Company in the Quiet

Posted on Fri Aug 29th, 2025 @ 11:15am by Lieutenant JG Koaruh Avestro & Chloe de la Vega

2,522 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Year One: Strange Bedfellows
Location: Mess Hall, Deck 2
Timeline: MD 040 - 0200 hours

The mess hall had been closed for hours.

By 0200 the last of the crew were long gone, the chatter replaced by the hum of the engines and the faint tang of disinfectant. Chloe didn’t bother looking up when the doors hissed open—someone had ignored the “closed” sign before, usually a straggler looking for leftover caf.

“We’re shut,” she called, rag sweeping across the table in front of her. “No menu, no service, no complaints.”

Footsteps carried further inside instead of retreating. “Good thing I’m not here for service, then,” came Koaruh Avestro’s easy voice. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured the mess might be quieter than my own head.”

Chloe huffed a short laugh, still not turning around. “At this hour it’s quieter than anyone’s head, cariño (darling). Unless you plan on talking my ear off.”

Koaruh slid into one of the chairs she’d already stacked neatly under the table, leaning back like he owned the place. “Knew I’d find you here. You don’t seem the type to call it a night early.”

Chloe snorted, cloth snapping against the tabletop. “Oh? And what type is that? Enlighten me, cariño (darling).”

“The type who likes to keep the world moving so it doesn’t catch up with her,” he said, voice soft but steady. “So she stays busy. Even when the crew’s asleep.”

That pulled her eyes to him, dark and sharp under the low light. “That your counsellor guess, or your personal one?”

“Bit of both,” Koaruh admitted, his smile just a shade sly. “Either way… it makes you sound interesting.”

Chloe gave a low laugh, head tipping back for a moment before she shook it off. “Ay dios (oh god), you Betazoids. Always making everything sound like seduction or therapy.” She moved past him with the bucket, brushing close enough for him to catch the citrus tang of her cleaning spray over the lingering saffron. “For the record, I stay up late because garlic ghosts don’t scrub themselves off the tables. Not because I’m running from my thoughts.”

Koaruh rested his chin in his hand, watching her cross the room. “Maybe. But either way… dangerous habit.” His tone was warmer now, playful. “You’d make a formidable night owl companion.”

Chloe stopped mid-stride, rag hanging loose at her side. Her head tilted, smile curving into something sly. “Formidable, sure. But isn’t that what Stewart’s for?”

The question hung, equal parts tease and deflection, her eyes bright with mischief.

For a second Koaruh looked caught out, then the smile tugged at his mouth again, softer this time. “Touché. She is formidable.”

“Mm.” Chloe leaned against the nearest chair, scar catching the dim light as she smirked. “Then you don’t need me for company. You’ve already got the night owl sorted.”

But her tone wasn’t dismissive; it was the kind of jab that kept him in the room, daring him to keep pushing.

Koaruh chuckled, leaning back in the chair as though she’d scored a clean point. “Fair enough. Stewart would probably agree with you, actually. She likes to remind me I’m not half as charming at two in the morning as I think I am.”

Chloe gave a low laugh, folding her arms across her chest. “Smart woman. Someone needs to keep you honest.”

“Guilty,” he said easily. “But even she’d admit I’m not wrong about you staying up too late.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, pushing off from the chair to start wiping down another table. “You just don’t like the competition. One insomniac per department, is that it?”

“Something like that,” he replied with a grin, drumming his fingers idly on the spotless table she’d just finished. “Though between us, I think you’ve got the tougher job.”

Chloe paused mid-wipe, the cloth stilling on the tabletop. For just a moment her expression softened, eyes flicking down as though the grain of the surface had something worth studying. “Tough job, maybe. But it’s mine. Keeps me steady.”

It lingered there, quiet and honest, the hum of the ship filling the gap. Then she straightened, tossed the cloth over her shoulder and gave him a crooked grin. “Besides, someone has to stop you lot poisoning yourselves with replicator soup. Imagine the scandal.”

Koaruh smiled at that, but he’d caught the slip; his dark eyes lingered on her a fraction too long, curious but not pushing.

