Lavender sighed and stared at the ceiling. Then at the walls. Then at her bedside shelf. Then at the ceiling. As a Doctor, she new that what she should be doing right now was sleeping. She had been through it in the Jem’hadar prison, but tired, exhausted even as she was, she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t even be alone in her quarters. Every time she closed her eyes, images of her incarceration flashed in her mind, of her beatings, being thrown in solitary, other prisoners being struck, tortured and murdered. She swept out of bed and to the mirror. A familiar face met her.

She had barely recognized herself upon coming back from her ordeal, the bruises, missing teeth, unkempt hair, but that was all righted now. She pushed the images of her post-prison appearance from her mind and spent a few minutes on a full face of makeup. It was a soothing routine to blend the smoky eyes, to pop her lip rings from one side to the other so she could apply her favourite black lipstick. It was a comfort blanket, it made her feel like herself. She pressed false eyelashes on with a precision of many years’ practice. Hair brushed and sprayed and her nightie swapped for a fresh teal uniform she headed out for the one place she knew people would be around, but not necessarily in close proximity. The Mile High Club.

A low hubbub met her as the doors swooshed open and brought immediate relief, relief augmented by Grappas she ordered from the barman and took to a corner of the club along with a PADD. There she placed herself on a comfy seat, feet up on the table, took a pull of liquor and put her head down into her PADD so her long black and purple hair fell down to obscure most of her face.

On deck three, Arin arched her back, stretching from the prolonged time she’d needed to finish the post-mission log, the post-flight check-up on the runabout she’d flown, and, of course, the first order of business had been the debriefing.While she wasn’t physically tired, the flesh orb between her ears felt melted. Tired enough that when she got into the turbolift, she’d forgotten to stop by her quarters for some of her stashed whiskey.

Still in uniform, Arin heads behind the bar. “Stay out of my way Lyle. Not the day to try worthless synthehol whiskey trial two hundred forty-seven.” She said, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. “I want a real drink. Nothing finessed by circuitry and EPS conduits.”Spotting a bottle of light amber Lyle had just put back, she pulled it out.

“Stop hiding the good stuff.” She didn’t remember ever having Grappa, but she had heard of it. Opening the bottle, she sniffed tentatively. First, Arin poured a few fingers into a brandy snifter, then swirled around the liquid, finally sampling it. Her brow wrinkled a bit, then relaxed. “Get me a large pot of coffee and make it light roast, please, Luv.” She took the bottle with her. Now, looking around the room, her eyes locked on a new face. No, it wasn’t new. Her brow furrowed again as Arin approached the woman. As she got closer, the realization dawned on her. “Miss Haigh. Far nicer than the last time I saw you. How are you feeling?”

Lavender’s eyes (or the one that was visible from behind her hair) flicked up to the Orion, but otherwise, she didn’t move.

“Lavender. Or ma’am. Or don’t bother,” she said slightly severely and necked the shot that was resting on the seat next to her and placed the glass on the table. It was then her gaze fell on the bottle of Grappa. Maybe the Orion wasn’t so bad if that’s what she drank. And she was Orion, probably not stuffy either. “Doctor is just about acceptable, never call me Sir and ”Lav” gets you a night on a hypospray cocktail chosen by one of the ship’s children, if we have any,” she continued, looking around the Club as if to search for one. “Take a seat,” she offered, removing her feet from the table and sitting up straighter, “and tell me if you’re supposed to drink this out of one of those fancy glasses, because I’m a Tarkalean Sheep-herder if I know…”

Slipping into the chair, put down her drink and refilled her table partner’s shot. “The glass is relevant but damned if I know. It smelled like it had some legs as it were. I took a shot. A bit sweet for my tastes, but I bet this makes an Italian coffee? She put her nose into the snifter. ”It has some interesting notes. Usually, for me, it’s single malt Irish whiskey.” Arin slugged half of the two fingers, much like the shot Lavender had taken. She inhaled after swallowing. “Oi…that has a bite. Sour plums, or even rhubarb, but a honey finish.”Lyle came over with a large carafe of coffee and two mugs. Pouring Arin’s coffee as she liked it, Arin took a sip, with the aftertaste of the grappa still in her mouth. Her face twisted in curious expression as she added. “I bet you could rim a  margarita glass with a mix of espresso and milk powders.” “Sadly, Lavender is too long. Ender isn’t a good doctor’s nickname, Doc. Need something else. Middle name?”

Lavender’s expression remained as cool as the surface of Andoria, save her eyes that narrowed slightly.

“I’m sorry my name doesn’t meet with your preferences, Lieutenant,” she returned, “three syllables too many for a pilot?” She wasn’t ready to discuss the subject of middle names and not having one with a new person. And she certainly didn’t like nicknames. Still, she appreciated the brass of her drinking companion apparent. Lavender found weakness of character very off-putting. As a symbol of her acceptance she downed the refill Arin had provided her.

