“It’s a delay, not the end of the galaxy.” Elijah sighed. He bit back the urge to add that this would, however, be the end of this relationship if Neritalor next to him didn’t drop the scowl.

“You wanted to travel. I’d have been perfectly fine to stay aboard the Sirona.”

The Cardassian next to him still scowled, just no longer at his surroundings but at Elijah instead. “And you know why I wanted to travel. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that being stuck here is putting me on edge.”

Yes, Elijah knew. Distance. From family. From colleagues. From judgement and expectation. He understood – intellectually – but his heart balked at the idea of ‘them’ being something to be ashamed of, and kept secret.

“No one knows us here, Talor.” Elijah said quietly. His hand twitched towards Talor’s, but stopped halfway, fingers curling into a fist instead.

He knew the gesture would do nothing to calm him, but everything to make it worse.
Public affection on Cardassia was frowned upon if not forbidden, interspecies couples tolerated – sometimes barely – and the family-unit came in one shape only.

But this wasn’t Cardassia.

And Elijah wasn’t sure he could live with love that only happened behind closed doors.

Rals was taking a swig of synthale when Danbo asked him, “You want to be drinking like that at oh-nine-hundred?”

Rals only lowered his glass after his thirst was sated.  He stopped drinking long enough to squint at the tall glass. It was roughly the length of his forearm. He set the synthale aside on the empty seat beside him. Grinning heedlessly, Rals leaned his elbows onto his knees to lean closer to Danbo, who was seated in the endless row of chairs across from him.

“We’re on vacation,” Rals said with an exasperated shake of his head. The movement was enough to swing the chain of his earring, which represented his connection to the Bajoran Prophets. His words seemed unnecessary given the stringer tank top that barely clung to the boulders he called shoulders, and the Starfleet Academy-branded shorts that strained to contain his thighs.

“Look at the grey carpet and all this mass-replicated furniture,” Danbo said, his words building up speed as he built his case. “Teal and brushed chrome fixtures everywhere. It’s a classic. Even if it’s co-operated by the Bandi, this spaceport is still a Starfleet facility.”

Rals shook his head again, his eyes went half-lidded. He pointed at the heavy training uniform Danbo was wearing.

“We’re off duty, babe,” Rals pleaded. “Take off that sweater.”

“But we’re not on vacation until we land on Inferna Prime.”

Rals clasped his hands around one of Danbo’s, and he pulled him up out of his chair. He flashed a smile and Danbo offered back a pained smile, despite himself. Rals dragged Danbo into a light jog across the concourse and swept a hand out at one of the panoramic windows.

“It may look barren and inhospitable,” Rals said, “but we’re in a desert now. Right now. No teaching hospital; no Constellation. We’re on vacation, even if our shuttle is six hours late.”

Unhooking the holo-imager from his waistband, Rals approached the nearest row of bored and impatient fellow travellers.

“Would you take a few snaps of us?” he asked.

Elijah, who had been busy sulking, and Neritalor, who had still been busy scowling, looked up at Rals.

“Sure!”, Elijah, the more social of both, offered and got up — a little too eager, almost as if he had only been waiting for an opportunity to get out of that very awkward conversation, and now thanked the galaxy for sending Rals.

Neritalor, however, looked at Danbo. An eyebrow rose. Then a second one. And then, it clicked.

Elijah shot him a glance. “Don’t be weird, Talor.”

Given their height difference, Rals slung an arm around Danbo’s shoulders, squeezing his neck with his biceps.  While the panoramic view of Deneb IV’s desert stretched out them, Rals and Danbo offered a couple of different smiles and poses: excited adventurers, coquette and rogue, red alert faces.  In the last photo, Rals lifted Danbo’s shirt to expose his chest.

Amid the flashes of the holo-imager, Danbo said, “Sorry, I missed that?  Did I do something weird?”

“Not you.” Elijah said quickly. “Talor is – oh, right. This is Neritalor. I’m Elijah. He’s the weird one, I’m fairly normal.”

The Cardassian shot Elijah a glare, but then immediately turned his attention to the two men in front of them. It was hard to tell what he thought – he was really good at scowling in lieu of showing actual emotion. He seemed to consider his words carefully. And then, very slowly, he asked “Would you be willing take pictures of us too?”

Rals kissed the side of Danbo’s head and then he pivoted his gaze in the Cardassian’s direction.  He smiled at Neritalor.  He wouldn’t permit himself to reply to that scowl with anything but a smile, even if it turned into a pained rictus grin.  Rals held an open palm out to Elijah, gesturing to take back the holo-imager.

Through gritted teeth, Rals said, “We’re both the weird ones.  Can’t promise a single holocapture will be normal.”