Morning came sooner than Arlo Henris would have liked. Even though the away team had checked in confirming that they’d made it to the surface in one piece, but only just, sleep had proven elusive. Standing at the window in his ready room, he looked down at his almost empty mug. It was his second cup of coffee this morning, and it wasn’t even zero-nine hundred yet.

The sound of the door chime cut through the silence. From his position, he could see the doors reflected in the window. “Come!”

He watched as the doors parted to admit Doctor Young. “Good morning, Captain.” Young’s greeting was typically cheerful. The softly spoken man was a walking ray of sunshine. In the short time they’d served together, Arlo had seldom seen the chief medical officer without a smile on his face.

Arlo didn’t turn around. “What can I do for you, Doctor?”

“I wanted to check in,” Young replied, “see how you’re feeling after yesterday’s headache.” He paused before asking, “Did you get much sleep last night?”

Lifting the mug, Arlo drained the last of his lukewarm coffee. “A solid eight hours.”

“One of the things about being a medical officer is that I can smell a lie like a fart in a turbolift,” Young’s response finally got Arlo to turn around. He found the CMO watching him with a smirk on his lips.

Arlo regarded Young with a bemused look. “That’s an interesting turn of phrase.”

“Something my late husband used to say.” Young’s smile faded. “Now, how about you answer my question honestly?”

A sigh escaped from Arlo’s lips. “I wasn’t aware you had a latent telepathic ability, Doctor.”

“With all due respect, cut the crap,” There was a steel edge in Young’s soft voice that surprised Arlo. “It doesn’t take a mind reader to know you’re lying.” The edge in his voice disappeared. “You look like shit, sir.”

The chief medical officer looked fresh. His light beard was neatly trimmed and accentuated his strong jawline. His thick brown hair was perfectly styled. There wasn’t a hair out of place. There wasn’t a wrinkle on his freshly replicated uniform. His hazel eyes watched Arlo closely intently.

By comparison, Arlo’s uniform was rumpled. That was hardly a surprise since he’d slept in it. His facial hair was already beginning to look scruffy. There were dark circles around his eyes, and his short hair was sticking up at odd angles. Arlo studied his reflection in the window. 

He’s right. You look like shit. You feel like shit too.

“I think I managed to get an hour or two,” Arlo finally admitted.

Young set the medical kit in his right hand on the couch and opened it, withdrawing a medical tricorder. “How’s the headache?”

“Lingering, but tolerable.”

The doctor pointed to the empty spot on the couch. “Have a seat.”

“I-” Arlo turned, ready to argue, but the stern look on Young’s face caused him to acquiesce. He moved to the couch and sat as instructed.

The shrill noise of the tricorder began the instant Young opened the device. The doctor hummed a few times as he studied the readings. “Your psilosynine levels remain elevated, but not as high as yesterday.”

“I still have to concentrate a little harder on maintaining my mental barriers,” Arlo told him. 

“That probably has more to do with fatigue than anything else,” he scolded.

Doctor Young was standing close enough that Arlo got a nostril full of his cologne. It’s smell reminded him of the ocean and of early morning runs on the beach, with hints of something earthy and woody tempering the cool marine scent. It was a crisp, fresh scent that suited Young to a tee. Arlo felt he could close his eyes, lean in and breathe in the scent all day long.

Sniffing your senior officers. That’s a charge for conduct unbecoming waiting to happen.

A disapproving noise from Young caused Arlo to freeze. Was he so tired that he’d actually leaned in and sniffed his chief medical officer without realising it? He glanced up at Young, who was frowning at the tricorder. Relief coursed through him as he realised he hadn’t. His heart was racing, something the tricorder was no doubt picking up.

“Everything alright?” Young asked. He was oblivious to Arlo’s momentary panic.

“Yeah,” Arlo replied, a little too quickly. “I tried to sleep,” he added, desperate to forget about what he’d almost done, “but I just ended up staring at the ceiling for an hour.”

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Young said gently. He placed a hand on Arlo’s shoulder. “You’ll be no good to anyone if you’re exhausted.”