“This is the closest thing I can find to the rubbish we brewed ourselves when I was young,” she explained casually, regarding the now-empty shot glass in her hand. “I’ll leave the interesting notes, single malt and honey finish to the experts.” Her eyes darted from the glass back to the Orion and the glass ended back on the table again. Lavender’s lip-rings danced as she manipulated them with her tongue. It was a nervous habit. Perhaps if she changed the subject the nickname concept would be forgotten.

“Expertise acquired in Ireland, I suppose?” She asked. Arin smiled, “It’s too many syllables at the moment, yes. Grew up there for a while, so when you have to say Muckanaghederdauhaulia, which is some weird marsh. It can be a bit much.” She tipped another shot into Lavender’s glass, refilled her own, and then raised it in a toast. “To Lavender, the fact that you are still giving back crap bodes well for your psyche. Besides, do you know how much I got teased being a little green person in Ireland?!” Downing her own double shot, Arin shuddered as it hit her. “That’s more like it.” Picking up her coffee, she sipped it. As the bittersweet coffee hit her lips, she could feel her shoulders relaxed. “Thank God for coffee and dopamine. I don’t say this often, and I am NOT hitting on you, to be crystal clear. You are one of the few women that could give me a run for my money.” Arin smiled genuinely.

Lavender laughed at the mention of little green people in Ireland. It was nice to laugh again. She thought perhaps it was the first time since her release. Jones had the Irish charm, that was for sure. She joined in the toast a little reluctantly but decided to go with it anyway and drop another shot without any apparent physical reaction, as if it were water. She shrugged.

“Giving back crap is my default Jones. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she explained, brought rather more at ease by the shenanigans of the woman opposite. “I doubt I could match you drink for drink. Being a boring medical professional for just a moment, body mass does come into it.” She paused a moment and then continued in tones laden down with sarcasm. “And no, I’m not calling you fat, I’m just really committed to this bony high goth aesthetic.”

Arin looked over and stopped for a second. She smirked. “No Luv. You misunderstood me. Few people can drink me under the table. I meant your smoldering eyes and sharp angular features.” She said, winking. It was good to see Lavender at least outwardly relaxing. “Lyle. The Madeira bottle, please.” Arin asked as the server walked by.  Returning with a green-topped bottle, Arin opened the bottle and poured each of them three fat fingers of the whiskey. She noticed Lyle hanging around. Looking up, she said, “Fine,” as a third glass appeared. She poured him a one and a bit extra. “Remember what I said. I find out more than five milliliters goes into that computer, I’ll skin you.”“That grappa isn’t going to last too long at this rate, so think of this as reinforcements. It’s different but hopefully enjoyable.” Arin took a large sip from the glass.  OOC: I’m not a single malt guy, but Tyrconnell, I can drink straight. I found that impressive.

The compliment was met with the raising of one very thin and shapely black eyebrow. Arin sure had a lot of confidence, Lavender had to give her that, but she was also part-Orion female and the two generally came hand in hand as far as the Doctor could make out.

“It’s a lot less rock and roll under all this paint let me tell you,” she commented. I think there’s a human under there but she’s not been seen in a while…” She picked up the new glass and knocked it back with a grimace.

“Ugh, spicy.” She commented after a moment. Lavender’s looks were often polarising, it was a love-hate thing. Some had labelled her unprofessional because she didn’t adhere to the common warm earthy tones most used in makeup, red lipstick, brown eyeshadow and the like that had been the norm of the 2360s. Most of those people thought all Doctors came from privileged backgrounds. Still, she did at least eschew the black lipstick for duty shifts, as much to not scare her patients as anything else. Now she was a Lieutenant Commander of course her critics could eat it. A conventional Doctor she was not. She didn’t even like the term Doctor, even though she had earned it fair and square. The unconventional Doctor regarded her drinking companion with the same placid coolness as before. 

“You drink this shit for fun?” She asked, looking at the empty Whisky glass and back to Arin with the smallest of smirks. It was a kindly ribbing. Doubling down, she countered with, “No, I sip it to enjoy it,” the green woman offered with a sly smirk. “Though I can find some grape juice and torpedo coolant to mix since you like to be edgy.” 

Arin drained her own glass, then refilled both of them. ”Please don’t feel obligated to drink my whiskey. Just leave it. I’ll make sure it doesn’t go to waste. However, you might be one of those militant socialist types. Someone who uses ice or saints preserve us, water.” Years of practice around her sarcastic family allowed her to say that with a nearly straight face. 

Lavender laughed so loudly at Arin’s Torpedo coolant comment some of the other patrons in the Mile High Club turned to look at them. 

“You’re alright Jones, you know that?” She replied animatedly, her black lips pulled into a permanent smile. “Why bother with drinking it at all?” She continued with a smirk and a wide theatrical shrug. “I’ll just grab a hypospray from sickbay and we’ll shoot up, have ourselves a real good time. I’m not wasting liquor though, where I grew up that would get you some shit let me tell you. Water though… is actually a good call. Not in the liquor but in us. You‘ll probably be fine with your Irishness but I’ll be on the floor before long if I’m not careful. And that’s not a great look for the new C.M.O., even if she does have ‘smoldering eyes and sharp angular features’, no good to anyone if those features are face down in the carpet.” 

