Happy Hour, Part III
Posted on Thu Oct 30th, 2025 @ 12:46pm by Lieutenant Commander Corin Layal & Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Edited on on Fri Oct 31st, 2025 @ 6:33am
1,601 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
Cold Cases
Location: JAG Office, Starbase 315
Timeline: 2386
“I wouldn’t overthink it too much,” Layal said with a shake of her head. “I’m sure it’s fine. As long as it’s coherent and follows the law, no one is going to be judging you for your wordsmithing. Now, when you get asked to do a brief… that's where the real fun comes.” Layal gave Ezra a playful wink.
“The convoy was nothing really. Mostly tax evasion, business regulation sort of stuff. Pretty dry, but so much paperwork,” Layal explained. “A pain more than anything. Not a case that you or I would be all that offended by, just a bunch of moving goods without a license, nothing sexy about it. But the Federation loves its rules, and there’s always this fear that if we don’t put the hammer down on the small stuff, then we’ll get rolled over on the big stuff.”
Layal shrugged. “I try to not complain about it too much, but my strengths are definitely not in the nitty gritty of going through ledgers with a fine tooth comb. It seemed like a lot of work, for not much payout,” she confessed. “But, I don’t call the shots or pick the cases. And I get it, I do. These rules keep people out of Federation space who might be doing something worse like running guns or people.”
He listened, his big hands folded loosely in front of him. The way she said it–nothing sexy about it--had made the corner of his mouth lift, if only slightly. He let the smile fade.
“I get it,” Ezra said, his smile slowly returning as he found her eyes. “That seems like the sort of work that only gets noticed if it stops being done.”
Something in her posture stirred the faintest memory of his mother–what little of her he dared still hold. A tilt of the chin, the steadiness behind her eyes, even the rise and fall of her voice. All of it brushed against a place in him he longed for and feared to touch.
“What got you into law?” Ezra asked, genuinely curious.
Layal looked at Ezra as she thought about her answer for a moment. She’d never really given him much thought, he’d become a new fixture in the office, but not someone that she had gotten to know yet. Not for any reason other than time or opportunity. She always tried to get to know something about the staff, but she’d been buried in paperwork since he started, and it wasn’t the sort of thing she’d dump on someone else. He was tall, some could consider him imposingly so, but Layal wasn’t short, and size wasn’t something that easily intimidated her. Yet, something about him seemed soft - like he was used to making himself smaller, or at least trying to fade into the background more than he ought.
“Wanting to do the right thing, I think,” she finally answered. “I mean, that’s why I went into security - wanting to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves. I think I’ll be able to do that with the law someday. I’ve already been able to a little bit. Here and there with a few of the cases anyway.”
“Did–”
The quiet of the bar cracked like thin ice. Three Nausicaans appeared at the far entrance, almost seven-foot hulking shadows moving with the certainty of predators and the weight of muscle. A couple sitting near the viewport froze mid-laughter as the trio’s gaze found them. The Nausicaans’ eyes were dark and unreadable. They lowered their drinks slowly and slid out of their seats, departing the bar.
Ezra’s stomach tightened. The instinctive part of him–the part that had learned to notice danger long before he learned to notice people–came to life. He turned himself just enough to shield the Bajoran prosecutor from the trio’s watchful gaze.
They moved along the bar like a darkened tide. Their leader, a Nausicaan with scars running across his jawline and a nose that appeared to have been realigned too many times, slammed a massive hand onto the counter, making everybody in the vicinity jump.
“Drinks!” he barked, in a rough voice. “Now!”
Ezra’s gesture didn’t go unnoticed, though Layal couldn’t help but wonder if his reaction was premature.
“What’s wrong?” She asked. “It’s just a few rowdy Nausicaans. I’ve seen worse.”
The bartender froze, dropping the rag he had been wiping the counter with. He wasn’t a large man by any stretch of the imagination, but would be considered imposing to species of a small stature. His hesitation seemed to catch the attention of the remaining two Nausicaans, both leaning in from either side of their leader.
The Nausicaan leader slammed his hand down again. “I said–now!”
Ezra had heard Layal’s words but chose not to respond, instead keeping his eyes on the disturbance. He glanced at Layal. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t flinched, and her eyes had remained soft and unbothered–perhaps they were eyes that had seen trouble before and could measure it.
“What are they going to do?” Layal asked dryly. “Start a brawl in the middle of a Federation Starbase staffed with Starfleet officers? They need to stop being dicks and show a little respect.” Her posture indicated she was thinking about intervening, poised ready to stand and approach the trio, though she stayed put, watching, reading the bartender, looking for a sign that he wanted assistance before interjecting herself.
His hands rested on the bar, large fingers splayed, and he could almost feel tension dripping beneath the polished wood. Ezra could hear Layal’s words, and though his current concern was her wellbeing, he also felt it necessary to ensure the other patrons were also safe.
The bartender–a thin rake of a man with scraggly blonde hair–lifted a bottle of a clear liquid with one hand, in the other, he placed three small tumblers on the bar counter. He kept his eyes on the trio’s spokesman and poured an even amount into each.
The Nausicaans stepped forward, grabbing a glass each and drank in unison. There was a pregnant moment after each had gulped it down. Ezra noted how their eyes darted around the room, scanning, assessing, but never settling on him. Not yet.
The trio let out low, satisfied growls. The leader’s scars creased with a little, approving grin. He looked at the others and nodded.
“Do you think they might like the attention?” Layal asked. “Or is it something else?”
When the Nausicaan leader finished his second drink, his scarred face split into something caught between a grin and a sneer. All three turned as if drawn by scent, their gaze locking on Layal.
Ezra almost didn’t hear Layal speak–his attention completely attuned to the Nausicaan trio nearby. He had a sixth sense for trouble dating back to his youth running errands for the warlord on Pi Cygnus Three, and something was telling him the Nausicaan patrons were not just here for a stiff drink.
“We’ll have to see,” Ezra replied, not taking his eyes off the end of the bar.
“It’s getting late anyway,” Layal replied, not bothering to finish the last bit of her wine as she pushed the glass away from her on the bar. “Maybe we should just get out of here. I can walk you home, unless you are going back to the office?”
Ezra inclined his head, shifting a little on the worn barstool. “I’ll probably head back to my quarters and finish that charge sheet for Federico in the morning,” he said. “I find it easier to focus in the morning.”
He glanced at the Nausicaans, now seated with their drinks, laughing deep and rough while enjoying themselves, the tension having dissolved into the background of Elroy’s. “They’ll enjoy their drinks,” he added with a faint, dry smile, “and I don’t think I want to join them.”
“Yeah, no,” Layal agreed. “I like the mornings too,” she said as she stood up from the bar. “Not that I consider myself a morning person by any stretch, but it’s easier to focus and get stuff done before everyone else gets in.
“You know,” Ezra said, a small grin on his face, “I was going to offer to walk you to your quarters. Though, I think we’re probably headed in the same direction anyway.” He hoped his words sounded more like a suggestion than a proposition. “Section Epsilon-Seven, correct?”
“In that direction, yeah” Layal answered vaguely, keeping a careful eye on the Nausicaans.
They rose together, the shuffle of chairs and muted murmur of the departing patrons carrying them toward the exit. The turbolift waited, humming quietly as they stepped inside.
A Joint Post by
Lieutenant Commander Corin Layal
Judge Advocate General, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Victim Advocate Counselor, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
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