He didn’t rise to the joke straight away. He just watched her with that quiet Betazoid patience, elbows resting on the table she’d already cleaned. “Well,” he said after a beat, voice lower, “whatever keeps you steady… the ship’s better for it.”

Chloe glanced at him, caught the sincerity, and shook her head with a little scoff. “Careful, counsellor. Talk like that and people will think you’ve gone soft.” She flicked the rag at his arm as she passed, reclaiming the rhythm of cleaning as if nothing had cracked through.

Koaruh let the cloth hit, let the smile return to his mouth, but the softness stayed in his eyes. “Maybe I just know when not to argue.”

Chloe smirked, setting the bucket down with a thunk and leaning a hip against the counter. “Not arguing? That’s new. I thought Betazoids lived to debate feelings until the rest of us begged for mercy.”

Koaruh raised his brows, amused. “We’re good at it, sure. But sometimes it’s smarter to let someone else have the last word.”

“Smarter, hm?” She let her gaze run over him deliberately, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “Now you’re just trying to charm me into letting you stay. Dangerous tactic at this hour.”

He met her look with an easy grin, unruffled. “Is it working?”

Chloe laughed, a warm sound that rolled out into the empty mess. “Quizás (maybe). Depends how useful you plan on being. I don’t let pretty faces sit around for free.”

Koaruh leaned back in the chair, a picture of lazy confidence. “Earn my keep, huh? I could wash dishes, but I’m told I look better supervising.”

Chloe snorted, tossing the cloth onto the counter with a snap. “Por supuesto (of course). Sit there, look pretty, and pretend you’re helping. Story of your life, eh?”

He grinned, eyes glinting. “Careful, de la Vega. Some people pay good latinum for my company.”

She stepped closer, arms folded, leaning just enough to let her smirk linger over him. “Mm. They should ask for a refund.”

“Or,” he countered smoothly, “they should ask for seconds.”

Chloe laughed, shaking her head as she turned away, but there was colour in her smile now—half amusement, half acknowledgement that he’d kept pace without breaking stride.

Chloe moved back behind the counter, stacking the last of the plates from earlier into neat towers. “You’re lucky I’ve already done the washing up. Otherwise you’d be elbow-deep in suds proving that ‘seconds’ line.”

Koaruh rested his chin on his hand again, following her movements. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve been told I look devastating in an apron.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder, eyes sparkling. “Betazoids and their fantasies. You’d last five minutes in my kitchen before running back to your office.”

“Maybe,” he admitted easily. “But you’ve been at it all night, and you’re still standing. That’s impressive.”

Chloe stilled a fraction, then waved the compliment away with a flick of her wrist. “Someone has to keep this place going. People need to eat. People need… this.” She gestured loosely to the empty mess hall—chairs, tables, the hum of silence. “Feels less like a ship and more like home if the lights are on when they walk in.”

Koaruh let the words settle between them, softening his smile. “You do more than feed them, Chloe. You take care of them. Don’t think that goes unnoticed.”

For a moment she looked at him, eyes sharp but unreadable, before shaking her head with a crooked grin. “Basta (enough). You keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you came down here to flatter me, not drink my water.”

Koaruh didn’t take the out she offered. Instead of laughing it off, he leaned forward on the table, arms folded, voice lowering just enough to feel like the conversation had shrunk to the two of them.

“Maybe I did come down here to flatter you. Or maybe I came down because I can feel how much weight you carry when the room’s empty.” His eyes held hers, steady but not sharp. “You make this place a home for everyone else. Who makes it one for you?”

Chloe froze, cloth in her hand, before her mouth tugged into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Dios mío (my God), you’re relentless. Do they teach you that in counsellor school—stare until someone spills their guts?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted with a soft grin. “But mostly I just listen. And right now you’re saying plenty without words.”

She scoffed, tossing the cloth into the bucket with a wet slap. “All I’m saying is the tables are clean and you’re sitting on one I’ve just wiped. That’s sacrilege in my book, cariño (darling).”

But she didn’t turn away.

Koaruh’s smile softened. “I think you stay late because silence feels safer when you’ve chosen it.”

