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There were only two people on Deep Space 6 that Ashton considered his friends: Milo Krook and Laudna Briar. When he needed someone (mostly) sane and (fairly) grounding, he went to Milo. When he needed someone whose marbles had disappeared into a wormhole several years prior, he went to Laudna. And in this case, when it came to Ashari Orym, Ashton really wasn't interested in the sane approach, or getting hit with an 'I told you so' from Milo. Laudna was the only option—they could punch a few things on the holodeck, and then maybe Ashton would talk about his feelings or something. He knew Laudna would figure out what was bothering him eventually, and he did want to yell at another person about his problems, so he might as well kill two birds with one stone.
Laudna wouldn't spread it around, either, and she certainly wouldn't tell Orym. Ashton honestly wondered if Orym would even hold a conversation with Laudna before the third month or so—that was one of the reasons Ashton enjoyed her company so much: she was fucking creepy.
Ashton didn't know the whole story, but they did know that she was a Trill, and that something had gone wrong when the symbiont had joined with its current host. Because of it, she always looked gaunt and pale, with her skin pulled tight over her bones and dark bags beneath her eyes, but she was perfectly healthy. Imogen had reported multiple times that she'd run every test imaginable on her and found that she was fine for an adult female of her species; her ongoing theory was that the difficult joining had had some psychological impact that had affected her physiology. Whatever it was, Laudna didn't seem to suffer any ill effects, so nobody had ever tried to correct the joining and risk making it worse.
Nobody really cared that much, either. Once people got used to her, they adjusted to the way she was just as they adjusted to any other stranger. Ashton bet most of the people passing through Deep Space 6 had never even seen another Trill before, and they assumed that she was just the norm for her species. He kind of envied that; every space-faring society in the Alpha Quadrant knew of the Orions and how to identify one because of the Syndicate. Even though the number of Orion pirates had now decreased to almost zero, that didn't stop people's preexisting ideas about his species from helping them to look right past his yellow Starfleet uniform and golden pips on his collar to treat him like dirt.
But that was just how Ashton's life was, and there was nothing they could do about it.
Laudna occupied modest quarters in the civilian habitation area of the station. Though, once Ashton thought about it for a moment, all the quarters on the station were modest, even the commanding officer's. Unless someone needed a special accommodation, every room was exactly the same, to start with. But, just like Ashton's quarters, over the last year or so that she'd been living on Deep Space 6, it had become unrecognizable. Ashton loved it.
It took a few moments after Ashton buzzed for the door to open, revealing a haphazardly-dressed Laudna. It was the middle of the afternoon, by station time, but she looked like she'd just woken up—though, Ashton wasn't judging, just making an observation. "Hey, Laudna," they greeted, with a curt nod. "I was wondering if you wanted to keep me company while I punched people on the holodeck."
"Is this about losing your position?" Laudna asked, pointedly, pulling up one sleeve so that it seemed to be on more or less correctly. "I thought you hated being security head."
"I did," Ashton replied, and as they recalled Milo asking the exact same thing, they frowned slightly at how easily their friends seemed to read them. "But that doesn't mean I wanted some greenie coming in and swiping it out from under me. I've already been demoted enough—" And a frustratingly attractive greenie, at that; the dream they'd had last night had been... interesting. They took a breath. "Look. Punching people, yes or no?"
A grin rose to Laudna's face. "You know I'd never say no to watching you beat the shit out of some holograms, Ashy." She paused to let out a delighted and unsettlingly high-pitched giggle. "I'm even in the mood to practice some of my own one-twos today!" she said, and mimed punching the air. "If you don't mind me joining in, that is."
Ashton shrugged. "I won't stop you. The more, the merrier." He shuffled to the side slightly, getting a glance at the mess inside Laudna's quarters. "Were you... in the middle of something, or..."
"Oh, no," Laudna insisted, and her grin suddenly seemed a little bit more forced. "Nothing, really. Just, er... Trill things, you know how it is. Just let me put my hair up, and I'll be right with you." She laughed again, and it was definitely fake, but Ashton didn't push. "One moment!" And she closed the door again.
