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Ashton spent most of his morning off at Fearne’s. The titular El-Aurian didn’t even arrive until eight o’clock—it must’ve been a quiet morning for her, too—and Ashton watched her enter the bar from where he was nursing a glass of synthehol in the corner. Almost immediately, she glanced in his direction and caught his eye; Ashton tried to act natural, but it was too late. She abandoned the few things in her hands behind the bar, and strode purposefully over to him, grabbing a spare chair from another table as she went, and setting it down across from the Orion. She sat down daintily, an odd contrast from her strong strides, and folded her hands in her lap as she fixed Ashton with wide, almost unblinking, eyes.
Letting out a sigh, Ashton set their drink down on the table. It wasn’t helping, anyway. “What can I do for you?” they questioned, raising an eyebrow. “I hope you’re not also going to bother me about Commander Ashari. I don’t need more of that shit.”
"Oh, no," Fearne stressed, her voice light and airy, as usual. “I would never. I was actually just coming to ask if you’re on duty this afternoon, or if you wanted to play racquetball with me.”
“…racquetball?” Ashton repeated. “I don’t… think I’m familiar with that.”
Fearne laughed. “Well, of course, you aren’t! That’s why I’m offering to teach you!” She smiled brightly. “I think you’d really enjoy it—it involves one of your favourite activities: hitting things.”
Ashton ran a hand through his hair. “Fearne, why are you really here?” he demanded.
“I just wanted to talk about racquetball,” Fearne insisted, with a nonchalant shrug. “Do you want me to teach you dom-jot instead?”
“I’m… not in the mood to play games today,” Ashton replied. “Either actual games, or this mind game shit I know you’re pulling.”
Fearne gasped in what seemed like mock offence. “Ashton!” she exclaimed. “Here I am, trying to be a good friend—”
“Arguably, it’d be better for your business if you just let me sit here and drink,” Ashton said, cutting her off. “You won’t even have to swindle me out of my latinum, I’ll just hand it right over.”
“I don’t want your latinum,” Fearne said hastily. She paused, then corrected, “I don’t want your latinum right now. I want to—I want to wipe that weird, sad expression off your face, because I don’t like it. Do I need to sic Mister on someone?”
Mister was Fearne’s pet Terran monkey. At least, it was supposed to be a Terran monkey, but Ashton was pretty sure those weren’t supposed to spit fire. The thing was slightly terrifying, though Ashton would never admit it out loud.
“Don’t, shit, please don’t,” Ashton groaned. “It’s not like that. You can’t solve all my problems, Fearne, so you might as well leave me alone.”
Fearne steepled her hands on the table, eyes gleaming. “Well, I can certainly try. C’mon, Ash. Spill. Your… negative energy is messing up my entire bar, and the only way to get rid of it is for you to talk about your feelings.”
Ashton narrowed his gaze. “I sense bullshit,” he said bluntly. “I’m surprised you’re not trying to appeal to my noble warrior spirit, or whatever.”
“No, it’s true,” Fearne insisted. “You and your feelings, they’re like… waves—no, strings, like, of an instrument? And it’s like someone’s just grabbed you and started playing the worst chords ever, and it sounds awful, and, you know—” She made an exaggerated, physical cringe. "It feels like that."
Ashton just looked at Fearne for a long moment, adjusting their grip on their drink. “You’re really bad at this,” they told her. “Like, really bad. How is it your job to talk to people?”
“Most people think I’m nice! And weird, but in an intriguing, kind of attractive way!” Fearne protested. “I have an air of serene wisdom! It’s not my fault you’re—immune, or something.” She pouted dramatically and slumped in her seat. “I’m trying to make you feel better.”
“I feel a little better about my people skills,” Ashton mumbled. “Not that it’s going to help me all that much.”
“Who’d you piss off?” Fearne asked curiously, so suavely that it took Ashton a moment to realise that he hadn’t even mentioned that.
“I—what?”
Fearne grinned cheekily, resting her head on one hand to gaze at Ashton with an unreadable look in her eyes. “You know better than to ask how I know that,” she replied, her voice airy and sweet. “Go on. Answer the question. Who’s mad at you?”
Ashton had barely opened their mouth before Fearne talked right over them.
