Ensign Pym tore down corridor after corridor, his anxiety mounting with every turn, until at last he found his elusive target. He stopped abruptly, slightly out of breath, and stared down at the pair of legs that were sticking out of the maintenance hatch.

“Lieutenant Beckett?” Pym called out, still huffing slightly.

A grunt issued from within the wall, followed by a muffled “Busy.”

“Busy, sir?” Pym said, folding his arms, “The Captain has ordered me to bring you to the observation deck. Immediately.”

There was a clank of some kind of tool against the duranium, then Lieutenant Beckett replied, “Tell him I’m elbows deep in something critical.”

“With respect, sir,” Pym said, lowering himself to glare at the pair of boots that were wobbling with Beckett’s unseen effort, “You’re elbows-deep in a conduit that you signed off on a week ago now. The lounge is full of people who are waiting for you.”

The boots stopped wobbling. “Full of people?” Beckett grunted.

“Yes, sir,” Pym replied, “A crowd. Standing room only.”

The legs shifted, and Garion slid himself out from the wall, his face smudged with grease, looking more annoyed than contrite. “I don’t like crowds.”

For a moment, Pym thought he had him. But then Beckett sighed, turned back around, and stuffed himself back into the maintenance hatch, spanner in hand.

Pym’s jaw dropped. “Sir!”

“Just one more adjustment.” Beckett murmured in response. “One minute. Maybe two, tops.”

Pym ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. “The Captain said to bring you. Not bargain with you, not wrestle you out of a Jeffries tube. Bring you.”

“Mm-hm,” Beckett answered dismissively, tightening a coupling as if he hadn’t heard anything at all.

Ensign Pym stamped his foot into the carpeted floor. “Sir, you can either walk to this ceremony with dignity, or I can drag you there by your boots.”

That finally earned a twitch of a smile from Beckett. With exaggerated slowness, he put down his spanner, climbed out of the wall, stood and dusted himself off. “Alright, Ensign, you win. But if that manifold goes critical while I’m gone, it’s going on your record.”

“Gladly, sir.” Pym said through clenched teeth. He gestured down the hallway with a mock flourish. “After you.”

It seemed to Garion that the entirety of the ship had gathered as he walked reluctantly through the doors to the Observation Lounge. The stars hung in the room’s large windows, like scattered diamonds sewn onto black velvet. A podium had been set up in front of the long conference table, and Captain Scott Bowman was standing behind it in his dress uniform, tapping the top of a small black case resting in front of him with his index finger.

“Attention to orders.” Scott began casually, his voice carrying easily through the room. The casual hum of conversation hushed almost immediately. “By order of Starfleet Command, effective stardate 40209.14, Lieutenant Garion Beckett is hereby promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander, for outstanding service and exemplary leadership aboard the USS Leif Erikson.”

He opened the case, revealing the shining new hollow pip.

“Lieutenant Beckett,” the Captain said with a smile, “Please step forward.”

Beckett swallowed once, then stiffened his shoulders and strode towards the podium with neat, crisp steps. He was stopped at one point by Lieutenant Commander O’Donnell, who produced a rag and quickly wiped away a smudge of grease from his forehead. As Beckett arrived at the podium, Bowman continued, dropping the official cadence and softening his voice.

“Garion. You’ve pulled this ship back together more times than any of us can count. You’ve turned near disasters into stories we laugh about over drinks. And, whether you’d like to admit it or not, you have become a leader that others look to. Ironically, the very dedication that kept you away from us, in Engineering fixing problems no one else wants to touch, is the same dedication we are celebrating with this promotion. Try as you might to prevent yourself from being noticed, we have. This ship couldn’t do without you, and neither could we.”

Captain Bowman then stepped forward, and placed the new pip in line alongside the old ones. He gave Beckett’s shoulder a firm squeeze, then stepped back again.

“Congratulations, Commander.”

Applause erupted around the room. Commander Saberwyn gave a sharp whistle, and Lieutenant Sargent clapped Garion hard enough on the back to almost topple him over. Beckett even spied Lieutenant Dathasa in the back corner, leaned against the bulkhead in her signature fashion, with a proud smile on her face.

Beckett, standing red-eared and awkward but smiling despite himself, could only murmur under his breath. “Guess this means more paperwork.”

Bowman chuckled. “Yes, Commander. Twice as much. Welcome to the next level.” He turned and raised his voice to the crowd. “Libations in the Lounge!”

Garion lingered in the corner of the lounge, ostensibly mingling with the crew, but his eyes were glued to the PADD in his hand, scanning readouts with characteristic intensity.

“You’re allergic to fun. I’m sure of it,” came a familiar voice.

He looked up to see Lieutenant Craig Cruikshank standing a few feet away, his arms crossed, with a bemused smile on his face. “Really? Now?” he asked.

Garion glanced back down at his PADD. “I just noticed an anomaly in the plasma conduits,” he said casually, as if that explained everything, “I figured I’d run a diagnostic while everyone was celebrating.”

Craig shook his head, suppressing a laugh. “You’ve got a room full of people celebrating you and your promotion, and you’re over here in the corner staring at numbers. You know, some people would call that inappropriate.”

Garion shrugged, entirely unapologetic. “I call it celebrating with integrity.”

“Integrity huh?” Craig said, leaning in closer. “Looks more like obsession.”

Garion allowed a small smile. “Maybe. But someone has to make sure the ship doesn’t implode while I’m being promoted.”

Back in Main Engineering, after all the toasts were said and the lounge was cleared, Beckett was kneeling by the port plasma conduit, with a PADD in his hand, checking readings as if there had been no promotion, no Captain’s speech, no applause.

“Commander Beckett?” Pym called from the door, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“In here, Ensign,” Beckett called back.

Pym sighed, leaning against a console. “You know, sir, you could be proud and relax for five minutes.”

“I am proud,” Beckett replied, without looking up, “But the ship’s systems don’t care about feelings.”

Pym rolled his eyes, turning to leave. “Somehow, I figured you’d say that.”

With that, Beckett turned back to his PADD, and continued his scan. His new pip was shining in the glow of the warp core alongside the old ones, and he was perfectly content letting the steady hum of the ship be his celebration.