Ryan didn’t know why, but he smiled. “Ih’valla.” Brendon looked speculative. “That’s what caste I am…was…would be. Ih’valla. Spencer too.”
“Yeah? I guess that explains why you make earrings,” Brendon said. Ryan refused to be surprised that Brendon knew what the individual castes were.
“Actually,” he said, and cleared his throat, “Spencer’s family were jewellers and metallurgists; I’ve only studied since the end of the Occupation. My family were bards. My grandfather taught me the belaklavion before he died. But there is little place for music in the life of the modern Bajoran, outside of religious ceremony.”
Brendon had a serious look on his face, probably the first one Ryan had seen on him all night. He propped his chin in his hand and leaned even closer. “You don’t want to be involved in the religious ceremony?” He sounded honestly curious, and maybe a little confused.
Ryan didn’t blame him; if Brendon knew enough about Bajorans to know about their castes, he had to know about the importance of religion to most Bajorans. “You know, despite what you might think, introductions and a few drinks do not mean I know you well enough to answer such personal questions.” He meant the words to sting, but maybe he’d had too much to drink, because he leaned in close to Brendon when he said it, and it came out sounding inviting.
“Huh,” Brendon said and snapped his gum again. “Guess we’ll just have to spend a lot more time together, then.”
Brendon and Jon walked them back to Ryan’s room and then ended up staying and drinking more. Brendon challenged Spencer to a game of Jokarian chess, only their version involved a lot of drinking and far less strategy than most. It made it more like a spectator sport than usual.
Then Ryan’s attention was taken when Jon began asking him questions even more personal than the ones Brendon had asked and Ryan found himself answering them. Found himself leaning closer and closer to Jon until his head was on Jon’s shoulder, and then he didn’t move, because it was really comfortable.
Across the room Ryan could see his desk, piled high with pads that needed to be read, full of communications that needed responses, needed his thumbprint. But Jon put his arm around Ryan’s shoulders, and the longer they talked the lower it slipped, til his hand was soft and firm in the curve of Ryan’s waist, and Ryan thought, it all can wait.
Later, after Jon and Brendon had left, Spencer gave Ryan a questioning look. “You and Jon were looking a little cosy,” he said, but he didn’t sound upset about it.
Only, Ryan had been thinking the same thing about Spencer and Jon when they were bowling. “You too.”
“Yeah,” Spencer agreed. He had a serious look on his face, but he hugged Ryan and kissed his cheek. Spencer had hugged and kissed him a thousand times, but it felt different this time, made something in his stomach clench and go hot. “I want you to be happy,” Spencer said, and he left.
Ryan thought of the way he’d leaned into Brendon, the way Jon’s hand fit in the curve of Ryan’s waist, the way Spencer’s lips had felt on his cheek and he suddenly had no idea what would make him happy. In fact, all he could figure was that his current desires might lead to absolute misery…
But he also knew that if Brendon and Jon invited them out again, he was still going to say yes.
Next Part:
http://moku-youbi.livejournal.com/4783.html#cutid1
Author: Moku-youbi
Bands: Panic(!) at the Disco, The Academy Is…, Cobra Starship, My Chemical Romance, and Fall Out Boy, with appearances by Gym Class Heroes, the Hush Sound and the Cab
Pairings: Panic GSF, with Gabe/William, Pete/Patrick, Alex/Victoria/Nate, Gerard/Frank and Mikey/Alicia, various others on the sidelines
Rating: overall NC-17
Summary: Pete likes to be the Admiral of the Fleet in his free time, the Cobra is after The Academy, the Helena is after the Cobra, and Brendon gets caught in the middle, leaving it up to Spencer, Jon and Ryan to come to his rescue. Oh yeah. Star Trek AU.
AN: Thanks to Jess (xmychemx), my wonderful beta, and my fiancé for saying Bandom Space Epic when I asked what I should write next...
Here is a primer, if you want to see what the different species look like, however, NO PREVIOUS KNOWLEDGE OF STAR TREK NECESSARY.
http://moku-youbi.livejournal.com/5361.html#cutid1
A
Sometimes, Spencer mused, Ryan just needed someone to make him stop. It wasn’t enough that he had to be the good son (Spencer’s mother had said pointedly to him, in that way she had, when Ryan wasn’t even biologically hers, and yet), and take over the jewellery shop so Spencer’s parents could retire to Kendra Valley. It wasn’t enough that Ryan was the vice-president of the station’s activities committee. It wasn’t enough that Ryan had decided that the station’s news media was extremely biased and therefore started his own weekly news broadcast, which had become immensely popular and was demanding more and more of his time.
No, because then Ryan had to go and tell Leeta that no, it wasn’t a problem at all, he’d be more than happy to help her draw up a list of complaints for the little strike she was planning.
If Ryan wasn’t so completely oblivious to everything around him, Spencer would think he was doing it just to impress a pretty girl, but Leeta was so obviously taken and Ryan hadn’t even blinked when she’d cosied up to him in her little dabo costume, so Spencer figured it just had something to do with solidarity among war orphans.