Arlo huffed out a nervous chuckle. The heat from Young’s hand on his shoulder was twisting knots in his stomach. “You sound like Doctor Kingsley.” 

“I’ve read the notes from the Manchester’s CMO in your file.” Young removed his hand, but the warmth of his touch lingered. He placed the tricorder back in the medkit. “I can see now he wasn’t exaggerating.”

He wasn’t sure why the smell of the Doctor’s cologne or a simple gesture of reassurance was proving so distracting, but he needed to give himself a shake. I must be more tired than I realise.

“Dare I ask what the good Doctor had to say about me?” Arlo asked with an arched eyebrow.

“That you push yourself too hard and don’t know when to take a break,” Young replied. “It’s a failing common amongst your kind.”

Arlo looked at him with wide eyes. “Betazoids?”

“Captains,” Young shot back with a smile.

He couldn’t help returning Young’s smile, but it quickly faded when he remembered why he was pushing himself so hard. “I’ll rest once we’ve recovered Commander Shukri and her team and freed Valdran from Klingon occupation.”

“We’ll get them back.” Young’s words were soft, but they were said with such certainty.

Arlo wished he felt as certain. He’d been in this situation too often, sitting by while his officers put their lives on the line. Too many times those lives had been cut short. Commanding a starship was the proudest achievement of his career, he loved it, most of the time. Then there were times like now when he longed for an easier life.

“Captain?” 

Young’s voice snapped Arlo out of his funk. His eyes met Young’s concerned gaze. He quickly looked away. “I’m fine.” He nodded with a confidence he didn’t feel. “You’re right. We’ll get them back.”

“Bridge to Captain.”

Arlo breathed a sigh of relief. “Go ahead.”

“Sir, we’ve detected another ship coming in at high warp.”

He pushed off the couch and rose to his feet. “More Romulans?”

“No, sir. It’s one of ours. The Spitfire. ETA is twenty minutes.”

The USS Spitfire was a Defiant-class starship recently assigned to Challenger Squadron. “Signal the Spitfire. Ask Captain Jeren to beam over when they’re in range.”

“Aye, sir.”

“I want you to try and get some sleep once your meeting with Captain Jeren’s over,” Young instructed as soon as the comm channel closed.

Arlo sighed, “I don’t-”

“I mean it,” Young cut in firmly, his hazel eyes pinning Arlo in place.

The knots in Arlo’s stomach tightened. “Fine,” Arlo relented. “I’ll try.” Young narrowed his eyes, prompting Arlo to add, “I promise.”

“Good.” Young closed his medkit and lifted it off the couch. “I’ll check in on you again in a few hours.”

Arlo wanted to argue, to tell Young that he didn’t need to check in again, but knew it would be futile. He struggled to understand why he’d reacted to Young as he had, but before he could analyse it, there were more pressing matters for Arlo to attend to. He couldn’t meet the Spitfire’s captain looking and smelling like he did. 

The door had no sooner closed behind Doctor Young than Arlo ducked into the small bathroom connected to his readroom and began pulling his rumpled uniform off. The sonic shower would only provide a temporary boost, but it would allow him to present a professional front to a fellow captain.

By the time Arlo emerged from the bathroom washed, freshly shaved, and in a clean uniform, Captain Jeren was already onboard and being escorted from the transporter room. He considered ordering another cup of coffee but decided against it. He’d promised Doctor Young he would try to sleep once Jeren was gone, and he was determined to stick to that.

Arlo was perched on the front of his desk when the door chime sounded again. He stood upright and straightened his uniform jacket. “Come!”

Commander Wescott entered with Jeren close on her heels. “Captain Jeren of the Spitfire.” She announced stiffly.

“Captain, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Arlo stepped forward with an extended hand and a welcoming smile.

