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They get stuck in the Briefing Room while Chancellor Ake visits MedBay for what feels like hours to Darem. While Sam is whisked away by her Dad in-between rushed whispers, both he and Genesis are engulfed in a dense silence while Commander Reno tirelessly shifts between navigation routes in her PADD. Now and again, she'll curse, and Darem will smirk at Genesis, expecting to get some kind of recognition back, except the only thing he's gotten so far is the same vacant glance she's been wearing since Caleb spoke to them in the market.
The door hisses open, giving way to Chancellor Ake, who looks like she's gone head-to-head with a particularly large Lurian.
She combs her hair with her fingers and doesn't look at them. "Commander Reno, why don't you ensure our cadets get a fresh set of clothes?" She slides down the nearest chair in the Briefing Room, elbows firmly planted on the desk.
"That's our cue, kids." The way Reno says that is unsettling, lacking any kind of bite, PADD under her arm.
Chancellor Ake leans her forehead against her open palms, which is the last thing Darem sees before Reno blocks his view and shoves him out the door.
He hasn't thought about the clothes so far. There must be cabins with uniforms that would fit them, even replicators. And while he could use a shower, he's comfortable enough. His jaw does not hurt anymore, barring the hour of clenching his teeth and biting back his tongue.
Genesis, on the other hand, seems like is dying to get back into Starfleet gear. She doesn't miss a beat on the order. On her feet, straightening herself, while Darem suddenly gets sunk into the realization of where they are now, where they might be tomorrow. He becomes smaller, hunched over his too-dark clothes.
Genesis falls in step behind Commander Reno.
"Are there really no other Starfleet ships outside the perimeter?" She's barely speaking to the collar of her jacket. "There must be exploratory missions, outposts."
Reno huffs, reaches into a small locker and pulls out a red oversized sweater. "Not unless you count your friends at the Captain's lounge, and it's been a while since Startfleet has looked kindly at us throwing teenagers at bombs."
The sweatshirt is halfway over Genesis' head when she halts. “Wait, what friends?”
*
It looks like Darem and Genesis are the last ones to hear about Caleb and his mother. Tarima is quick on her feet and hugs Genesis fiercely. Darem can feel her tense up, "huh, okay, we're doing this", and give back a thin smile.
While they lost the mess hall in the Saucer, the Captain's Ready Room has a functional replicator, as expected of most rooms, while supplies last. Darem makes a mental note of that, unsure of how long isolation will work for them. There are two used cups on the desk; the first one has cold raktajino pooling at the bottom, while the other cup still carries a faint scent of spice from a light pink liquid.
Darem's not too keen on betazoid drinks; he's not too keen on betazoid anything, other than Ocam's easygoing disposition. He's never looked at Darem the way Tarima does, the way she's doing now that she's taken a step back from Genesis.
Ocam mostly keeps to himself. He's fun, lighthearted, usually the first one to get dragged into whatever nonsense Darem suggests. But he never speaks up about him, and he certainly never looks at him like he's making a show of his trauma for all to see.
Jay-Den stands awkwardly next to Tarima, hands intertwined behind his back. He's already spoken to Caleb, he's been told. Darem pushes a sudden, venomous thought back in, forces it back down into his gut.
"Hey," Darem raises his hand, changes his mind halfway through, as if the movement got too complicated somehow.
Jay-Den walks up to them, one hand on Darem's shoulder, the other on Genesis'. Darem feels like he's about to be scolded. Once again, he makes himself tiny, as small as he can make himself fit under Jay-Den's hands. Sorry, he wants to say, I was drunk, you can check my pants. Well, they can't. They lost that shuttle as well. So he opens his mouth as if to justify himself, when Jay-Den just says, "I apologize, I couldn't be there with you."
Genesis leans her head against Jay-Den's shoulder, a half-formed, cautious hug. "Sorry, we couldn't call."
Darem blinks. The lights are too bright, and his skin feels prickly all of a sudden. He reminds himself he never got that change of clothes, and looks around the room. All the plants by the corners, on the shelves, green and blue all over. He's still itching; his fingers search for something to grab on to, which ends up being the ends of his jacket.
Tarima's saying something then, but he's counting his breaths. The air should be more humid than it is, he feels like he's been left out to dry.
The door slides shut, and it's only Jay-Den and him in the Ready Room, the low and constant humming of the ship underneath his feet. Darem raises his hand to his mouth. "Wouldn't mind something to drink, not gonna lie." He smirks through his fingers.
Jay-Den's sudden movement to grab his wrist catches him by surprise. He brings Darem's hand into the light and up to his eyes. His nails are dirty, he realizes. That's the only thing on his mind now. There's dirt under his nails, his clothes are filthy, he must reek of sweat.
"Is that blood?" Jay-Den asks, not quite surprised.
"Sorry," he says, then winces. What a stupid thing to say. He tries to get his hand back, but Jay-Den's grasp is firm. Darem thought they'd gotten everything out, but clearly not. Klingons run hot, and Jay-Den's fingertips don't tread lightly over his knuckles; poking at the skin and pressing against where the bruises used to be with a kind of methodical warmth. He then tilts Darem's head up in such a stiff movement that he's scared to draw his gaze down.