Or, Ryan was fucking insane. Because seriously? He was going to kill himself between his actual paying job and all the extracurricular activities he was juggling, not to mention personal favours.
Which is why Spencer had put his foot down after he got done with his double-shift, and dragged Ryan away from his computer.
Ryan might have put up a hell of a fight at the beginning, but he’d gotten over it pretty well. They’d chosen one of the less romantic, yet still remarkably scenic spots on the Holana River and Spencer had packed some honest-to-prophet, organically grown food (that had cost him a pretty portion of his salary, to be sure) and a moonlight picnic was apparently just the thing to get Ryan to chill the hell out.
It had been a while since Spencer had been to the Holana, and maybe it was simply that absence had made the heart grow fonder, but it was beautiful. Far from the larger cities, there wasn’t a spot of light that didn’t come from the sky above, but what came was clear and bright, casting a green glow over the smooth surface of the river.
Ryan finished off the last of the wine, but Spencer could tell just by looking at him that he was still working inside his head-maybe rewording some phrase for Leeta, or planning a new design for the shop, or trying to figure out whom he’d get to provide the entertainment at the Blessing Festival next month.
“You need to take a break,” Spencer said.
Ryan blinked at him. “I thought that was what I was doing right now.”
Spencer sighed. Ryan was probably the most impossible person in the galaxy, despite his mother’s protestations that he, Spencer, already claimed that title. “I mean a real break. A vacation. With all the extra hours I’ve been working, I’ve got a lot of time off coming up. You could close down the shop for a couple of weeks. If we went at the beginning of the month, you wouldn’t miss any activities…”
“And where would we go?” Ryan asked. He’d sat up and his shoulders were tense. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared across the river at something Spencer couldn’t see.
“Well, this place isn’t so bad,” Spencer said. Ryan snorted. “Hey, wouldn’t it be nice to go home for a little while?”
“Home,” Ryan echoed. Spencer knew it had been a poorly chosen way to phrase it as soon as the words left his mouth, but there was no taking it back, so he just held his breath and waited.
“I don’t have a home, Spencer,” Ryan said at last and dropped his legs. He stretched out next to Spencer, legs facing the opposite direction so their heads were together. Ryan looked at the sky. After a moment, Spencer followed his gaze.
They lay there for what felt like ages, the only sound the distant music of insects and the water rushing by. He hadn’t seen the stars from this perspective in such a long time that they seemed almost foreign.
Spencer tried to imagine a youth like the ones he heard children on the station mention-trading stories about the shapes in the stars, making plans to someday live among them. He tried to imagine a youth where the stars weren’t this remarkable source of dread, where looking up at the sky didn’t make something in his chest hurt.
When they left the holosuite, the bar was dark and empty. “Are you going to, like, lose your job for breaking us in here?” Ryan asked while Spencer fiddled with the control panel to unlock the door to the Promenade.
“Nah, Quark owed me one for looking the other way about his little under-the-table deal with this Romulan.” Spencer gave Ryan a little eyebrow waggle to show him he was still the same Spencer Ryan knew and loved, even if he wore a uniform that might suggest otherwise.
Instead of heading towards the lifts to take them to their quarters, Ryan turned to the Promenade proper. “I’ve got some things I have to take care of at the shop,” Ryan said vaguely, when Spencer tried to redirect him.
Spencer watched him go, feeling helpless and sick with it. Wiley Ferengi trying to bypass station security-whatever, handled. Cardassians casting aspersions on his ancestry-so totally done. Just insulted the mothers of a roomful of rowdy, drunken Klingons-bring it on. Sad, disconsolate Ryan, and Spencer was utterly defeated.
For a long time he couldn’t get to sleep and so he just stared up at his window. Maybe Ryan’s home on Bajor’s moon was literally gone, but sometimes Spencer thought that he too was without a home. Maybe it wasn’t even a question. Maybe Spencer knew Bajor wasn’t his home, not like a home should be.
As much as it would benefit Ryan, he wasn’t the only one who needed to get away. Spencer didn’t hate his life here like Ryan did, but it could get repetitive. Maybe they could get out of the system for a while. With little else to spend credits on than the occasional trip to the holodeck and non-replicated food, Spencer might be able to afford a shuttle to a nearby system.
He fell asleep still thinking about it, and dreamt about how his life might have been different if he’d been born on a Federation planet, how he and Ryan could have grown up to be whatever they wanted then-maybe gone to the Academy, joined Starfleet and explored the galaxy. How incredible would it be to live on a spacecraft that moved instead of hovering over a lonely, desolate planet? How amazing would it be to see a new solar system every week, and watch a hundred different suns rise over a hundred different planets?
Then he woke up and the bulkheads were the same grey as his carpet and his comforter and he put on the same uniform he did everyday, clipped on his earring even though he couldn’t remember why it was supposed to mean so much to him, and went to work.
B
So maybe it wasn’t the transport Admiral Urie had envisioned for his son (the Enterprise-D, no doubt), but the U.S.S. Albion was no slouch, in Brendon’s opinion. The only thing that had kept him in his quarters instead of exploring the twenty decks that the Albion had to offer was his father’s stern warning to behave himself and not do anything to embarrass the Urie name.
