Happy Hour, Part IV
Posted on Sat Nov 1st, 2025 @ 4:01pm by Lieutenant Commander Corin Layal & Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Edited on on Sun Nov 2nd, 2025 @ 11:08am
1,484 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
Cold Cases
Location: Residential Sector, Starbase 315
Timeline: 2386
“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.
The ride was brief, the doors closing with a faint swish. Ezra’s gaze drifted to the floor, then up at the lights above which were soft and even. He kept a steady pace as they stepped onto a quiet section of deck in the habitat area. The lighting was muted and reserved.
Ezra knew this section of starbase well enough to recognize its purpose: quarters for JAG personnel without families. Mostly attorneys, legal assistants, clerks, court staff and security made their homes here.
He walked beside Layal, not too close, not too far, letting the quiet of the corridor have as much say it wished. After a short while, Ezra decided to speak up.
“Thanks for the invite tonight,” he said with a slight, warm smile. “Making friends isn’t that difficult for me, but finding the time to be social can be.”
“Then you’re right to not become a lawyer,” Layal grinned. “Work-life balance can be difficult to… maintain. It’s not something I excel at either,” she admitted. “It’s good for morale though, when we go out together like this.”
He caught the way she said it–work-life balance--the words curling together as though they were one impossible thing. Worklife. It was a single word for people who forgot where one ended and the other started. Maybe that’s what it was like to be an attorney.
“Work-life sounds like something people say when they’re pretending they’ve got it figured out,” Ezra said, gentle and thoughtful.
“So, it’s not really a thing?” She asked. “People who say they have one are just pretending, and I shouldn’t be so hard on myself then?” Her eyes narrowed as she watched Ezra’s expression, hoping for some sort of reaction.
Ezra laughed softly and shook his head, his short, dark hair shifting slightly. “Definitely. You should be practicing a lot of self-love and self-care.” A small crease formed between his brows. “Are you married?” he asked abruptly.
Layal’s face fell at the question, her posture following as her shoulders slacked slightly. It wasn’t a happy subject for her. He wasn’t a happy subject for her. “I am. How did you know?” She asked.
He shrugged, feeling silly for even putting voice to the question. “I didn’t,” he admitted, feeling even sillier for the further admission. Ezra noted the change in her body language immediately following the inquiry. “And I’m sorry for asking–it was much too forward.”
“Not forward at all,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “It shouldn’t be. It’s public record.” She reached out and tapped his upper arm gently, just below his shoulder, a form of reassurance before drawing back.
“It’s just that things aren’t all that great. He’s actually not even here. He took an assignment so we could take a break.” She punctuated the last word with a slight raise of her eyebrows before continuing. “All because I work too much. Ironic, right?”
He nodded, still feeling the ghost of her hand on his upper arm. “More of that work-life balance,” Ezra murmured.
They stopped at the door to her quarters, the key panel glowing faintly in the soft lighting of 315’s corridor. Ezra turned, and for a moment the world seemed to narrow to Layal: the tilt of her head, the quiet exhale she didn’t try to hide, the way her gaze held his with an almost tangible patience. There was a calming quiet that surrounded them, allowing Ezra to feel simultaneously immense and small in one go.
He lifted a hand almost on impulse, as if to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, but stopped himself. No, he thought. She’s married. She’s a colleague. He looked down at the deck, attempting in some way to hide both his disappointment and his embarrassment. And yet, he could still feel the space between them shrinking, the night pressing closer, the faint possibility of something–something--hovering.
The weight of the moment, something more passing between them struck Layal, and she froze for a moment, a flicker of regret, a thought of decisions made when she was too young to know herself washed over her. She finally started to speak, “I should go–” she started, when she realized the sound of boots was getting louder. Too loud for a residential corridor.
She tensed and took on a defensive posture, her heart beating rapidly, more rapidly than she would have liked. She hadn’t seen action in her career, it was all office and courtroom, unruly defendants handled by courtroom security. She felt out of practice, vulnerable, yet ready to fight even though she tried to tell herself there may not be a threat.
The boots came faster now–entirely too loud for this section of the station. Two hulking shapes appeared from the left, moving like living barricades, shoulder-to-shoulder. They were the same Nausicaans from Elroy’s. From the right came their leader, massive and scarred, like a ghoulish horror that seemed to snuff the light from the corridor.
Ezra acted before thought, shifting in front of Layal, his hands ready, posture squared. He could feel her stiffen behind him. There was no time to punch in his code to the door, no time to call for security–they were on their own. For now.
The leader, Hadriz, stopped a pace short, his eyes dark, lips parted in a sneer that couldn’t hide even a bit of his predatory curiosity. He studied Layal like a puzzle missing only its last piece.
“Is that her?” His voice was low, like rock scraping rock, and it carried.
Gurovol, one of the subordinates flanking Ezra and Layal, grunted, stepping slightly forward, confirming.
Hadriz’s gaze sharpened. “Gurovol?” he barked like a gut punch. “Is the female the one?”
The Nausicaan named Gurovol peeked over Ezra’s large frame at the Bajoran attorney and a wicked grin cut his face. He nodded once to Hadriz.
“My friend has grievance with you,” the leader said, staring directly past Ezra to Layal.
“I am Gurovol,” he said. “Brother Ti’ipmo–condemned just one month ago to eighteen years on a penal colony for narcotics smuggling.”
The words struck with the weight of a hammer. Ezra’s chest tightened. He dared not look at her–doing so would leave him open to attack.
Hadriz leaned a little closer, letting the words drip from his mouth like poisoned honey. “Do you remember that name, woman?”
“Grievances should be taken up with the JAG office,” Layal said coolly as she tried to keep her composure. “You can ask for Lieutenant Corin if you’d like to speak to me, but you’d have better luck with one of my superiors.
For a moment, everything seemed to shrink down to the sounds of breathing. Ezra knew they were trapped and it was becoming clearer by the second that the Nausicaans were not simply going to return during office hours.
Gurovol bared his teeth, a flash of something crude and primitive. “My brother’s captivity must be answered,” he said, voice thick and emotional. “He will die there. You, Advocate–” He spat the word like a curse– “you have ruined my family. I will answer with his breath.”
He reached into his belt, drawing a long, serrated dagger carved from some dark alloy, the edge gleamed brightly even under the dim corridor lights. The blade’s shape was uneven, more bone than metal. It seemed to almost be alive–an ugly thing with an ugly purpose.
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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