“Ooh, wait, no, let me guess.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “You had dinner with Orym here last night… and he was… his vibe was all off when he came in…”
“You already knew.” Ashton gripped the edge of the table. "Since last night. What was the point—"
Fearne gasped in mock offence. “Years of telling me that my intuition is creepy, and this is how you repay me when I try to—”
Ashton groaned loudly. “No, no, goddammit, never mind. It’s fine. Yes, Commander Ashari is pissed at me, and it’s a messy-ass situation that I’d rather not be in right now.”
Fearne tipped her head at him, quizzically. "Did you try to tell him how to do his job?"
"I tried to give him some advice," Ashton corrected, "on how to not get himself killed by our wonderful patrons. And he didn't take it very well." He propped his head against his hand and thumbed the scar covering the side of his skull. "I just don't want him to fucking die, is that too much to ask?"
"Ashton," Fearne started, "do you think Orym wants to be stuck here for the rest of his life?"
There was a pause. "No," Ashton answered. "Nobody fuckin' does."
"And if he doesn't clean things up like Starfleet wants him to, do you think he's going to get promoted out of here?" Fearne continued, steepling her hands underneath her chin.
Ashton hated it when Fearne made good points. "No," they repeated, and they slumped over the bar. "Fuck."
Fearne gently patted them on the head. "There, there," she said. "You'll figure it out."
"I want to hit something," Ashton muttered into the synthetic wood.
"I support you, but maybe go do it somewhere else?" Fearne suggested. "It scares the customers."
Instead of responding, Ashton just raised his head again and aggressively slammed it back into the bar.
After a few long moments, laying there with his head on the bar while Fearne began to collect dishes to replace into the replicator, Ashton's communicator went off. He raised one hand to tap it. "Lieutenant Greymoore here," he answered annoyedly.
"Lieutenant"—it was Bell's voice coming through, almost hesitant—"we've got a situation, and I need you to report to Ops posthaste."
Ashton restrained themself from commenting on a word they were pretty sure had fallen out of use several millennia ago, and sighed. "On my way, Commander," they told him, and closed the connection. They peeled themself away from the bar, then, with a forlorn look at the empty glass in front of them, and said a quick goodbye to Fearne before wandering towards the turbolift to Ops. They didn't exactly move hastily, contrary to what Bell had requested, but they didn't feel antagonistic enough to deliberately delay, either. They did have some curiosity about what the 'situation' might be.
When Ashton stepped into Ops, it was minor chaos. Officers were rushing by in every direction, and those that were stationary were either hunched over their stations or looking up at the viewscreen, where a small ship was displayed. Ashton didn't recognize the vessel, but it must have been the cause of the hubbub.
Ashton found Bell standing near the centre of the room, deliberating with Orym. He gave the back of the Bajoran's head a death glare as he strode up to join them, before forcing his face into a more palatable expression. "What's the situation, Commander?" he asked, loudly, and brusquely shoved his way between Bell and Orym. He then gave Orym a curt nod and greeted, "Commander Ashari," as if he hadn't noticed him.
"Small unidentified merchant vessel on a collision course with the station," Orym jumped in, as Bell seemed unusually tentative to speak. "Its warp core is unstable, on the verge of exploding—there's only one life sign onboard and we can't get a solid lock on it with the transporter, and the ship is too close to the station to blow it up ourselves without any damage. We're sending Lieutenant Krook to repair the warp core—they think they can stabilise it, at least long enough for us to use the runabout to pull it a safe distance from the station and get the last crew member to safety." He paused in his report for a moment, letting all the information sink in before telling Ashton why they were there. "We're sending you with them, as an extra pair of hands and to make sure they stay safe. There's no time to waste, so get over there, Greymoore."
Ashton hesitated for a moment, holding Orym's steely gaze, then swallowed their pride and gave a firm nod of acknowledgement. "Understood, sir." They glanced at Bell. "Anything to add, Commander?"
"No," replied Bell, eyes flickering past Ashton to the viewscreen. "Just stay safe, Lieutenant. If it's too dangerous, comm back and we'll beam you out immediately, and try to use the runabout to pull it away anyway."