Ashton pressed his back against the wall and slid down, coming to sit on the floor. He knew Laudna wouldn't be more than a few minutes, but he still got tired when he stood in the same place for too long. He'd been getting hyposprays for his condition, and they helped a lot, but sometimes they weren't enough and he didn't want to run to Imogen every single time he felt a little more tired than normal. She didn't need that, and he could work through it most of the time. Before joining Starfleet, he'd never gotten treatment, after all.
Imogen had also told them that they needed to stop thinking that way about their health. And Ashton tried, but it was usually just more convenient to go on with their day than take a detour to sickbay to be treated.
When Laudna emerged from her room, her hair was tied up in a bun and she was wearing a dark jumpsuit more suited for working out on the holodeck. "I figured I should get changed," she supplied, with a nervous giggle. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long?"
"Nah," Ashton replied, shrugging. They lifted a hand towards her. "Help me up?"
Laudna's hand was cold and bony, as if there was no skin on top of her skeleton at all. However, she pulled Ashton to his feet with barely a groan, and he muttered a 'thanks'.
"I booked Holodeck 3," Ashton informed her, as they started along the corridor. "Fearne knew exactly what I was looking for, she practically had it in the computer before I opened my mouth."
"She's very good at that, isn't she?" replied Laudna. "I always wonder what it must be like, to have talents like hers. Or Imogen's, for that matter."
Ashton shrugged. "Annoying, probably? Imogen has constant migraines, doesn't she?"
"Oh, yes, I forgot about that part," Laudna admitted, wringing her spindly hands together. "I have enough headaches already, so absolutely, no thank you. Even if it would be fun to peek into other people's minds."
"You're lucky," Ashton pointed out. "You're immune to mind-reading and all that stuff. I don't like having someone be able to know what I'm thinking all the time—hell, if Imogen was just a little less nice, she could've got me kicked out of Starfleet ages ago for just thinking some of the things I think. And I don't think that's fair."
"As you said, she hasn't done that," Laudna replied, with a slight air of defensiveness. "Besides, I doubt it would really hold up against Starfleet. Thinking something bad isn't the same as actually acting on it, or even saying it out loud. Everyone thinks things that they don't mean—even Vulcans, I'm sure."
Ashton snorted a laugh. "With my track record, I think Starfleet would take any excuse they could get to send me packing." Then he pitched a sigh. "But, you're right, and besides, it's just who Imogen is. I'm sure if I'd grown up on Betazed it wouldn't be strange to me at all. It's not her fault most other species aren't telepathic and get a little freaked out by the idea."
"Exactly." Laudna gave a small nod. "And... really, Ashton, I'm not lucky. Trills aren't just one of those immune species, such as Ferengi—it's a side effect of..." She hesitated, looking down at her hands. "Everything."
"Hey, look, you got brain damage and came out with a... maybe, kind-of useful side effect, I got brain damage and just got brain damage," Ashton said. "Take the plus where you can get it, I'd say."
"I suppose you're right," Laudna conceded. Sha paused, then added, "Though sometimes I wish Imogen could read my mind."
They'd reached the door to the holodeck; Ashton quickly selected the program they wanted, and the doors slid open with a hiss. "You really want someone poking around inside your fucked-up head?" they questioned, turning around to continue looking at Laudna as they stepped backwards into the holographic environment.
"No, I don't know, but it's just... difficult talking to her about... certain things," Laudna admitted, and the holodeck doors slid closed behind her. "I've known her for so long—years, now—but she's so used to being able to tell exactly how someone's feeling while speaking to them. Anything serious freaks her out when she can't pick out exactly what I mean." She let out a small sigh and sat down on a nearby holographic rock. "It's... complicated."
Ashton paused. "Yeah," he said, suddenly thinking about Orym. "Complicated. I get it." He knew how Laudna felt about Imogen, even if she couldn't tell her. Ashton hoped he'd never end up in a situation like hers—trailing vaguely after someone for multiple years, hoping they'd eventually figure out how he felt, and unable to say anything because he was the one person around that they couldn't fully understand. To be fair, if it had been Ashton, he would've told Imogen by this point, consequences be damned, but that was because he was Ashton, not Laudna.
"Aren't we here to punch people?" Laudna suddenly pointed out, stirring Ashton from their stupor. "If you just wanted to talk, we could've gone to your quarters." She raised an eyebrow.
