The Lies Beneath
Posted on February 27th, 2021 by Scott Ammora

He heard the beeping. Scott shifted and pulled the pillow over his head. “Shut up.” He said to no one other than the cold side of his pillow.

The beeping continued.

It had only been a couple of hours – he guessed. His head hurt. Not just hurt, but throbbed in agony like the heat of a thousand suns was resting never-so-gently on both his temples. Scott hurled the pillow across the room with no intended target. He laid silently on his bed, fully-clothed, a sick feeling in his stomach, and the aforementioned mind-splitting headache radiating through his brain.

This is an aneurysm. He thought. I’m going to die here and no one will find me.

The beeping continued, it would always find him, he was sure. “Come on, fine! Computer, lights.”

That was a stupid request. The lights went to maximum brightness, as they are programmed to do, and Scott winced as he threw his hand across his eyes. “Twenty percent! Twenty percent! For fuck’s sake, Computer, lights at twenty percent.” The computer obliged. It wasn’t the afterlife he saw in that flash, but his horrible choices from the day before. And, drinking was only half of those.

Scott knew he wasn’t dying. He was hungover. Dreadfully so. Coffee… he needed coffee. Water. A cold shower. All of it. He needed coffee in one hand, water in the other, while standing in a cold shower. He wiped the crusty residue out of his eyes as he put his feet on the floor. He blinked a couple of times, looked around, and groaned. “Idiot.”

His brain flashed to the previous night’s events. He talked to Zoe. He was a fair amount into his liquor when she sauntered over to him. Scott assumed he was too far gone at that point to have a coherent conversation, and he would reflect on that… if he remembered the conversation. Something about a captain and getting punched out, milk of some kind, and a Bolian who had a look on his face that was half-angry and half-uncomfortable. Was that a dream?

Cobwebs. That’s what it was. Cobwebs. Just cobwebs.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Scott snapped back to reality. He gazed across the room to his workstation in his quarters. Incoming message from Starbase 60. Really? Now? The Federation insignia flashed ominously. He knew who it was. There was a point in his life where he would clamor over chairs, tables, crewmembers, photon torpedoes, and even more dangerous articles just to press ‘accept’. This was different. He didn’t know why, per se, but he dreaded the thought of it. A person’s frame of mind is everything when having certain conversations. Scott wasn’t anywhere close to the right one for this one.

The replicator gave him coffee. He took a sip of the life-saving nectar and sat down in front of his console. He reached for the button to accept the call and hesitated. Another gulp of coffee followed as the beeping incessantly pierced the silence again. Whoever created that sound needed to do their research while hungover, but he would digress on the point.

Scott tapped the button and his boyfriend appeared. “Hey handsome.”

“Hi Scotty. Just checking in. How are things?” He was as beautiful as he had always been. Chiseled jaw line, eyes like diamonds, and even with light-years between them Wes’ love was apparent. “You look a little haggard.”

Scott smiled the best he could. “It was a rough night. But I’m good. Just a little bit of… uh… celebration with some new colleagues. You know, the life of a Starfleet Marine on the outer fringes. You take the moments to relax and decompress when you can. Nothing crazy.”

Wes laughed, “So you got drunk.”

“Yeah,” Scott imbibed another warm drag of his coffee.

“The first mission on the flagship of the third fleet and you’re already celebrating. You must have done something right. Tell me all about it. I have about an hour before reporting to the lab for the results for the last analysis of a culture of spores that can cure the Tarkalian flu.” Wes tapped a PADD on the screen, took a swig of his own drink (which Scott knew was a god-awful tea of some kind), and returned his attention to Scott.

“Totally, but it’s nothing to write home about.”

“Modesty has never suited you, Scotty.”

What the hell was he supposed to say? It wasn’t modesty; sheer terror in openly expressing the last 48 hours was enough to make him want to pour the scalding hot coffee on his face to get out of this call. At least that would get him access to Sickbay. The total tonnage of what was weighing on his shoulders couldn’t be put into words. Disappointment from his partner would be the coup de gras of his work week.

It was in that moment that Scott made another bad decision. “I’m going to be working on the bridge. Second tactical station.”

Wes’ eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “You’re kidding?!”

“No, not at all,” he chuckled through false pretenses, “Apparently I’m bridge material. And I saved a life in the last skirmish we had. Head wound. Tore a sleeve off a passing engineer and got her to Sickbay. Will be fit as a fiddle by the end of the week.”

Wes put his hand to his mouth, his eyes staring ever so intently at the screen, and his boyfriend. Scott couldn’t tell if he was holding back tears, in shock, or a combination of the two, but it was reverence. There was a pause from Wes, a look off screen, a loving smirk, and a nodding of his head. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

“No, really!” Scott wasn’t sure that Wes could have smiled more. And the dagger twisted, but he let the love of his life continue: “I’m sorry that when you took this assignment I was less than supportive. I just… miss you. And I know that you are capable of doing great things. And, apparently, you are. And for that, I’m sorry. I never doubted you, Scooter.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But you’ve shown already that I was wrong. And I’m sorry.” Wes put his chin on his hands, resting his elbows on the table and staring lovingly at the screen, across the stars, at Scott. “I promise I won’t doubt you again.”

Get out, get out, get out. “Babe, I gotta go. Holodeck training in an hour.” Lie. “I am happy that I was able to share my good news with you this morning.” Lie. “I hope that I can share more good news with you in the future. Thanks for all your support.” That was truth, though tainted with the blackness of dishonesty and shame.

“I love you, Scott. I can’t wait to hear more about your wonderful adventures on the edges of deep space. Be safe and don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t.” He had. “Take of yourself. You look great.”

Wes laughed, “Are the neon lights of the biosphere giving me a radiating glow? I can’t wait to see what the bridge lights do to your complexion.”

No words. Just a slight acknowledgement with a fake smirk, one he knew that Wes wouldn’t pick up on. Scott waved slightly into the viewscreen, blew a kiss, and ended the call. The ramifications of the choices he made, in Sickbay the day before, the lounge the night following, and his call with his significant other just now were piling up. He knew that bad choices bred bad choices. Scott understood that the grave he was digging was a deep one. It was more like a catacomb.

Scott stood, took a sip of his coffee – the bitterness matching his perception of his own actions – and he strolled to the bathroom. Scott looked at himself in the mirror, not really recognizing the face of the person before him, and the floodgates opened. A breath caught in his throat, he coughed with some minute acid reflux, and he stepped into the shower area. Leaning over the toilet, he threw up.