You Never Toss in the Towel
Posted on March 13th, 2021 by Scott Ammora

Scott use to like coming home to his quarters. The signs of life other than his own were always a comfort after a trying day. He missed it. Now it was a reminder that he was by himself. Granted, the place was always clean and put together. Wes had been the messy one: used dishes not put back in the replicator, uniforms and extra boots left wherever they had been taken off, and PADDs containing copious amounts of scientific research were always strewn about after a flight of inspirational fancy.

God, he would give anything to have to ‘clean up’ again.

Instead, Scott slumped onto the sofa. Tossing an arm across his face, he breathed. It was measured. It was calming. He needed a reset. His first deep space assignment wasn’t going as he had planned. At present, it wasn’t going much at all. He had managed to alienate the medical staff, earn the ire of his commanding officer, put himself in a position of perpetual observation and judgement, and, apparently, disrupted his entire department. The last one may be far-fetched and opinion-based, but he was batting a thousand nonetheless.

Zoe had been his saving grace. Their interactions on the Minerva had been short-lived, but she had been one of the only people he’d talked to on their journey to Atlantis. And, there she was when he needed a friend. A friend. Was she? She was the closest thing he had at this point, but the title didn’t fit. Acquaintance? Scott didn’t know.

Making a mental note to reach out when there was free time, Scott stood and moved to the bathroom. He was going to have to do something to not slowly slip into hermit and pariah status on the Atlantis. Zoe was good of a place to start as any. Hopefully he hadn’t made a fool of himself too much and fostering a relationship with her would be easier than the uphill climb he foresaw with others.

Friends were one thing. Enemies were another.

He splashed some water on his face, grabbed a towel to dry it, and looked at himself in the mirror. “They’re not your enemies. They’re only your enemies if you make them your enemies.”

Truer words had never been spoken. By Scott, anyway. He had been reprimanded at the Academy for what was documented as a ‘flagrant disregard for authority’ when it came to a Velocity tournament. The referee made a bad call – at least Scott felt it was a bad call – and Scott let him know it. While they ended up winning the round, Scott had been benched for the championship bout… which they lost. Scott’s ego always felt that if he’d been playing they would have a title to add to the trophy case in those hallowed halls in San Francisco. He digressed, but would never pass up the opportunity to mention it in conversation.

“How do I fix this? You don’t. But, I can.”

Having personal conversations was something he did often in the privacy of his own solitude. Scott always felt that the best conversation to be had was one with himself. It was quick, clean, efficient, and always got him where he wanted to go: an answer and solution.

“Where do I start? Thanking Zoe? Apologizing to… everyone? You have to be sincere. God, Damien is kind of a prick. Damn it, Scott, focus.”

He threw the towel on the edge of the sink and moved into the bedroom. Scott paused, went back into the bathroom and hung the towel up where it belonged. Stopping, he stared at the towel. “Shit.”

****

Starbase 60, 18 months ago.

Home. Thank God.

He was tired, dehydrated, and pissed. Scott had never been through a training so rigorous. He wanted to relax and unwind. That wasn’t going to happen. The scene before him as he stepped into the quarters he shared with his boyfriend, Wes, was in disarray. He looked around at the mess: pillows from the couch were on the floor, the bed hadn’t been made, and the chair from the table was precariously leaning against the wall in such a way that no one would have been sitting in it for any reason.

Scott looked at Wes, laying on the bed, tapping away at a PADD. The light from it cascaded across his lover’s face in a way that gave Wes a glow of genius. He was working, hard, and Scott knew it. “Hi,” Scott said, stopping a mere meter into the room. “How’s your day?”

Wes looked up, “Pretty great, yours?”

“Pretty terrible.”

Dropping the PADD onto the sheets next to him, Wes rolled his eyes and sat up, putting his feet on the floor. “Want to talk about it?”

Scott had already put the pillows back on the sofa, organized the items on the coffee table, and moved the chair back to its rightful position. “I really don’t.”

“You’re lying.”

He exploded. “What the hell is wrong with this station?!”

Wes stayed still, “Be more specific.”