"No, we are. I'm fine," Ashton insisted hastily. They glanced at the ceiling. "Computer, run combat simulation Greymoore-4, level one."
It was a Klingon fighting program that he'd taken and adjusted from another officer, and despite it being a hologram, the caves of Qo'noS always made Ashton feel at home. He didn't hate being in space—he'd been born on a starship, after all—but part of him always yearned to be contained beneath the earth than soaring high above it. It was... comfortable. Cosy, almost. When he was younger, the Klingons he grew up with had often teased him for his love of the underground, calling him a worm and other nastier things. Ashton had never let them get away with it.
The first holographic Klingon emerged from the darkness, and Ashton howled and punched it in the face. It reeled back, and Ashton quickly kicked a metal pipe from the ground into their hands and struck again, cracking it violently across the nose. This level came pre-equipped with blunt weapons, but nothing else, and Ashton loved it for getting their anger out. There was nothing like hearing a hologram's skull crack after beating it in with a rusty bat.
Ashton heard Laudna whoop at him as a second Klingon came up from behind, and he came around hard to beat it across the neck and then plant a heavy kick on its chest, sending it stumbling back into the cave wall. "I thought you wanted to fight!" he shouted at Laudna as he turned back to the first Klingon.
"I wanted to watch you get started first!" Laudna responded, and out of the corner of Ashton's eye, they saw her get up from where she'd been sitting and crack her knuckles, the sound from which resonated violently. Then she grabbed the aforementioned bat and effortlessly broke the second hologram's nose.
Trills had never been a species that Ashton had expected to have higher-than-average strength, and so it still always surprised him when Laudna seemed to pull superpowers from nowhere. Ashton had to admit that he was a little jealous—Laudna got super-strength and immunity to telepathy, and what did he have? Green skin and an affinity for rocks? Ashton couldn't have come up with anything worse if he'd tried.
More Klingons appeared as the ones they'd beaten disappeared, and Ashton and Laudna fell into a rhythm. Ashton thought it was a shame that Laudna had never wanted to join Starfleet—having her on their security team would have made their life so much more bearable. But this was good. Their friendship was good. Ashton had felt since they met that Laudna was one of the only people in the universe that really got them. She'd gone through shit as a kid, too, and while neither of them really talked about it much, there was an understanding there.
And Ashton had always been curious about what had happened to her, and they imagined that she felt the same about them, but neither of them pried. Ashton really wasn't the most familiar with Trill customs, either, so if Laudna tried to explain why she was the way she was, it probably would've probably involved a lengthy explanation of those, too, and Ashton wasn't sure if their brain had the capacity to handle that kind of thing these days. There was only so much Starfleet could do about their brain, now, so long after the initial injury, and Imogen tried her best to keep them in good condition, but retaining a whole lot of new information was not Ashton's strong suit, and likely never would be. Ashton could do their job, and that was good enough for them—at least it was something.
They called it quits after completing the first level of the program. Ashton asked the computer for somewhere comfortable to sit, then happily crashed into the provided couch, not caring about how it stood out awkwardly from the rocky backdrop. He patted the seat next to him, and Laudna joined him.
"Damn, I feel good after that," Ashton admitted, stretching their arms above their head and feeling their joints pop. "Exactly what I needed. Thanks for coming along, Lauds."
"M-hm." Laudna reclined on the couch and asked, "Was this really about losing your terrible job that you hated anyway?" Her eyes saw right through him; as he met them, he knew he couldn't lie. Laudna didn't need mind reading, really—her attitude was enough.
Ashton groaned and leaned over their knees, stretching out their back. "No," they admitted. "This was about the guy who stole it from me, specifically." When Laudna didn't seem to understand, Ashton continued, hesitantly, "I finally understand your whole thing about Imogen."
Laudna's eyes widened. "Oh. Oh." She gripped the back of the couch and leaned towards him. "You have feelings for your replacement? I thought you didn't... do feelings." She tilted her head, almost cat-like, as she inquired.
"Apparently I do," Ashton replied with a sigh, "and I'm fucking pissed about it, as you can see." He gestured around at the holodeck. "I want to knock his fucking lights out, but also, I dunno—what the hell do Bajorans do to say they're interested in each other?"
