Episode Two | Teaser - Good Night

Chapter 6
Harry
Attached

Harry stepped into his quarters and looked around, fingers rubbing at the capsule Doctor Bashir had given him. He should take it, but something about it felt wrong. Felt like… felt like he shouldn't have been here in the first place. If he couldn't handle just going to sleep, he shouldn't have been in Starfleet, probably.

But this wasn't what Harry thought it would be like.

For the foreseeable future, this tiny two-by-two meter square room was his. Well, his and the Maquis, Tabor Ha'kan's. Harry planned to be asleep by the time he got back, since he knew Tabor was on the same shift schedule Harry was, but not only did Riker cut him loose early, but Tabor had friends and probably wanted to get dinner. Harry couldn't be sure. He hadn't really spoken to him.

He stared at the bed for a second before kicking his shoes off and stretching his toes in their black socks on the floor. The back wall was a series of small drawers, mostly empty. He'd settled into his quarters on Deep Space Nine, so most of his things were there. He'd need more clothes, and he'd forgotten his clarinet at home on Earth. He wasn't going to cry.

Back to the wall, Harry slid down to the floor and put his head in his hands. He'd been prepared for homesickness. This was his first time away from Earth, his first time not just a short transporter away from home. This first tour was only supposed to be six months. He knew he'd get used to it—so just six months to start. By then he'd be twenty-two, and certainly old enough to have gotten over it. He could always send his parents a message and expect one back soon. He wasn't going to cry.

He'd decided.

God, was Mom okay? What kind of news were his parents going to get? Were they gonna visit their house in dress uniforms, somberly tell them that their son was dead? Probably just missing first… It didn't matter, because… because…

Damnit.

A voice interrupted his soft sobbing not too long afterward. "Harry?"

Wiping his cheeks off on his sleeve, he looked up at the ceiling where it seemed like the voice was coming from. "Yeah."

"You okay?"

"You?"

Lyndsay laughed softly. He loved that laugh. At least he wouldn't have to go without that. "Holding up. Seska's my roommate."

Harry considered. He wasn't familiar with her.

"She's never here," Lyndsay added.

"I guess it could be worse."

"It really could."

With a smile and rending heart, Harry leaned back against the wall behind him even more heavily. Hoped she kept talking, because he was still not going to cry.

"You wouldn't want to join me in the mess hall for a midnight snack, would you? Maybe a game of checkers? I have a little while before my shift, so…" Lyndsay sounded like she wasn't crying, too. "I think my dad will have already heard. I hope he's okay."

"I keep thinking about my folks, too."

She sniffed, but didn't say anything. Harry could only imagine Professor Ballard's reaction to his daughter's disappearance. Never mind her death. He narrowly avoided imagining his parents'.

"Yeah," he said. "Checkers sounds great."

"See you in a few minutes."

Harry put the sedative capsule under his pillow and scrubbed the remaining tears from his face. He only had one change of clothes, so he changed into his single geometrically-patterned off-duty shirt. He wondered what he was thinking bring this shirt of all things, since it was a little more formal than a sweater or something else would have been. He'd need more than just one set of non-uniform clothing, though. He heard Tuvok tell Captain Chakotay they didn't have enough energy for frivolous replication, and Harry wasn't sure if the Vulcan would consider off-duty clothing "frivolous."

Harry stepped out into the hallway, relieved to see no one else there. It was a short walk to the turbolift, and he spent the time trying to get his mind off home and the seventy years between.

Lyndsay sat in the mess hall, in her gold-and-black ops division uniform ready for shift. Harry would have expected Lyndsay to be prepared, at least in the clothing department. She had more clothing than anyone he knew, and she was ever recycling shirts and pants for new versions in different colors and styles. A small pile of cookies and a bowl of soup sat in front of her.

She waved at him, wan and distressed. Held a cookie out to him.

"Want a sehlat?" she asked.

Harry took the cookie, confused until he saw the familiar shape of the Vulcan saber-toothed bear. Animal cookies. "You got a targ in there?"

She shook her head, waving the cookie she was eating. "The targs are mine."

He tried to smile, but could only manage so much. With a disinterested glance toward the replicators along the wall, he sat across from her. Dunked his sehlat in her soup. "I'm gonna regret this tomorrow when I'm falling asleep during shift."