Lavender signalled Lyle and waved him over to order some water.  While Arin could put her fair share of alcohol, this was a full handful and change of shots in a short time. She asked Lyle to add steak fries with dipping sauce and nachos for the table, it might be a good idea to get some food into both of them. “Lavender, so what is a good time that doesn’t involve being bollocksed or medical shenanigans? Dancing, atmospheric flying, and not bad in a real kitchen. My dad would have me grounded for not being able to cook. Self-sufficiency was taught and adhered to.”

“A good time…” Lavender rubbed her finger-tips together idly as she mulled over the question. “Believe it or not the Skeleton does like to eat. When I first got to Earth as a grubby wide-eyed child I wanted to try every cuisine in the Federation. Heh, probably in the Galaxy. Still do. I’ll eat anything, drink anything. Don’t get a lot of free time though, from what I’ve seen there’s two ways to be a not-shit M.O. in Starfleet, be a crazy-brain prodigy or just commit hard. Keep up the reading, keep up the research, know everything you can. You never know when someone’s life will depend on it. Medical journals with a scented candle and a cosy blanket? That’s a Rock and Roll evening, Jones, let me tell you.” The sarcasm could be ladled on like gravy.

Lavender took a small drink of the Whisky. “You get asked out on a million dates, right? Say they’re not a creep and you dig, what do you cook them?” She asked.

“For me, mood plays into it. That book and candle, warm fire. Big bowl of colcannon with extra butter. Hard to go wrong with bacon, taters, butter, and cabbage.  A snuggle night.” She paused, and that smirk was back. “Now, if things actually progress in a somewhat more heated manner. Rare but it happens. Tacos, nachos. I finally managed to teach that miserable pile of wall-circuits to whip up a decent cilantro cream sauce. Romance…steak, lobster, cheesecake…otherwise, what’s the point of not going over the top then? I can’t indulge. I bloody well think not..”

“And no, not a million. Bugger off, it’s been a while.” Arin smiled at Lavender. When I was sixteen and started developing, I had a good friend. He grew roses. On Valentine’s Day one year, the young man brought in a rose for every girl in his classes. I just happened to be in his first class. I was sixteen then, and when I told him it was the first flower anyone had ever given me, he was stunned. We talked later, straight up told me because my beauty was intimidating. I started to open up and take things less nervously. 

Lavender’s interest was physically piqued by the mention of colcannon. 

“My turn to be not hitting on you Jones, but I’d like a plate of that Colcannon one day or other, I don’t think I’ve ever had that one , whatever it is. But yeah I get it. Dumb racial stereotypes aside you could be intimidating, especially to the grew-up-in-the-fleet types. I probably brushed by more Orions when I was a kid than they’ve ever seen. No big. I just hope you don’t get any shit for it and the Federation ideology actually works, but I doubt it, somehow.” This statement was laden with a healthy dose of cynicism, but she tempered slightly as the food arrived and she helped herself to a couple of steak fries, popping them in her mouth expertly so as to avoid the black lipstick.

Arin laughed. “People suck. I try not to waste the energy, but sometimes, it just pays to vent.” Then, took a moment to dip a few steak fries into the slightly sweet-hot cocktail sauce.”I’m ready for whatever you want to do. Howl at the moon, start an epic bar fight, or a bowl of comfort food and a thick wool blanket on the overstuffed couch. Remember, not only am I Irish and far too comfortable in the role of conspirator but pirates run on both sides of my familial tree.”

“Good to know Jones, good to know. If I want to start anything you’ll be the first recruit,” Lavender commented coolly. “But given all of this responsibility and adult Commander shit going on, a minor disagreement is about as much fun as I’m gonna get,” she added wryly, and took a couple more fries.

Arin stood up and took off her uniform jacket, leaving the tight-fitting t-shirt underneath. The combination of grappa, whiskey, and food all raised her core temperature. Now that she had at least a few things in her stomach, Arin poured herself another two fingers of whiskey. “Haigh,” Arin said, mimicking how Lavender had said her last name. “Comfort and fun can come in many forms.” 

Lavender watched the Orion with more interest than she might have expected of herself. Jones was kinda hot, Lavender surprised herself by thinking. The same black eyebrow was raised again at the mention of her surname. “Alright, fine. What do you prefer to be called, Jones?” Lavender asked lazily, in between chews

.Arin noticed the woman’s black lips. “Ask me that in the morning. Preferably over a big bowl of colcannon with extra butter.” Her inhibitions dampened at this point, Arin wanted to comfort the woman. This wasn’t her at all but, the action just felt right. Also, of course, she admitted to herself that she thought Lavender was hot. Leaning forward, she planted a tender but firm kiss on Lavender’s mouth, taking a nibble at the lower lip. Lavender tensed up at first. She hadn’t been expecting it, but never one to back down, she returned the kiss for a few moments until they parted again.

Lavender regarded the Orion with narrowed eyes. “Black lipstick suits you, Jones.” She quipped, her face somewhat unreadable. Was she mad or wasn’t she? The accusatory look lingered for a moment until Lavender spoke again.“So, your place or mine?”