"No idea." Laudna shrugged. "What do Klingons do?"
"Traditionally, the men read love poetry," Ashton answered, "and the women..." They trailed off, a sudden realization coming upon them.
"The women?" Laudna prompted.
"The women," Ashton repeated, "roar, and claw, and throw shit." He put his head in his hands. "I stood in his office and threatened him yesterday," he breathed. "I was fucking flirting." Ashton growled under his breath.
Laudna placed a hand on Ashton's back, and it took an effort for them to not flinch away. "Well, good for you," she said. "I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to bang another officer that happens to be hot."
Ashton sunk further towards his knees. "I'm going to move to the Delta Quadrant," he mumbled into his hands.
"Why is this the end of the world, exactly?" Laudna asked, after a moment of watching Ashton silently. "If you don't want a relationship with him, then don't do anything. If you do, then do something. It's not that hard."
"I don't know what I want," Ashton grumbled, lifting his head to look at Laudna. "And that's rich from you, considering you've been dancing around telling Imogen for, what, three years?"
"That's different," Laudna insisted. "What's going on between us is... more complicated. We already talked about her telepathy today! And I have problems, too, you know!" She gestured vigorously at herself, then seemed to realize that that probably wasn't something to be proud of, and her hands fell slightly. "In any case, we have... reasons. You're... fine! Well, aside from the bits that... aren't fine, but you're more fine. You're a young, decently healthy, and attractive Orion, and he's an... I don't know, I haven't met him yet, but he lives up to your standards, which so far exactly nobody else has met, so that means he has to be pretty good."
"He's a young, decently healthy, and attractive Bajoran," Ashton muttered, "and I hate him."
"Do you?" questioned Laudna.
Ashton sighed. "No," they admitted. "That's why I'm pissed. Because I should hate this guy. He's a Bajoran—not sure how religious, but after the Occupation, most Bajorans are pretty dedicated to those Prophets of theirs, and you know I don't really jive with religion—and he was promoted twice just to take my job, and he's being cool about it, you know, like an asshole, and—" Ashton's combadge suddenly beeped. "Fuck."
"Commander Ashari to Lieutenant Greymoore," came the firm voice of Ashton's new superior, speak of the fucking devil.
Ashton looked at Laudna with an expression he knew was something like a Grishnar cat caught in a lamp's light. He tapped his combadge and answered as calmly as he could. "Greymoore here."
"Greymoore, I know you're off-duty tonight, so this is in no way an order," Orym started, and Ashton immediately readied a 'fuck you, no', "but since I'm just getting settled in and you're the most knowledgable about the current security staff, I was wondering if you'd get dinner with me at Fearne's tonight and we could go over the crew roster?"
"I'll... check my schedule," Ashton said hesitantly, knowing full well that they had no plans for the night and using the pause to look at Laudna, who was vigorously nodding and mouthing 'yes'. They flipped her off. "Oh, wow, look at that, yeah, I'm free," they continued, barely suppressing an eye roll, and Laudna aggressively gave them a thumbs-up and a wide grin. "Super... duper free." Ashton winced at his obviously fake enthusiasm, and continued to ignore Laudna. "What time?"
"Seventeen hundred," Orym answered. "Unless you'd prefer to eat later...?"
"No, no, completely fine with me," Ashton assured him. "I'm down for food at any time, really." He paused to mouth 'fuck you' at Laudna, who was miming something not suitable for children. "Fearne's, then. At seventeen hundred. And, also, sincerely: fuck you for taking my job, because I really wanted to say it yesterday but I didn't. But, sure, I'll help you with the crew roster."
Ashton could tell that Orym was reeling on the other end. "Uh... yeah, thanks, I'll see you then, Lieutenant," he said. "Fuck... you, too? Ashari out."
As soon as the com was dead, Laudna began giggling uncontrollably. "Oh, please, you two are adorable," she insisted. "Why are you pretending to hate him, again, exactly?"
"No. No, no, this is not 'try to make Ashton change their mind', this is 'support Ashton's stupid decisions because you're their friend'," Ashton argued. "I hate him, okay? He thinks that I hate him, and I've committed to that, and while I'm going to make sure that nobody kills him during his first week, I'm not going to be his best friend, and I'm definitely not going to tell him that for some reason my stupid lizard brain thinks that he's handsome."
