Navigating through the crowded bar proved to be unavoidably time consuming. It was increasingly difficult to go anywhere without being thanked or chatted with, and I did my best to keep moving, but always found it impossible to cut off people who were just trying to be grateful or nice. The uniform didn’t help. Talk about sticking out like a sore thumb.

When I finally reached the top of the staircase, I was met with a sharp, unreadable golden gaze. Annoyed? Definitely. Apprehensive? Also likely. She took in my appearance, probably reliving her handiwork from earlier at the riverwalk. I offered her a lighthearted smirk and walked over to take my seat across from her. Imitating her prepared posture, I leaned forward on my forearms and took a swing of whiskey.

“You have good taste in drinks.”

“You’re late.”

“Well, the admiral thought it best that I change due to my ... sogginess.”

“No wonder you were stopped every two feet.”

“Comes with the territory.”

Her gaze grew more critical as I squinted back at her and settled into my forearms. I was curious to see how long it would take before she finally began answering any questions about herself. All she had given me were dramatically vague statements about her life since our brief encounter at the academy all those years ago.

The dim lighting softened her hard features, keeping a perpetual smirk tugging at my lips. She truly was unlike any woman I had seen before. My memory of her back from the academy was nothing like the person sitting before me. She seemed darker then, troubled. Now she just seemed closed off, shutting out everyone and everything around her.

Clearing my head and focusing on the present, I opted to jump in where she had left off when I had first approached her at the bar to see just how far I could get.

“So you’re not an alumni? You didn’t graduate from the academy? I could’ve sworn you were in my class …”

Her eyes darted away from me as soon as the question left my mouth. Picking a spot on the floor to stare at, she spoke in a quieter tone, although equally as matter-of-fact as before.

“I dropped out during my first year. It would seem that I didn’t have an … expertise.”

“But you kicked my ass spectacularly. How is combat not a speciality? I mean I know we aren’t militarized, but — ”

“Because Starfleet isn’t looking for thugs to put on their vessels. They want people with real skill, real intelligence. I am no engineer, no scientist, no language expert, no leader. My skill set is obviously insufficient.”

Her eyes flickered back to me as she finished enunciating insufficient with sharp, deliberate inflection. There was no mistaking the thick venom that dripped from her words, and I was caught off guard by her sudden outpouring of personal information. She had seemed so cautious, so protected. I eyed the empty glass in front of her. Liquid courage. I wondered what number she was on. She was relaxing, for better or for worse.

“Combat skills are necessary on any vessel. So what if you don’t have a specialty? I experienced your skill firsthand. It takes an incredible amount of discipline and awareness to become that lethal. And I have no doubt in my mind that you’re even more effective now. I’d gladly welcome you into my crew.”

With a scoff, she twirled the empty glass around in her hand. A flush was rising in her cheeks. I took another long sip of whiskey. Her gaze flicked back up to me. It felt as though she had leaned in closer. Then, I saw her smile for the first time. It revealed an easy, natural beauty, something that was always partially masked by a scowl or indifferent facade. I wanted to make her smile again. And again. Just to see her come out of that guarded, jaded shell. But the smile only served as an ironic backdrop for her words.

“I have had no advocates in the academy. No one wants to see me succeed. You see, unlike you, and the majority of the other graduates from the academy, I have no heroic or affluent ancestry. No connections that make me valuable. I’m an unknown space mutt.”

Taking a deep breath and then exhaling through my lips, I slid the rest of my drink across the table to her, and in one fluid, anticipatory motion, she picked up the glass and finished it off with one swig. I gathered my words carefully, not wanting to overstep any boundaries while still offering my support.

“I can’t speak to not knowing where you came from. I am painfully aware of who I am and who came before me. That’s a whole other issue in and of itself. But you have a chance to reinvent yourself. Create your own path without someone or something laying it all out for you. I actually came from a similar situation. Not exact, but … definitely similar.”

Pausing in an effort to gauge her interest and irritation level, I watched as she folded her arms across her chest and sunk back into that critical gaze of hers. I remained leaning forward on my forearms even though she retreated back into her own space. This was a game I was not used to playing.

