#and the edge of deanna troi's hair

[cuterefaction]

#Trektober Day 4, "Other Trek Crossover". Pretty sure Riker talked about gambling with Quark at some point so I like the idea of getting Data involved. Geordi can read the cards for tongo but doesn't understand the rules and is getting increasingly worried.

[trektraveler]

The Dark Before the Dawn Chapter One: House Call

Summary: It was desperation that had Sam MacKade contacting Dr. Julian Bashir. She wasn't charmed by the over eager medical officer, as so many women on DS9 were. In fact, she found him annoying enough that she avoided him whenever possible. The plain truth was that she needed a doctor and a friend, could she allow Julian to do what he does best? *Warning for brief descriptions of assault/r*pe Pairing: Julian Bashir/OFC, Julian Bashir/reader Characters: Julian Bashir, Odo, Benjamin Sisko, Deanna Troi, Will Riker, Data, Jean-Luc Picard, Jadzia Dax Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Nightmares, Brief/vague descriptions of assault/r*pe, beatings, darkfic, angst

Word Count: 1942 Chapter One: House Call

     Dr. Julian Bashir sat in his office, busily entering data for his daily report when his combadge sounded.

     “MacKade to Bashir.”

     Julian paused to tap the badge, “Bashir here.”

     The voice of DS9’s Scientific Advisor was steady, if a bit soft as it came through, “Dr. would you mind stopping by my quarters after your shift ends?”

     He frowned with concern.  Samantha MacKade was brilliant but stubborn and certainly no fan of his.  Most annoying man this side of the wormhole was the quote Chief O’Brien had given him.  Hell, it had taken an act of God to get her to the infirmary for a physical.  Now she was asking for him directly?  “Sam?  What’s wrong?”

     “Just when you’ve got a moment,” was the tight reply, “No rush, MacKade out.”

     Julian was instantly on his feet, medical kit in hand.  She had told him not to rush but something in her tone suggested otherwise.  He was at her door buzzing the chime in three minutes flat.

     The door hissed open, revealing the occupant on the other side.  She was a beautiful woman who’s many attributes were not lost on the doctor.  Tall and slim with deep green eyes that sparkled like emeralds and always seemed to be challenging him.  Normally she was clad in black, her clothes close fitting, durable and practical with a bit of an edge.  Tonight, quite the opposite, a simple wrap tunic and pants set woven of aqua blue Tholian silk.  Her brunette hair typically tied back fell in long, loose waves over her shoulders.  She looked quite vulnerable to Julian.

     Sam gave a small smile, “I should have known you’d be quick.  Please, come in.”

     Julian entered, taking note of her pale complexion and tense features, “You had me concerned, what’s going on?”

     She held his gaze for a long moment before relenting to her better judgement, “I need your help,” she said at last.

     Before he could press further, she turned her back to him.  With a heavy sigh she untied the belt of her tunic, her movements were slow and stilted as she slipped the garment off her shoulders and down her back.  She wore nothing underneath and Julian could see why.  A dozen deep, angry lashes crisscrossed her back leaving the flesh badly bruised, broken and bloody.

     “My God.”

     Sam cast a glance over her shoulder then to the floor, crossing her arms defensibly over her breasts, “I didn’t want to go to the infirmary.  Too many people.”

     Julian led her to the sofa, immediately administering a heavy dose of pain killers before focusing his medical expertise on repairing the damaged tissue.  At the first contact of the dermal regenerator to her skin Sam flinched, her breath catching.  He instantly stilled his movements, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

     Sam didn’t reply but took a large sofa cushion and held it tightly against her chest.  Julian gently laid a hand on her shoulder hoping to offer a bit of comfort.  At her slight nod, he continued his work.  He went slowly, taking care to cause as little discomfort as he could as he mended the broken flesh.  It was nearly an hour before he was finished, and she had said nothing as he worked. 

     Satisfied that no infection had set in, he helped her slip the tunic on, “You will likely be stiff for a few days, antioxidant rich fluids will help speed the healing along.”

     “Thank you, doctor,” she quietly replied.  After tying the tunic closed, she turned to face him.

     Julian reached for Sam’s cold hands which she held clamped tightly together in her lap.  Every muscle in her body was tight with tension as if relaxing meant falling apart all together.  “I wish you had called me sooner, no good comes from suffering.”

     Sam couldn’t take the Julian’s kindness.  The sympathy in his velvet brown eyes grated on her raw nerves.  She withdrew her hands and stood to pace, “Its fine, you had a job to do.”

     “I’m a doctor, caring for people is my job, that includes you.”

     Sam crossed her arms tightly across her chest as she walked the room.  She was trying her best to brush away his concerns, but the events of the past several days were pressing in on her now.  She felt like a piece of brittle glass, fragile.  Ready to shatter any moment.  Julian had repaired the external damage, but inside she was far from healed.  “I know, I know, of course … you’re a brilliant doctor I… I just… I’m fine.”

    Julian crossed the room, his concern growing.  He gently took hold of her shoulders to stop her pacing, “Sam, stop.”

