I Don't Know You At All
Posted on Fri Sep 26th, 2025 @ 6:07pm by Lieutenant Commander Corin Layal & Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Edited on on Tue Sep 30th, 2025 @ 9:53am
3,101 words; about a 16 minute read
Mission:
Episode 2 - The Sins of History
Location: Nupara, Rakantha Province, Bajor
Timeline: MD016 1630 hrs
During the dinner Layal found herself seated near a couple of old friends from home who had made a special trip to Nupara for the dinner as well as some crew members from the engineering department she hadn't met before this evening. She should have been excited to catch up with her old school mates, but she kept finding herself distracted by the unexpected presence from earlier. Ezra.
He was seated on the far end of one of the tables. She'd stolen more than a few glances watching him talk to the others around him with ease, noticed his dogs exploring the area around him, never wandering too far away.
She owed the Captain an answer to his offer for a permanent position. She had been leaning toward taking the position, but she hadn't realized that he was here. Could they share space again? Would he want to? His greeting to her earlier may have seemed innocuous to those around them, but to her it felt as cold as ice. A slap in the face that completely disregarded the many times she'd poured her heart out to him. The nights they spent together.
During a break after the main course Layal excused herself from the table. She meandered her way over to where Ezra was seated, interrupted a few times along the way for small talk. When she finally made her way over to him she had no idea how he'd respond, if he even felt the tension in the air that had drawn her over to him, to say something.
She tapped him on the shoulder.
"Could I show you something?" Layal asked. "I think we have a few minutes before they bring out dessert."
Ezra turned at the touch, his shoulder stiffening under her hand before his eyes found hers. For a breath he only looked at her, as though he were measuring the years heaped between then and now, the layers of distance and time which had separated them as they'd continued with their own careers. Around them, the din of the meal went on--glasses chiming, laughter rising and falling in short bursts, someone offering more wine--as if the universe had decided to stage their private reunion in the middle of a pleasant rainstorm.
Trigger thumped his tail against Ezra's boot, oblivious. Milo had curled under the table, chin on paws, eyes have closed. Ezra brushed his napkin once across his lap, folded it neatly, and set it down.
"Sure," he said, his voice steady, betraying nothing of the sharp ache that had begun to uncoil behind his sternum. He rose, his height towering over her, and nodded for her to lead the way.
The sun was barely peeking out over the horizon and what little light was left caught on the buildings and trees and cast long shadows over the village, giving it the illusion that it was much darker than the twilight hour. She caught a glimpse of the groundskeepers beginning to turn on the torch lights as Layal led Ezra away from the buildings and the people, and toward the open prairie and farmland. There was a clearer view of the sunset on this side of town, the horizon mostly unobstructed but for a few rolling hills. The sun had lost its midday fire to the cool evening breeze, but it still managed to ignite the wisps of clouds that hovered in the sky into fantastical orange and purple hues.
Layal turned away from the display, looking back at the village first then toward the hard-packed and dusty ground. They needed rain.
"I didn't know you were here," Layal offered, finally breaking the silence. "On Artemis I mean. I haven't accepted the position yet. I don't have to if..." She let her voice trail off, the rest left unspoken.
Ezra's gaze lingered on the horizon for what seemed a long time. It was as if the ground, the sky, and the air had lent him their combined patience. He did not look at her when he spoke.
"I didn't expect to see you either," he said finally, letting the words slot into place between them. It wasn't an apology, nor was it warm--just an acknowledgment of the collision of the past and present. He shifted his weight, his hands falling into the pockets of his trousers. He still carried the memory of everything unsaid: the weeks of burning passion, the nights they had shared when the rest of the universe outside had seemingly ceased to exist, and the wrenching distance when Layal had chosen to return to her marriage.
He finally turned to her, his hazel eyes meeting her dark brown orbs. "The position... it's your choice, Layal. You know that. And whatever you decide, I'll respect it. I've learned how to do that by now, I think."
Ezra let the silence hover, long enough to hear the wind sweeping across the prairie, ruffling the hem of his red jacket, and scattering dust at their feet. He felt guilty for having lied in front of her parents. The truth was, seeing her name on the door of her office aboard the Artemis had opened a floodgate he didn't know existed. He hadn't thought of Layal in years. So why the sudden ambivalence? That floodgate had broken open just days ago, releasing a decade-old jam of memories and their associated emotions: longing, warmth, heartbreak, anger--all rushing in, and he had kept himself at a careful distance during the trial, fretting over what words might escape when they finally stood face to face.
"It's just that I- I wouldn't blame you if you didn't think we could work together. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to have anything to do with me at all, quite frankly," Layal admitted. "The Artemis is a lot smaller than a starbase. I'm sure they could find another JAG officer all the same."
