Chapter Text
It had been a long, trying day, and Beckett Mariner was on her way to unwind in the Cerritos’s holodeck. A half-hour or so in the naked-Olympian gymnasium would do nicely. As her mind prematurely wandered to which machine—or, more precisely, which man on said machine—she would settle her eyes on first, she didn’t notice as an anxious Boimler quickly turned the corner and knocked his chin into her forehead. The two stumbled away from one another, each bringing a hand to their face, Mariner using hers to tenderly rub her forehead, Boimler using his to cover his mouth.
“Hey, watch it, man!” Mariner shot him a dirty look as she moved to side-step past him, but was caught off-guard by his still covering his mouth and avoiding her eyes. Her frown became less angry and more uncomfortable. “Dude, are you okay?”
Boimler pulled his hand down a fraction, met her eyes, looked away, then met them again. “I’m-... I’m… yeah. Yeah! I’m fine. Sorry about… that.” He tucked his now-idle hand into his elbow in the most awkward crossing-of-the-arms Mariner had ever seen. Then he gave her a wobbly smile that screamed, “I am five more seconds of eye-contact away from throwing myself out the airlock.”
What the hell was up with him? The deep-seated need to meddle within Mariner’s spirit was tempted to press him on it, but for some reason, she decided to go easy on him. Maybe Boimler had had a long day, too.
“Whatever, dude,” she said, before shrugging and walking on past him, turning the corner towards the holodeck.
Oh. She was already there. Was Boimler just coming out of the holodeck? Whatever had him acting so strange must have happened in there. The two had bumped into each other (although maybe not quite so violently) in the past, and it never seemed to shake Boimler as much as just now.
Mariner let herself in, and at once she was surrounded by the darkness and echoing silence of the expansive deck. Out of habit, she called out for the computer to load up the gym. Yet, she still felt the silence, even through the grinding of machines and labored grunts of bodybuilders. Her mind quickly drifted away from the bodies of sweaty, muscular men and toward the memory of one particularly scrawny, nerdy ensign.
The way he had avoided her gaze stuck to her like so much gum on her shoe, if that gum tasted like anxiety and burned through the leather of her shoes until it was digging underneath her skin and making its home in her very flesh. Maybe it wasn’t quite like gum. Nonetheless, it was bothering her relentlessly.
Ensign Beckett Mariner had been known to various members, allies, and enemies of Starfleet as many things: a real bro, a drinking buddy, a no-good slacker, a worthy combatant, and a cheat, among other things. But never in her eleven years since she first began training at Starfleet Academy had she been known to mind her own business. This was to be no exception.
“Computer, load whatever Boimler was just looking at.”
Mariner looked around, waiting for the holodeck to shift around her, but after a few moments of nothing, there was an unpleasant buzz, and the system spoke.
“ Unauthorized parties may not view protected programs. ”
Protected programs? Mariner knew Boimler was a weird dude, but seriously, who locked their simulations? Whatever Boimler was doing in here was more than just upsetting to him, it was personal . Maybe she should just let this one slide.
She cleared her throat and lowered her voice, preparing to channel her best impression of her mother. Surely Captain Freeman would be authorized to see the simulations. “Computer, I demand access to Ensign Boimler’s programs.”
Obviously she wasn’t about to let this slide. Are you kidding? It’s obvious that if her best sidekick is upset, she should investigate. Yeah, that’s why. Her motives were pure, even if her methods were a bit suspect.
Her voice was a little shaky, not her best performance. She was a bit out of practice, as she hadn’t really had to impersonate her mother since she was living at home, trying to get into the family computer when she’d been grounded.
Mariner winced in anticipation of another loud buzz, but none came. Instead, the loading chime of the computer sounded.
“ Welcome, Captain Freeman. Now loading Boimler Confidential 14. ”
“Yes!” Mariner grinned and pumped her fist as the deck began to fade. She was bouncing on her feet in anticipation of seeing what had Boimler all wound up, but slowed to a stop when she found herself in… the warp core?
“What’s Boimler doing in here?” she muttered to herself as she looked left and right. The whole place was a mess, isolinear cores falling out of slots and red error lights flashing on most of the panels. She knelt down and picked up a stray chip that she’d nearly stepped on.
“Why the hell would Boimler want to spend his free time just doing his job again? This isn’t a dirty little secret, this is a chore . Everybody already knows that weirdo loves it here.” Mariner muttered at the chip in her hand, furrowing her brow at the lost opportunity to snoop.
“Oh great, you found it! Give it here, I found the compartment it goes in.”
Mariner nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her own voice, dropping the chip and whipping around to find another Beckett Mariner standing in front of her.
Okay, a new snooping opportunity has presented itself.
“You okay, bud? Didn’t mean to scare you,” Holo-Mariner said as she moved forward to lay a steadying hand on Real-Mariner’s tricep. Holographic eyes searched her own, and Mariner couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d found something. It wasn’t the first time Mariner had seen herself simulated, but this particular one felt different. It felt intimate . Intimate, and extremely un-Mariner.
After a few moments of stunned silence from Mariner, Holo-Mariner frowned and released her grip, sliding her hand down Mariner’s arm to hold her hand. “Hey, is everything okay?” The sudden, gentle squeeze of her hand was enough to finally snap Mariner out of her stupor, and she yanked herself away.