"Yes, sir," Ashton responded. "But you won't have to. Milo knows what they're doing." With a cocky grin, he gave both of them a salute, and ran towards the transporter pad, where he found Milo waiting. "Let's get this show on the road!" he called, hopping onto a spot beside his friend, whom he quickly exchanged a nod with. Then, his gaze found the officer operating the transporter, and he ordered, "Energise, Lieutenant."
Their surroundings faded in a hum of energy, before quickly solidifying again into the burning insides of a small cargo ship. Ashton turned to Milo. "I assume you know where we're going, right?" they questioned.
Milo seemed slightly overwhelmed, and tugged at the collar of their uniform before they responded. "Uh. Yeah—yeah, I do." They glanced around for a moment, then hoisted their toolbox and headed towards a nearby door that was untouched by the growing flames. "Follow me."
Ashton dutifully did as he was told, removing the phaser from his belt to hold it at the ready, just in case, as Milo fiddled with the door's controls. After a moment, it slid open, and the two of them headed deeper into the ship. "I'll get you to the warp core," Ashton said, mentally plotting out the best way to go about this task, "and then, if it's clear, go looking for the person onboard, see if I can get them to safety."
"Good idea," Milo agreed, darting around a corner. "It should be just through here—" Once again, the door didn't open automatically, and so Milo began to break into the wiring again. "Ah, shoot, it's really jammed—I hate to do this, because then we can't close it again, but can you blast it, Ash?"
"No problem." Ashton raised their phaser and shot the control panel as soon as Milo stepped back, causing it to erupt into a shower of sparks and the door to slide open. They glanced inside the room, then back down the hallway, where fire was beginning to creep along the edges of the walls. "Seems clear, but there's not a lot of time. Get in there, Milo." They gave the lieutenant a clap on the back, and Milo ran through the open door.
Ashton tapped his combadge. "Greymoore to Ops. Can you tell me where that life sign's coming from? Gonna go find them while Krook's working on the reactor."
The response was immediate. It was Orym's voice, to Ashton's simultaneous dismay and relief. "Ashari here," Orym said. "I'm working on getting a clear visual, but start heading straight back the way you came, and I'll guide you from there."
"Yessir." Ashton was determined to set aside the feud the two of them were having, for now—a life was in danger, and the ship was practically falling apart around them, so it definitely wasn't the best time to be sour. They did as they were told, making it back to the corner in no time, and they had barely begun to consider which direction to turn before Orym's voice came in again.
"They're on the upper level," Orym told them, simply, "and the turbolifts aren't working, so you're going to have to climb through one of the shafts. There should be one directly ahead of you, at the end of this hall."
Ashton didn't even have to move his eyes to find the door; he'd been staring at it, accidentally. "Got it. You can't do anything to activate the turbolifts?"
"Not remotely, and Krook's busy, and we're not sending in another engineer unless we have to," Orym replied. "It won't be a problem, will it?"
"No, sir," Ashton shot back, determinedly, and he shot the turbolift's controls before re-holstering his weapon. "I'll check in again when I'm up there. Greymoore out." He silenced his combadge before Orym's voice could cut through his thoughts again, and pried the turbolift doors open so that he could fit through. They did power outage training at Starfleet Academy, so he knew how to open the turbolift's roof from the inside, and he quickly executed the proper manoeuvre to climb onto the outside. From there, the turbolift shaft wasn't exactly designed for climbing, but there was enough space to do so, and the pipes had even cross-beams that could function fairly easily as hand and foot holds. Plus, it was a small ship, and Ashton only had to go one level up, so the climb barely took him more than a couple of minutes.
Ashton took out their phaser again when they reached the next floor, awkwardly bracing themself against the far wall of the shaft to aim a single shot at the proper spot to get the door open. Then, they shimmied around to the other side and heaved themself up onto solid ground, where they paused for a moment to catch their breath, and tapped their combadge. "Greymoore to Ops. I made it. Greymoore to Krook, how's the warp core looking?"
"Krook here." Milo's voice sounded strained, as if they were struggling with something. "Bad," they admitted. "But as long as we can get that fire under control, it'll probably be alright. I have it stabilised enough that I can work on getting power back, but the problem is that if I over-tax the warp core before it's ready, it'll explode. But if I can't get the fire suppression systems online, it'll explode anyway when it overheats... I might have to tap into the emergency power, but then we'll lose life support, and..." Milo trailed off into mumbling under their breath. "It'll be okay. I've got it under control. Don't worry."
