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“ It's just… you never know how many birthdays you have left, and-and… right now, you have friends who want to celebrate you. While you still can. ”
Boimler’s words repeated in Mariner’s head as she sat drunk in the Cerritos bar. It was the tail end of Tendi’s birthday, celebrated on the Holodeck with an adventure Rutherford had programmed and followed by an after-party at the bar. Everyone was asleep around the table, heads and limbs in various positions. Only T’lyn was awake after all that drinking and chanting. She was working on one of the model ships Rutherford got Tendi for her birthday, aligning pieces they had put in wrong after their fourth round of drinks.
“ But I wonder… if, someday, you're not around anymore, how many people on this ship would wish they had another day to talk to you? ”
Mariner always thought Boimler’s habit of remembering (and reminding) everyone of their birthdays was just one of his weird quirks. He always read the latest Captain's log, it wasn't a stretch to think he was memorizing the crew roster as well. But, as her mind swam with the memories of their trip to the past, she pondered… questioned… his instance of wishing each crew member a happy birthday.
She watched Boimler as he slept, head turned towards her. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful look on his face. She looked at him with pity, wondering what had happened to him. How someone as innocent and curious Boimler knew what to say to a man facing his own mortality.
Who did you lose, Boims?
The question burned within her. She wanted to know, wanted to comfort him. It was hard imagining him struggling. She had seen what William’s death had done to him, and thank Q she was there for him then. Whatever happened, Boims, I hope you didn’t have to suffer alone like I did .
But no matter how curious she was, she couldn’t ask him. Even as drunk as she was, she knew asking him this would just bring up a lot of questions about her past she was not ready to answer. Hell, she wasn’t ready to ask herself those questions.
Wanting to clear her head, Mariner scooted from behind the table to get a coffee. By the time she returned, she noticed Boimler had woken up, though not enough to get his upper body off the table.
“How ya doin’, Boims?”
“I really need to stop challenging you to drinking games.”
Mariner laughed. “Well, it’s not my fault you’re a lightweight.”
Boimler gave a soft smile, then pushed himself up from the table. “Do you think you c-can… help me to my bunk?”
“Sure. Just let me take another sip of my coffee.”
Mariner drank as much as she could in one gulp, and put the mug down. She helped Boimler to his feet, holding him by the waist as she guided him to the hallway.
Once they made it to their bunks, she helped him get in without tripping on the rail. He smiled, a silent thank-you, and she again wondered just what had happened to him.
“ How many people on this ship would wish they had another day to talk to you?”
She pulled the blanket over him, and climbed into her own bunk. She let her tired muscles and alcohol-drenched brain drag her to sleep, hoping for a dreamless night.