Lyndsay shrugged, nudging her soup more toward the middle of the table. "What're they gonna do? Put you on report?" She glanced around, and Harry did, too.

They weren't alone in the mess hall, but he wasn't familiar with any of the people in here yet. He'd have a long while to get to know everyone. Right now, he wasn't even entirely sure who was Maquis and who was Starfleet. He hadn't considered that when he'd changed his shirt that he could have been blending in with a hostile environment.

"What do you think about the new uniform protocol?" Harry reached across the table and slid two cookies toward himself. One of them was a Rigellian insect and the other an Earth bear.

Lyndsay looked at him, then down at her uniform. "I guess I'm wearing this out of habit."

Harry dipped the insect's wings into the soup. "He can't seem to decide what he's doing…" he whispered, and hoped no one took what he'd just said as critical. Chakotay's orders to the crew was, basically, to get along. Punishments were harsh. Even still, talking about the captain and speculating about his decisions felt dangerous.

"I think he knows. Doesn't seem like too bad an idea to me," Lyndsay said.

Harry frowned. Even if the captain wasn't Starfleet and the Federation was almost seventy-thousand lightyears away, Harry still was. "I'm going to wear my uniform, anyway."

She smiled a little, and her eyes sparkled. "Who are you sucking up to with that decision? Commander Worf?"

"No!" Harry snapped the bear's head off with his teeth, and tried to figure out a good reason when he wasn't sure he had any. He couldn't even think of anyone he'd be currying favor with by the decision. "I only brought one change of clothes."

Clicking her tongue, Lyndsay shook her head. "Didn't you learn anything at the Academy? You never know when you'll be punted across the galaxy by a displacement wave. Always bring one more change of clothes than you think you'll need."

"That's what my mom always says," Harry said about to grab another cookie when something in his chest stopped him. The vision of his mother sobbing into Dad's chest, or standing silent in the doorway to his bedroom he'd never see again.

He set his jaw, bit his tongue. It was no good. Tears gathered to his eyes again that he quickly squashed with the heel of his palm. "Damnit. I'm sorry," he whimpered as he felt Lyndsay's fingers wrap around his arm comfortingly. "We're never gonna see them again."

Lyndsay rubbed her palm on his wrist and hushed him. "You don't know that."

"We're seventy-thousand lightyears away," Harry muttered. "It'll take us sixty years just to get to the Beta Quadrant. Who knows what's gonna happen in the next seventy years. Hell, for all we know, the Klingons will have taken over the whole quadrant by the time we get back."

Lyndsay hesitated a moment, then said, "QaQbe' a' De'vam chu'?" Smiled a little.

He wasn't in the mood.

Harry heaved a sigh and leaned back in the chair, tears threatening to spill over. "I'm going to bed," he said, pouring every ounce of restraint he had into keeping his voice even. "We can play checkers tomorrow."

The mess hall suddenly seemed to explode with activity as a handful of Maquis engineers came in. They chattered and ordered hasperat. Harry looked at Lyndsay, who watched them with distinct disinterest. One of them was Tabor, and he looked ticked. Jarvin, who Harry'd been working with in ops, sat down next to Jor.

"Probably for the best." Lyndsay stood up and waited for Harry to do the same. "That's my cue anyway."

As soon as he stood beside her, she wrapped him in a hug. He was surprised, but returned the embrace as soon as he realized what was happening. Turned his eyes into her shoulder, and took a steadying breath.

"It'll be okay," she whispered, rubbing his back.

He had no idea how she could be so sure about that, and decided she probably couldn't. Probably just saying things, like she always did. He backed off, trying to smile. "Yeah. See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Lyndsay picked up her bowl.

It occurred to Harry to wait until she had deposited the bowl back into the replicator, and they left the mess hall together. Lyndsay saw him to the turbolift and left with a whispered goodnight before going to Engineering.

Once again he kicked his shoes off in his quarters, and threw his shirt on the floor when he realized he had forgotten to bring pajamas. Mom always said he'd forget his head if it wasn't attached.

He didn't want to try anymore. He didn't care what his roommate thought about the mess. He'd clean it up tomorrow. Harry crawled into the cubicle bunk, curling up under the sheet and told himself one last time: he wasn't going to cry.