The women I met, usually in bars, were usually testing how smooth I could be. How sexy I could make them feel. Aria was testing what kind of man I was, if I had changed — and I wanted to prove her wrong. Usually I would’ve just let her think what she wanted and not bothered at all. But the man I was in years past was not the man I had been recently. I reveled in the opportunity to show someone that, to prove it to them. There was a strong, unexplainable force in me that wanted her in particular to see that.

“I was a scrubby, lazy kid in Iowa. A Starfleet captain, who was a great man, happened upon my sorry ass during a bar fight. Fortunately for me, he knew my father. A much better man than I could ever possibly be. He offered me a chance. He pushed me. I was well on my way to being a nobody. But you, you are much better off than I ever was. You’re strong, you're skilled. Don’t let those Starfleet stiffs convince you of anything different. Hell, if I can do it, you can do it a thousand times better.”

She was quick to respond this time; although she remained sitting back in her chair, in her own space, her eyes resting on me heavily.

“You don’t know me.”

“I have known you. Not well, but what are the odds that we run into each other so many years after the academy? Space is big. We could’ve ended up anywhere.”

I was leaning further forward in my chair now, the urgency to make her see what I saw in her growing by the second. Was it the couple sips of whiskey? Why did I want to take her firmly by the shoulders as I spoke? It felt as if touching her would help drive my point home. And, for a repeat offender womanizer like myself, it would also be a glaring, fatal mistake. Fighting the urge to get any closer to her, I settled for leaning onto my arms a bit more and fixing my eyes firmly onto hers.

“Look — it was obvious that you were upset earlier down by the river. Anyone could see that. It’s so easy to fall into that helplessness sometimes. But you deserve so much more than that. You deserve to be a part of Starfleet. And you deserve to not scowl so damn much. And dammit,” I slapped my hand down on the table for dramatic effect, “I’m going to try to do just that.”

A look of uncertainty mixed with confusion washed over her face. I raised my eyebrows in response and cocked my head to the side, anticipating her response. A waitress approached our table with two more whiskeys.

“For you and ... your friend, captain. On the house.”

I offered my thanks and moved to slide the drink over to Aria. She stopped my hand mid-slide, leaning back over the table. Her hand was surprisingly cool, and rough with callouses. I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows even higher as my own shock grew from having a woman in a bar touch me first. Her flushed face was only inches from mine now. Was that a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips? I tried to contain my smile as I took in my small victory.

“You have some catching up to do, Captain.”

With a chuckle, I offered a nod of agreement and raised both glasses in the air.

“Here’s to scowling less and carving out our own damn paths.”

The only acknowledgement she offered me was a slight dip of her chin and that barely-a-smirk, not-really-a-smile.

I took a quick breath and slammed the first whiskey. Yep. That burned. With a slight pucker and wince I downed the second, letting out a whoop after I slammed the glass down.

A chuckle met my ears. An actual chuckle. She quickly went stone faced as I beamed back at her.

“So, Captain — ”

“Jim. Please call me Jim.”

She raised an eyebrow and leaned back onto the table, closing the gap between us again.

“So, Jim, let’s hear about all your adventures in space. I mean, reading about it is one thing. But hearing it from the man himself …”

“Oh god, where to begin …”

“I believe I remember hearing something about you committing mutiny aboard the Enterprise and subsequently being stranded on a planet of ice?”

There was that faint smirk again. And the flush in her cheeks was definitely more rosy. I smiled and started down the road of telling one of my favorite stories — which meant doing a lot of talking with my hands. At least I was back in my comfort zone now. I could talk about my crew and our endeavors for hours. I had done it countless times before. But this time … this time it was different. Hopefully it would convince her to give Starfleet another go. All I could do was hope and try and make this count. And talk with my hands — a lot.

“Now, actually, the acting captain of the ship at the time was my logical-to-a-fault, mostly-enemy-at-the-time-now-friend Spock, who made a …”

Hope. That’s all I could do was offer her these stories, my stories. Hope that had eluded me day after day recently, but may somehow just find its way to her yet.