     Even now, forced to be still, she refused to meet his worried gaze, “I’m fine.  Honestly, I’m okay.”

     “Samantha, look at me,” he instructed, his voice soft.

     Finally, her eyes raised to meet his.  The pain and brokenness he saw reflected in the green depths took his breath away and nearly caused him to miss how dilated her pupils were, “Sam?”

     “I’m fine!” she insisted, panic edging into her voice, “I’m fine, never better, all good!  Tip… top…”  Suddenly her words trailed off.

      “Damn!” Julian bit off an oath as Sam’s eyes rolled back and she collapsed into his arms.  He easily swept her up and carried her back to the sofa.  She didn’t stir as Julian made his examination; the tricorder confirmed what he already knew.  Pulse weak, breathing shallow, body temperature lowered, all signs of shock. 

     Julian cursed himself for his foolishness as he settled a thermal blanket over Sam’s still form.  It was ridiculous to think that she’d made it through a week on that Cardassian prison transport vessel without a scratch.  After all, Captain Sisko was still recovering from his injuries in the infirmary, from all accounts the two of them had barely escaped with their lives.  Julian Bashir was the chief medical officer and a seasoned doctor besides; he should have insisted on an examination the minute she set foot back on DS9.  His error in judgement had resulted in her deteriorated condition, and he hated himself for it. 

     He quickly administered another hypospray to counter the shock, yet it was several minutes before Sam showed signs of improvement.

     Consciousness came back to her all at once.  She bolted upright, sending Julian’s tricorder flying.  Her gaze wild and unfocused seemed to look straight through him.

     Julian rushed to calm her, “Sam, its alright.  You’re safe.”

     Sam said nothing, her panicked eyes darted around the room either not recognizing her surroundings or not trusting them to be true.

     “Sam… Samantha,” Julian tried again, his voice calm and steady.  He framed her pale face in his hands, gently but firmly forcing her to look at him, “Samantha, its Julian.  Can you hear me?”

      She blinked several times, recognition finally registering on her features, “ Julian?”

     He nodded.

     Her brows knit together in confusion, “Where am I?”

     “You’re on the sofa in your quarters,” Julian explained, taking her wrist in his fingers to measure her pulse which he was relieved to find growing stronger.

     She frowned still not entirely sure if she believed that she was indeed back home.  The mind could play tricks, especially if the heart wanted something bad enough. 

     Julian studied her for a moment, uncertainty plain on her face, “Where did you think you were?”

     “I don’t know,” she murmured, dropping her gaze to her lap.

     “You were back on that prison ship, weren’t you?”

      “No.  I don’t know… maybe?”  Sam shook her head, trying to clear her muddled thoughts, “I don’t remember much after calling you.”

     “You’ve experienced a trauma, its natural that your memory would be a bit fuzzy,” Julian reasoned, “But you are safe here, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

     It was at that moment that the true weight of her experience on that god forsaken freighter truly hit.  Her eyes welled with tears and her voice broke on a word, “Julian…”

     The doctor drew Sam into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest.  She trembled; her whole frame wracked with silent sobs while her tears soaked the front of his uniform.

     “Its alright, you’re safe now,” Julian whispered, tucking her head under his chin as if comforting a small child.  He repeated those words over and over again, knowing just how much she needed to hear and believe them. 

     He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, eventually she stopped shaking and her tears dried.  She drew back and regarded him with shadowed eyes and a rather sheepish expression, obviously uncomfortable having such an unguarded moment in front of him.  In the absence of the warmth Julian’s embrace provided, she shivered, “Cold?”

     She lifted a shoulder, “A bit.”

     “I know just the thing,” he said, crossing the room to the replicator.  He soon returned to her side with a pot of tea, two cups and a selection of biscuits arranged on a tray.

     “Tarkalean tea,” Julian announced, pouring a cup and handed it to her.  “One of the most perfect beverages in the known universe and full of medicinal properties.”

     Sam gratefully accepted the steaming cup.  Taking a sip, she sputtered slightly, “Wow!”

     Julian looked up from his own cup, “Too hot?”

     “Sweet,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “How much sugar did you put in that?”

     “The perfect amount, thank you very much,” he told her with authority, “Just try a biscuit with it, you’ll see.”

     Sam arched a skeptical brow before popping a macaroon into her mouth.  Contemplating the flavor, she shook her head, “You have the culinary palate of a ten-year-old.”

     “A sophisticated ten-year-old,” he protested, taking a biscuit for himself.

     She smiled in spite of herself and proceeded to finish two more cups of tea.

     Julian was pleased to see a faint blush of color return to her cheeks.  Tarkalean tea, a medical marvel indeed.

     Sam set her cup back on the tray, grateful to feel warm again for the first time in a week.  Julian seemed content to drink his tea in a companionable, yet uncharacteristic silence.  During her time on the station she had never known the chief medical officer to hold his tongue.  The man was constantly yammering on about whatever popped into his head, an infuriating habit.  With his lanky build, big brown eyes and make friends first ask questions later personality, he reminded her of an over eager Labrador.  With that warmth from his famous tea came a sudden and strong wave of fatigue.  She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

     Julian smiled with understanding, “Don’t apologize, you’re exhausted.  You need rest and plenty of it.”  He stood and offered Sam a hand, “Time for bed.”