He knew he didn't need to speak to placate her, or to fix the past--he spoke because the truth, careful and deliberate, was the only thing that ever seemed to settle that feeling in his chest.
"You're right," he said, his voice holding onto the recent remembrance of passionate nights and a decade's silence. "It wouldn't be easy. It probably shouldn't be easy. But I've learned something about people--and about myself--that makes me think it could work. Not because I would expect it to, not because I want it to, but because I think you deserve to have someone in your corner who actually listens. Who doesn't leave when things get hard. Even if that someone is me."
He paused, letting the wind have its say. His hands came out of his pockets but stayed loose at his sides, palms open, a silent offering of presence instead of pressure.
"Someone..." Layal started to repeat back a phrase, but her mouth felt suddenly dry and her voice threatened to betray her. Layal shook her head almost in disbelief at what she'd heard, her eyes now daring to look up to search his. Her heart felt heavy standing this close to him. She'd made a mistake turning her back on him all those years ago. Or at least that is what it felt like not even a few short months into trying to reconcile her broken marriage. But by then it was too late.
"Thank you," Layal said trying her voice again. She took a small step toward Ezra. "I know I don't deserve it. But I do... I have..."
"I've missed you."
The words came out like a confession, simultaneously throwing down a heavy weight and tearing down a wall that left her feeling suddenly vulnerable and very small.
"I know you probably have a lot of friends, and I've likely never crossed your mind at all. But I am... It is good to see you. I'm glad you think we can... I'll take whatever I can get." Layal forced herself to stop there. She was trying to process what he had said, what he had meant, but wasn't sure that now was the time for questions. Her emotions were beginning to churn, coming from deep within and they threatened to betray her.
Ezra looked at Layal, seeing her brown eyes, the ridges on her nose, her dark brown hair seemingly even darker in the twilight. It felt as though the years apart had only thinned a veil but not erased the face behind it. The words between them hung there, fragile as blown glass. He could feel it all grinding against something inside his chest he thought he'd buried a long time ago.
The words he'd spoken prior to dinner--I don't know her at all--rose up like bitter, choking ashes in his throat. He hated them. A reflex, stupid and incredibly small, when faced with the enormity of Layal's presence. He had wanted distance, and so he had struck forcefully with the bluntest tool he had in his arsenal: denial.
"Layal," he said carefully. "I owe you an apology." His hand flexed once at his side before curling again into a loose fist. "When I said what I said in front of your parents... it wasn't true. It wasn't even close to true. It was--" He stopped, jaw tightening, then he exhaled heavily. "It was cowardice, plain and simple. I thought if I said it, it might somehow be easier to occupy the same space with you. Easier to breathe."
The dying light of the day shifted further into indigo, shadows reaching their maximum length. The torch fires from the village now winking against the dark, each a steady, flickering flame. Ezra's eyes searched hers, not for forgiveness--he doubted he deserved that--but for some sign... some acknowledgment she'd heard him.
"I did know you," he said, his voice low and rough now. "I still do, in ways I wish I didn't. I remember your laugh, and how it carried in the offices at Three-One-Five. I remember how you used to curl your hair behind your ear when you were thinking through something difficult." He lowered his eyes at the next thought. "I remember the sound of your voice when you told me you were returning to him, and how I couldn't even find the words to fight for you. That's what I meant when I said I didn't know you. It wasn't true. What's true is..."
He faltered in his words, looking away into the distance at another torch fire being lit.
"You don't owe me an explanation, Ezra." The words came out tenderly, so much so that she surprised herself. But he'd always had a completely disarming effect on her. "I get it."
Ezra's eyes stayed fixed on the distant torchlight, as though it would keep him stable. He wanted to let her words be enough--to let them be stitched over the moment--but something in him resisted. The ache behind his ribs told him she deserved more.
You matter too much. That's why I cut at you. That's why I pretended you were smaller than you are.
But the words remained jammed somewhere inside him, refusing to come out. Instead, he stood there, letting the evening breeze ruffle his hair.
"Layal," he said, turning to her again, searching her eyes. He felt ready to say something but made a last-second choice not to. "What did you want to show me?"
Layal let out a soft laugh as she shook her head. "Nothing, really. I'm sorry. It was just pretense to get you away from the table."
Ezra chuckled dryly. She always had a way of walking beside you that felt a lot like drifting, as though you'd chosen the direction yourself. Only later would you notice she'd been steering the whole time--never pushing, never pulling, just the light touch of her words or a soft glance of her eyes. It was the same talent she carried into the courtroom, he imagined: making a jury believe they'd arrived at their verdict out of their own good sense, when she really led them there, gentle as a brook's current, straight to it.