"Got it," Ashton responded. "Ashari, what am I looking at?" The room that Ashton was standing in appeared as if it had once been a hallway with living quarters, but had since been extensively renovated with a mix of substandard parts. It was open and incredibly messy, to the point where Ashton's eyes were practically refusing to process any details. "It looks like a fucking tornado went through here—sorry, language."
"I don't know," Orym admitted, over the comms, "but our missing person is in here, somewhere. That's all I can give you—it's too faint to be any more accurate—so you'll have to find them on your own. Ashari out." There was a click, and Ashton was left alone with only the hum of the ship in his ears.
"Thanks, Commander, very helpful," Ashton grumbled under his breath, though he knew it wasn't Orym's fault. Starfleet tech wasn't magic; it could only do so much. As Ashton advanced into the room, he raised his voice and called out, "Hello? Anybody there? Starfleet security, I'm going to get you out of here!" He swept his gaze around at the scattered junk, trying to pick out anything that looked sentient—faint life signs could mean a lot of things, and Ashton was willing to bet that the individual was either badly injured or not humanoid. He swallowed thickly as he realised that there was more than one corpse lying on the ground, in various spots around, but they all seemed fairly dead when Ashton investigated them, so none of them could be the person Ashton was looking for. Whatever had happened on the ship, it seemed as if there had only been one survivor, and Ashton was searching for them. 'Badly injured' was becoming the more likely option with each passing second.
"D—d—don't move!" a voice suddenly cried, and Ashton spun around to find a small, bronze-coloured robot pointing a phaser at them with two shaky approximations of hands. "H—h—hands up!"
Despite the active danger they were in, Ashton couldn't resist throwing back sass. "Do you want me to not move, or to put my hands up? Can't exactly do both, little guy," they retorted. "I'm looking for anyone that's still alive here, gotta get 'em to safety 'cause they're probably injured and this tin can's probably gonna blow as soon as we get clear, can you point me in the right direction?"
The robot hesitated, and Ashton noticed that it was in rough shape—one of its eyes didn't appear to be functioning correctly, with the metallic eyelid fluttering, and the wheel that moved it around instead of legs looked to be unstable. Its torso had multiple dents and scratches in it, too, though Ashton wasn't close enough to make a full assessment. "T—t—there's nobody else," it stuttered, and Ashton wondered if its voicebox had been damaged. "I'm t—t—the only o—o—one." It lowered the phaser just slightly, after a moment. "W—w—what are you t—t—talkin' about?"
"The warp core's gonna explode," Ashton told it, simply. "Put the gun down, and I can get you out of here, alright? What's your name?"
"I—I—I'm Fresh Cut Grass. Or j—j—just FCG, for short," the robot replied. "Y—y—you actually want to h—h—help me?"
"Yeah, it's my job," Ashton responded. "I'm Lieutenant Ashton Greymoore, from Deep Space 6. See, this is a legit Starfleet communicator." He tapped it, bringing it to life with a quiet beep. "I can even get my commander to speak to you, if you really don't trust me. You're sure there's nobody else?"
FCG slowly nodded, and put the phaser down. "T—t—that's okay. It's j—j—just me," it repeated. "I d—d—don't wanna die, L—L—Lieutenant, I'm s—s—sorry..." It tossed the weapon aside and rolled towards Ashton, until it was within arm's reach. "I don't k—k—know what happened, and I t—t—thought you might be whatever a—a—attacked us."
"We can figure it out once we're safe, alright?" Ashton plucked his communicator off of his uniform and stuck it to FCG's chest. Then, he gave it a quick poke. "Commander Ashari, I found the survivor. It—they—uh—"
"He," FCG provided, helpfully. "Or they."
"He's got my combadge, so can you lock onto it and beam the two of us back? Check in with Milo and get them out of here as soon as they're done, too. According to FCG, there's nobody else onboard." Ashton decided not to mention the dead crew members, not until they were speaking to Orym and Bell face-to-face. "Send me back in if Milo needs a hand."