     Too tired to argue, Sam took his hand, “I think I can make it on my own,” she said, betrayed by the fact that she swayed just standing there.

     Julian wrapped a supportive arm around her waist, “Humor me, hmm?”

     Sam’s eyelids were already starting to droop by the time Julian was drawing the soft blanket up to her chin, “Do you tuck all of your patients into bed?”

     “Standard procedure,” he replied with a smile, “For a house call.”

     “Thank you, Julian,” she murmured, her eyes drifting shut.

     “Rest,” he advised kindly, “I’ll be in the next room if you need me.”

     “Mmm… okay.”

     Julian, ever the physician, made another scan with his tricorder just to be sure she was indeed stable.  Satisfied with the results, he whispered, “Sleep well,” before letting himself out of her bedroom to make a place for himself to sleep on the sofa. 

[halfwayinlight]

Title: Stay A Little Longer Part 1/2 Fandom Star Trek TNG Rating: PG Pairing:  Will Riker/Deanna Troi Notes:  follow up to Star Trek TNG season 6 episode Frame of Mind, aftermath of Will’s ordeal. Gratuitous hurt/comfort fic for @cleverdistraction I think it will be a 2 parter

Deanna knew that he wasn’t cleared to return to work, yet. She was sure he hadn’t even finished half of his report. Might not have even begun it. Will certainly hadn’t been cleared by his psych evaluation because she was the person who had to do that. But she was surprised to find that he was still in sickbay.

She hated sickbay. It was one of her very least favorite places to be because emotions were always heightened. Raw. And she could sense the anxiety and a deep, underlying exhaustion emanating from Will Riker before she even stepped out of the turbo lift. She used the corridor to plex and made a more conscious effort to shield herself from the spike of distress.

Walking into an ICU that was empty except for one ensign checking the bio beds was a relief. She hadn’t expected to see Will there, but it was still a relief to have as few crew and no injured or sick patients. But she could still sense that his distress was not easing any time soon. Deanna winced at the flare of emotion and paused.

She’d intended to speak to Beverly first, but her concern and the immediacy of it drew her to the private room. “Will?” she asked, pressing the quiet chime so she didn’t take him by surprise. But when there was no answer, she entered.

The Enterprise’s First Officer was sitting on the floor, his back against the bulkhead, knees bent and feet on the floor.  His hair was a mess, and the dark circles under his eyes were only darker. His hand rubbed over his beard, and he gave a sigh. “Sorry,” he mumbled, head falling back to rest against the wall behind him.

“May I sit with you?” she asked, wanting to move immediately to him but recognizing the signs of post-traumatic stress. So she chose to stand where she was, angled slightly in an automatic positioning that gave her access to the door but also to step aside in case the person she was working with became volatile.

“Yeah,” he rasped, rubbing his eyes and sighing.

Deanna moved slowly across the small room and eased herself down, leaving a foot between them so as not to crowd him. “Will,” she stared quietly, “Can you tell me about how you’re doing?”

He stretched his legs out, grimacing a little, which told her that he had been sitting with his legs tucked in for too long. “I’d really like to sleep,” came his quiet reply, suddenly preoccupied with the floor and his fingers toying with the edge of a non-descript top that sickbay kept on hand.

Despite all her training, she still had to fight the urge not to rush to ask the next question. Deanna let the quiet linger and took a moment to focus on her own breathing to retain the calm in the room. “I’m sure it would help you feel better.”

He nodded and started to say something but close his mouth and swallowed. “I know I give you hell about it, but who can relax here?”

It wasn’t, exactly, a rhetorical question. Sickbay was not designed to be relaxing. Generally if crew were here, it was serious. The very rumpled bed told her that very little, if any, sleep had happened last night. The blanket was a crumpled pile at one end, and the pillow had clearly been through it.  He needed sleep. Desperately. And the plate at the small table was barely touched, telling her that he hadn’t had much of an appetite this morning, either. “Did Beverly tell you how long you need to stay?”

A shrug was his reply. “She wanted to monitor me tonight. Her shift hasn’t started, yet.”

Deanna took in this news. She had hurried down to sickbay this morning, and alpha shift wasn’t quite beginning. “I know you’re very tired, but can you tell me about last night?”

He shifted slightly and peered down at her before taking a few breaths. “I tore down the set last night. The play was over… it needed to come down anyway. It… it felt good.” He rolled his shoulders, and it didn’t escape Deanna’s notice that his right foot was suddenly restless, despite Will’s attempts to keep his hands still by clasping them together. “Beverly stayed and helped me drag some of it to the reclaimator.  And then she said she wanted me to go back here for observation. It… seemed like a good idea at the time.”