He’d been one of the youngest cadets admitted to Starfleet Academy, something his parents both liked to brag about and hold against Brendon when he wasn’t progressing as quickly as they would have liked. Yet despite their complaints, here he was, after three years. Finally, he was Ensign Urie, and he was away from Earth and that stifling home environment.
His first assignment hadn’t really garnered a lot of approval, however. Apparently Deep Space 9 didn’t live up to the standards set by his older siblings. It didn’t, in his parents’ eyes, provide a lot of opportunity for growth and learning.
Brendon saw it a little differently. Deep Space 9 was an exciting place to be. With the discovery of the wormhole, Bajor and DS9 had become major trading and diplomatic hubs, not to mention the fact that living there meant seeing and hearing about all the exploratory missions into the Gamma Quadrant. If he were lucky, maybe he’d get a chance to go through the wormhole himself.
He’d joined Starfleet because that was what was expected of him, and he’d gone into the command track because his parents didn’t leave him with much of a choice. He’d chosen a second track as a scientist because that was what really interested him, and maybe that was the biggest problem his parents had with the whole thing-he was still on the command track, but the uniform that had come with his posting aboard DS9 was green, indicative of the science track. He was still getting used to his new uniform, examining himself in the mirror, fingering the new, single round pip on his collar.
“Ensign!”
Brendon was startled out of his reverie by Lieutenant Peaks. She smirked a little when he snapped to immediate attention. “Ready to go?”
From the view screen of the shuttle, Brendon was afforded a full view of the station. The docking ring was full which meant the Albion couldn’t have delivered him even if they hadn’t been redirected to a nearby dispute on the border of the Badlands.
Brendon wanted to go on about just how ready he was, but years of disapproving glares from his father made him clamp his lips shut on the excited babble. Peaks was nice, but she wasn’t that nice, and the last thing he needed was word getting back to his father about what a spaz he’d been. Instead, he shouldered his bag and stepped onto the transporter pad. He resisted the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet.
Operations was buzzing with activity when he arrived on the transporter pad. As he stepped down from the plinth, he was greeted by the Trill woman Brendon took to be his new direct superior, Lieutenant Jazdia Dax. She had a smile on her pretty face and stepped forward to shake his hand.
“Lieutenant,” Brendon said, and maybe he sounded a little awed. He’d never met a Trill with a symbiont before. She didn’t look any different from any other Trill, and she was much younger than he’d expected.
Ever since he’d received his posting, he’d been exchanging exciting waves with Dax about her current projects and what he hoped to study when he came aboard. He felt like he’d already learned so much from here, and they’d only been communicating for a little over a month.
“Ensign Urie,” Dax said, “I’m so excited to finally meet you.”
“Me too,” Brendon bubbled, before he could stop himself. “I mean, me, I’m excited to meet you, not that I’m excited that you’re excited to meet me, though that’s cool, too. Um.” He bit his lip and shut up.
Dax laughed. “Understood. I know your assignment doesn’t officially start for another couple days, but I thought you might be interested in a tour?” There was an upward lilt to her voice and Brendon nodded eagerly. “And the Commander would like to welcome you aboard.”
Brendon felt a fluttering of nerves in his stomach at the prospect. He’d been at the top of his class, and well liked by his professors and superiors in Red Squad. But they’d all known his parents, and he’d always wondered how much of their approval had to do with him and how much had to do with them.
Professor Larkin had warned Brendon that Commander Sisko wasn’t the sort to be swayed by an impressive military lineage. Brendon didn’t want Sisko to like him because Sisko had liked his parents, but he did want Sisko to like him.
The command office was on the upper level, and Commander Sisko was a large, intimidating man who greeted Brendon with reserve. Brendon was careful not to make the fool of himself that he had in front of Dax; somehow, he didn’t think Sisko would approve.
Dax had to leave him after showing him around Ops, and passed him off to Ensign Dorios who finished his tour of the station. They went through the central core first where Brendon was introduced to Doctor Bashir in the infirmary and several Bajorans in the security office.
One of the officers was busy arguing with a Klingon, and that was what had caught Brendon’s attention, because who in his right mind picked a fight with a Klingon? And then Brendon got a good look at the guy, and thought to himself he might have to stop by the security office more often.
He was Bajoran, though his ridges were more delicate and subtle than most. Above his astonishingly bright blue eyes he had severe brows that made Brendon wonder if maybe he was mixed with Romulan or Vulcan blood. His hair was longer than allowed by Starfleet regulation, falling just past his chin, and the Bajoran uniform he wore showed of a slender, curvy figure.
It wasn’t fair that the Starfleet uniform tended to make people look awkward and bloated. Too bad he wasn’t born Bajoran. But at least it meant he’d be afforded some nice views around the station.
The Promenade was like something out of a dream-he’d heard that Quark’s operated not by Starfleet’s standards, but by Bajoran ones, which meant they got away with a lot more. There were the sounds of dabo and the scent of various intergalactic cuisines drifting from the bar.
