Weekends on the Cerritos (or, well—what counted as weekends, anyway; technically his three days off started on Thursday) were a pretty good time to get stuff done that required peace and quiet, especially if you preferred to spend that time in the bunk hallway. The majority of the beta-shifters were working at their posts, while anyone with the day off was generally spending their free time doing something more exciting in one of the ship's many rec rooms or the trusty holodecks, leaving the hallway empty in their absence.

Bradward Boimler, for his part, preferred to spend his Thursday afternoons engaging in a less energetic hobby—namely, filling out and submitting applications. He finished sending off the latest batch with the satisfaction of knowing the resumés and cover letters were bouncing their way happily across subspace, and then checked the time, rolled his shoulders and stood up from his bunk. He had a meeting with Ransom for a performance review in a few hours, but until then he had some time to relax and hang out with his friends. Tendi and Rutherford were probably in the cafeteria working on one of their model ships, and Mariner had said something about going to work out; they shouldn't be too hard to find...

He was just about to put his Padd away in his side-closest when he heard the sound of running footsteps coming around the corner behind him, and then a voice rasp: "Bradward." He turned, caught one look at her face and felt his own fall.

"Mariner? What's wrong, you look– oof."

They stood there in silence for a long beat, swaying back and forth as Mariner gripped him like a vice and he…well, got hugged, his arms hanging limply to the sides. Once he'd recovered himself he reached up and awkwardly patted her back. "Um– Mariner? You okay, or…?"

She didn't answer right away, but—to his continued shock—he felt her shudder. Then as if her strings had been cut, her limbs went limp and she sagged to the ground, almost sliding down him to her knees. It was at this point that he noticed she was shaking. "God, Mariner, what happened?" Boimler breathed, kneeling down next to her and surreptitiously checking her for injuries. There weren't any that he could see, but that didn't mean they weren't there. "Are you hurt? If you're hurt we should call medbay and–" But Mariner was shaking her head. He'd only ever seen her like this a couple of times before, after bad away missions, but the ship was at warp and she'd been fine when he'd seen her earlier that morning. "Okay, um– can you talk about it, or can I help or…?"

The woman's head was ducked so that he could barely see her face, but even from the angle he could tell her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and she was drawing deep, gulping breaths. "You, uh–" Her voice was quavering; he hadn't heard her like this since the time they'd gone down to the swamp below the arboretum and she'd hallucinated being a baby bird in an egg. "You know how I sometimes do Cardassian prison breaks for cardio?"

"Yeah...?"

"Well, um–" She swallowed, her throat bobbing. "Um, back when you were on the Titan I added you as a character for, like, a little revenge fantasy and–"

"Jeez, Mariner," he said before he could stop himself, but to his panic she broke down completely:

"I'm sorry, it was supposed to be a joke and–"

"Whoa– wait Mariner, hang on, what happe–"

"I forgot he was even in there and when I logged in the program just started running and I couldn't save you and–"

"Mariner– hey, hang on, it wasn't real, it wasn't–" She sucked in a shuddering, sharp breath that sounded painful to inhale, and he gripped her shoulders with both hands. "It wasn't real," he said forcefully. "That wasn't really me. I'm safe, I'm right here." She nodded too many times and reached up to grab the hand on her shoulder, squeezing it tight.

He let that sit for a moment, to sink in, and then asked, as gently as he could: "Why didn't you just pause the program?" Mariner mumbled something he couldn't catch. "What?"

"I f… forgot I was… I forgot I was on the holodeck," she mumbled hoarsely.

"Oh…"

"Oh, god." She reached up with her free hand, mopping her eyes. "You must think I'm so stupid–"

"I don't think that–"

"I thought it could be a fun little bonus round, you know, head back in and save you, I mean holo-you, but then I got in there and it was so real and th-then I found you–" Her voice broke off into a croak, and she gripped his hand so tight it hurt, gulping down air.

"Mariner–"

"Brad, I just need you to tell me you're okay. Please."

"I'm okay," he reassured her immediately. "I'm right here and I'm fine. None of that–" whatever that was, "–ever happened to me, it was just the holodeck going haywire."

She nodded again, and then at long last opened her eyes properly and looked up at him. Boimler gave her a nervous smile, and Mariner exhaled, deep and full-bodied, and then lunged forward and nearly tackled him in another hug.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I know you're okay, I was just being an idiot–"

"You're not an idiot, and I'm completely fine," he said firmly, wondering to himself just how many times someone hadn't been able to say those words to her. "Maybe—and I'm just suggesting this as your friend, you can tell me to fuck off, but—maybe you shouldn't do Cardassian prison breaks for a workout anymore?" he suggested hesitantly. But Mariner shook her head.

"No. It– I know this sounds crazy, but it weirdly helps? Like, it was one of my fears during the war, so facing it on the holodeck where I'm in control—you know, when I remember I'm in control—it kind of, I don't know." She pulled back again, still wiping her eyes. "Helps me deal with it, I guess?"

He nodded, deciding that now probably wasn't the right time to argue with Mariner on how she processed (or failed to process) her trauma. "You okay now?"

"Yeah," she agreed shakily, and then corrected: "I mean, obviously no, but– I'm okay enough for now." She took another deep breath. "Let's just– I don't know, go get some lunch or something, okay?"

"Sounds like a good plan." He stood up and offered her a hand, which Mariner (for once) accepted. As she stood up she saw the already-drying tear stains on his uniform and winced.

"Jeez, Brad, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to come in here and get all weepy on you..."

"It's fine," he reassured her, "it'll dry." He was hardly a psychologist, but he had the intuition that getting Mariner out of whatever headspace she was currently in would require physically relocating to somewhere with things like people and food , rather than letting her recriminate herself for having the "unflappable space adventurer" mask crack a bit. "C'mon, let's go down to the cafeteria and get some food in you."

They headed for the hallway out towards the turbolift. Right before they reached it, however, Mariner held out a hand to stop him. "Brad," she said seriously, looking him in the eyes with the intensity of a phaser-blast. "I need you to know, I– I would protect you, okay? Like if anything like that ever happened, I would protect you, I promise–"

"I know," he insisted, and then added: "But– Mariner, if something ever did happen, and you couldn't protect me–"

"Don't. Don't even say it."

"–It wouldn't be your fault, and I wouldn't blame you," he finished. "And that's it, that's all I was going to say. We don't have to talk about it any more."

Mariner hesitated, searching his eyes, and then relaxed an inch and nodded again. "Okay. …Um, thanks, Brad. Sorry I'm such a mess…"

"You're not a mess, you just need some food and water," he scolded as the lift arrived and they stepped inside, which wasn't entirely true, but he thought it would help her save face. "Remember what Dr. T'Ana told us about taking breaks?"

"I was taking water breaks, Brad, jeez. Which one of us actually works out here?" The joke seemed forced and didn't come with its usual bite, but he could tell she was trying and followed form:

"Hey, I'll have you know that Rutherford and I do anbo-jyutsu every Wednesday night."

"Wh– and you don't invite me? What the hell man, so much for being friends."

"Yeah because you would kick our asses every time, where's the fun in that?"

They continued their familiar bickering all the way down to the cafeteria, where they spotted Tendi and Rutherford and sat down with them, still sparring over their trays. As Mariner began to chat with the others, brushing off her flushed face and puffy eyes with having just come from a workout, Boimler surreptitiously opened his Padd and rescheduled his meeting with Ransom to make sure he'd have the afternoon free—just in case Mariner needed him around, as reassurance. Protection came in many forms, after all.