She wanted to turn to face him more directly, but vast experience with Will had taught her that he was more relaxed when they sat side by side. “Now—”

“But—” he had paused long enough that she didn’t think he was going to continue. But now they were talking at the same time.

Go on, she nudged gently.

Will sighed and shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t really remember what I was going to say.”

“You said it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“They ran scans, everything seems normal… But it doesn’t always feel real. Everything felt real. I told you about that… And I felt too restless to sleep much. I’d say it’s stupid, but I know you’d say—”

“Your feelings aren’t stupid, they’re real,” she said quietly in unison with him. Deanna offered a small, affectionate smile. “Will, I don’t think staying here is helping you.”

“I agree with the counselor.” They both blinked up in surprise to see Dr. Beverly Crusher standing in the doorway. She moved into the small room and perched on the abandoned bed. “And I should’ve realized that last night, Will. I’m sorry.”

He tried to shrug it off with a chuckle, but the smile and laugh weren’t there. “So I’m getting evicted.”

“I’m releasing you into Deanna’s care,” Beverly clarified. “I want to give you a boost first, and either  of you should call me if anything comes up. But given what you went through, I think this room is too clinical for you to rest.”

Deanna stood and offered her hand to him. “Please, Will.” It took all her energy to project the warmth and comfort. She moved forward slowly, giving him time to be aware of her movements until fingers brushed through his thick but soft locks of hair. Fingers soothed and stroked, and she cupped his cheek. Imzadi? Can you trust me? She implored.

He finally gave a nod, then took the hand in his. Although she pulled lightly, it was mostly Will who pushed himself up and straightened, taking a moment to get his bearings and balance. Deanna led him to the bed to sit long enough for Beverly to give him a hypo and orders to get eat, to rest, and to let her know if she needed to make a house call. Her eyes met Deanna’s for a long moment, enough to impress the point even if they didn’t communicate telepathically.

And then Deanna was urging him up again. Her hand wrapped around his arm like it often did when she sought him at receptions and other formal events. They had lived this walk way too many times to count. One leading the other out of sickbay. It didn’t even garner attention from the rest of the medical staff, who were busy with reports and labs. Deanna was grateful for the very normal day going on around them.

Good. The more normalcy that they could have, the better for both her and for Will. It wasn’t a magical solution, but as they gained the turbo lift, Deanna could feel the edge of his anxiety easing a bit more. “Deck nine,” she called as the doors slid shut, giving them privacy. Her hand slid to his, the other hand coming to meet it and giving it a gentle pulse as she leaned against him, offering her physical presence. When they finally gained their deck, it was empty, so Deanna laced her fingers through his and led him down the corridor.

She’d considered for long moments which cabin to go to—hers or his. They were nearly identical. They were equally comfortable with either. But she settled on his and continued on until reaching his door. His fingers twitched slightly, subconsciously tightening his hold on her hand. She made a mental note as the door slid shut. Home again.

Turning slightly to face him, Deanna gave him several long moments to absorb the familiar surroundings. From the little bit he had shared, it didn’t seem like this room had factored into his experience. But the intense emotion left her as breathless as he was for long moments. “C’mere,” she coaxed, guiding him as the first cry broke out. I’m right here with you, she sent him.

She took a seat on the sofa and used one hand on his arm to guide him down. “Let it out, Will,” she encouraged, knowing he needed the release. He was being swept away in the immediacy of the emotions and didn’t really seem to notice much more as she eased his head into his lap. Her left hand stroked through his hair, right arm wrapping around his chest and giving as much pressure as she could in hopes of grounding him to the moment.

The ache was intense, and Deanna knew she would be spending some time mediating later to let go of the residual emotions pouring out of him. But for now, she was simply here and present with him. “You’re here with me. We’re on the Enterprise. And you’re safe,” she murmured, offering soft but steady reassurances.

Minutes ticked by, and Will’s emotions ebbed and he shuddered before going lax and letting both the sofa and Deanna support his weight. “That was awful,” he breathed against her thigh.

“I know,” she agreed, rubbing his upper arm for a long moment before gently wiping moisture from his cheeks. “I know,” Deanna echoed again, “Don’t you dare apologize for that. You’ve been through a very difficult and traumatic experience.”  Her hands continued to move and offer soft words, her mind pressing gently at his. She was pleased when he gave a soft sound of contentment and opened a bit to her thoughts against his.

Deanna took her time thinking back through calmer times between them. Walks in the gardens at Betazed. Late night conversations in their own quarters. Drinks in Ten Forward. Dances shared. Dinners. Desserts. Late night walks on the decks. The warmest moments between them.

“In a little bit,” she said quietly, “you’ll need to drink something. Beverly will have my head if I let you get dehydrated. And maybe you’ll feel like eating something.” She could sense the weariness and exhaustion starting to tip toward something that might be sleepiness but there was a hesitation to it as well. “What’s stopping you from letting yourself fall asleep?”

He was still, enough that if she didn’t know him so well, she might have thought he was asleep. “The thought I might open up my eyes and be somewhere else again when I open them,” came his hollow reply, words a little muddled with congestion from his crying session. “I know it’s not sustainable for an officer.”

