The gym was mostly empty when Mariner arrived, which was exactly how she liked it. Although working out at 21:00 hours could be a pain, it also meant that, since the delta-shift folks were just going on duty and the gamma-shifters were just getting off, nobody else was using her preferred equipment. Tonight the room was unoccupied other than Ransom and Levy, the latter of whom was doing stretches and the former of whom didn't use the little twenty-pound weights she'd been relegated to during the pregnancy. Damn loose joints, she thought with annoyance as she stretched out her arms and then went to pick up the dumbbells off the stand. Still, she'd probably be grateful for it around the time she was trying to push a baby out of her…

Ransom gave her a brief nod as she took up position next to him and silently went back to doing curls. Mariner opened her mouth to say something and then noticed there that he seemed lost in thought, watching his completely dark Padd that he'd set up on the ground below the mirror. Huh. He's not playing a workout video or anything, she thought, confused, and then brushed it off. Who knew why Ransom did what he did, the guy was kind of a weirdo. Then again, she thought with an internal snicker, so was everyone on the ship.

"Uh, excuse me."

Speaking of…

She took a deep breath in through her nose as she continued her workout, shooting daggers through the mirror in the direction of one Steve Levy, who had stopped his lunges and was watching her, arms crossed. "Can I help you, Steve?"

"Should you really be doing that while you're– you know." He pointedly glanced down at her belly and then back up at her.

"Oh well look who thinks they're an expert on pregnancy despite not being a medic and not having a baby literally growing inside them," Mariner said with a wide and deeply unsettling grin, doing another curl.

Per usual, Steve didn't take the hint. "I'm just saying–"

"Lt. Levy," a voice called over sharply, and both officers turned. Ransom was giving the man a no-nonsense look. "Report to my office for sensitivity training tomorrow at 14:00 hours."

"Sir–!"

"That's an order, lieutenant."

Levy gave Mariner a bitter look but cleared the gym, apparently deciding that sticking around was just courting more trouble. "Thanks, Jack," she said as the doors closed, rolling her eyes.

"Don't sweat it, lieutenant," he grunted. "Just doing my job."

"Seriously, you wouldn't believe how pushy people get once you have a baby in you; you know yesterday Lundy told me I shouldn't eat spicy food?" She shook her head as she finished her set and rolled her shoulders. "Like, just because he eats like a Vulcan doesn't mean my baby has to."

Ransom snorted, and then startled as his Padd suddenly lit up with a little ping. Mariner blinked as he nearly shoved the dumbbells back on the stand and picked it up. "Whoa there, Commander, where's the red alert?"

"What?" he said, distracted. Instead of answering Mariner raised an eyebrow and started on her next set, watching him curiously. He didn't seem to notice her lack of response, instead unlocking the Padd and scrolling down to the bottom of some screen. Then he stopped.

For a long beat there was silence. The commander seemed frozen. "...Jack?" Mariner said at last, half-amused and half-concerned.

The noise seemed to shake him out of his daze, but only slightly; he locked the Padd, cleared his throat and turned away, giving her an offhanded nod. "Oh, uh, nothing. Sorry to disturb you, lieutenant, have a good night."

"Uh– yeah, okay, you too." She watched through the mirror, bemused, as he turned and headed for the far door—and then paused next to the speed-bags near the exit, pulled back his fist, and hit one as hard as he could.

"Holy shit–" Mariner began, but was drowned out a very loud popping noise, followed by Ransom's angry, "Oh fucking damn it!" She set down the weights and hurried over, gaping at the punctured bag as Jack fumed next to her, growling to himself:

"That's perfect, that's really fucking perfect, a real cherry on top of the fucking sunday–"

"Jeez, Jack, what was in that message?" she demanded.

"Nothing. None of your business," he snapped, turning back towards the door, but Mariner hurried around him and planted her hands on her waist.

"Look you're obviously upset, so don't try that 'everything's fine life is dandy' bullshit, because that is my move and you're not as good at it as I am!" Her XO glared back at her and she crossed her arms. "We're coworkers and friends, man, and obviously you're upset if you're breaking the gym equipment. Now you can either spill to me or Honus or whoever, or I can sick Migleemo on your ass. Your choice."

He huffed and looked away. "Look, I applied for the open captain's position on the U.S.S. Indigo last month, alright? I just got the rejection letter, that's all."

"Oh," she realized, and immediately felt bad for prying. "Oh shit, Jack, I'm sorry, that sucks."

"It's fine," he muttered, unconvincingly. "I knew this was coming."

"What do you mean?"

"I– nothing. It doesn't matter, it–" He broke off, then sighed, and Mariner realized that he wasn't just angry, he was… hurt.

"Jeez, you're really broken up about this, aren't you," she said before she could stop herself. Ransom shot her an annoyed look, and she held up her hands. "Hey, no judgment! I'm just saying, I don't know, maybe you should go talk to Migleemo."

