Author's Note: Thanks to Kylie Lee for betaing
Jon, lying on the bunk in his quarters, caught the ball on the rebound. Bouncing the water polo ball off the bulkhead seemed to help when he was upset, or when he needed to let his mind go blank. Right now, he was definitely upset, but his mind, far from being blank, was running in circles. Unable to break out of his ill-tempered mood, he continued to relentlessly pound away at the bulkhead with the ball.
He knew what was bothering him. In the grand scheme of things, the cause of his discontent was only a minor footnote in the history of the universe that, apparently, was going to pass by unnoticed by everyone but him.
Today was his birthday.
Not that he was expecting anybody to make a big deal about it. There had been times in the past when his birthday had come and gone without even he himself really taking notice of it. He hadn't particularly minded or even cared. Birthdays were merely a way to mark time. Sometimes it was best if they passed without fanfare.
He laughed mirthlessly, bobbling the catch when the ball careened off the bulkhead after a particularly forceful throw. He remembered that it was after he'd turned twenty-eight or so that he'd actually had to stop and think how old he was whenever the subject of age came up. There had even been a few times he'd had to calculate how old he was, subtracting the year of his birth from the current date, because he'd lost track.
This year, however, he was having no trouble remembering how old he was. He'd hit that great pothole on the road of life. While he wasn't expecting a party or presents, it seemed to him there should be some acknowledgment this year. After all, a guy only turned fifty once.
Five decades. Five long decades that had somehow seemed to slip by in the blink of an eye.
There were times he was amazed he'd lasted as long as he had. Taking command of the first warp 5 Starfleet ship had been something he'd always dreamed of, but he had also known that such a career could severely impact his lifespan. Sometimes, in the dead of night when he had trouble sleeping, all the close calls would parade before him as he stared blindly into the darkness. He found he couldn't dwell on those incidents. All it did was make him question the sanity of being out in space, living and working and coming perilously closely to dying so many times that he'd lost count.
Still, while he didn't expect the crew to make a fuss about his birthday, his senior officers at least could have made some small effort. The whole day had gone by without anyone wishing him so much as a happy birthday. With a rueful smile, he tossed the ball against the bulkhead again. It was probably his own fault. He hadn't encouraged them to celebrate his birthday in the past. Why should this year be any different?
Because he was fifty, that's why, he thought grumpily as he caught the ball and slammed it against the bulkhead yet again. The ball eluded his hands on the return and flew across the cabin, only to ricochet off the statue of Zefram Cochrane, which sat in a place of honor on a shelf. The heavy statue shook but did not fall, even as the ball, momentum lost, landed on the deck and rolled toward the door when the chime sounded.
"Come in!" Jon called.
The door slid open and Trip entered, nimbly sidestepping the ball as it crossed his path. He looked from the ball to Jon, sprawled on his bunk. "Well, this is one of the saddest things I've seen in a long time," he said.
Jon grunted. When Trip picked up the ball and threw it to him, Jon caught it by reflex. "What brings you by my cabin?"
Trip sat on the chair at the desk. "I thought you might like some company on your birthday."
Jon perked up at that. Someone had finally remembered! But then he noted that Trip hadn't brought anything with him. No gayly wrapped package, for one thing. No birthday cake. Not even a bottle. He tossed the ball away. It thunked into the corner and rolled under the desk. A scrabbling of claws on deck plating preceded Porthos' exit from under the desk, the dog's favorite refuge whenever Jon started flinging the water polo ball around.
"Want to celebrate?" Trip asked casually, reaching down to pet Porthos as the dog leaned against his legs.
Jon thought for a moment. Anything would be more enjoyable than staying cooped up alone in his cabin and feeling sorry for himself. "Sure. Got anything in mind?" He sat up and slid his legs over the edge of the bunk.
Trip shrugged. "We could go by the mess hall. I heard that Chef was making a cake this afternoon. Double chocolate."
That drew a smile from Jon. Of course Chef would remember his birthday. Why the man hadn't presented him with the cake at supper, he didn't know, but better late than never. "Let's go." As they headed for the door, Porthos whined from his spot near the desk. "Come on, Porthos," Jon called. The dog obediently trotted to his side. "You could do with a little exercise. The walk will do you good. But no cake. Chocolate isn't good for dogs."
They stepped out into the corridor. As they turned in the direction of the mess hall, Trip said, "Would you mind if we went down to cargo bay C first? I need to check on the maintenance crew working there."
"You go on," Jon said. "I'll meet you in the mess hall."