“For a person,” she countered.

“Want to stay here right now,” he breathed. His eyes, red and swollen from tears, slipped shut, and his breath hitched for a moment before evening out a bit more. Could you stay a little longer?

“I’ll be here,” she assured, hand flattening against his shoulders and rubbing in slow circles. “I’m staying with you.” She leaned down and pressed a warm kiss into his hair, continuing to offer soothing touches even as her own eyes slid shut, and she let herself drop into meditation as Will’s body gave way to the last of his tension, and she sensed his mind drift into slumber.

[musingsofsaturn]

Taking Matters into Her Own Hands

Fandom: Star Trek The Next Generation

Ship: The USS Titan Will Riker/Deanna Troi

Rating: MA for smutty stuffs that I can’t believe I actually wrote

Words: 2,400+

Summary: Much to the suffering of her husband, Deanna Troi-Riker is not a woman who takes kindly to being kept waiting.

Author’s Note: You GUYS I’ve wanted to write something like this for literal years but I was always so shy and embarrassed (you have no idea). Anyway, I’m still shy and embarrassed, but at least I wrote it, which is 90% of the work! If you see this on my blog, please know that I am extremely brave, or extremely drunk. And if you know me irl, GO AWAY PLEASE. Anywho, I’m gonna go try really hard to stop blushing and leave you to read. Hope you like it!

~ Saturn

Deanna checked herself in the mirror one last time. Her hair was styled in the way she knew Will loved it, tied high on her head with long curls cascading around her face and dancing at her collarbones. She had on a silken robe that she’d brought with her from Betazed. The material was sheer, and it was cut to reveal a woman’s curves perfectly. She gave herself a reassuring smile, before turning on her heel and marching to the door between their bedroom and their living space.

Will was sprawled across the sofa, reading something on the PADD. She could sense his concentration, but also recognised that whatever he was looking at wasn’t of any particular importance.

She cleared her throat softly.

He turned towards the sound, and she watched his eyes darken as he drank her in. “Hello,” he greeted her.

His thoughts were always amusing to her in moments like this. Normally he seemed so focused and alert, and she loved that he could lose all that clarity in an instant, just from the sight of her. Well, the sight of her combined with his own imagination, the suggestions of which she allowed herself a moment to enjoy.

Just a moment, though. “Hello.” She matched his suggestive tone, stepping forward into the room. Will sat himself up, placing the PADD on the coffee table as she neared.

“Good nap?” he enquired, referring to the reason she’d gone into their bedroom in the first place. She’d been tired, and overworked, and was feeling all too ready for a rest. As she attempted to fall asleep, however, her mind had drifted to thoughts of the man in the other room, and she couldn’t put the thoughts aside.

“I didn’t take it.” Deftly, she untied the cord from around her waist. “I remembered that there are better ways to relax.”

Deanna’s eyes met Will’s across the coffee table as she pushed the robe off her shoulders and allowed it to drop to the floor.

“Deanna,” he said softly, appreciatively, as he took in his wife’s body, bared to him so willingly. Then he rose, before striding around the table to capture her lips in a loving kiss. “Gods, I adore you.”

A quiet laugh escaped her at his passionate proclamation, as her arms moved around his shoulders, gently slipping a hand under his uniform collar to stroke a fingertip across the skin at the back of his neck. Goosebumps rose at her touch, and she lifted her chin to kiss him again.

“I adore you too, Imzadi.” She pressed her body to his, and he took the hint to allow himself to be pushed backwards, towards the still-open bedroom door.

Will’s sudden groan caused her to stop.

Eyebrow raised, she all but laughed, “Will, I haven’t even touched you.”

“No, it’s just that... Alpha shift starts in a quarter of an hour.”

A slow smile spread across her lips. “We could make that work.” He laughed at that, leaning down to kiss her again. But she knew that this was less lustful, and more affectionate. He was already trying to calm himself down. “I could place you on leave.”

She was only half-joking, but Will let out a laugh at her remark. “I think that would count as an abuse of your position, Counselor.” With that, he carefully untangled himself from her arms, and moved to the replicator. “Two waters,” he instructed. He glanced back to her with an amused smile. “Cold.”

Huffing, Deanna picked up her robe from the floor, dressing herself quickly and tying the cord with an angry grunt, aimed squarely at Will’s back. She knew he got the message; his smile was apologetic as he handed her a cup and gestured for them to sit on the sofa. Juvenile as she knew it was, she couldn’t help but pout slightly as she did so.

“Sorry, I’m disappointed too. But we can do better than a rushed ten minutes, and you know it.”

“You said you had fifteen.” She was playing up her annoyance now, exaggerating it as she understood where he was coming from.

He moved closer to her on the sofa, snaking an arm around her waist before pulling her close to him. “You deserve hours of my undivided attention. And that is exactly what you will get. Later.”

Resigned to her fate of waiting, Deanna took a sip of her water. “We’re grown adults. We can wait a few hours.”

“Looks like you’ll be taking that nap after all.”