“This Starbase is embedded so deep in Federation space… yet we run these ridiculous training exercises as if the Borg are going to be on our doorstep TOMORROW. We run, we roll, we break down weapons and put them back together, and at the end of the day we get a pat on the back, a ‘good work’, and a directive to hit the showers. For what?!”

“Okay…”

Scott kicked off his boots, sending them across the room. He sighed and crossed to them, picking them up and shoving them in the closet, grabbing Wes’ discarded ones as he did so. “I have sweat pouring down my back like a Risan waterfall, my hands are calloused like a decaying targ, and no fucking idea why it has to be this hard.”

Wes stood, “Scooter – ”

“We live on the most boring starbase, in the most boring sector of space, where nothing even remotely dangerous will ever happen! Period. And, yet, here I am after an exhausting day of training that makes me feel like I’m ninety years old with nothing to show for it and, after reflecting, no reason to have done it in the first place.” Seething wasn’t even close to the descriptive word Scott wanted to use to describe his mood. In all honesty, he didn’t think there was a word.

His boyfriend let the outburst dissipate. He stood watching the love of his life, unmoving, wallow in his bad day. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen this kind of negative energy, so he knew what to do. “Wanna have sex?”

“Fuck off.”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Wes smiled. No dice. That was new.

Scott sighed heavily. He moved to the bathroom and emerged a moment later with a towel in his hand. “What the hell is this?”

Wes blinked and tilted his head slightly, “A towel?”

“And why is it on the floor?”

“For crying out loud, Scooter…”

“It’s called a towel rack, Weston. It’s designed, made, and installed to, I don’t know, hold a towel! But, instead, you place it where you think is best. Let’s put it on the edge of the sink, or on the floor, or on the sofa, or God-forbid the bed in a pinch, when you should just put it on the damn rack!” Scott knew he was flying off the handle, but it was the straw that broke the camel’s – Scott’s – back.

Reopening the closet, Wes pulled out his boots and put them on, not meeting Scott’s eyes. Wes knew that Scott was waiting for a response, but he wasn’t going to get one. Scott was being childish and losing control. Wes didn’t want to be a part of that because, at this point, his boyfriend had crossed the point of no return. No turning back. Only time would put out that fire. “I’m going to the lab.”

“Funny how you’ll do your job but you won’t let the towel rack do its job.”

“You know what, Scott, stop being an asshole. You want to talk about ‘doing your job’, do yours! The training is there for a reason. And maybe the Borg will be here tomorrow! Your problem is you always think YOU know better.” Wes zipped up his uniform and headed towards the door.

“Weston!”

He stopped just short of the door and looked at Scott. “I put it on the rack, Scott, it must have fallen off. It was doing its job. You don’t know everything, you don’t see everything, and sometimes you have to trust in other people, other things. You’re angry, I get it. Bad day, fine. But don’t take it out on me. Or the towel. Or the rack. I’ll be back later. I love you, Scooter.”

Scott watched Wes leave, the emptiness of the quarters becoming horribly apparent… and intense. Too intense. Scott let the towel hit the floor.

****

“Shit.”

Recalling the moments of that evening rocked Scott to his core. Wes had returned after an hour or two, Scott had replicated dinner, and the two had talked into the evening. About everything. One of the many reasons that Scott adored that man was that when Scott needed to talk, even after avoiding a mental warp core breach, his counterpart was there.

It was a night of many firsts. Their first big fight. The first time one of them walked away from another. And the first time discussing their relationship issues took front and center. Scott had apologized – profusely – and Wes accepted it. Many, many times. So much so that he finally told Scott to stop apologizing. It was the first time they stayed up all night. They talked, laughed, drank, and enjoyed each other’s’ company more than they had in a long time.

It was the night that they talked about Scott transferring. It would take a year and half before anything came to fruition, but that’s when the seed had been planted. At some point you hit a wall, Wes said, and while a wall is sometimes there to lean on to rest, other times it’s there to build a door. That night paved the way for the door to be built, for the new adventure to take shape, and for a grasp on the future to begin to be in reach.

In that nostalgic moment, Scott knew what he had to do. He grabbed the nearest PADD and began to type. He had to open a new door.