"I already have. This isn't anything new, I've gotten rejected from more captainships than I can count at this point, I'm used to it. Look, lieutenant, I'm fine; I don't need anyone worrying about me."

He really was not as good at her lines as she was. Mariner was about to comment as much when something about what he'd said caught her strangely, and she found herself frowning. "Hang on– what do you mean, you've 'been rejected from more captainships than you can count?' I mean I will never say this again, so savor it, but– you're a good first officer, Jack. What admiral wouldn't want you in charge of one of their ships?"

He gave her a confused look, which she returned right back. Slowly, some realization dawned on his face. "Hang on," he said, "you…really don't know, do you."

"Huh? Don't know what?"

Ransom let out a quiet curse under his breath, apparently at himself. "Damn it, I just assumed everyone had guessed…"

"Hey, look, if it's personal–" she quickly backtracked, but the commander cut her off with a grudging exhale:

"No, we both know if I don't tell you you're gonna go look it up, and I'd rather you hear it from me." He grimaced and awkwardly reached up to rub the back of his neck. "You've heard the saying that it's not what you know in Starfleet that counts, it's who you know, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So connections, especially family connections, count for a lot in in this job. So does family legacy. The Ransoms had a pretty good legacy—up until a few years ago, anyway." He paused briefly, and then sighed again, lowering his hand. "Y'ever heard of Captain Rudolph Ransom, lieutenant?"

Oh. Oh, fuck… "The, uh– former captain of the U.S.S. Equinox," she said, as evenly as she could.

"Yeah. Like I said, legacy counts."

"Jeez, Jack, I'm– I'm sorry," she sighed. She knew better than anyone that family reputation could quietly make or break a Starfleet career. "But– hey, I'm sure you'll make captain somewhere else, you've just gotta keep trying–"

"I've been trying, Mariner, that's what I was telling you. I've been applying for better positions for the last decade. I finally gave up last year, I was just so overqualified for the Indigo that Matt convinced me I had to give it one last shot. I shouldn't have listened to him."

In all the years she'd worked with him, Mariner had never seen her XO look so… defeated. She nodded back towards the benches by the weights and he reluctantly followed. "Fucking Starfleet nepotism," she huffed as they sat down. "Should've guessed it would cut both ways."

"No kidding. And it sucks even more because I worked my ass off on the way up to prove that I deserved every commission I got, even if I did get them because of the family name." He shook his head. "You know back in '77, I got a tip-off that I was the top candidate for the first officer position on the U.S.S. Aeneid? "

"The Aeneid? That's– hang on, that's a Galaxy-class ship."

"Yeah, and I'd earned it, believe me," he said, so insistently that Mariner wondered if he was trying to reassure her or himself. "Served with distinction during the war, field promotions to commander and acting-XO for a bunch of battles…apparently I was a shoe-in. But after everyone heard what Uncle Rudy did, none of that mattered."

Uncle Rudy. Mariner had never connected Ransom with the infamous captain, but in retrospect it made sense. She liked the senior staff well enough, but between a doctor with no bedside manner, a traumatized ex-terrorist with recurrent flashbacks, a captain with a pattern of causing minor disasters through overconfidence and impulsiveness, and the worst therapist she'd ever met (alright, maybe she didn't like Migleemo as much as the others)—well, the charming, confident and highly capable Jack Ransom had always been the odd man out. Going bankrupt in the economy of prestige and achievement Starfleet was based on would definitely explain how he'd ended up here.

"When I didn't get the Aeneid assignment, I applied for a bunch of other top positions," Ransom continued. "Got passed over for every one of them. So I lowered my standards, and got passed over for those too. Eventually I realized it didn't matter how hard I'd worked, people just assumed I'd been riding my uncle's coat-tails and didn't deserve any more special treatment. In the end, there was only one captain in the whole fleet that would take me."

"My mom," Mariner realized, and the commander nodded. "So that's why you're so loyal to her…"

"Freeman might not be the best captain when it comes to tactics, or honestly command style," Ransom admitted. "But she does what no one else in the fleet will do. While everyone else is talking up a big game about Federation values and building a better future, she actually walks the walk and takes in the people no one wants to deal with, gives them a chance to prove they're better than the stereotypes and assumptions. Ex-pirates, people with ugly family histories—even self-sabotaging washouts who just need someone to believe in them."

Mariner's mouth quirked ruefully at this description, and he continued: "Obviously those other captains and admirals would never say Orions can't be trusted, or that a Tamarian fresh out of their Federation Standard course can't be a good security chief or that you should judge someone based on their ancestors. They just don't want to take that risk on their ships, and there's always a way to justify going with another candidate. In the end, it amounts to the same thing."

