J.S. Mandella - Stardate 87172.48 (For Ol' Times Sake)
Posted on 04/06/2012 @ 6:24pm by Lieutenant JG John Mandella
J.S. Mandella - Stardate 87172.48
He was on a couple days of leave. His arms hurt. They ached from excitement, lust. Those wrothful, fleeting feelings of distress, anger and love.
*thwap*
*thack*
*thwap*
One last punch sent the bag falling to the floor a foot ahead of him with a thunderous THUD. It wasn't his brute force that dislodged the punching bag's chain from it's binding to the fabric. It was old. The place was old. His life felt old being there.
The dust from the seemingly Thor's Hammer-like object falling from heaven's grasp started to settle. He stared at the punching bag lying in front of him on the floor. He had wondered if all my life needed was a new chain. Some new fabric. Some new filling.
"Computer, end program."
*Bee, boop, beeep*
He stepped into the hallway from the yellow-lined black walled room that was the idle holosuite. He was almost tripping with sweat. He'd forgotten my towel.
He was on auto-pilot as he walked towards his quarters. His 1/4 Vulcan blood rearing it's subdued head, flashing his mind with emotions. He's exhausted just let them roll over him and back into his subconscious.
*tshoo*
He steps into his room and towards the sonic shower.
The lights were still off but he noticed a humanoid figure sitting on the couch backed against the window. He dashed back towards the door, grabbed a rifle from the wall mount to the right and trained it on the black form on the couch. Those emotions came back and blurred his vision.
"What the HELL are you doing in my quarters! Move and I WILL disable you! Computer, lights at full!" *bee boop* Proper Starfleet confrontation verbiage spewed out of his mouth at full volume.
He was ready to fire as soon as the lights rose. He ended up glad his intentions weren't as strong as he'd thought.
The lights rose to full brightness. It was like a supernova had imploded. He had only been in the darkened room for a matter of a minute or two before noticing the intruder. But that was long enough for his pupils to start to dilate.
The dark figure on the couch illuminated, along with the rest of the room with what seemed like enough power to light up half the sector. The figure's face squinted and grimaced at the bright lights. He must have been sitting there for a while.
"Jesus, calm down Mandella." If it were anyone else's voice, anyone else's face, he'd have been a hair away from knocking him dead. In his blind fright and rage he'd set the rifle to kill.
"What the hell, Hutch!", he said as he lowered the rifle. "Do you make a habit of sneaking into people's quarters and playing stalker? Do you know how close you were to a funeral... Ensign? You are still an Ensign right? And do you know what TIME it is? It's almost midnight!"
"What do you mean, still?" He said, only hearing the quip about his rank. "Psh, I just figured I'd drop by. Didn't even know you were heading this way, much less were actually here. Thanks for the invite, by the way."
"I was getting around to it. And by the way, don't change the subject." He activated the safety on the rifle, noticed his mistake of setting choice and clipped it back on the mount, grateful his finger hadn't slipped. "Why couldn't you have just called me up instead of acting in as my Guardian Demon? I've got enough of those."
"Y'know, for ol' times sake." Hutch stood up from the couch and stretched out his arms. "Actually came by hoping you'd be here. You weren't, so I made myself comfortable. Sitting in the dark. Taking a nap. Like some kind of house cat..." Why he chose to nap on the irresistibly comfortable, standard fulfillment, Starfleet quarters couch instead of his own bed is was unknown. He was a little scatter brained sometimes.
Sam Hutch has been Mandella's bud since year one in the Academy. Though they still can't figure out exactly why they're friends.
He was an overall average man. Medium build, medium height, brown hair, brown eyes, tanned skin. His apparent mediocrity had misled many. Misled them to believe he couldn't kill a man if he had to. Misled to believe he hasn't. Misled to believe he's just a regular human.
"Get over here, you bastard." Hutch walked over and extended his hand for a formal shake. Mandella grabbed his hand, pulled him over and gave him a hug. It'd been at least a year since he'd even heard from him, much less seen him in person. "It's good to see ya again buddy."
Hutch backed up away from Mandella. John had forgotten about his still damp shirt. Hutch was a little germaphobic and easily stressed out when it came to "contaminated items" of personal wear.
"Egh, come on! Why do you think I just wanted a hand shake? Sheesh Mandella, take a shower." Hutch twitched a little and then symbolically dusted off the front of his uniform.
"I was trying to until my resident stalker here was almost vaporized."Mandella said while shaking his fist at him. "Unless you wanted to watch, that is." He kidded, hoping to drive Sam out of his already violated quarters and avoid any more unnecessary confrontations and heart fibrillation.
"I'm good, Mandella." He said waving his arm in disapproval. "You seem like you've got other business to take care of. Meet you in the mess in the morning?" It worked. As usual.
Hutch left Mandella's quarters. John walked around the corner to the bathroom. He leaned over the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. Seeing Hutch brought back memories of the Academy, which chained to memories after the Academy which followed the all too familiar track back to his assignment at "Lamp Post".
He leaned forward. Something fell out of the breast pocket of his shirt and towards the sink. His reflexes saved it before it fell in.
Mandella opened his hand and looked down.
"If speaking is silver, then listening is gold." That phrase, inscribed onto a gold-pressed latinum pendant, was the the motto of Listening Post LP-10; "Lamp Post".
***
Mandella made his way to the mess in the morning and singled out Hutch, sitting near the windows of the room, mirroring his earlier scene in John's quarters. He pulled back a seat and sat down at Hutch's table.
"Now you don't smell so much like a Targ. Well done. Could've used a little less cologne though, Mandella. I can hardly breathe." He wafted his hands in front of his face.
"I'm not wearing any cologne, Hutch." John said as the Lieutenant who had recently sat down at the table next to them rose up from his chair and stared at us disdainfully.
The Lieutenant needn't speak a word before Hutch started babbling at Warp 8, spewing apologetic pre-constructed statements from his archived inventory of excuses and explanations. Mandella stopped listening to his rambles many years ago. No one ever really understood or heard any of it, but the other party almost always felt the need to downplay whatever "incident" Hutch was trying to wiggle himself out of. No one is sure how he does it.
"Very well, Ensign. There's never a need to be offensive. Remember that." Said the inflated ego balloon wrapped in a uniform.
"Yes, sir. Again, I didn't mean any offense." Hutch said as he repeatedly bowed his head and pleaded. He should have become a diplomat.
The Lieutenant still felt the need to leave the space next to us and took his belongings across the room.
"I'll never understand people like that." He said as he munched on some eggs in front of him, pointing at the Lieutenant with his fork. "So big-headed, yet there's nothing in there!" He threw up his hands in disbelief.
They finished thier breakfast and parted ways once again. Hutch was on his last day of shore leave before being transferred out of the sector. The good-bye was rather scripted, stiff and correct. They would never really ever say, "Good-bye". It was always, "Until next time."
One never wants to close off the universe to someone you want to see again.
Never leave good-byes, just good memories. He learned that from Scott.
Tags: John Mandella, Mandella, side story, back story