"Got it, Greymoore," Orym's voice replied. "Locking onto your signals now. Stand by."
After a brief, tense moment, Ashton's vision filled with blue light, and the ship vanished around them. It was replaced, quickly, by the familiar sight of the transporter pad, and Orym and Imogen standing at the edge, waiting for them. As the two of them solidified, Ashton watched as both officers' eyes widened at the sight of FCG.
"I, uh, called Doctor Temult because I thought they might be injured," Orym explained, awkwardly, as he gestured to her. "But, um, this is probably more Lieutenant Krook's department, huh?" Orym hesitated, watching as Ashton took their badge back from FCG, who had politely offered it to them. "I... thought that robots didn't have life signs, though—"
"Well, maybe this one's special." Ashton shrugged, and sighed. "You're not getting anything from over there other than Milo now that FCG's here, are you?"
Orym looked over at a nearby display. "No," he conceded. "No, I'm not." He turned back. "If it's not too much of a rude question, Mr FCG, what are you?"
FCG opened his mouth to reply, but Ashton cut him off before he could speak. "With all due respect, Commander," he interjected, "I don't think that's important right now. He is injured, and Milo's still onboard the ship, and those two things are our priorities, not what species our guest is."
"Right, right, of course." Orym gave FCG an apologetic nod. "I'm sorry, Mr FCG." He then activated his comm and called out, "Lieutenant Krook! Status update!"
"Fire suppression systems active," Milo's voice replied. "But if we want this thing to not explode the moment I beam out of here, I'm going to have to redirect power from life support. That'll mean you'll have, like, thirty seconds, maximum, to get me out of here when I call, or I'll become a popsicle." They went silent for a moment, then continued. "After that, it'll be safe to use the runabout to pull the ship away. You could probably dock it, even, though I'd advise being careful not to jostle it too much. Do I have the all-clear, sir?"
Orym didn't respond immediately; instead, he raced to the transporter controls, and the officer on duty there immediately stepped aside to let him take them. Ashton and FCG stepped down to meet Imogen as this was happening, to get out of the way. "Locked on and ready to beam you out on your signal. You have the all-clear, Lieutenant."
There was a beat of silence.
"Okay, uh—and that—yes, yes—" Milo mumbled to themself over the comm, before directing, "Now, Commander!" and Orym began to push the switch on the transporter controls.
Ashton felt a hand grip their elbow; they glanced over and found Imogen holding their arm, and she gave them a sympathetic look. Heart pounding and trying not to express how terrified they were for their friend, they dragged their gaze back to the transporter pad, just in time to see Milo apparate out of the transporter beam and fall to their knees, gasping for air. Imogen raced to their side to help them up as Ashton remained frozen, trying to continue appearing calm and collected for the scared robot they'd rescued, and let the doctor handle taking care of Milo. That was her job, after all, not theirs.
Suddenly, there was a tug on Ashton's other arm, and he looked down. "I—i—is that guy a f—f—friend of yours?" FCG asked, curiously.
"Yeah," Ashton replied, a bit absently. "Look, I should get you down to Engineering so that somebody can check out all this damage you've got—Milo's probably fine, but Doc Imogen's gonna look at them anyway, just to make sure. Is that cool with you? Letting someone make sure you're all good, I mean."
"O—o—oh." FCG was quiet for a moment. "You're a—a—askin'?"
"What?" Ashton questioned, surprised. "Yeah, of course I'm asking. If you don't want us to touch you, we won't touch you. Starfleet policy. And also basic respect." He shrugged. "We wouldn't like it, but if you were like 'no! Give me my ship back and let me leave right now', we'd let you go."
"O—o—oh," FCG said again. "Okay. I'll l—l—let someone look at m—m—me. But c—c—can you s—s—stay too, Lieutenant?" They blinked their one, large, functioning eye up at him, and Ashton absolutely did not have the heart to say 'no'.
"'Course, little guy," Ashton responded, and they put their arm down around FCG's metallic shoulders to begin escorting them away. "Let's go."
Ashton cast one last look over their shoulder to check on Milo, before ushering FCG into a turbolift, to no protest from the robot. And Ashton didn't think that they were worthy of this immediate trust that FCG seemed to have in them, but they were suddenly and surprisingly determined to not let him down.