All up and down the three levels, people of all species were shopping and dining. These weren’t the neat, orderly, regulated shops of San Francisco. It was noisy, chaotic and beautiful. Brendon instantly thought of it as home and couldn’t wait to get out of his uniform and come back when he wasn’t acting as a representative of Starfleet.
They went next to the docking ring and Brendon made himself pay attention to everything Ensign Dorios was telling him. He wasn’t officially on duty, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to learn everything he could. He wanted to be promoted on his merit alone-wanted to prove himself to his parents at last.
The tour ended on the habitat ring. Dorios punched in the entry code and they stepped in together. “You can change the lock, of course,” she told him.
She pulled a face as Brendon looked around. “I know the quarters aren’t much around here; Cardassian design.” She shrugged.
“They’re bigger than the ones I had on the Albion, ” Brendon reasoned. And he didn’t have to share them with anyone, which was a big plus after three years of quad dorms at the Academy and sleeping in a row of bunks ten deep with the Red Squad.
Maybe it wasn’t as nice as his room back at home, with a breathtaking view of the Golden Gate bridge, but the bonus of living on DS9 was that his parents were a good two weeks away at top speed.
“Well, you can feel free to redecorate them however you want-there are some nice shops on the Promenade,” Dorios said.
“Anyway, I’ll leave you to get settled in. I’m sure I’ll see you around. A lot of the time, us junior offices get together on the holodeck and take turns playing sports from our home worlds.” She smiled and wiggled her brows. “My turn’s coming up. They aren’t going to know what to do with themselves when I introduce them to Karo-Net.”
Brendon knew a lot about Bolian politics and history, and he’d paid attention in the mandatory Starfleet sex education course, so he knew all about Bolian mating rituals and plural marriages, and he even knew enough to be glad that his name wasn’t Frederick, because it was a name remarkably close to an offensive word in the Bolian language. However, he didn’t know anything about the sports played on Bolarus IX, and he was intrigued.
Dorios left after arranging to meet him at the end of his first shift and Brendon took a little while to settle into his new rooms. Peaks had beamed most of his belongings directly to his quarters and they were waiting for him in the centre of the room. He’d wanted to pack more, but his mother had gone behind him and taken out much that he’d first put in.
As it was, he was left mostly with the clothing he couldn’t bear to lose. It had taken several years of research to find the proper patterns and earn enough credits to synthesize fabrics in the right textures. Through trial and error Brendon had taught himself to sew. His parents weren’t very keen on his sense of fashion and disallowed him the use of their tailor. Despite all the obstacles, Brendon had eventually built up the wardrobe he’d always wanted, and he knew he had no hope of finding anything to suit his liking in the depths of space.
He put up some pictures of his friends and family on the grey dress and hung a couple posters on the grey wall. He tossed a bright purple and blue throw over his grey sofa. The colour scheme was seriously depressing. The Cardassians were the most depressing species in the galaxy. The room needed some serious colour seriously quickly.
Brendon changed before heading out; it wasn’t that he didn’t like his uniform, because it was comfortable enough, but it wasn’t all that flattering. But after donning a t-shirt and sliding into his favourite pair of skinny jeans (an endless source of embarrassment for his mother was the fact that her son was wearing jeans designed for a girl, but it wasn’t his fault that most of the shops he’d found had a lot more women’s clothing than men’s when it came to 21st century fashion and anyway, he looked good in them), Brendon felt a little more comfortable in his own skin. His uniform was going to take some getting used to.
On his way out of his quarters, Brendon checked his reflection in the mirror. His peach shirt was a spot of colour in the otherwise drab room. He mussed his hair a little, out of its perfect Starfleet order, and grinned at himself. Promenade, here I come.
There was an awesome shop on the first level, where Brendon bought a bright blue, down comforter, several patterned pillows, rugs and curtains. Then he visited Garek’s tailoring business, but was, as he’d expected, remarkably unimpressed by the offerings; probably equally unimpressed was Garek by Brendon’s outfit. If he was going to purchase any new clothing, it wasn’t going to be there.
By the time he made it down the entire first and second levels, and down one side of the third level, most of the businesses were closing for the evening. There were still at least twelve shops he hadn’t visited, but he would have plenty of time for exploring them.
A jewellery shop tucked in the corner caught his eye in particular. Gems set in latinum, gold and silver sparkled in the windows. A man, presumably the owner, was locking the front door and drawing down the gate, and if he was going to be honest, Brendon might have admitted that perhaps the man was the one who’d drawn Brendon’s attention, not the jewellery.
He was Bajoran, but he was not dressed in the typical fashion worn by most of his species that Brendon had seen. He seemed to have embraced the fashion of 22nd century Betazoids. He wore loose, flowing pants and a ruffled button-down shirt, both in black, but had a multi-coloured scarf around his neck that made Brendon think of the tropical birds of Earth’s jungles.
His light brown hair was long enough that it fell into his eyes and mostly obscured the distinguishing nasal ridges that marked his species, and it had been styled to almost completely cover his earring. It was almost as if he was embarrassed of being Bajoran, or something, eschewing or hiding those things that denoted his heritage.