~

Once Will had left, Deanna tried to busy herself around their quarters. She rearranged the bookshelves, made the bed, tried to take a nap, remade the bed, asked the computer for inane facts that she really didn’t care about... The distractions weren’t working.

She reached out with her consciousness for the one thing she could think about. Will was bored, and she felt him stir slightly when he recognised her presence in his mind.

Retreating back to her own mind, she sighed to herself. Suddenly she snapped herself to attention. “Deanna Troi-Riker, you are a grown woman. And you do not have to wait for your husband in order to get some relief.”

Moving back to the bedroom, she removed her robe again, casting it to the side with a flourish that was uncalled for, but one she enjoyed doing. After settling herself in the centre of the bed (who was there to leave room for, after all?) she reached for the bottle of Betezoid lubricant on the nightstand, using her other hand to caress her breast.

As she splayed her hand over her flesh, before using her fingertips to gently pinch at her nipple, she realised she was trying to replicate the things Will did with his hands that she enjoyed. And with that realisation, she had a wicked thought.

~

He felt her presence pressing at the edge of his consciousness once more, and tried to project a loving welcome as he let her into his mind.

Of course, he was never going to be an Empath, but the Imzadi connection between him and his wife was strong enough for them to communicate like this, projecting feelings, thoughts, and words between them.

At first, this connection seemed like his wife innocently checking up on him, as they frequently did throughout the day. But as he relaxed to her presence in his mind more and more, he recognised that she was projecting certain feelings that he was only used to getting from her in a more private space.

She wasn’t, was she?

He let out a small gasp as he realised what she was doing, quickly stifling it in his sleeve as he pretended to cough. He sensed her amusement.

She projected the sensations into his mind, letting him practically feel her pleasure with her. He felt as a gentle fingertip circled her clit, teasing herself in a way that made his chest tighten.

‘I wish you were here.’ Her voice drifted to him. Helpless to her, he concentrated on echoing the sentiment back to her. All he wanted to do in that moment was replace her fingers with his own, allow her to relax and surrender to the pleasure he could give her.

He felt her pleasure deepen as she pressed her finger to her clit, applying pressure that was enough to send subtle tremors throughout her body. Will concentrated very hard on not letting out a groan right there on the Bridge.

Deanna’s laugh felt like molten gold as he heard it echo inside his head. ‘Are you regretting leaving yet?’

‘I regretted it the instant I set foot out the door.’ It took a lot of focus for him to project full sentences to her, but he could do it. And he knew that she’d understood him when he could sense her smug satisfaction. ‘You’re an evil woman, Deanna Troi-Riker.’

Her smugness only grew at that comment. ‘Only to you, Imzadi.’ Through their connection, he felt her hand continue stroking her clit lightly, while the other moved to lightly pinch and twist at one of her nipples. ‘Why does this feel so much better when you do it?’

The stroke to his ego didn’t go unnoticed, and he knew that she could feel just how aroused he was by her teasing. His arousal only grew when she ceased her actions, only to slowly press a finger inside herself. She was wet, he knew that much, and her eyes were closed so she could focus only on how good she felt.

Will felt his tension as she added another finger, and quietly tried to rearrange his features into a more neutral expression. One that didn’t scream: ‘My Wife is Finger-Fucking Herself Right Now and Telepathically Inviting Me Along for the Ride’. He wasn’t sure if he was entirely successful.

With a ‘come hither’ motion of her fingers, he sensed as she arched her back off the mattress. If he’d been there, he’d have been able to take in just how gorgeous she looked. He would have heard her beautiful sounds; her breathy moans, her whimpers and whispers of his name. He could have captured her lips with his own, being as rough and as commanding as he liked because he knew that she could take it.

‘Mm, sounds lovely.’ His thoughts must have been clearer than he realised. ‘But you’re not here. You had the opportunity, and you refused me. Now look where we ended up.’

Juxtaposing the not-so-subtle dig that her words suggested, there was a warmth surrounding their delivery into his mind. He knew that Deanna had already forgiven him within seconds of his refusal, and he also knew that she was very much enjoying ‘where they’d ended up’.

If there was one thing William Riker knew about Deanna Troi, it was that she loved to tease him. It rivalled her love of chocolate, rivalled the pleasure she could give herself physically as her thumb moved to stroke her clit in time with her fingers sliding in and out of her own wet heat.

She would use outfits to capture his attention, adding an elegant sway to her hips that was meant just for him. Her hand would go to her face, drawing his gaze to her dark eyes, or her soft lips. She would make a double-entendre in conversation, glancing her eyes to his to show that she was deliberately turning his thoughts to exactly what she intended.

And when she had him alone, she would tease him with her hands and lips, avoiding everywhere on his body that he wanted her to go right until he thought he might burst. She’d bring him to the edge and then deny him his release, just because she could. She would set the pace to whatever suited her, and he would just have to give in to it - no matter how hard he begged for her to slow down or to give him more, goddammit.