"There's not anymore," he grimaces. "They must not have gotten all of it?"
This seems to have some sort of effect, where Jay-Den's grasp morphs into something more self-conscious and less clinical, as if he is just now realizing they are not in MedBay, and that Darem is being compliant. No, sir, he wants to say again, no blood anymore, there never was, see?
They stay like that for a few seconds, until Darem finally lowers his chin. Jay-Den's hand doesn't move away completely, but instead curves and his thumbs tugs at something near his earlobe. "No, they didn't." There's another stroke there, until apparently Jay-Den's satisfied with how Darem's skin looks.
"Well," and Darem clears his throat, "my jaw is feeling fine, I've got all my limbs, what's a bit of blood, right."
Jay-Den's hum thunders through this chest and clashes into Darem, who shuffles, plants his feet fully on the ground. "You know, not that this is not great, but they do have a proper doctor here." He pauses. "Wouldn’t mind a shower though.”
This does make Jay-Den take a step back. And that's good, that's great. Otherwise, Darem might have screamed. Not sure how much of it would have gotten out. His throat feels hoarse. Dry mouth, dry fingertips. He gets fretty like this whenever he's away from solid ground for too long. That was one of the big arguments back at home, right before he left. If you could really call those arguments. What is it, exactly, when the words don't leave your throat, and the only thing left to do is to sit there, take it, let it sink in, let it drag you down. Darem used to call it family, he's not so sure now.
That’s okay, he said to them right before he left, plenty of water in San Francisco.
“So,” his voice cracks slightly, “you talked to Caleb then.”
And that's where the venom surfaces again.
“I did,” he watches as Jay-Den turns away and walks towards the replicator. He turns his back to Darem, so he's not sure what he's punching in. "His mother will be okay."
“Ah, well,” he spits. “If she’ll be okay.”
When he returns, he’s carrying a glass of water. Darem blinks at him.
“Stop that,” Jay-Den pushes the glass against his hand. He doesn’t sound angry at all, which makes him furious in turn. “Can you not be an asshole right now?”
“I’m being the asshole? That's rich," Darem takes the glass and leaves it on the desk. He leans back and sits on the edge of the table. “He was going to leave, you know?” He doesn’t even care if his voice is going up now. “We fucking got him there, we did. And he was just- He was going to leave. He didn’t even say goodbye to you," he sinks his fingers on the surface of the desk until they feel numb, "Doesn’t that bother you?”
Jay-Den hums again. He averts his glance. He takes a deep breath. He’s quiet and solid like a statue. It makes Darem feel crazy that he cannot get a reaction out of him. That he will take it and take it and eventually turn his back away, and leave, and come back. It drives him mad.
Darem shakes his head. “Fucking idiot,” he shuts his eyes. He could sleep for a week, still nursing the hangover he left the Academy with.
“You were going to leave as well.”
That makes him snap his eyes open.
Jay-Den is now looking intently at him. “At your sealing,” he continues, as if Darem doesn’t remember, as if he’s not checked his PADD for non-existent messages day after day after he got back. “You were going to leave.”
“That’s different and you know it.”
“How?”
“You know how.”He can’t help but raise his voice. “You welcomed him into your family, Jay-Den. And he got up, and he left.”
“I welcomed you as well.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not-” the sentence trails away. What did he bring back with him anyway. He would really hate for anyone to walk in at the moment, when the only thing he can do is look up briefly and blink at the fluorescent lights of the Ready Room. Maybe he should have taken that glass of water, because his throat seems to be overcome by sand. He struggles to even get out the next sentence. “You know.”
“I really don’t.”
Darem takes a second for his body to regroup. First his breath, then slowly loosening his grip on the desk, then letting his gaze fall slightly to the ground. He pushes the words out softly.
“He’s important to you.”
Doesn’t that mean something? He feels like he should be shaking Jay-Den's shoulder. Shouldn't that mean something? Shouldn't that make you mad? Caleb’s important, his brother. And he was going to leave. He was going to ensure Darem knew, point-blank, every little nasty thing he’d ever thought about himself, and then he was going to leave.
“Yes.” Jay-Den's voice deepens, although he seems hesitant.
Darem bites at his cracked lip, hopefully not hard enough to draw blood again; he’s not sure he could cope with being inspected once more. Being with Jay-Den feels both being under a magnifying glass and sitting quietly on the shore. Makes him violent, makes him calm.
Because Jay-Den is close enough, he tugs at the loose fabric of his jacket. Jay-Den's been on the ship the whole time, sitting down, drinking raktajino. The fabric feels smooth against his skin; there's no dirt there. Darem feels like he could do something really stupid then.
Jay-Den takes a deep breath, his lips part as if to say something else, something that Darem should put a stop to. So he brushes past him, shoving him on the shoulder, and grabs the glass of water.
"Thanks", he says, he raises the glass to him. He drinks and grimaces. "I really need a shower, though."
Jay-Den clenches his jaw. "Didn't want to say it myself."