"Aw, come on," Trip wheedled. "You said Porthos needed exercise."
The engineer seemed nervous. Jon easily read the anxiety behind Trip's hopeful smile. Was there some reason Trip didn't want him to go to mess hall yet? Perhaps a surprise party, Jon thought with a flush of anticipation. Maybe it was Trip's job to get him to the mess hall, but not right away. The rest of the senior staff might still be decorating and getting things ready. His suspicion grew stronger at Trip's next words.
"Besides, that cake won't taste as good if you haven't worked up an appetite," Trip said.
Jon had to hide a smile that would have given away that he knew what Trip was up to. "All right."
The two men started off, quickly falling into step. Porthos ran ahead as they passed by the door to the mess hall. Although he strained to listen, Jon didn't hear anything out of the ordinary coming from the other side of the door. He told himself to act suitably surprised when he walked into the party in the mess hall after this detour to the cargo bay.
During the ride in the turbolift, Jon reflected that he should have realized Trip wouldn't let such an occasion pass by without some sort of celebration. In the meantime, Trip was chattering away. Jon figured he was trying to distract him from what was going to happen in the mess hall. But he wasn't distracted enough to realize that, when the turbolift doors opened, they were heading for an auxiliary entrance to cargo bay C. The storage area was the largest on the ship, and this particular entrance was to the upper level where a catwalk ran around the bay. Jon didn't know why they hadn't gone down one deck to the main entrance. Maybe Trip's maintenance staff was working on panels on the upper level.
"Is there a problem with something in the cargo bay?" Jon asked as they arrived at the hatch.
"There was," Trip responded ambiguously as he opened the hatch. "I guess you could call it a leakage problem." Without further explanation, Trip entered the cargo bay.
Jon frowned. A leakage problem? What did that mean? Maybe it had something to do with electrical signal leakage, which could cause interference with some systems. The cargo bay seemed to be a strange place to have that problem, however, because there weren't any major systems connected to it.
Trip had gone to stand looking down into the bay, his hands on the catwalk rail. When Jon joined him and looked down, the full impact of what Trip had meant by leakage hit him.
Below them, the main deck of the cargo bay was full of water. "What the--?" In disbelief, he turned to Trip.
Trip had a huge grin on his face. "Thought you might like to play water polo on your birthday."
Stunned, Jon looked again at the mass of water. He could see a lining of some sort around the bottom and sides of the bay, holding in the water. Ripples suddenly spread across the water, and he craned his neck, trying to see below the catwalk he and Trip stood on. Members of his senior staff came into view, sloshing through chest-deep water far enough to be able to look up at him.
"Happy birthday, Captain!" came a chorus of voices.
A smile slowly spread across Jon's face as he looked down at their beaming faces. His entire senior staff was here and had been in on the secret. Then a thought occurred to him, and he turned to Trip with a severe expression. "Isn't this hazardous? All the EPS lines that run through these bulkheads--"
Trip shook his head. "Don't worry. It's safe. We waterproofed all the places that could cause a problem." At Jon's look, he added, "I'm an engineer, and I oversaw this project. Trust me, it's safe. Except for the leakage problem."
"So there really was a leakage problem?" Jon asked.
Trip chuckled sheepishly. "I forgot to tell Hoshi to use the upper entrance. We'd just started filling the pool, and I thought Travis had locked the main door, but he hadn't. We would have had this done before dinner if we hadn't had to clean up about a hundred gallons of water that gushed out into the corridor."
"Out in the corridor!"
Trip held up his hands. "It's all right. We got it cleaned up before anything was damaged."
Jon turned back to gaze down at the officers in the improvised pool. They were staring anxiously up at him, waiting, he realized, for some sort of reaction from him. If they'd asked him if they could convert the cargo bay into a pool, he would have told them no, but since they'd gone to so much trouble...
"Looks great!" he shouted down to them, and was rewarded by smiles from everyone but T'Pol.
He almost did a double take when he realized she was among the crew members chest-deep in water. T'Pol? In the water? He wasn't even sure she knew how to swim, since she came from a desert planet. But there she was, standing in the midst of the group. Malcolm was there, too, looking uncomfortable and tense. Jon could only imagine what the tactical officer was going through, what with his aquaphobia.
He resisted the urge to tweak Trip by pointing out that the depth wasn't regulation for water polo. It seemed uncharitable after they'd gone to all this trouble. Anyway, deeper water would mean several of the officers most likely would decline to participate, especially Malcolm if the water was over his head. And as the old saying went, it was the thought that counted.