Something about him was intriguing to Brendon, maybe the fact that he wasn’t a crazy fashion victim like ninety-eight percent of the people he’d seen so far on the station. Or maybe it was the sad look he had, and no one was supposed to be sad, right? Not when the area was mostly at peace (for once), and Bajor was successfully rebuilding and the Gamma Quadrant was this amazing source for commerce.
The man hurried toward the lift, arms clutched around a stack of pads, which he was trying to juggle along with a beverage cup, while reading the topmost pad, paying little attention to his surroundings. He ran into a couple people and almost lost all of his pads more than once before he disappeared from Brendon’s view. And for some reason, it made Brendon smile.
Two hot Bajorans in one day. Brendon had never considered himself more attracted to one species than another, but maybe Bajor just bred their men ridiculously good-looking. He’d only known a few Bajorans on Earth, mostly older-professors or shopkeepers, and predominately female. Earth didn’t know what it was missing, apparently.
Though the shops had closed, the crowd on the Promenade wasn’t thinning out. Live music spilled forth from Quark’s and Brendon’s stomach growled, reminding him that the last thing he’d had to eat was a ration bar on the shuttle that morning.
Quark’s had the same unfinished look to it as the rest of the station, but it was dressed up in sparkling metals, bright tapestries and a lot of mood lighting, and Brendon decided he liked it at once. It was nothing like the tidy little bar he’d used to visit with his friends on Earth.
By some bit of luck, Brendon arrived at the bar just as someone was leaving her seat and as he moved forward to snag the stool, another guy moved toward it. “Sorry,” he said, and gestured for Brendon to take it.
“No,” Brendon argued, “go ahead. I don’t need it.”
The guy smiled; it was a nice look on him, a gentle wry quirk of his lips that looked self-deprecating and really charming. And okay, maybe Brendon was just really, really horny, because it was ridiculous how turned on he’d got by the last three hot guys he’d seen.
“I’ve spent the past several months on a cramped little ship; standing is nice,” the guy said.
Brendon vacillated and was saved from being rude and taking the seat, and being annoying and insisting that the guy take it, when another customer got up from the stool beside it. Brendon and the guy shared a look and took the seats.
“You with a transport ship? Or did you come from the Gamma Quadrant?” The guy was wearing civilian clothing and his hair was long in the front, falling into his eyes, non-regulation style. His general appearance led Brendon to assume that the guy wasn’t with any military crew.
“The crew are explorers. Ostensibly.”
“Ostensibly?” Brendon asked, amused and curious.
The guy shrugged. “They picked me up at Taros V. They needed someone to help with some repairs and maintenance in their engine room and I sorta just go from ship to ship as needed and I was ready to get out of the Taros system, anyway. They said they were explorers, but in six months they didn’t seem to do a lot of exploring.”
“What did they do?” Brendon asked.
“Went through their impressive collection of fine-and sometimes not so fine-alien wines and liquors, engaged in some questionably legal activities on the outer worlds, played some music that got progressively better the more drunk they were, and, I’m pretty sure, engaged in orgies in the Captain’s quarters, but I was operating on a strict don’t ask, don’t tell policy.”
Brendon stared at him with wide eyes. “That sounds like the best ship ever.”
“Well…yeah,” the guy agreed. “But I figured after six months I had to either get away or resign myself to a lifetime of debauchery, and well, I’m young, you know. I shouldn’t resign myself to anything just yet. Besides, the Captain is a little, well…” He made a gesture with his hands, perhaps indicative of something, but Brendon didn’t know what.
“I’m Jon, by the way,” the guy added.
“Brendon,” he said, and offered a hand to shake. “So you’re not going to travel with them any more?”
“I thought I’d hang out on the station for a while. I was able to get a room by helping some Starfleet guy rig the atmospheric controls on section eight of the outer deck, and apparently I can earn a few credits with some repairs on the Promenade.”
Brendon had never considered doing anything with his life other than going into Starfleet, because since he’d been born that was what he was told he would do. But Jon seemed to do okay for himself. Brendon wondered what it was be like to explore the galaxy without following Starfleet regulations (which could be somewhat stifling at times), just hopping from system to system, going wherever the universe took him.
“You have, like, the most awesome sounding life ever,” Brendon told him, unashamed by the naked admiration in his voice. Because, well, it was true. And it was worth it when Jon smiled at him. Yeah, he was seriously horny, ‘cause, whoa.
“It’s okay,” Jon allowed. “Some ships are better than others. Like, there was this one time I was stuck with a bunch of Vulcan scientists on this little survey ship and,” he paused, but his expression was very expressive.
Brendon was seriously taken in. He spent the next hour alternating between breathless amazement and breathless laughter at Jon’s stories, and by then the bar was almost full to the bursting.
“So, what do you guys do for fun around here?” Jon asked, sipping his drink.
“This isn’t fun?” Brendon asked. He was still entranced by Quark’s. Patrons kept jostling against him and the dabo games were getting progressively louder, but this still had to be the best time he’d ever had in a bar. And, okay, maybe a great deal of that had to do with Jon.