Laudna raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Of course," she conceded. "No pressure. But I'm here for you if you want to... talk about it, or punch more things together, or something."
"Yeah. Appreciate it," Ashton replied. "I... guess I have a dinner to get ready for." They glanced down at their uniform. "Not that I'm going to get changed or anything. It's Starfleet business, anyway, might as well stick with this."
"Is it uncomfortable?" Laudna asked.
"Unfortunately, no," Ashton sighed. "It's way too comfortable than a fuckin' uniform should be. Whoever designed these knew what they were doing." He got up from the holographic couch and straightened his clothes. "I'll see you around, Lauds."
Laudna gave him a creepy little wave, her legs swinging off the edge of the couch. "Have fun at your dinner!" she cooed.
Ashton groaned, and left the holodeck.
Orym paced back and forth in front of the mirror, anxiously wringing his hands together. "This was a dumb idea," he said, mostly to himself, under his breath. "This was a terrible, stupid, very bad idea—"
"You do need to go over the crew roster with Greymoore at some point," Dorian pointed out, from where he was laying on Orym's bed, eating an Andorian shrimp-like seafood dish with one hand and scrolling through something on a PADD with the other. His legs were even up in the air, almost childlike, and Orym envied how relaxed he was. "Dinner's a great opportunity to do some business and get to know the man. Maybe even get on his good side."
"I already told you, I'm not going to do anything," Orym insisted, turning around to face Dorian instead of staring at him in the mirror. "I... can't." He dragged a hand over his face. "We've already talked about all the problems, and... Prophets, Dorian, you know how my last relationship ended, and I don't think I'm even ready to try again yet."
"Alright." Dorian shrugged and offered him a shrimp. Orym turned it down. "I wasn't saying anything about that, really, I just meant as coworkers. You do need his cooperation for, like... everything? And it'll be easier if he likes you."
"Oh." Orym felt the tips of his ears burn red with embarrassment. "Yeah. Right. That... makes sense, sorry." He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. "Just... dinner? We could've had a meeting, why did I suggest dinner—"
"A lot of species bond better over food," Dorian pointed out. "Klingons are one of them; I've heard that many successful deals with the Klingon Empire have been brokered over a healthy serving of gagh."
"Greymoore isn't a Klingon," Orym pointed out. "He's an Orion. And I'm not eating gagh, in any case, unless it would be the end of the world if I didn't." He shuddered at the idea of eating live worms—maybe it worked for Klingons, but not Bajorans.
Dorian ate another shrimp. "You said they were raised by Klingons," he reminded Orym. "Culturally, I think they're more connected to that than anything else. Besides"—Dorian shrugged—"Orions share meals, too."
Orym put his head in his hands. "I'm going to fuck up and say something terrible," he fretted. "I just know it."
"Come over here," Dorian said, beckoning Orym to the bed. Orym came, feeling a little dazed and nearly hitting his knees against the edge of it. "Sit, c'mon, this is to help you relax." He patted the spot next to him, and Orym sat. "Orym, how many people and/or beings from other planets have you met in your life?"
"Uh..." Orym couldn't even try to count. "A lot?" he attempted, studying Dorian's dark eyes and trying to gauge his expression.
"And how many of them have you offended, accidentally?"
Orym scratched the back of his head. "More than one," he admitted.
"Did any of them hate you forever after that, or did they understand that you weren't familiar with their culture and explain to you why what you said or did wasn't okay? Maybe after being a little bit pissed off, of course, as is their right," Dorian questioned.
Suddenly realizing where this was going, Orym pinched the bridge of his nose. "No," he confessed. "But Greymoore..."
"If he challenges you to a fight defend his honour, I'm sure the wonderful doctor will fix you right up," Dorian assured him. "She did seem very nice, and she only laughed at you a little. Now, look, you have ten minutes, Orym—you're going to be late."
"That was weirdly reassuring," Orym conceded. "Not the end of the world if he breaks my nose."
"Not the end of the world," Dorian repeated, and he clapped Orym on the shoulder. "Now, go get 'em, zabathu."