“I’m fine ,” she snapped. Crossing her arms, she looked Holo-Mariner up and down. “Just wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Seriously. She knew Boimler liked busywork, but why would he make a simulation where he was doing work with Mariner? Mariner was constantly complaining about working in the warp core, and God knew they already worked together plenty. Why simulate it?
“Hey, you heard the captain. I was assigned to warp core duty just like you were.” Holo-Mariner turned away from her and resumed her task of opening up panels and replacing faulty cores. “But to be honest, I’m glad we’re on duty together. It’s nice to know someone who knows the core inside-out is here for when I mess something up.”
Mariner did a double-take. Did she just say it was nice that Boimler was a know-it-all? Geez, this simulation really wasn’t anything like her at all.
“Uh, sorry if you didn’t get the memo, but Boimler’s explanations of his ‘technological know-how’ are like as getting a hefty dose of Tetrovaline. The only thing nice about it is how quickly it’ll put you to sleep.”
Holo-Mariner laughed at this, and gave her a sweet smile from over her shoulder. “Don’t say that! You know I could listen to you talk for hours.”
Oh, excellent, she thought Mariner was Boimler. Since he was keeping these programs under lock and passkey, it was no surprise that he hadn’t extended the program to identify the user. The only one talking with Holo-Mariner should have been Boimler himself.
Mariner pursed her lips and thought hard. How much did Boimler know about her?
Well, she figured, if the computer already thinks she’s Boimler, she may as well see how accurate Brad had gotten her.
“Y’know, I’d actually love to hear your thoughts on a couple things, Mariner. Can I ask you a couple questions?”
Holo-Mariner raised an eyebrow at her, then gave her a once-over and smirked. “Shoot.”
Mariner furrowed her brow and stared into the carpeted floor, looking for a question. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Red. You know that. Everybody knows that. It’s why I joined Command.”
Mariner snorted at her own tall tale. To his credit, Boimler didn’t take all her bullshit at face value, but he did believe a lot of it.
“Favorite ice cream flavor?”
“Neapolitan,” Holo-Mariner answered without skipping a beat.
Mariner felt sick just thinking about Neapolitan ice cream. “Umm, try again.”
“I think I know what my favorite ice cream flavor is, Bradward.”
“No, your favorite is spumoni, but nobody ever knows what that is, so whenever you explain it to people, you say it’s got three kinds of ice cream in it, and people think you’re talking about Neapolitan, but it’s a different thing, and it frustrates the hell out of you!”
Holo-Mariner seemed to freeze up for a moment, registering this new data , Mariner figured. Her expression fell to nothing, then came back as a surprised smirk. “Sometimes I forget how well you know me, Boimler.”
Mariner rolled her eyes. “Yeah, real well, clearly.” She crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. “What about me? What’s my favorite ice cream flavor?” Obviously Holo-Mariner didn’t know herself very well, but did Holo-Mariner know more about Brad than real-Mariner did?
“You really want to turn this into a competition? Well, you always say you prefer sorbet because you think it’s better for you, but I’ve seen you ask the replicator for birthday cake soft serve.” The disconnect between Holo-Mariner’s knowing gaze and information she absolutely didn’t know unsettled Mariner. It checked out, Boimler being the flawed goody-two shoes he was, but clearly Boimler had told Holo-Mariner some things he hadn’t told the real Mariner.
Well, since this Mariner-shaped diary had already been opened….
“What’s my middle name?”
“Is this the Newlywed’s Game? Your middle name was supposed to be Edward, but your mom’s pain medication was still wearing off when she filled out the form at the hospital, and she smushed together your first and middle names. Instead of Bradley Edward, they ended up with Bradward.” Holo-Mariner kept an amazingly straight face while she recounted the story. Figures , Mariner thought. Why would Boimler program this Mariner to laugh at his tragic backstory?
This simulation clearly wasn’t what Boimler saw when he looked at Mariner. The Mariner he knew would’ve been busting up at his name-fail (and she absolutely was ), not avoiding eye contact like she was afraid she’d crossed some boundary. This was the Mariner Boimler wished he knew. A Mariner who was polite and caring, who always took him seriously and didn’t make fun of him for loving the warp core more than he loved kissing ass.
Christ, did the computer say he had fourteen of these programs?
“Wow, that’s the first time you’ve ever laughed at that story.” Holo-Mariner genuinely looked surprised. “Are you feeling alright, Brad?”
Now that she’d mentioned it, Mariner wasn’t feeling very well. Her unease grew as she felt the hologram’s hyper-realistic affection for Boimler permeate the room. She knew Boimler had a neurotic need for his fellow Starfleet officers to like him, but Mariner never really counted herself among that list. She hadn’t ever thought that he might want her approval too. She was just a slack-off ensign, and sure, she was super cool and impressive, but with all the shit she got from him, she’d assumed Boimler didn’t look up to her at all.
Shit, this whole program was way too much of a mind-fuck.
“Computer, end simulation.”
Standing in the middle of the now dark Holodeck, Mariner ruminated. Still waters really do run deep. Who would have thought that little Boims was thinking about her so much?
There was definitely something strange going on with these programs, she could just feel it. The problem was, how deep did this go? She wanted to investigate, but she felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of diving into what was essentially Boimler’s weird little therapy sessions to do so.
Maybe heading to the bar and grabbing a drink (or three) was a better way to unwind….