James Anderson was already several drinks into his evening.  As time passed, he pulled out his PADD and started to peruse a list of the resort’s offerings, sipping on his latest beverage.  “Hmm…. What to do…”  He idly scrolled, but his heart wasn’t really in it; he felt out-of-place, at least on this night, surrounded by revelry.

Michael knew he was getting old when he considered 22:00hrs to be ‘Late’. But the nightlife at Vehlara Springs Resort was just starting to awaken. He had noticed the uptick in traffic at the resort in the last few days as the ‘shore-leavers’ came down, just as the resort staff had warned him. But in all honesty, it was probably needed. He wanted to find some excitement to chase, but he didn’t have the drive for it; at least he would be able to follow in the wake of a zealous junior officer looking to let loose.

Not wanting to just go to sleep, he found himself at a local tiki-bar a walking distance of his bungalow. There was a covered bar area, preceded by outdoor tables, a repurposed dance floor from the local volleyball mat, and several hanging festive lights. Most of the patrons were outside, dancing and drinking, as some Romulan electropop song was playing over the speakers.  He sought refuge away from all of that, at the bar, more than content to take in the exuberance emanating from the party-goers.

As he sat down and began to wave down the bartender for a drink, he could not help but pick up a sense of dissension from another patron already nursing a drink. “Evening.” He nodded to the man.

James startled slightly from his reverie at the newcomer’s approach, a ‘blip’ of anxiety crossing his mind before it settled.  “Evening,” he replied, returning the nod and taking the measure of this person with the seasoned eye of a security officer.  “How goes it?” James asked, glancing at the dancers outside.  “Enjoying the party?”

“They sure seem to be,” Michael replied, looking at the dancefloor as the barkeep approached. He turned back for a moment, “Flaming Dr. Pepper, please.” The bartender locked eyes with him, a fellow Betazoid, and the two mentally exchanged the drink’s construction before the man behind the counter shrugged and walked off. “Yeah, I think I’m going to sit this one out and enjoy all the dancing and activity second-hand.” As he stated this, a scantily clad Orion female took the center stage, performing very provocative dance moves. Michael looked from the dancefloor back to his seating companion, “Which doesn’t look too difficult to do.” He said with a nervous laugh.

As they spoke, the bartender was hard at work on the Betazoid’s drink. He had poured a pint of some sort of pale lager in one cup and was mixing two other bottles into a second, smaller cup. After the smaller cup was satisfyingly filled, the bartender lit it on fire, and while still burning, dumped the entire second glass into the first, causing a slight spillage from the lager, but extinguishing the flames. The bartender looked at Michael, wondering if he did it right.

Michael turned his attention back to the barkeep and took the drink in hand, taking a small sip before nodding. “Try it!” he said, offering it back to the barkeep. The man behind the counter hesitantly took the drink and also sampled the concoction, his face twisting into a surprised, but pleasant look. “I’ll have to write that one down,” he said, “I’ll be back, I’ll go start your tab.”

Michael took possession of the drink once more and turned his attention to the other person next to him. “I’m Comm—” he began, shaking his head, “Michael, Michael Angelus.” He properly introduced.

Anderson chuckled, brown eyes noticing the Orion dancer quickly before his focus returned to his drinking companion.  “James Anderson,” he replied.

Taking the last sip of his drink, Anderson quickly caught the bartender’s attention.  “Another Old Fashioned, if you would?  Thanks.”  As the bartender began to mix the drink, a faint twinkle of amusement entered James’s eyes.  “And yes, I know there are lots of other options; I’m just old-fashioned that way,” he said to Michael, disregarding the bartender’s eye roll at the pun.  After the bartender slid his new drink to him, James turned back to Michael.  “What brings you here?”

Michael cracked a smile at the old-fashioned joke and raised his glass, “Can’t knock the classics,” he toasted, taking a sip of his own. “I’ve been here for a few days now, sampled add the standard choices, so I have gotten a bit more adventurous.” He said, turning his attention back to the crowd as they talked.

“Mandated shore leave, you could call it,” he finally answered. “I just transferred to Star-Base Bravo and got sent out here before I start Orientation proper.” He took another sip, “Can’t say I’m hating it though.”

James nodded.  “Me too.  Well, the transfer, at least; I just arrived at the resort.  Where’d you transfer from?” he asked as he turned around as well.

His drink hesitated at his lips for a moment at the question, before finally taking a deeper sip. “I was out by the Barzan Wormhole, out of Starbase 38.” He deflected. “You?”

“Norfan III,” James responded after a moment, his eyes taking on a bit of a distant look.

“That good, huh?” Michael asked, feeling the man’s disposition about the topic. Ironic that two troubled souls would find themselves at the same bar in quite a similar situation.

James nodded.  “That’s one word for it,” he said with a hollow chuckle.  “I heard 38’s sector got messy, too.”

“Didn’t get as much Vaadwaur activity as the other sectors, but we had our own problems,” Michael admitted. “Y’all get hit pretty hard out there?”

James nodded.  “Not as hard as some worlds, but…”  He trailed off.  “Were you shipboard, or on 38?”  He asked, trying to deflect as he risked getting caught in a memory.

“I was the XO of my ship,” Michael confirmed, finishing his drink and setting it on the bar behind him.

The bartender had come by again, this time leaving behind a small tray of 6 shots of whiskey. Michael had placed the order telepathically while they were talking.