Letting his gaze roam across the assembled officers, he saw that Malcolm and Travis were in swim trunks, and T'Pol and Hoshi were in one-piece swimsuits. And Phlox--well, Phlox was wearing some strange, striped, body-hugging suit that had long sleeves and went down past his knees. He looked like he'd just stepped off the beach at Coney Island in the 1920s.
"Come on, Captain!" Hoshi called encouragingly, waving at him. "Are you up for a game?"
Jon found himself excited at the prospect of playing his favorite sport. "I'll go back to my cabin and get changed," he told Trip.
"No need," Trip said. He gestured toward the far end of the catwalk. "We've made a cabana. We had your steward swipe your trunks from your cabin when you were on the bridge this morning, so you can change here."
With a smile, Jon headed over to the brightly colored tentlike structure set up at the end of the catwalk, stepped in, and pulled the flap shut. He quickly changed into his trunks, stepped out, and padded over to the ladder leading down into the pool as Trip disappeared inside the cabana, the next to change.
A whimper from near his feet made Jon look down. Porthos was scared. All that water must remind him of a giant bath, and baths were not his favorite thing.
"It's okay, boy," Jon said, squatting down to reassuringly pat the beagle's head. "You can stay up here where it's nice and dry."
Porthos chuffed a few times, lay down, and put his head on his paws as Jon began climbing down the ladder.
Another disturbing thought occurred to Jon and he halted midway down the ladder. "Where did you get all the water?" he called down to the officers in the pool.
Malcolm said, "It was Travis' idea. We used the grappler to pull in some frozen chunks out of a comet."
Jon, marveling at the ingenuity of his officers and thankful that they hadn't depleted the ship's supply of water, took a deep breath and leaped off the ladder. He gasped in shock as he hit the water. It was cold!
Trip, climbing down the ladder, laughed at Jon's startled expression. "Malcolm used a phase rifle to melt all the ice once we got it in here. But we couldn't fine-tune the beam enough to keep the water from evaporating once the ice was melted, so we couldn't warm it up."
"You did just fine," Jon said. Eager to start, he glanced around. On either end of the pool, he saw goals made from what he assumed were curtains from sickbay, but there was no ball. Then, without warning, his yellow water polo ball came sailing overhead, only to plop into the water just in front of him. He looked up to see his steward standing on the catwalk.
"Happy birthday, sir," the steward said. "Enjoy yourself!"
Jon laughed delightedly. "Thanks, Cunningham," he called back. Turning to his officers, a competitive gleam in his eye, he said, "Let's play!"
The last crumbs of the birthday cake sat on a platter in the mess hall. All the officers had left the party. The room was empty but for Jon and Trip, who sat with glasses of fine Kentucky bourbon in their hands. Porthos was under the table, curled up and sound asleep, his paws twitching to some cheese-induced dream.
"This has to be the best birthday I've ever had," Jon said as he put his feet up on a nearby chair and took a sip from his glass.
Trip smiled. The engineer looked tired but happy. "Glad I could be of service," he said. "I can't believe we played three games." He sighed. "First thing tomorrow morning, I'll see to the water. If we can't recycle it, we'll just jettison it."
Jon set his glass on the table. "Why don't you wait a day or two?"
Trip looked at him askance. "Isn't it kind of dangerous to have all that water in there for any length of time? What if the grav plating goes out?"
"Are you expecting it to?" Jon countered.
"Well, no, but--"
"I just want to do some laps." Jon gave him a lopsided smile. "It's not like I get to swim much any more."
Trip smiled and nodded. "All right. The water stays where it is for a couple of days, but only if we don't play water polo again." Running a hand through his still damp hair, he added, "I haven't been this tired since I don't know when. I don't know how you do it. You look like you're ready to go again."
"Natural athletic ability," Jon said with a straight face.
Trip guffawed. "Yeah, right. But you are in pretty good shape for someone who's hit the half-century mark."
Jon mock glared at him. "Just for that, I will expect a rematch tomorrow before supper. I mean it!"
As Trip groaned and hung his head, Jon got to his feet. "Come on, Porthos. I need to get you tucked in." With the sleepy beagle following him, Jon started for the door. Halfway there, he stopped and turned back. "Thanks, Trip," he said. "That really was the best present anyone has ever given me."
Trip looked at him knowingly. "Except for maybe this," the engineer said, indicating their surroundings with a sweeping wave of his hand.
Jon knew he meant Enterprise. He nodded, his own tiredness starting to settle in, but also feeling content for the first time that day. "Yes. That, and water polo. I must be the happiest man in the universe right now."
--The End--