She did all of this and more to drive him wild, and yet he found that he was surprised to be held hostage in his own mind by the woman he loved. Deanna had found yet another depraved way to torture him with her patient teases.

As he felt her pleasure mounting, her thoughts becoming less coherent by the second, Will realised just how much trouble he would be in if he couldn’t get himself back under control. He was on the Bridge, and he was the Captain, no less.

‘Deanna, I really need you to stop this.’ He wondered if he sounded as pleading in her head as he imagined he would have if he’d said it out loud.

Her amusement was palpable; he could almost taste it on his tongue. ‘I know you do. But I’m enjoying myself a bit too much, Imzadi. I’m not sure I can let you go just yet.’

That white hot laugh that he loved and cursed in equal measure entered his mind again as he glanced down at where he was straining against his uniform. ‘Deanna, please-’

She was close, so close, as he sensed her thought: ‘I’ll stop if you order me to.’

Using all of the self control he could muster, Will suppressed the groan that threatened to escape his mouth. Just. ‘Counselor, I order you to stop this.’

‘Yes, sir.’

And just like that, her presence within his mind slipped away. He didn’t need it to know that her fingers would be working away furiously, as her back arched and she threw her head back, moaning his name in the most delicious way he’d ever heard it.

Her climax would send shockwaves of pleasure through her, causing her to grow tense, then shudder, then squirm as it continued. That was a sight that Will Riker knew well, and it was his favourite sight in the universe. He didn’t need a telepathic connection to imagine exactly what he was missing out on in that moment.

Saved from what could have been an extremely awkward situation for everyone on the Bridge, Will closed his eyes briefly and allowed himself a few deep breaths. He tried not to focus on just how easily he could have climaxed himself just from hearing her call him ‘Sir’. It was even more arousing to realise that she must have recognised how it had affected him, that she knew that her use of that word was enough to make his cock twitch and his palms grow sweaty.

Slowly, much more slowly than he would ever have admitted, he shook away what he could of what had just happened, gradually allowing his focus to recentre on, oh, captaining the Titan?

~

Later, Deanna was perched on the sofa, quietly reading a book. She knew exactly what time it was (having checked every ten minutes for the past hour), and she was listening for the telltale whisper of the door to their shared quarters opening.

When it opened, she glanced up from the book, meeting Will’s gaze, red hot, where he stood in the doorway.

“Hello,” she greeted him innocently.

Shaking his head lightly, he stepped into the room. “Computer, lock door.” As he kicked off his shoes, striding towards her, she stood up, knowing just how smug her expression must have looked. “You... you are-”

“Evil?” she suggested, a self-satisfied grin spreading across her face.

His hands went to her waist, pulling her to him roughly as he kissed her. Pulling way only briefly, she felt his breath on her lips as he whispered hotly, “Bedroom. Now.”

With her teeth, she nipped gently at his bottom lip, before pulling away to lock her eyes with his.

“Yes, Sir.”

[prettyboyporter]

63) “Cross my heart and hope to die.” 98) “Take a deep breath.”

Sorry this took so long, gideon! I write a ficlet for you in the same universe as my Trek harringrove AU, Boldy Go , in which Billy and Steve are both Starfleet officers. Billy is in Engineering and is half human, half Betazoid (a la Deanna Troi in TNG). Steve is a human and is in Security.  Takes place several months after the fic, established relationship.

~*~

“You’re fuckin with me. Are you serious?” Billy said, narrowing his eyes at Steve. 

He tried to keep his Betazoid senses out of Steve’s brain in general -- too much like an intrusion -- but he couldn’t help but sense the excitement and sincerity rolling off of Steve in waves.  

“Serious as a Ferengi about latinum.” Steve said. He toyed with the collar of Billy’s Engineering uniform.

Billy wrapped his arms tighter around Steve’s waist. “Three weeks shore leave? Hopper’s really giving us that much time off?” 

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Steve smiled bright as the sunrise on Betazed. “Hopper said,” Steve furrowed his eyebrows and lowered his voice to imitate the Captain, “after the shit the two of you pulled on Cardassia IV, you both deserve it. You got our asses out of there safely. We’d all be dead if it weren’t for you so go do whatever the hell the two of you like to do but for god’s sake, tell Hargrove we don’t need *every* detail.” 

Billy’s tongue slid between his lips. “I guess Hop didn’t like hearing  about the time we fucked on his chair.” 

Steve softened and kissed Billy’s lips. “It was late, we were alone on the bridge and you looked so fucking hot, baby.” 

“Computer, turn off lights,” Billy said. He reached down to palm Steve’s ass, leaning in close to smell the freshly-cleaned soap smell at the base of Steve’s neck. He pulled Steve’s hips tight to his own. “Care to reinact that over our own chair?”

Steve indulged Billy and let Billy kiss him, lips pressing more firmly with each kiss. Billy loved this -- loved opening up his senses and feeling how heated Steve would get when they made out like this, how Steve’s feelings of anxiety just melted with each second that ticked by as Billy claimed Steve’s mouth, how he would be overcome with lust if Billy even tugged slightly on Steve’s hair. “Baby,” Steve said as Billy moved down to kiss Steve’s neck. “Baby I’m gonna be late for my shift.” 