The sad thing was, Mariner had to admit he was right; she loved her coworkers, but the Cerritos crew was a patchwork quilt of the misfits, outsiders and fuckups that no other ship would take. She could even name a few that Ransom hadn't mentioned—obviously Boimler with his little career-ending secret, and T'Lyn with her transfer from the Vulcan fleet for 'interpersonal problems,' and Rutherford with his strangely blank records, only now beginning to be filled in by a slow process of memory recall. Then there was Jenn, whose otherwise perfect record, Mariner had found out during their brief relationship, had been permanently blackened back at the Academy by getting caught running a secret (and very unapproved) Ushaan dueling club. And Castro; Mariner had no idea what she had done, but anyone who got laterally transferred from the Enterprise to the Cerritos had obviously had some major mistake redacted from their files. Even Levy with his conspiracy theories was one of their best science officers. And those were just the examples off the top of her head. What was it her mother had told her years ago? The Cerritos is still your last chance. She'd assumed it was just because she was the captain's daughter, but maybe the statement had been more generally true than she'd realized.

"Long story short, the Indigo was my last shot," Jack sighed, drawing her attention back to the present. "Probably the only way I'm making captain now is if Freeman convinces HQ to let me take over here when she retires. Don't get me wrong, I love working here and I know what we do is important, I just– I don't know, I guess I always hoped this was a layover." He looked up at himself in the mirror, and for the first time Mariner realized there were flecks of gray starting to appear at the edges of his temples. "I know that compared to everyone else he hurt, my problems don't even hold a candle. But sometimes, I wish I could tell Uncle Rudy to add one more name to the list of lives he fucked up."

Mariner watched his face in the glass for a moment, then looked at her own morose expression. Her gaze dropped to the round belly under her resting hand, and she pursed her lips. "Family legacies, huh," she said quietly. He nodded. "They get ya coming and going; either they're terrible and you have to fight against them, or they're amazing and you have to live up to them."

"Better not to have one," he agreed.

"Jack– look," she said, turning on the bench to face him; he glanced down at her. "I get where you're coming from, I do. But for what it's worth, if the whole point of the Cerritos is to prove that everyone has a place in Starfleet, even the people other ships don't want, then– then I don't think anyone embodies that spirit better than you."

"You wanna take another run at that compliment, lieutenant?"

She rolled her eyes; trust him to make this difficult. "I meant that you're a great commander." Ransom blinked, startled. "You're amazing at helping the junior crew serving under you, you're always supporting us and pushing us to become better officers—I mean just look at me and Brad, we wouldn't have gotten where we are now without you! And," she added firmly, "I think you would make a fantastic captain for the Cerritos someday. This ship needs someone like you, someone who knows that just because someone or something is overlooked, that doesn't mean they're not still an important part of Starfleet. Someone who believes in this crew—even when they sometimes don't believe in themselves."

He was staring at her as she finished, and Mariner cleared her throat and looked away again, embarrassed to have been giving a big heartfelt speech to Ransom, of all people. But then the commander half-smiled. "You know what, lieutenant? You're right."

"I am? Uh, I mean, yeah, of course I am. Obviously."

Ransom unlocked the Padd again and deleted the rejection notice, nodding with a thoughtful look as he checked the time and stood up. "I should probably get heading down to Cetacean Ops, the guys wanted to hang out tonight. Guess we'll be drowning my sorrows instead of celebrating." Mariner chuckled. "Thanks, lieutenant. You were right, talking about it helped."

"No problem," she said with a lazy two-finger salute, standing as well. "Can't let Migleemo do all the personal breakthroughs around here, right?"

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and headed for the door, but at the threshold turned back. "Mariner," he called, causing her to look back in surprise from where she'd picked up the weights again. "For real, thanks. I've said it before and I'll say it again, you'd make a good First Officer someday; you've already got the whole 'rallying the crew' speech down."

"Hah. Well, if I do, it's only because I had a great mentor," she said with a smirk that softened into something more sincere as he returned it.

Jack headed out the door, and she turned back to the mirror. She was about to resume her workout when something caught her attention, and she looked down in surprise at the weird, fluttery sensation coming from inside her. She still wasn't used to the feeling of the baby kicking. "Careful, space cadet, that universe isn't as big as you think it is," she joked, and then looked up at the mirror. "Family legacies," she murmured again, feeling a little guilty. It wasn't fair, and she knew that; it wasn't fair that a ship that had been her last chance, had probably been a lot of people's only chance. How did you fight against a system that you'd personally benefited from? That your kid was going to benefit from, whether it was right or not?

But then she thought of her parents, quietly pulling what levers they could behind the scenes to make things a little fairer for everyone. Maybe if she was going to give her kid a legacy, that would be part of it. A big part, she decided. Whatever else she would hand on to her daughter, she would also hand on the idea that everyone had a place in Starfleet, so long as you worked hard and earned your way fair—and that if you did get a leg up, you should damn well use that advantage to pull other people up with you.

Yeah, she thought firmly, that would be a family legacy worth being proud of. She and Brad hadn't yet decided whose last name to give the baby, since neither of them were particularly attached to theirs, but now Beckett thought she had a pretty clear idea. Danielle Freeman. It had a nice ring to it.