Chloe’s hand stilled on the back of a chair. For a moment the mess hall dissolved around her—replaced by the choking reek of stale alcohol and sweat, the neon flicker of a station dive where shadows clung to every corner. She could feel the sticky floor under her boots, hear the crash of glass and the bark of laughter that never sounded friendly. A stranger’s hand had once closed around her wrist there, too tight, the kind of grip that promised what she didn’t want to give. She remembered twisting free only because a broken bottle bit into her palm first, the blood running warm as the man swore and staggered back.

She blinked hard. The hum of the Moore pulled her back: clean tables, bright lights, air that smelled only of soap and saffron. Safe.

Chloe slid the chair neatly under the table as though nothing at all had happened.

The silence stretched, the hum of the engines the only sound between them. Koaruh didn’t speak. He didn’t need to; he’d felt the spike of fear, the sharp edge of remembered pain that hadn’t belonged to this room.

Chloe’s shoulders squared as she turned back toward him, expression already rebuilt into something lighter, sharper. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, tone brisk, almost amused. “I was just deciding whether to mop you into the floor with the rest of the mess.”

Her grin carried the edge of armour, the easy banter sliding back into place. Whatever he’d sensed, she wasn’t about to give it words.

Koaruh leaned back in his chair, smile gentler than hers but just as practiced. “Fair warning,” he said softly, “I’d make a terrible stain.”

For a long moment she held his gaze, testing how much he’d press. When he didn’t, her smirk eased into something quieter, less barbed.

“Fine,” she sighed, reaching for the pot she kept back for staff. “You win. I’ll make coffee. But only because I don’t fancy explaining to Stewart why her counsellor wandered the decks sleepless and starved.”

Koaruh’s grin warmed, but he didn’t gloat. “Generous of you. I’ll try not to psychoanalyse while I drink it.”

Chloe busied herself with the small ritual—grinding, pouring, the hiss of the brewer filling the silence in a more comfortable way. When she set the mug in front of him a few minutes later, she slid onto the opposite chair with her own.

“Alright,” she said, folding her arms on the table. “You’ve got your coffee. Now what’s so important it couldn’t wait for daylight?”

Koaruh wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the steam rise into his face before answering. “Truth? Couldn’t sleep.” He gave a small shrug, more honest than casual. “Some nights the crew’s noise doesn’t switch off, even when they do. Arguments that never got settled, fears they won’t admit to anyone else… it all lingers.”

He glanced across at her, lips quirking faintly. “Perks of being Betazoid. It’s like trying to sleep in a room full of half-heard conversations. You close your eyes, and they get louder.”

Chloe studied him over the rim of her own cup. For once she didn’t throw a quip straight back. “So you come down here and what—hope coffee drowns them out?”

“Coffee helps,” he said with a grin. Then, softer: “So does finding someone awake who doesn’t mind a little company.”

Chloe didn’t answer straight away. She turned the mug slowly in her hands, watching the swirl of dark liquid as though it might give her the right words. For once, she didn’t lace her silence with teasing or sharp edges.

“Must be hell,” she said finally, voice quieter than before. “Carrying all that around when it isn’t even yours.”

Koaruh shrugged, though there was weight in the gesture. “Comes with the territory.”

She nodded, gaze drifting across the empty mess hall. “Still… you shouldn’t always have to do it alone.” The words surprised even her, enough that she set the mug down carefully, aligning it just so with the table’s edge.

The pause stretched, not uncomfortable, just heavy with understanding. For once, Chloe let it be.

Koaruh followed her gaze across the empty room, then back to her. “You’re right. I’m not alone,” he said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Stewart makes sure of that. But there are things I don’t bring to her… not when it’s this late, not when she needs her rest.”

Chloe’s lips curved, wry but warmer now. “So instead, you wander in here to keep me from mine. Figures.”

He chuckled, raising his mug in mock salute. “Better company than ghosts.”

“Mm,” she allowed, tapping her fingernail against her cup. “Don’t get used to it, cariño (darling). I don’t make a habit of midnight counselling sessions.”

“Good,” he said lightly, leaning back in his chair. “Neither do I.”

They let the silence stretch, easier now, punctuated by the occasional low remark—small things, not confessions, just company. The hum of the ship filled the rest, steady and grounding.

Eventually the lights dimmed another shade to mark the late hour, and the mess hall slipped back into its quiet.

Fade to black.

 

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