Jeren accepted Arlo’s hand and gave it a perfunctory shake. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Arlo dismissed Wescott and motioned for Jeren to have a seat on the couch. The Bajoran man was older than Arlo by a good decade. Despite that, his uniform held the three silver pips of a commander. It was only because of some old Earth naval tradition that he was referred to as captain. His salt-and-pepper hair was more salt than pepper, the same went for his beard.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Jeren politely refused, so Arlo returned to his perch on the front of his desk. “I understand you were retired.”

Jeren nodded. “Managed a whole two years of retirement before they pulled me back in.”

“We lost a lot of experienced officers on Frontier Day,” Arlo folded his arms. “A lot of friends.”

There were few in the Federation who hadn’t lost friends. Jeren hummed his agreement before admitting, “Retirement wasn’t working out for me anyway. I tried to find new hobbies to fill my time, but nothing held my attention for longer than a few weeks.”

“Sounds like you were ready to get back in the saddle,” Arlo said with a smile.

Jeren sat back and draped his arm across the back of the couch. “Was offered a senior post with the Bajoran militia. I served for ten years before joining Starfleet, and one of my old friends is a bigshot there now.”

“What made you choose Starfleet over the Bajoran militia?”

“Starfleet’s need was greater,” Jeren replied. “But you didn’t ask me over here for a ‘getting to know you’ chat.”

Arlo smiled. Jeren’s gruff exterior belied a gruff personality. “You know about the Klingon occupation of Valdran Prime?”

“Commodore Wyatt brought me up to speed,” Jeren replied. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “What’s with the two Rommie ships out there?”

Arlo puffed his cheeks before letting the air escape through his mouth. “They’re here to help liberate Valdran.”

“Liberate?” Jeren asked sceptically. “Or hoping their assistance will win the local populace over?”

Both Romulan commanders had accused the other of that very thing in their first meeting. “Valdran doesn’t have anything of particular value to either the Free State or the Republic, but I’m sure both governments would be happy to welcome the Valdrans into the fold. But that’s a problem for another day. Right now, our task is to drive the Klingons from their world.”

“Fucking Klingons,” Jeren spat. 

Arlo smiled. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Martok was the only thing holding them back.” The disappearance of Chancellor Martok remained a mystery, but one thing was certain: he was gone. “With Toral turning the Empire’s eyes on the Romulans, it was only a matter of time before their raids on Romulan worlds turned into something bigger.”

The Federation had been at peace with the Klingons for over a century. With the exception of a few years in the early 2370s when the Klingons had withdrawn from the Khitomer Accords, Arlo had never known a time when the Klingons were allies. While that alliance still held, it had become strained, and instances of Klingon aggression against Federation ships were growing.

“What’s the plan?”

The next hour was spent going over the battle plan Arlo had worked out with the two Romulan commanders. Between them, Arlo and Jeren agreed on the best way to utilise the Spitfire during the upcoming battle. By the end of their meeting, Arlo was beginning to feel the effects of his lack of sleep.

“We’ll be ready to go as soon as you hear from your team on the ground,” Jeren announced as the meeting drew to a close. “We’ll send those Klingon bastards packing.”

“Damn right we will,” Arlo agreed. “I lived under Dominion occupation for more than a year. I’ll be dammned if I’m gonna let a bunch of Klingons do the same thing to these people.”

One of the driving forces of Arlo’s decision to join Starfleet was his desire to protect people from suffering as he had during the Dominion War. It was the reason he’d been pushing himself as hard as he was on this occasion. This one was personal. 

Arlo nodded and offered a weak but genuine smile. “I’m glad you’re here, captain. Nice to know a friend has our back.”

Jeren offered his hand. “Good luck.”

“To all of us,” Arlo replied as he grasped Jeren’s hand.

It was only once the doors closed behind Jeren that Arlo allowed his shoulders to slump. He was exhausted. Doctor Young was right, he needed to get another few hours of sleep before Ark Royal went back into battle. 

Arlo’s limbs felt heavy as he lowered himself onto the couch. He pulled off his boots and removed his uniform jacket before lying down, propping a pillow under his head. Sleep came easily, which came as no surprise to Arlo. What did surprise him were the dreams of running his fingers through a head of thick brown hair.