Orym blinked at him. "What does that mean?"
Looking embarrassed, Dorian waved a hand dismissively. "It's an animal," he explained. "I'll show you pictures later. Now, shoo!"
Orym grimaced, murmured a hasty 'thank you' to his friend, and left.
The nearest turbolift was empty, so Orym got in, straightened his uniform, and asked the computer to take him to the business level. Fearne's bar took up the middle of that area of the station, but there were plenty of other shops and vendors of various kinds scattered around. Despite Deep Space 6 being fairly out of the way in terms of Federation stations, they still got a decent amount of traffic from local planets, and the occasional officers through on Starfleet business. There was a reason it had been established, after all.
When Orym entered the bar, he found Ashton there already, sitting on one of the stools and leaning over the counter to talk to Fearne. The green-haired El-Aurian was giggling at something they were saying, and Ashton had their fingers around a half-empty glass of synthehol. It looked as if they'd been waiting a little while, and Orym's nervousness was suddenly replaced with annoyance. He bet Ashton had shown up early just to bother him. Why it bothered him, Orym wasn't sure, but if that had been what Ashton had been aiming for, he'd hit the nail right on the head.
Orym folded his hands behind his back, straightened his posture, and marched over to the bar. "Lieutenant Greymoore," he greeted sternly, putting as much apathy into his voice as he could. "I invited you here for business."
"Yeah, and I showed up early to get a drink." Ashton downed the rest of his glass, put it on the bar, and slid it towards Fearne. She caught it and disappeared seamlessly, leaving Orym alone with the Orion. "I'm not all work and no play, Commander."
"I never said you weren't," Orym countered. "Get up, now. We're finding a quiet table and not having any more drinks, synthehol be damned. This is a professional dinner, not a bar crawl." There was a headache beginning to pound at the base of his skull; instead of finding Ashton attractive, as he had last time, he was just finding him irritating. Orym also wasn't keen on a repeat of being threatened in his office.
A surprised expression flickered across Ashton's face, and they hopped down from the stool without complaint. "Yes, sir," they drawled, with a hint of sarcasm. "Sick of me that quickly, huh?"
"Threatening superior officers isn't going to slide on this station, Lieutenant." Orym supposed this was just what he was doing now—his hopes for a nice dinner were gone, but maybe if Ashton tried to punch him, he'd be ready to duck. "You'll be lucky if I don't write you up for subordination for what you did yesterday."
Ashton's eyes narrowed. "I see how it is," he replied. "I thought this was an off-duty dinner, but I'm glad I kept my uniform on now." He strode ahead of Orym and found a table at the edge of the space, away from any prying eyes or listening ears.
Orym hurried to catch up, and took a seat.
Ashton's arms were folded across their chest as they looked down their nose at Orym. Without breaking eye contact, they lifted both legs and put them up on the table, with an expression that was clearly a challenge.
Orym opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again. Feeling suddenly defeated, he let out a sigh and put his head in his hands. "Fine, alright, you called my bluff, I don't have the energy to pretend to be an asshole all night," he groaned, refusing to look back up at Ashton. "Just... don't dirty Fearne's table. Please?" There was still a string of annoyance pulling at his skull, but being pissed off was becoming more of a hassle than it was worth. "I may not be great at intimidation, but I can write you up. Just... for future reference."
When Orym glanced up, Ashton had pulled his feet down. His expression was unreadable. "You're not going to," he said slowly. "If you make a fuss about me, Starfleet will get involved because of my track record, and you can't afford that. You need me."
Orym swallowed thickly. "Right," he conceded. "Well, I can still make your life difficult—I can report your behaviour to Commander Bell and make it a station-contained problem. I can confine you to quarters, I can forbid Fearne from serving you... I'm not entirely powerless, Lieutenant."
Ashton exhaled slowly through their nose. "Your threats aren't bad, Commander, but they need some work," they replied. "You know your stuff, at least. I was wondering how green you'd be."
For a moment, Orym considered making a joke, but then decided it would be in bad taste. "Not very green," he said instead. "I've always been a hard worker. Growing up during the Occupation will do that to you."
"Yeah. I get it." Ashton's expression was still stony. "Must've been rough."
"It was," Orym agreed. He didn't volunteer anything else.