“Too many Starfleet officers around,” Jon muttered into his drink.
Brendon coloured. “Er.”
Jon gave him a look. “You’re Starfleet?” Brendon nodded sheepishly. “Shit, now you’re not going to believe me now when I say I don’t have a problem with Starfleet, but seriously, I don’t. Just, get a bunch of you guys together and it doesn’t really equal wacky fun.”
Brendon couldn’t necessarily argue with that. Sure the guys in the Academy knew how to have a good time, but it was like, as soon as they graduated this switch flipped and everyone had to be serious all the time. Every officer in Quark’s was off-duty, but at least half of them were still in uniform. Probably even more. And it was unnecessary, but it was like they didn’t know how to be anything other than Starfleet officers. Brendon didn’t want to become like that.
“Well, anyway, I’m new here too. I don’t know what there is to do that’s fun. Oh! But I saw there was a bowling alley on the third floor of the Promenade,” Brendon said, remembering seeing the sign and thinking it would be fun to come back when he wasn’t alone, maybe with Dorios and her friends.
“Bowling alley? There’s honest to god a bowling alley on this thing?” Jon asked, arching a brow. “Do they have drinks there?”
“They probably have a replicator,” Brendon said with a shrug.
“Good enough for me,” Jon said. He signalled the girl behind the counter and when he shifted, Brendon saw, at a table over his shoulder, both the Bajoran men he’d noticed earlier.
“Hey, hang on a second,” Brendon said as the girl came over to take their payment. He tipped his head toward the table and Jon followed his line of sight, lips curving a little when he saw the men.
Γ
“Have you met the new Ensign yet?” Ryan heard Lieutenant Dax ask.
“Ensign Dorios brought him by the infirmary earlier.” Bashir shrugged. “Why?”
Dax got a dreamy look on her face. “He’s just too adorable, don’t you think? And so promising. You know, just the other day we had a fascinating communication regarding an unusual incident near Omicron Ceti III.”
Bashir made a face. “He’s a little young for you, isn’t he?”
“Don’t be bitter, Julian,” Dax said, and patted his hand.
“Just what we need,” Ryan muttered under his breath, “another Starfleet officer.”
Spencer didn’t look too concerned about it. Spencer was happy pretending that Deep Space 9 was still sovereign Bajoran territory, even with Sisko lording over everyone. Spencer was happy working under Odo, pretending that Odo didn’t just do whatever Sisko wanted. Spencer wasn’t even very concerned about all the ridiculous talk of Sisko being the Bajoran Emissary.
Sometimes Ryan wished he’d been born earlier, that he’d been around when the Cardassian occupation was in full force. Maybe then he could have grown up learning important things from the resistance, like how to pilot or repair or maintain a ship. Instead, he was the damaged little kid who’d lost his parents and now had to be coddled by the provisional government and it made him feel useless.
If he had any skills, he could join the Maquis, fight the Cardassians, and have nothing to do with Starfleet. As it was, he was left watching people he’d admired in the resistance becoming complacent with Starfleet’s interference. Like they just forgot when Bajor had asked Starfleet for help and Starfleet had refused and now, now that the Cardassians had already left, now when Bajor possessed a wormhole, now Starfleet was happy to sweep in and run the show and reap all the benefits.
“I’m going to get you another drink,” Spencer said.
“I’ve got a lot of work, Spence,” Ryan said, and suppressed the urge to sigh. He knew Spencer meant well, trying to get him to go out more, but Ryan had too much on his plate right now to sit in Quark’s and listen to the endless chattering of the Starfleet officers. In fact, Ryan purposefully looked for more things with which to occupy his time in order to avoid the very situation in which he now found himself.
Leeta caught his eye as she wove her way through the crowd toward the dabo wheel and stopped by their table with a drink for each of them. “From the guy at the bar,” she said, and tipped her head in that direction. “I had to bring them over, because, I know you said you’re too busy to see anyone right now, but Ryan, he’s cute.”
Spencer leaned around Leeta to get a better look and made an appreciative face and Ryan was curious, alright, but he was too busy to see anyone, and he wasn’t going to encourage this guy by looking over there. He pushed the drink away and arched a brow at Leeta. Spencer sighed.
Leeta put her hands on her hips. “Ross Ryan, at twenty-two you are the most miserable old geezer I’ve ever met.” She gave him an exasperated look and went back on her way to her job.
“Wow, I didn’t know pants could get that tight,” Spencer said, still, apparently, examining the guy.
“Stop staring at him,” Ryan snapped. “You’re going to give him the wrong impression.”
“He bought drinks for the both of us. And if it’s the impression that while my best friend is apparently dead from the waist down, I would be more than interested in keeping him company for a while, then I think I’m giving him the right impression,” Spencer countered.
The humour in his voice made Ryan relax a little. It meant the guy was attractive but Spencer wasn’t actually considering sleeping with him. And really, it shouldn’t have been any business of Ryan’s at all if Spencer wanted to sleep with the guy, but he was a little protective of Spencer.
