Between Duty and Denial Pt.2
Posted on Tue Dec 2nd, 2025 @ 2:08am by Senior Chief Petty Officer Jadizon Enor & Petty Officer 2nd Class Ronan Drake
Edited on on Tue Dec 2nd, 2025 @ 2:25am
Mission:
Lower Decks
Location: Corridor|Deck 5 | beneath the Upper Shuttlebay
Timeline: After Last Mission Before New Mission
The doors hissed open and Enor stepped out into the corridor, the steady hum of Deck 5 wrapping around him like a familiar blanket he could not quite relax into. The air felt cooler here, flowing through the ventilation panels with a soft rush. Crew passed by at typical post-mission pace, some talking quietly, others marching off to duty stations with renewed purpose. Everything looked normal. Everything sounded normal.
Inside his skull, nothing felt normal.
The whisper from the entity lingered like the taste of cold metal.
He took two steps into the hall before he saw him.
Ronan Drake was leaning on the wall just outside the briefing room door, one boot propped casually against the side panel, arms folded, eyes half narrowed like a man who had been waiting with too much time to think. There was a smirk tugging at his mouth, but his eyes held something sharper, more observant.
The second Enor cleared the doorway, Drake pushed off the wall, blocking him with an easy step sideways.
“Well look who survived the great collapse of Deck 5,” Drake said lightly. “You sure you should be walking around without a safety harness after that little head clutch performance, Senior Chief?”
Enor gave him a flat look. “You waiting to pounce on me, Drake?”
Ronan shrugged. “You say pounce. I say concerned colleague. You know. Checking on the ship’s favorite hardcase before he tips over and dents the deck.”
Enor stepped past him, heading toward the turbolift. Drake fell into step beside him, hands shoved into his pockets with casual familiarity.
They walked a few paces in quiet. The corridor lighting shifted gently with the soft pulse design of a Luna-class interior. The floor panels vibrated just slightly under the steady hum of the warp field.
“Seriously though,” Drake said with a softer tone. “That looked bad in there. You grabbed your head like someone stuck a plasma torch in your skull.”
Enor said nothing. His jaw ticked. The two walked together, crew parting around them without question.
They reached the turbolift. Enor pressed the panel. Nothing in his posture betrayed the tightness in his chest.
Drake leaned against the bulkhead beside the lift door, arms crossing again. “You know, usually when someone acts like that, Sickbay calls it a symptom.”
Enor glared. “I am fine.”
“Sure,” Drake said. “And I am a Vulcan monk on sabbatical. Come on, Senior Chief. You tipped forward like we lost inertial dampers.”
Enor stepped into the turbolift as the doors opened. Drake slipped inside after him before Enor could shut him out.
“Deck 3,” Drake told the computer. Then he turned back to Enor. “Which, by the way, is where Sickbay is. Funny coincidence.”
Enor raised an eyebrow. “You are not ordering me to Sickbay.”
“Not ordering you,” Drake said. “I am strongly suggesting that you let someone poke that thick skull and make sure nothing is rattling loose.”
“Drake.”
“Senior Chief.”
They stared at each other a moment. The lift began to rise.
Drake tilted his head, smirking again. “Because if you don’t walk in there under your own power, I am gonna march myself right up to Sickbay and tell that pretty little Chief Medical Officer that something isn’t right upstairs with you.”
Enor’s expression barely shifted, but the flicker of annoyance was unmistakable. “You will not.”
“Oh, I will,” Drake said, leaning in just enough to make his point. “I will look her right in the eye and say, Doctor Kellerman, our Chief of the Boat grabbed his head like a Betazoid with a migraine and then pretended nothing happened. Might want to scan him for hidden stupidity.”
Enor exhaled hard through his nose. “You are not funny.”
Drake grinned. “That is a matter of opinion.”
The turbolift doors parted on Deck Three, the soft corridor lights spilling across the polished floor. The wide circular hallway stretched toward the crew quarters and the Hydra lounge in one direction, and toward Sickbay in the other.
Drake stepped out first and turned, fully expecting Enor to follow the path toward Sickbay like any sane man would after nearly collapsing in a meeting. Instead, he watched the Senior Chief step out and turn the opposite direction with purpose. Not hesitation. Not confusion. Intention.
Drake blinked. “Wrong way, Senior Chief. Sickbay is that way.” He jerked a thumb behind him.
Enor kept walking.
Drake pushed off the wall and followed a few steps. “Uh huh. Pretty sure the doctors do not make hallway calls, so unless you plan on tripping and falling into Sickbay by accident, you might want to turn around.”
Enor stopped near the intersection and looked back at him with a tired patience. “I said I will get checked, Drake. But I have something I need to take care of first.”
Drake raised a brow. “On Deck Three?”
“Yes. On Deck Three.”
Drake waited. Enor gave him nothing. Just that steady, immovable expression he used when he did not want anyone reading deeper.
Drake folded his arms. “Alright. I will bite. What exactly is so important that it comes before making sure your brain is not melting, Senior Chief?”
Enor glanced down the corridor toward the Hydra lounge. “Crew morale tanked during the Tial mission. People are shaken. I need to check on a few of my sailors on this deck before I sit in a waiting room. They will talk to me before they talk to a doctor.”
It was not a lie. It was not the whole truth either.
Drake studied him. Enor’s posture was steady again, but there was a faint tightness around his eyes that did not belong there. Whatever he had seen or felt during the meeting was still inside him, tucked behind a wall Enor clearly did not want anyone else peeking behind.
Drake let out a slow exhale. “You are going to walk around Deck Three and take a morale survey when you almost face-planted in front of half the enlisted leadership.”
“It will only take a few minutes,” Enor said. “After that I will head to Sickbay. You have my word.”
Drake stared at him. Hard. The kind of look that tried to sift through the cracks in someone else’s armor.
Finally he nodded slowly. “Fine. You do what you need to do. Crew morale and all that. Real noble of you.”
Enor gave a short nod and turned away, heading down the corridor toward the lounge and the crew quarters. His stride was steady and controlled. His breathing even. But Drake noticed the faint tension along his shoulders and the way his hand hovered near his temple for half a second before dropping again.
Drake watched him until he disappeared around the corner.
He shook his head once, muttering to himself. “You are a terrible liar, Senior Chief.”
He waited another moment, pretending to give Enor space, pretending to respect the excuse, pretending to let him handle it.
Then Drake turned in the opposite direction, toward Sickbay.
“Sorry, Chief,” he murmured under his breath. “But if you think I am not telling the Doc that something upstairs is glitching, you do not know me at all.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking, already rehearsing how he was going to explain it without sounding like he was overreacting.
But deep down he knew he was not overreacting. Something was wrong. Something more than stress. Something Enor was trying too damn hard to hide.
And Drake was not letting it slide. Not this time.
Post Between
Senior Chief Petty Officer Jadizon Enor
Chief of the Boat
Petty Officer 2nd Class Ronan Drake
Chief Support Craft Pilot