As their conversation petered out into awkward silence, it was then that Fearne arrived at their table to take their dinner orders. Orym asked for hasperat—it would be replicated, but he didn't care, he hadn't had any good hasperat in ages—and Ashton, to Orym's surprise, ordered gagh. He wanted to laugh, but didn't want to explain to Ashton that he and Dorian had been talking about them.
Then Fearne went away, and Orym looked back to Ashton. "We need to get along," he conceded. "I don't expect you to be my best friend, and I know you're pissed about losing your job—"
"Oh, no, you're welcome to it," Ashton admitted, cutting Orym off. "Fucking hated being security head. No, I didn't want to be replaced by someone that was going to fuck the whole place up, but you seem..." they gestured vaguely, "...fine."
Orym blinked. "Okay. Are you just this belligerent towards everyone, then?"
"Mostly," Ashton answered with a shrug. "Depends."
"On what?"
"Look." Ashton put his hands on the table and leaned forward. "You're not that annoying, and I know Starfleet put you here and you're probably just as miserable as everyone else. I just want you to stay out of my way and not mess with the..." he gestured around vaguely again, "...everything. We have a lot of regulars that like this place just the way it is, and if you go trying to fix up the way things are run, someone that isn't me is going to crack your skull open."
Orym let out a deep breath. "I take it that means there's stuff going on around here that really... shouldn't."
"I let it slide, you let it slide"—Ashton poked a finger towards Orym's chest—"and Bell lets it slide, unless it has the potential to hurt someone. Starfleet doesn't need to know if there's some unregistered medical supplies on a shipment, or some Romulan ale getting under the radar. Alright?"
Orym folded his hands on the edge of the table. "Lieutenant..." he started, slowly. "I'm pretty sure that what you're asking me is exactly why I was sent here in the first place. To clean up."
"Well"—Ashton's voice was low as they leaned towards Orym—"I'm not going to let you."
"You don't really have a choice, Greymoore," Orym shot back. "Are you Starfleet or not? Because if you're going to fight my orders, you might as well hand me your badge right now. As you said earlier, Starfleet won't have a problem giving you the boot. And I don't need you."
Ashton's eyes were cold. "Didn't we have a crew roster to be reviewing?" they asked, venomously.
"We do." Orym fished a PADD out of his uniform jacket and set it on the table. "I appreciate your help, Lieutenant."
And as Orym slid it towards Ashton, he swore the other man growled at him.
"Ashton."
The Orion groaned loudly and stopped in his tracks. He knew he shouldn't have passed the medical bay, even if it was the faster route to the observation deck. "Imogen," he replied, defeated, and he turned on his heel. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"The fact that you're giving me a headache," Imogen said, rubbing her temple and leaning against the door into sickbay. "Your thoughts are... out of control right now, Ash—why don't you step in here for a second?"
"I could just... go somewhere further away," Ashton suggested, pointing a thumb over their shoulder. "Then it won't bother you."
Imogen sighed. "I could hear you from three levels down. Believe me, I don't want to force you to talk either, but you're killing me, and I already know all the details anyway."
"Doctor," Ashton stressed.
"Lieutenant," Imogen shot back. "I could make it a medical order, if you wanted. It's important that I make sure you're in tip-top shape, which includes mentally, and you're clearly... not." Her eyes were sympathetic. "Just... come in and relax for a minute, won't you? You'll sleep better tonight."
Ashton huffed. "If I say 'no', will you let me leave?"
"Yes," Imogen replied. "I can't actually force you unless you're in critical condition, though I can make a bit of a fuss. It's entirely voluntary, but I really think you should, Ash. Talking about things is good for you, even if I already know what's up. I might be able to give you some advice, too."
Ashton let out a long sigh and took a few steps towards the door. "I don't suppose you can tell me exactly what Commander Ashari thinks of me?" he questioned with a slightly sarcastic lilt.
"No, I can't," Imogen said, and she beckoned them inside. "But I don't think I need to."
Imogen's office was... cosy. Ashton had been in many times before, because, after a while, they'd complained about always having to sit out in front of everyone else for their check-ins, and Imogen had then moved all of the appointments she could into her private space. Ashton didn't like being looked at while in sickbay, and Imogen understood.