“Tell ya what. Seems we’re both here under roughly the same conditions…” he began, taking out two shots and setting one down for James. “…so I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. Think the shrinks call it ‘getting it off your chest’ or something. Won’t change what happened, but at least it won’t be bouncing around in our heads as much, keeping us from enjoying this properly.” He waved his drink around in their environment.

James knocked back the last of his Old Fashioned, then picked up a shot.  “Sounds like a plan.”

“Let’s up the stakes, officer who has it worse, drinks free the rest of the night!” Michael teased, raising his shot glass to James.

James raises his as well.  “You’ve got a bet!”

“Alright then, let’s see.” Michael straitened himself up in his chair,

“I was the executive officer of the USS Nakatomi, and I was in command when our vessel was ambushed by Lethean Pirates in the Ionite Nebula. 478 dead, and the ship was inevitably destroyed.”

He raised his glass in a toast and slammed back the shot of alcohol.

James nodded.  “To the Nakatomi; long may her memory endure,” he said, and raised his glass before he slammed back his shot.

He put the glass down, then picked up a second, raising it.  “I led a Starfleet Security force on Norfan III, responsible for training local civilian security forces in Starfleet-standard tactics to prepare them for possible pirate raids.  The Vaadwaur caught us with our proverbial pants down.  I had a team of a half-dozen – mostly new to security – in the field when it happened; the rest of my contingent, around 50 Starfleet, plus 130 civilian security and several dozen staff, was back at HQ.  A few minutes later, there was no HQ; we were the only ones to make it out.”

“Sorry for your loss,” Michael began, raising yet another shot, “To all those lost, but never forgotten.” He downed the small drink, pausing as the burn started hitting his esophagus. He groaned for a moment, but was able to keep it down. “Yeah, during that pirate fight we had, it was assumed the captain was killed in the initial attack, so I had to take command. Acting-Captain for all of 20 minutes. Turns out he wasn’t dead, and was pissed about me taking the reins away from him. When we were rescued, he had me thrown in the brig and tried to charge me with mutiny. Demoted me on the spot to Lieutenant Commander…still fighting it all on appeals.” he reached back and grabbed another shot to prepare.

James took his shot as well, definitely feeling the drinks now.  “That’s garbage, and your captain should know that,” he said with a shake of his head.  “To your victory in your appeal!” He said, picking up a new shot and raising it.

James took a moment before continuing.  “So my team and I were ordered back to the spaceport, to help hold it so the evac shuttles could escape.  On our way, we came across a hospital; turns out, it hadn’t been completely evacuated, and there were a couple of hundred people still inside.  My orders were clear: get back to the spaceport immediately, no side trips.  The Vaadwaur were already swarming the hospital, too, but I couldn’t just leave it.  So, I took my team in anyway.  Let’s just say, things got close in there-“ he motioned to his scar, seeming to steel himself.  “We couldn’t hold on; only me, one of my team, and four people from the hospital made it out in the end.  The brass was mad: I defied orders, risking thousands of lives and losing most of my team, and only got 4 people out, and they felt that wasn’t worth it.  I’m told I nearly added a few more charges at that point – I don’t know, that part’s fuzzy – but I guess a counselor convinced them to go easy on me, given what had happened; I only got a severe reprimand and mandatory counseling.  I guess they felt that that, plus the memories, was enough.”  By the time he finished speaking, his eyes had grown distant again, likely reliving the hospital in his head.

Michael could feel the guilt and regret from the officer next to him. It mirrored his own when he doubted himself in how he fared trying to do the right thing. He was no counselor, but he knew some depression was just too hard to pull out of, and if they kept it up, one or both of them were going to crash hard.

Michael gave a sage nod. “Sometimes it’s on officers to do what is necessary in the moment, Starfleet doesn’t need ‘Yes Men’, they need men willing to do what it takes. We never willingly leave our men and women behind, so you did the right thing, even if it didn’t turn out so well,” he tried to cheer James up.

“Unfortunately, you’re still going to end up with this tab, because when my ship was destroyed, I didn’t have time to collect my belongings. All personal effects lost, including…” he paused for dramatic effect, taking yet another shot in his hand and leaning in close to whisper “…a limited release, Original Hikaru Sulu ‘Excelsior’ Tea cup set.” He finished with exaggeration.

It was a lie, obviously, but he hoped that the sheer obnoxiousness of it all would be enough to stagger the man out of his mind. “My loss is immeasurable. You couldn’t possibly compete with that.” He continued to embellish, taking his last shot with his pinky finger extended, trying not to laugh.

James chuckled; he had caught the joke for what it was and decided to lean into it.  “You were able to get the Sulu set?!  Nice!  I tried, but the places I looked kept being sold out.”  He thought for a moment, clearly coming up with a quick fib.  “I don’t know, though, I may have you beat…. See, the worst part of it all is as that my dog gave me the silent treatment for about a week after I got back.  Wouldn’t let me pet her or anything.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was how quickly James jumped back at him that caught him off guard, but Michael had to stifle a snort at the officer’s retort. Scrambling to maintain a straight face, he looked at James with all seriousness,

“A dog?! Wow, you must come from a place of privilege! They don’t allow dogs on a starship, not since Archer’s beagle relieved itself on the bridge of the Enterprise!” He couldn’t help but break out in laughter at his own words.

A playfully wicked grin crossed James’s face.  “Perk of being a security officer; who said they knew?”  He laughed.

The two continued for at least another hour, sharing service anecdotes and coarse humor that only seemed appropriate to veterans haunted by their past. Their drinks and laughter carried on, and for the moment, neither were weighed down by their troubles.