To Absent Friends

Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone.
Suzanne, the plans they made put an end to you.
I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song,
I just can't remember who to send it to.
I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend, but I always thought that I'd see you again.

Won't you look down upon me, Jesus, You've got to help me make a stand.
You've just got to see me through another day.
My body's aching and my time is at hand and I won't make it any other way.
Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend, but I always thought that I'd see you again.

— James Taylor and Carole King, "Fire and Rain"

4 Kadera, Seventh Era 957, Year of Distant Travails (6 April 2410 Earth Standard)

Nestled under the saucer rim of a Galaxy-class starship is Compartment 13 Forward, the public observation lounge. Mostly, it's the enlisted crew's rec room. Holotables for various games, an uninterrupted view of space, replicators, ready turbolift access for emergencies, the works.

But on the aft wall of the lounge there's a dire reminder of how quick this could all be taken away. Forty-five stainless steel Starfleet chevrons dot the bulkhead, each one with a name engraved. It's the USS Bajor's memorial wall, keeping silent vigil over fallen crew members. Above it, the ship's seal, with a stylized Orb of the Prophets over the Celestial Temple, and a motto on a ribbon underneath that the crew picked out after launch and I never bothered to look up: "Morituri Nolumus Mori".

The memorial's busy today. It's the Fourth of Kadera, the Day of Remembrance, and most of the 152 Bajorans on my crew and many of the non-Bajorans are here to pay their respects. We're at cruising speed, headed for our next patrol point, so there's not much else to do today, and there's a lot of names to remember.

These days it feels like we lose somebody every time we go out.

Hardcopy pictures dot the wall next to most of the chevrons. Duranja lamps bracket the display, and foods from all over the galaxy lie at the foot of the wall. Some of the names on the wall, I know. Too many, I don't, and that hurts. But there's one here I know far too well, and since her own memorial wall died with her, and she was part my crew and one of my friends for two years, I put her here myself two months ago.

Lieutenant Commander T'Var
Operations Officer, USS Bajor NCC-97238
Commanding Officer, USS Olokun NCC-93794
2374-2410

I'm holding a bowl of sliced Rillian teaberry melon and roasted dirka nuts. It was her favorite: she loved to mix sweet and savory. I reach past Senior Chief Athezra, who's placing a photo next to a marker for a Crewman Teaghan Matheson, and stroke T'Var's chevron. "Hey, there, old friend." I put down the bowl and tuck a picture behind the edge of her marker. It's of me, T'Var, Tess, and Biri, all of us in bathing suits. I'm in a simple black one-piece (I'm not as self-conscious about my scars as I was at first, but there's no point inflicting them on anyone else), Biri's got a bikini and a flowered sarong, and I remember how many heads that navy blue two-piece that Tess was wearing turned, what with her curves.

Beside me, Gaarra, ever-dependable Gaarra, squeezes my shoulder, as much of a PDA as we're willing to share in public. He's lost seven of his people since he came aboard, four of them in the Schrödinger's Butterfly incident alone. I lean out of the way so he can tuck a white and red pelta blossom behind the chevron for somebody named DO1. Chai Ezanad. "How's the beard?" I ask him. He's still growing it out after Warragul had to shave it.

"Itches. It'll pass." He looks at the beach photo. "When was that?"

"About a year ago when I had the George Hammond, during the Klingon War. We got a little shore leave during a round of repairs and went to Zalaar Beach on Deneb IV."

"T'Var didn't swim?"

I glance at the photo again and see what he's talking about: She's wearing a Starfleet Academy t-shirt and tracksuit pants. "No, just modest. She didn't see the, uh, 'logic' in flaunting it when she wasn't actually in the water. She could swim like a fish, though." We step back from the display and the space is quickly taken by an ensign from forward gunnery. I pass a slice of melon to Gaarra and he trades me a hasperat. I bite into it and my mouth burns pleasantly from the spices. We just sit there chewing for a moment, then I recall, "She loved the water. They don't have full-on oceans like that on Vulcan. A couple big inland seas, that's it."