Layal let out a sigh. "If there is something you wanted to see though, the temple, one of the monuments. It's getting a little dark for the gardens, but the paths are well-lit to the park. Though they will probably be serving dessert soon..."
"Dessert sounds lovely."
And then Trigger appeared, not weaving but moving with his usual, measured gait, as though he were reading the ground just as much as the air. He came to halt a few paces away, tail still, ears forward. The Belgian Malinois, who trusted few outside Ezra himself, broke his own rule. He rose from his haunches and padded the short distance to the Bajoran JAG officer, nose testing the air, eyes fixed on her as if measuring. Instead of holding his post at Ezra's side, he pressed his head briefly against her knee, an unstated expression of acceptance.
For a dog whose loyalty was normally a closed circle, the gesture was not casual--it was rare, calculated, and carried something close to faith.
Layal found herself moved by the animal's silent gesture, and it was in that moment she realized that she felt lonely. "Hey you. What's your name?" Layal asked, her voice taking on a higher and softer pitch as she spoke to Ezra's dog. She bent down on one knee and offered her palm out to the creature to smell before reaching behind his ears and gently stroking his fur.
She looked up at Ezra, "He's friendly."
"You know," Ezra said, his voice carrying a calm that belied the current of thoughts beneath it, "he doesn't do that often." His hand brushed absently at Trigger's flank, careful not to startle. "Not with strangers. Not unless he trusts them. His name's Trigger."
"Hi, Trigger. Are you a good boy? Yes you are," Layal cooed soothingly into the happy creature's ear. "I bet you want dessert too. Does daddy let you have dessert?"
Layal gave Trigger a final scratch behind his ears before standing back up. "Dessert then?" She asked, her gaze meeting Ezra's through the darkness, the disappearing sun and subtle moonlight offering just enough of a break through the shadows for her to make out a rough outline of his features. She once felt like she knew what he was thinking, but she didn't dare try to hazard a guess now.
He watched her rise, the low light catching her profile. Ezra felt a familiar pull, one that he'd forgotten for the better part of a decade, beginning to thread its way through him.
Ezra's hand flexed once, then rested loosely at his side. The breeze lifted a stray lock of her hair, and for a nanosecond, he wanted to reach-out and tuck it behind her ear. He didn't. Instead, his gaze drifted to the sky where the stars were now alive in the darkening sky. He wondered if there ever might come a day when seeing Layal would lift his heart without the reminder of the pain which seemingly followed.
Trigger lifted his head, eyes soft and unguarded, as if he could feel the same distant ache that Ezra carried. For a moment, the dog seemed almost human in understanding--an apology without sound, a quiet acknowledgment of the weight his master would bear alone.
Layal's words hung in the air unanswered as she watched Ezra's gaze drift toward the evening sky. She felt a pain deep in her chest as she saw him standing there. They'd never shared the pleasure of gazing at the stars from anywhere other than a starbase window, though it had been something they once talked about doing together often. She waited a moment before breaking the silence.
"Was there something else?" She asked softly, feeling a nervous anticipation as she wondered what his answer might be.
"I was just thinking," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching the soon-to-be night sky.
Ezra let the words trail off, barely more than a breath. It was as if speaking them too fully might break the peace between them. His gaze stayed on the vault of the sky, where the first stars had begun to slot into place, bright and permanent. What he didn't say--what he couldn't--was that standing beside her in this fragile twilight felt both equally impossible and inevitable.
"Thinking's dangerous," he said finally, with a faint smile. He glanced down at her at last, the glow of the torches catching her features, and for a moment he allowed himself to see her the way he had ten years before: unguarded, magnetic, capable of pulling him into her orbit with barely a look.
He drew in a long breath, hoping the Nuparan air might grant enough discipline to keep him from reaching for her. "We should go back," he said gently. "Before there's no dessert left for us."
Layal resisted the urge to ask him what he had meant - resisted the urge to reach for that connection with him. She had forfeited that right a long time ago. The grace that he was offering was more than she deserved. So instead she did her best to find a light-hearted smile as she nodded. "You're right. I think there's pie. We don't want to miss that," she replied deliberately inserting a playful edge to her tone, something meant to lighten the mood, let him off the hook.
"We certainly don't."
"This way then," Layal said gently, gesturing back toward the village center as she led the way by taking the first few steps into the darkness and toward the flickering lights of the torches and the sounds of chatter and laughter up ahead. It felt strange being out here, this close to him yet so far away, but heading back toward the rest of the crew felt even more strange. She suddenly felt like an outsider here, even on her own planet and even where the crew had gone to such lengths to make her feel welcome.
They slipped back into the crowd of people, the crew having mixed with the Bajorans as the evening wore on.
A Joint Post By
Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Victim Advocate Counselor, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
Lieutenant Commander Corin Layal
Judge Advocate General, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
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