Ashton took his usual seat on the other side of Imogen's desk. "I don't know what to do," he admitted, as soon as the door was shut and Imogen was seated. "I don't—he's not that experienced, he's loyal as fuck to Starfleet, and he doesn't seem to understand how things actually work out here on a station, as opposed to on a starship, and I don't think he has the guts for it. But on the other hand, he's—dammit, he's hot, and he's confident, and he actually threatened me back today, though he gave up pretty quickly, and he's not a complete idiot. In theory, he knows what he's doing. Paid attention in all his classes and everything."
"Can you tell me what you're actually feeling?" Imogen prompted. "Not about Ashari specifically. Just in general. Because you're so all over the place right now that I really can't figure out your emotions, and I think it would help."
"I'm..." Ashton slumped back in their chair. "Conflicted is probably the best word for it, honestly. I wish he'd never been assigned here, so that I didn't have to deal with this. But I also don't want him to leave, now, either. And I don't really give a shit, but I also don't want anybody to stab him, and I'm willing to inconvenience myself to make sure nobody does stab him."
"And you're attracted to him," Imogen repeated, slowly.
Ashton sighed. "Unfortunately, yeah," he replied, and tried very hard to think about anything other than his dream from the previous night. "He's not... not handsome. And I grew up with Klingons, so animosity's not a dealbreaker. I mean, somebody usually ends the night with their nose broken whether they got what they wanted or not, y'know." Ashton shrugged. "He didn't seem very into fighting with me, or seriously provoking me, so I'm guessing that's not how Bajorans flirt."
"I don't think their courting methods usually involve violence, no," Imogen mused. "Are you... trying to flirt with him? Because I'm not a Klingon, either—I find it difficult to tell the difference between real violence and the courting kind, and I imagine he does, too."
"Uh." Ashton hesitated. "I don't... know?"
Imogen blinked at him. "You don't know if you're trying to flirt with him?"
"I just say shit, Imogen, whatever comes out comes out, and he can read it however he wants to read it," Ashton replied, folding their arms over their chest. "I have bigger things to worry about. Like whether or not he's going to fuck up the deals we have going on with our regular folks passing through. The Nausicaans, especially, we're on rocky ground there as it is—I'm concerned he's going to get himself killed. Starfleet sent him here to clean up, and that's what he's intending to do."
Imogen steepled her hands on her desk. "If you want him to listen to you, you're going to have to get on his good side, Ash," she told him. "Unfortunately, he's not a Klingon—he's not going to do what you want because you intimidate him into giving the power back to you. That's not how Starfleet works."
"I know that," Ashton responded with a huff. "I'm not a child."
"Sometimes, you act like one," Imogen confessed. "Just... I'd advise that you try to figure out what you want, and maybe reconsider how you're handling things with Orym. I can't stop you from behaving the way you normally do, I just don't think it'll work out very well with the lieutenant commander. Unless that's what you want."
Ashton opened their mouth, then closed it again. "I think I'm going to go," they said, after a long moment. "I don't want to talk about this shit anymore, Doc." They stood up, turned, and then hesitated. "Uh. Thanks, I guess."
"Just doin' my job, Ash." Imogen gave him a small smile. "Now, you'd better make sure to get a full eight hours before your shift tomorrow, alright? With your extra stress, you don't want to be missing any sleep, y'hear?"
Ashton heaved a sigh. "Right. Yeah. Got it. Am I dismissed, or whatever?" His head was starting to hurt, and while he knew it wasn't from Imogen's telepathy, he wanted to get back to the safety of having his thoughts to himself.
"I don't need to dismiss you, Lieutenant, you outrank me."
"Great. See you around." Ashton gave her an awkward wave, then backpedalled out of Imogen's office.
Once they'd made it safely back to their quarters, they collapsed back against the wall and groaned. At the very least, this station was usually pretty quiet, so it was unlikely that anything else would be dumped on their plate while they were still getting used to the changes. That was somewhat reassuring. But they wished all of this was just a little simpler—growing up, they could always just fight their problems away, and so that was what they knew how to do: fight. And, for once, that wasn't going to work.
Ashton was going to have to cooperate. And he wasn't looking forward to it one bit.