Star Trek: Starbase 777 - capital-city

This wasn’t shore leave, for him, this was a pit stop if anything. He’d hardly been busy enough to deserve a break. Yet, here he was, enjoying the colorful city emerging from the dust. The last he’d been here, the city looked entirely different. It was covered in disgusting soot and it was just… dismal. Shitty. There’s a lot of shitty planets but it’s a different atmosphere when they simply refused to refresh the place. Now? The place bloomed. The many murals had been restored and for once, this place felt… so much different even though there’s no new buildings or anything of the sorts. The bar he’d found was quiet enough. He wasn’t entirely up for any active conversations. Of course, he was a listener but sometimes, he just wanted to be alone. Too many times had he made the mistake of entering too crowded of a place and been forced to listen to one ramble and ramble about everything. He sat atop the stool, sipping at a virgin drink— he’d given up liquor a long time ago, even the fake kind. His uniform had been left on the runabout and he was just… himself. Not Lieutenant Commander. Just, Nentoka. There was an attempt not to think about everything going on. All the projects sitting on his plate. This was a pit stop because he’d gone to meet a superior at a place nearby. That was the original reason he was out here. Being here was just, a small break. That’s all. A small break didn’t include a hand brushing against his back. In a second, he’d turn about, in hopes of making it clear that he wasn’t interested. Until he saw him. Until his blood ran cold and his breath was stolen.

With that lumbering body, he ambled about the bar— earning odd looks here and there. No one saw a Cardassian about these parts. They must’ve assumed he was some old man in retirement. Which, he was, but did they have to be so direct about it? It wasn’t like he was here for the joys of vacation. If he wanted a vacation, he’d be on Risa enjoying the dazzling sun and warm sands. No, no, he wasn’t here for that at all. He was here because a certain man was here. All these years, trained in how to hold yourself, trained in how to pass— he couldn’t seem to get rid of the dreadful anxiety in his gut. It took every fiber in his being to approach that mop of blonde. But he did. Because he always did. Until he didn’t. Oh, he was so terribly exhausted. He lumbered about as if he was still young. But he was so far from it. He was thin, gaunt, he was unwell. When that face turned to him, he was struck with just how heavy his heart had become. Nentoka had not changed a bit. Less you counted the way he’d finally filled out and grown his hair. But that, that was nothing compared to the way that everything else was the exact same. He had hardly aged— if not at all. He was just how he remembered him. Young. Free. For a moment, his mouth had run dry. He was awestruck. He had spent years watching that man, keeping an eye on him from afar as it was the only thing that kept him sane. Yet, here he was in the flesh and he could not bring himself to say a single word. With a harsh swallow, he forced himself to speak, “Is this seat taken?” It came out croaky and dismal. Like nails on a chalkboard. A shaky gesture was made to the stool beside Nen.

He didn’t know if this was a nightmare or a dream come true. He didn’t know if this was heaven or hell. Whatever it was, it made him feel like his whole world had turned upside down. It had been, over forty years since he’d seen Kuyan. Forty years. Sure, he was always one to preach about how time didn’t matter to him. How it was all nothing. But there was a sliver of him that had given into this more… normal sense of the passage of time. He could understand the meaning of what such a long time could do to someone. It didn’t effect him, entirely the same, but he absolutely knew how it affected the man he saw before him. It was like their roles had been reversed. He looked like a skeleton of the man he once knew. His clothes hung off him. His hands were rattled with tremors. His hair had lost all of its color— completely donned in a haggardly white. Not even his silvery eyes were lively anymore. There was a time when he was big and full of a matured youth. There was a time when Nentoka was the spindly one. What had happened? The feeling drowned him. Anxiety, stress, melancholy, sadness, relief. It was a cocktail he hadn’t felt in a long time. It made a shaky breath fall from his lips before he could stop it. No amount taught you how to handle something like this. A battle ensued, two voices at war at each other as Nentoka sat shell shock at it all. One wanted to scream and get angry— to be resentful for a man who had left him for a life he always knew he’d leave for. The other, only wished to be held and comforted by the one person who had shown him compassion. Unconditional compassion and love. Without a word, he compromised with the two voices, softly patting the seat beside him. . . He caught a glimpse of his reflection in his glass. He realized that his eyes were blown wide.

It had been, a very long time, since they'd done anything remotely of the sorts. There was a time in which he'd be scurrying to a new planet every few months -- finding himself in some pitiful bar, just so that they could act as if it was the first time all over again. And it always, always, felt that way. It wasn't now, however. In some sense, it was like seeing an old friend, in another, it was like seeing a memory. He hadn't quite decided on which it was. A couple of disgusting hacks fell from his body and a groan escaped him as he sat beside someone he'd never thought he'd see again. How was this harder than when he had told his wife? He had always cared more about this man than his own family. It was a simple fact and it was the root as to why he had stopped this all in the first place. Temptation was incredibly powerful thing, terribly so, and even as he sat there-- weak and in utter pain (he'd forgone his medications to witness this as clearly as he could), he was still a victim of that snake-like clutch. So many of his memories were a haze now. He'd forgotten so much. He had endured so much for all the good to be stripped away from him one by one. But he can still remember the realization that it could be no more. That if he saw him one more time, he knew he'd never return. A mistake like that would've gotten him killed. There was so much... confusion as to how to start. Nobody shows up after telling their lover that they need to, in latent terms, break up. Nobody. No less after so many years. You don't do that. Even Kuyan, of all people, knew that. So he sat, rather quietly, fidgeting here and there and trying to quell the coughs he knew were bound to tumble out at any moment. Oh, he felt so terrible. Was he supposed to explain himself? Or what? It was a matter of time before that El-Aurian read him like a book. Like he always did. Like he always had. "I, ah, I'm sorry - If I've ruined your shore leave. Or at least, whatever this is."

07:31

He wasn't surprised when he first found that this is the line of work Nentoka had gone into. He had always told him a uniform would suit him. Or something of the sorts, at least. When the Dominion attacked-- the first person he had checked on was him. That's how this whole thing started, anyway. This obsession. This fear. This secret that was supposed to end but never did. He tracked him all throughout the war, afraid that one day, he'd find that he was one of the many casualties strickening Earth. He'd detested it all but detestment wasn't enough to make him leave his line of work.