“Oh, hey, he’s coming over, and he’s got a friend.” Spencer made a face that suggested his friend wasn’t bad looking, either. “Be civil, will you,” Spencer admonished. Ryan made an indignant sound. He was the very picture of civility.
The taller one had to have been the one who bought them the drinks because, yeah those were very tight pants. And, wow. Ryan had never seen that material before, but he definitely liked it. He had dazzling smile that almost rivalled the magnificence of a Spencer smile. The shorter guy had a lazy look about him and was dressed in loose, casual shades of cream that reminded Ryan of Andorian sleepwear.
“Not a fan of synthale?” the taller one asked, gesturing to Ryan’s untouched drink.
“Not when it comes from strangers,” Ryan said, and he’d meant to be standoffish, to let his tone say, unequivocally that he was not interested. Instead, his tone ended up being coy and playful.
“Well, in that case, my name is Brendon, and this is Jon, and we’re pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He offered his hand to Spencer first, who took it with a soft smirk. “Smith Spencer,” he said, then, with a nod towards Ryan, “Ross Ryan.”
Jon’s brow furrowed a little. “Those don’t sound like any Bajoran names I’ve ever heard before.”
Ryan knew it wasn’t meant to be insulting so he stamped down on the urge to say something caustic. He was saved from having to say anything at all by Spencer. “Well, our parents were really interested in other cultures.”
“So,” Brendon said, and took one of the empty seats at the table even though he hadn’t been invited, and pushed Ryan’s drink back toward him. “We’re not strangers anymore.”
Against his will, Ryan felt the corner of his mouth quirking in a small smile. “I hardly think that an introduction suddenly makes us friends.”
Brendon’s eyes got really, really wide. “Oh, but it totally does. Because, see, I just met Jon and he’s already, like, the best friend I’ve ever had, because he is really just too awesome.” He shared a smile with Jon and Ryan thought oh, and wondered why the guys were over here bothering him and Spencer when they were obviously into each other.
“So, yeah, that’s how it works,” Brendon said. “Drink your synthale.” He nudged the glass even closer.
Ryan stared at him in disbelief, then at Jon, whose shrug seemed to say, “What can you do,” then to Spencer, who was struggling with not laughing out loud. Outnumbered and slightly fazed, he took the glass and put it to his lips, sipping. Brendon approved, if his growing smile was any indication.
“So, you’re new to the station?” Spencer asked, because was that ever obvious. If Brendon had been here any length of time, Ryan was pretty sure he would have noticed.
“Just arrived today,” he said cheerfully. Jon nodded his agreement.
“Not that I’m not a big fan of this scene, because one can never go wrong with strong alcohol and barely dressed dabo girls,” Jon said, “but we were going to check out the bowling alley.”
“Yeah,” Brendon agreed, “but one on one isn’t very exciting.”
“So, you guys wanna be our partners?” Jon asked, and yeah, Ryan wasn’t imagining the suggestiveness of that question at all. Spencer blushed. Like, no one made Spencer blush. Ryan had even lost that ability by the time Spencer was sixteen.
“Actually,” Ryan said, and was going to excuse himself when Spencer kicked him hard in the shin.
“Actually,” Spencer said quickly, “we’ve never been, before.” He twirled the straw in his drink and looked at Jon and Brendon from under his lashes. “Is it hard?”
He was flirting. Ryan felt his throat clench like he wanted to swallow but couldn’t. He took a drink and didn’t feel any better.
Brendon smirked and Jon bit his lip and they were flirting right back. “We’ll go easy on ya,” Jon said, and was everything he said just layered with suggestion?
So that was how Ryan found himself in the bowling alley he’d only ever passed by before. Brendon said it looked just like the reconstructed ones on Earth, and Ryan was just going to take his word for it. The interior was dimly lit and vaguely smoky. There was an arcade and several pool tables along the far wall, as well as a bar and a selection of shoes and balls in squares on the wall.
They picked out their equipment and Jon took care of securing them a lane. He used latinum, which told Ryan he probably wasn’t with Starfleet, which made him relax a little. He hadn’t thought either of them was anyway, what with the lack of uniforms, but still.
Several other people were playing in the first six lanes, but Jon had got them a lane at the very end, far from the crowd and the distant noises of the arcade. Brendon had replicated a great deal of Earth snacks, most of which was actually pretty good. Then he’d got them their first round of drinks from the replicator, but those had gone though pretty quickly, and Spencer had volunteered to get the second round and when that was finished, Ryan knew he’d look like a jerk if he didn’t, so he got the third round.
Ryan wasn’t sure what round they were on anymore, but it hardly mattered. None of them were very good at bowling. Jon had played it a couple of times on a holodeck and Brendon had only ever played casually and they knew the rules, but that didn’t mean they could play. Mostly everyone was trying to just keep the ball on the lane and Ryan had started laughing along when his ball, inevitably, ended up in the gutter.
And, okay, so Jon flirted equally shamelessly with Ryan, Brendon and Spencer. Ryan figured he just wasn’t supposed to take it seriously and dismissed it, and then he got what Brendon meant about Jon because, yeah, he was awesome. He had all these terrific stories about travelling around the galaxy-stories filled with crazy hijinks and cases of cultural misunderstandings that led to high comedy.
