Post 226: Under the Table Part Three

Stardate:70617.2230
Title: Under the Table Part Three
Author: Trick London
Scene: Seven
Time: After Part Two

"I'm going to end up like my Great Aunt Emanon. Living alone with fifty cats. Hey, wait a minute. Something's not right." February remarked suddenly.

Grace was yelling at her internally that they should be passed out cold by this point but the alcohol was not having the desired effect. "Trick, what are you giving me? Bajoran spring water?"

"February," London admitted sheepishly. "I can't let you get drunk in my bar. You know that."

She sighed. Deep down, she did know it. She had hated Grace to begin with for insisting that drink was the answer to their troubles, when February knew from the damage it had done to previous hosts that you never found solace or happiness at the bottom of a bottle.

"Is there anything else you can suggest then for drowning your sorrows?"

"I think maybe I can help with that. I'll be back in five minutes." Angus said, rising from the table. "Don't go away."

Trick rose to go as well. "I have to get back, busy night tonight," He leaned over and gave February a kiss on the forehead before carefully putting her glasses back on her. "Love, believe me. When you meet the man who is meant for you, come Hell or high water, he will fight for your affection until you are won. Don't settle for less than that. Not ever."

She nodded. "Trick, thanks. For looking out for me."

"All in a day's work, pet. See you later."

Silence hung between the two friends now as Lily and February were alone for the first time since Lily had put two and two together and been struck by the result. Maybe she should say something more. "February," she began cautiously.

"Please, Lily." The Trill looked down at the table top again. "Don't say it."

Lily nodded, and just patted her on the arm comfortingly.

A moment later, Angus reappeared with two plates piled high with ice cream, hot fudge, whipped cream, and cherries.

"This is for drowning sorrows?" Lily asked.

"Hot fudge cream puffs." Angus answered with a grin, placing a plate in front of each woman. "It might not make you forget all your troubles. But I guarantee it tastes a hell of a lot better than booze."

******Hours later*******

The bar was now closed.

The clean-up work was done, and everyone had gone with the exception of the bar's keeper, and one patron.

That patron sat on the edge of the small stage in the band alcove, holding a guitar and strumming a lonely melody. Trick shook his head at the sight as he took note of the items that the morning shift needed to re-stock and tapped them into a padd.

For a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt, having to wonder how many women he'd left behind him over the years that looked as sad over him as Lt. Grace did over whoever had her so in knots. He likely could have tuned into her emotions well enough to figure it out, if he'd really wanted to. But he respected her enough to keep his curiosity at bay and her secret safe.

*How many have you wrecked like that, London?* the question echoed again through his mind, and he winced when he started seeing their faces in his memory. He knew the number was high.

He stopped what he was doing and poured himself a shot of whiskey, throwing it back in one gulp. It was time for him to call it a night. He poured another and carried the shot glass with him as he turned off the lights above the bar. Finally, he approached February. He looked at her, really looked at her, for a long time as she played away, unaware.

She was not a conventional beauty, not compared to the women he'd known and wooed over the years. But even though he viewed this little one as the kid sister he'd never had, he appreciated her uniqueness as a woman. Her figure- knockout. Legs to forever. As for her face, beneath those enormous glasses she had high cheekbones and impossibly big, blue eyes that haunted you long after she'd left the room. She was, in her way, pretty even if she didn't know it.

Especially because she didn't know it.

"Time for me to go, love."

She strummed the strings again and then tucked the pick in between them at the top of the neck of the guitar. "Sorry. I didn't mean to hold you up. Sorry for-" She stopped, not knowing exactly what else she was sorry for but feeling it anyway. "Sorry."

Trick finished his second drink and looked at her with a sympathetic smile. "No need to apologize for anything, pet. You can lock the door when you leave, if you'd like some more time."

"Thanks, I will. 'Night."

He picked up his black jacket from the hook by the door, and then turned back toward her.

"February, I want you to remember one thing for me. All right? You can be sorry for, or feel regret about lot of things in life. You can be sorry for losing a large sum of money on the Ferengi stock market. Or regret, say, taking an ill-advised vacation to the rain-swamps of Kelavou VII. But don't ever be sorry for loving someone.

"Oh, you can be sorry that it's not to be, or that it hurts. But don't ever apologize for love itself. Too few people in the universe are capable of loving anyone or anything, truly. But you can do that, and that is certainly nothing to apologize for. You're a good girl. You'll find your happiness. Just don't let that ancient, jaded slug called Grace change February too much. OK?"

He sensed that his words had reached her, even though she didn't answer.

Instead she leaned down, hair obscuring her features, and began to play that same melancholy song once again as he slowly walked away.
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Trick London
Proprietor/Barkeep at Seven
USS Independence