Part II - Escalations

Posted on Tue Jan 28th, 2014 @ 2:58pm by Lieutenant Commander Horatio Hawke & Lieutenant Commander Ciaran McIntyre
Edited on on Wed Jan 29th, 2014 @ 11:55pm

Episode: Trauma
Location: Pike City, Cestus III
Timeline: 28 October 2390

Not long after they returned the rented shuttle, D’Aureth was called back to the yards mumbling some curse under his breath about Highlander.

Horatio was fine with that – D’Aureth had been bugging him the most. It left him with Bram, though, and his oldest friend had suddenly become annoyingly interested in Horatio’s mood.

“Let’s go for a drink,” Horatio said as they watched D’Aureth disappear into the crowded street, heading in the direction of Fleet HQ.

“Whatever you want, man,” Bram replied, patting Horatio on the back. “Where do you want to go? There’s a couple of nice bars over on Colt Street; me and a few of the guys from the Armstrong go there whenever we’re on Cestus.”

Horatio sniffed the air and shook his head. “Bugger that,” he said with a sneer. “I don’t want to be surrounded by Fleet toffs right now. Let’s head into the old Mercantile Zone.”

“If that’s what you’d prefer,” Bram said, gesturing off into the direction of that part of town.

Horatio forced a smile, but really he was suspicious of his friend. He’s being uncharacteristically nice to me. What’s going on?

They wandered for a couple of streets mostly in silence except for Bram making the occasional remark here and there about some oddity that caught his interest. Horatio would grunt or chuckle in response, whichever was most appropriate, but didn’t feel like talking. He felt like drinking.

After a while they turned down Justerini Street, figuring it was bound to have a good drinking hole just by the name, and quickly stumbled upon a plain enough looking establishment with a simple facade and no flashy lights. An aging printed sign above the door read "Brew House" and as they approached a disheveled overweight human stumbled out the door draining a beer bottle.

“Perfect,” Horatio said with a genuine smile. When was the last time I smiled? He turned to Bram, “This is the place.”

He didn’t wait to see his friend’s reaction, instead making a b-line for the door and whatever waited inside.

The hubbub of the bar was scythed by a familiar voice. "And then the Commander strolls up and plants a kiss right on his lips! He didn't know where to look!" Rapturous laughter gave way to another cry from the voice. "Joanie, these reprobates are drinking on me tonight!"

McIntyre had been holding court at the Brew House's bar before Bram and Horatio stepped through the doors. He had come across Commander Gaius' CQC class on their class bar crawl and insisted that they join him for a drink in the Brew House.

Two hours later and with significant damage done to his tab, the Cadets were still there. McIntyre's progress to acceptance of his situation had been marked by leaps forward over a few weeks. He had grown to accept that his role in the mission did not directly contribute to the deaths of his crewmates. In short, he had forgiven.

Forgetting was the alcohol's job.

Horatio sighed and slumped his shoulders when the inside of the pub didn't exactly live up to the image he had conjured up in his mind. McIntyre's presence was enough to keep him there, though. Even if the presence of a gaggle of drunk cadets made him think about turning around right then and there. In hindsight, maybe it was best that he had done that ...

Instead, he took a deep breath and tried to ignore that gnawing density he felt in the pit of his stomach. He turned to Bram, "C'mon, that's the Scotsman I was telling you about." Then he led him across the pub to where McIntyre and his adoring fans awaited.

"Mac!" he shouted, waving his hand to get his attention.

"Well, well, well!" McIntyre parted the Cadets like the Red Sea with a wave of his hand, allowing the two men to approach. "Here he is, Ladies and Gentlemen- the man of the hour!"

"Which hour would that be?" Hawke asked, making his way through the parted cadets and looking at them with suspicious eyes. "And does it come with free drinks?"

"Happy hour, of course!" Mac bellowed as he hit Hawke on the back with a familiar heavy clap. "Who's your pal and what's he having?"

Horatio turned back to Bram and said, "Bram Chifley, meet Ciaran McIntyre."

Chifley held out his hand, "Good to meet you, Ciaran," he said with a beaming smile. "Horatio here has told me a lot about you."

"All bad, I trust." The Scot blustered as the Cadets tightened the group around them. He pushed a couple of lip-locked patrons gently and wormed his way into the bar.

"And we'll both have what you're having," Horatio added. "Knowing you, my friend, it will be suitably heavy."

"Nonsense- I'm drinking a devilish little Vaaran number called Krta." McIntyre stumbled over the pronunciation but managed to cover a number of the cadets in a light film of phlegm. He turned his attention to the barkeep. "Three more!"

They drank. Horatio’s first was quickly followed by a second and then a third. The cadets were annoying him, peppering him with questions about what it’s really like to serve in Starfleet. How far from Earth have you gone? Have you been in combat? What’s the fastest warp speed you’ve flown at? Have you ever seen a Tzenkethi up close? What’s your favourite ship to fly? How many new systems have you explored?

Horatio felt his heart beating and his stomach twisting. A couple of them had attached themselves to him like leeches; they wanted to be pilots like him. They wouldn’t leave him alone. Poking, prodding, trying to suck him dry of information – who did they think they were?

“Enough!” he snapped suddenly, his voice booming over the din of the bar.

The cadets’ faces suddenly went pale and they looked afraid. Horatio didn’t care, he wasn’t their damned role model!

“You cadets have no idea, do you?” he said, pointing accusingly at each of them in turn. “If you’re good enough you’ll live to find out that the galaxy is a harsh place. Forget your romantic adventure bullshit! People die out there. They die all the time and there’s no glory in it! One second you’re living your juvenile dream of flying through space shooting baddies and then WHACK!” he slammed his fist down hard on the bar. “The console of your shuttle breaks you in two and you’re dead. Dead!”

Chifley and McIntyre exchanged worried glances before Bram reached out and gently grabbed Horatio’s arm, “Horatio,” he said.

He shrugged away from his friend’s grab, “No! They have to know! This isn’t some damn holonovel!”

"Woah there, Big Man." McIntyre placed a solid palm on Horatio's shoulder. "Perhaps we should adjourn to the Drawing Room for cigars and brandy."

The meaning shone through the euphemism. McIntyre released his grip and noted that the tight throng of Cadets had put some distance between themselves and the furious pilot.

Horatio looked at McIntyre, his jaw clenched and his eyes stinging. He felt himself shaking and could hear his pulse in his ears.

You couldn’t save her!

He took a deep, stuttering breath and turned away sharply, pushing his way through the crowd to the door.

"Is he...?" Mac began to ask before realising that it was perfectly obvious to anyone with all five of their senses that Hawke wasn't all right. "How long's he been like that?"

Chifley watched him go with a sad expression. He let out a sigh and said, "A couple of days now. He needs help, Ciaran. I don't know what he's going through, but he needs help."

"You let me know if there's anything I can do." McIntyre watched Chifley as he left, remembering Hawke's words. "Breaks you in two." He wasn't talking about the Endeavour, that was for sure.