A memory flashes through my mind, the four of us sitting on the beach one evening that week, shooting the breeze. "What, never?" Biri asks.

"No," T'Var confirms.

"'Not ever,' never?"

"I have never seen the need."

I'm confused, and not just with how did we get onto this subject in the first place. "I thought Vulcans typically had marriages arranged in their teens."

"My parents thought it more logical to allow me to seek my own mate. And before you ask, my pon farr has never been so intense as to require more than meditation to control."

Tess waves a dismissive hand. "Give me a break. I know for a fact you pointy-ears have sex outside of pon farr."

"That's it!" Biri exclaims.

"What's what?" I ask.

"That'll be our present to you this week, T'Var. We are gonna get you laid."

I look at the Trill incredulously, then I hear Tess trying to hold in a enormous guffaw and failing miserably and all three of us collapse. I even catch sight of a twinkle in T'Var's eye in between gales of laughter.

"No, I have no idea how we got on the subject," I insist as Gaarra and I sit in one corner of the lounge. Tess and Biri are with us, now, too.

Tess guesses, "Some combination of booze and the natural tendency of soldiers to turn roughly anything sexual if you leave them alone long enough." Biri starts snickering.

He stares at me, then shakes his head. "Did it actually work?"

"No, at that point we ordered another round of drinks and Biri p-passed out!" I answer, sputtering with laughter at the memory.

"T'Var had to fraggin' carry me back to our cabin!" the Trill adds, now positively howling. Tess falls out of her chair and I lean into Gaarra's shoulder and slide off onto the arm of the chair, shaking with laughter.

As the merriment subsides, I glance up at the wall, which now looks more like a scrapbook than a memorial. Tess says, "I heard through the grapevine they're renaming one of the new Avenger-class cruisers the Olokun-A." My eyes widen and she nods and explains, "The hull formerly known as the USS Ho Chi Minh City, NCC-97510, is launching out of the Okana Shipyard next month. They'll probably want us at the ceremony."

"Of course they will." I shake my head. "Phekk. You know, even T'Var hated when we had to wear our dress uniforms. Remember when Captain Lahau got promoted? She spent half an hour trying to get that stupid necktie right."

Gaarra gives a derisive snort as I scoop up a handful of dirka nuts and stuff them in my mouth. "Who the hell came up with that one?"

I shrug. "Earther thing from centuries ago. Some moron in Procurement decided to go retro that year. So glad they got rid of that in the Odyssey unis."

"So, who's getting the Olokun-A?" Biri asks.

"Urellh Gursultur, half-Romulan fellow from Syrma IV," Tess answers. "He was XO when I was on the Khitomer. Bit of a jerk but he grows on you."

I hear a couple of twangs from across the lounge and look up to see several people clustered around the stage in the far corner. Warragul's twisting the knobs on his guitar and giving the strings experimental picks, Dul'krah has his vodchakh out, and—I get up and walk over there with the others hot on my heels. "Doc? Care to explain the piano?"

"Fairly simple, ma'am," Corpsman Watkins says. "You press one of these keys and—"

"Ha ha," Tess says in a dry tone as I fight valiantly to keep a straight face. I admit it, she got me. "She meant how did you get it on board and where have you been keeping it."

"The transporter, and one of the undeveloped rooms on deck 8, sir," the blonde part-Betazoid answers.

I look at Warragul. "How good is she?"

"Good enough," Watkins returns, "though not as good as my mother, Captain. She plays for the Medara Philharmonic. I don't practice nearly enough to be a professional, but I can play and sing."

I absorb this and turn to my CMO. "What did you have in mind?"

"A few old Earth tunes, quiet stuff. Uh, sir," he asks Dul'krah, who outranks him by one grade, "my pick's gone walkabout."