After a while Ryan decided he’d just sit out of the game, because his ball was pretty much resigned to the gutter. Then Brendon followed in suit because he said his arm was getting sore from all the swinging. Spencer was determined to figure this game out, though, and Jon was happy to oblige him (even though his score was only marginally better), using it as an excuse to get close up behind Spencer, guiding his arm through the roll of the ball.
Brendon took a seat by Ryan, who was watching Spencer and Jon with great amusement, and maybe the slightest twinge of jealousy. He redirected his attention to Brendon who was leaning rather close and chewing his gum loudly, occasionally blowing bubbles. “So, you have a jewellery shop, right? Here on the Promenade?”
Ryan’s brow furrowed. He didn’t feel very drunk, but he didn’t remember saying as much. “Yes,” he answered slowly.
“I saw you earlier, when you were closing. Some of those designs in the window were really cool. Do you make them yourself?” Brendon asked.
“Oh. Well, some of them. I mean, the rings and necklaces and bracelets and such. But the majority of my people prefer traditional designs for their earrings,” Ryan explained. He didn’t really like talking about his work with people who weren’t Bajoran, because most people didn’t understand the importance of it in Bajoran culture.
Brendon was smiling, though. He reached out and flicked back Ryan’s hair and Ryan felt a shiver go through him when Brendon’s finger traced the chain between his earring and his cuff. “I like this,” Brendon said.
“I…some like more personalised or individual designs,” Ryan said, reaching up to adjust his cuff and knocking Brendon’s hand away in the process.
“What D’jarra does that indicate?” Brendon asked, leaning even closer to look at the design.
“D-D’jarra?” Ryan repeated. He couldn’t believe how bold this Human was, nor that he knew what a D’jarra was and that it was indicated by his earring. “I-you know the D’jarra is obsolete,” he finished at last, with a scowl.
Brendon was undeterred. He even smirked. “Yeah, but you made this earring, right?” Ryan nodded hesitantly. “So which caste?”
Ryan sighed. “You’re sort of a jerk, you know?” Brendon nodded and snapped his gum. Ryan didn’t know why, but he smiled. “Ih’valla.” Brendon looked speculative. “That’s what caste I am…was…would be. Ih’valla. Spencer too.”
“Yeah? I guess that explains why you make earrings,” Brendon said. Ryan refused to be surprised that Brendon knew what the individual castes were.
“Actually,” he said, and cleared his throat, “Spencer’s family were jewellers and metallurgists; I’ve only studied since the end of the Occupation. My family were bards. My grandfather taught me the belaklavion before he died. But there is little place for music in the life of the modern Bajoran, outside of religious ceremony.”
Brendon had a serious look on his face, probably the first one Ryan had seen on him all night. He propped his chin in his hand and leaned even closer. “You don’t want to be involved in the religious ceremony?” He sounded honestly curious, and maybe a little confused.
Ryan didn’t blame him; if Brendon knew enough about Bajorans to know about their castes, he had to know about the importance of religion to most Bajorans. “You know, despite what you might think, introductions and a few drinks do not mean I know you well enough to answer such personal questions.” He meant the words to sting, but maybe he’d had too much to drink, because he leaned in close to Brendon when he said it, and it came out sounding inviting.
“Huh,” Brendon said and snapped his gum again. “Guess we’ll just have to spend a lot more time together, then.”
Brendon and Jon walked them back to Ryan’s room and then ended up staying and drinking more. Brendon challenged Spencer to a game of Jokarian chess, only their version involved a lot of drinking and far less strategy than most. It made it more like a spectator sport than usual.
Then Ryan’s attention was taken when Jon began asking him questions even more personal than the ones Brendon had asked and Ryan found himself answering them. Found himself leaning closer and closer to Jon until his head was on Jon’s shoulder, and then he didn’t move, because it was really comfortable.
Across the room Ryan could see his desk, piled high with pads that needed to be read, full of communications that needed responses, needed his thumbprint. But Jon put his arm around Ryan’s shoulders, and the longer they talked the lower it slipped, til his hand was soft and firm in the curve of Ryan’s waist, and Ryan thought, it all can wait.
Later, after Jon and Brendon had left, Spencer gave Ryan a questioning look. “You and Jon were looking a little cosy,” he said, but he didn’t sound upset about it.
Only, Ryan had been thinking the same thing about Spencer and Jon when they were bowling. “You too.”
“Yeah,” Spencer agreed. He had a serious look on his face, but he hugged Ryan and kissed his cheek. Spencer had hugged and kissed him a thousand times, but it felt different this time, made something in his stomach clench and go hot. “I want you to be happy,” Spencer said, and he left.
Ryan thought of the way he’d leaned into Brendon, the way Jon’s hand fit in the curve of Ryan’s waist, the way Spencer’s lips had felt on his cheek and he suddenly had no idea what would make him happy. In fact, all he could figure was that his current desires might lead to absolute misery…
But he also knew that if Brendon and Jon invited them out again, he was still going to say yes.
Next Part:
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