"On the piano, where you put it," the Pe'khdar says without looking up, adjusting the spring tuner on his instrument. The dark-skinned man grunts in annoyance and scoops up the triangle of plastic without a word.

"Are you ready, Chief?" he asks Watkins. She sits at the baby grand and nods, and Dul'krah raises the vodchakh to his chin. Warragul looks at me. "I introduced T'Var to Sarah McLachlan our third day aboard. Corpsman Anaala and Specialist th'Shrellikath liked her too. We've been practicing this one ever since Dul'krah started working on converting it to that overgrown fiddle of his two weeks ago. Thought you'd appreciate this. Computer, dim the lights and give us a spotlight. And a one, and a two…"

Watkins starts into a slow buildup on her keyboard, with Warragul and Dul'krah joining her on the strings a bar or two in. The chief begins to softly croon, "Remember the good times that we had? I let them slip away from us when things got bad. How clearly I first saw you smilin' in the sun. Wanna feel your warmth upon me, I wanna be the one."

Warragul hits the harmony in tenor during the refrain. "I will remember you; Will you remember me? Don't let your life pass you by. Weep not for the memories."

Now it's the doctor by himself, singing and strumming his guitar. "I'm so tired but I can't sleep, Standin' on the edge of something much too deep. It's funny how we feel so much but we cannot say a word. We are screaming inside, but we can't be heard."

I don't know when Gaarra and I started slow-dancing but I feel safe in his arms, against his chest. Like the first night we met. Feels like hours later when he says, "Uh, Captain, song's over."

"What? Oh, right." I let go of him and step back, brushing a lock of hair out of my face and nervously clearing my throat. Hopefully nobody noticed. No, they're all applauding Watkins and—

"Oh, for Uzaveh's sake, Captain, just kiss him already!" I spin and gape at Tess.

"Yeah, we all knew you two were a thing weeks ago," Warragul adds.

I smile, turn my head and give Gaarra a peck on the lips, then turn back to Tess as he clasps his hands below my breasts and hugs me to him. "I guess our secret's out," he comments into my ear.

"It was not a secret, Commander Reshek," Dul'krah says. "The only question I had was when your first children would be born." There's an oddly musical clunk from Warragul dropping his guitar. I feel my cheeks burning and Dul'krah has the good sense to start looking embarrassed. "My apologies. Clearly I have run afoul of, I believe the term Lieutenant Commander Bo'tok at the Academy used was 'culture clash'."

"Phekk'tem understatement," somebody female in the crowd mutters in Perikian.

"Watch it," I warn over my shoulder. While I'm looking I see Nalak Lang and several of the crew from food service come in with two cases of Romulan ale—legal now, and you can thank the alliance with the Republic for that—and several trays of hasperat, as well as a big bowl of Kendra-style kava pudding I'd requested. "Mister Lang, send some bottles and glasses around, please."

"Yes, ma'am, I was already doing that," the old white-haired Cardassian says.

I wait until everyone in the crowd, almost a quarter of my crew, has a glass in hand before raising mine. "To absent friends. Rest with the Prophets."

Author's Notes: Thanks to takeshi6 and gulberat for acting as editors.

This was fairly straightforward in concept, taking the groundwork Takeshi and I laid for "Remembrance of the Fallen" and repurposing it for T'Var's death in The Wrong Reflection. The execution proved a little trickier, but I like writing Eleya in a relaxed, non-action context almost as much as I like Eleya the Crazy Improvising Soldier.

The "culture clash" Dul'krah mentions comes from the background material I wrote for the Pe'khdar. In their culture romantic relationships rarely last more than about five years or so, and any children that result are part of the mother's clan and get raised by the whole clan in concert (the father typically only takes a major role if he is a member by birth of the same clan). Dul'krah himself has a son and a daughter by two different women.

Oh, and that Sarah McLachlan song is "I Will Remember You", by the way.