“Security can deal without you for a half hour,” Billy said. He was only half joking.

“Mm.” Steve went in for one deep kiss, ran his fingers between Billy’s asscheeks and Billy gasped. “Sorry. Hammond needs me tonight.” He pulled back, leaving Billy standing there hard and wanting. 

“Gonna make you pay for that, Steve. I got three weeks of shore leave to edge you into oblivion.” 

Steve blew Billy a kiss as he approached their quarters’ doors, which swished open. “Can hardly wait.” 

Billy flopped down on the bed when the doors swished closed again. Lit by the blue light of the displays, he slid his hand into his pajamas and jerked himself to the thought of three weeks alone with Steve. 

~*~

Captain Hopper looked shocked when Billy told him they weren’t going to visit Risa on shore leave. “Thought the two of you loved Risa? Climate controlled planet, tropical breezes, exotic food. You’re not gonna go smooch him on a beach for three weeks?”

“Got somethin better planned, sir,” Billy said. “I think he’ll like it.” 

A brief, rare smile flashed on Hopper’s face. “Be safe, Lietenant.” 

Billy nodded and felt pride coming from Hopper. “Sir.”

~*~

Lake Cataria on Betazed glistened jewel-blue in the bright sun. Steve had never been to Billy’s home planet -- they’d visited several times on the holodeck but it was never quite the same as the real thing. 

Billy hadn’t been on Betazed since he was fourteen when two men showed up to inform him of his mother’s death, only to escort him to Earth to meet a father who loathed Billy. In the throes of grief for his mother, he’d been forced to live with a father who loathed him. Neil never needed to say so -- it rolled off of him in waves and was apparent in every smack of his fist. 

But when Billy and Steve beamed down to the planet’s surface and stepped outside, the planet’s verdant landscape and gentle society made all of Billy’s teenage anger disspate and filled him with warm memories of a happy childhood and loving mother. 

Having Steve here meant the world to Billy. Their room overlooked the shimmering lake, and Billy could scarcely contain himself as Steve tugged on his swimming trunks. “Come on pretty boy,” Billy whined. “Daylight’s wasting.” 

“Okay, okay, I’m ready. The lake’s not going anywhere.” Steve picked up his towel and took Billy’s hand.

They took the narrow winding footpath to the lake’s edge. He remembered coming up to lip of the lake as a child -- just a little thing padding along at his mom’s side. 

Take a deep breath, she’d said, her hands under Billy’s armpits as she let him slip underwater only to pull him back up, spluttering water and giggling. The sun formed a halo behind her head. He couldn’t recall the details of her face in that moment -- just her blonde curls and warm laughter. 

As Billy and Steve waded waist-deep into the cool water, Billy turned to Steve and took Steve’s face between his hands, planting a sudden kiss on Steve’s lips. 

Steve inhaled sharply and tensed up in surprise, but then fell into the kiss. 

With the sun of Betazed on Billy’s shoulders, the waters of Lake Cataria surrounding him, and the love of his life kissing him, Billy said, “Marry me.” 

Steve pulled back from Billy’s lips. The sun formed a halo behind his head, and he pulled Billy close. “Yes. Yes.” He leaned down and pressed kisses to Billy’s lips, saying yes between each one. 

[marveliciousfanace]

# 43,

I assume this was for the combo prompts, but since I was never given clarification I took the liberty of doing 43 for all three lists. Hopefully this was something close to what you wanted? It’s sickeningly sweet either way. Read it below the cut or here on AO3.

Data glanced up when the door banged open, his fingers pausing momentarily on the Risian lute he’d been playing, the last note still vibrating through his fingers as Tasha staggered in, laden with bags. She glanced over at him, and smirked, “Well, don’t stop on my account.”

Data set the instrument aside, moving from the sofa to help his wife with the bags. She had two sashed over her shoulder, knocking against her hip as she moved, and another two on each arm, her muscles visibly straining as she hauled them towards the kitchen of their little homestead. Data liberated four of them from her, in spite of her protests, latching the screen door behind her with his free hand. He set the bags on the kitchen table while Tasha dropped hers to the floor, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows at him.

Her sleeveless tunic left her arms bare, tanned from her time in the sun, and her hair had been gathered up with a string, pulled into a low ponytail that bared most of her neck, a few escaped strands curling with the heat. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, and it was this collective, beautiful picture that Data would blame for the moment it took him to respond. Time had been kind to Tasha, and middle age suited her. It was a thought he’d had before, but it still managed to catch him off guard every time.

“I wished to assist you,” he said. “You were having difficulties.”

“I was doing fine,” Tasha needled good-naturedly. She crouched to begin unpacking. “I may not be as fit as I was at thirty, but I can still kick your ass.”

“Of course, dear.” Data opened the bags on the table, removing items from them and organizing them on the table by where they belonged, while Tasha moved around him, shelving items one at a time. They had done it enough times that stepping out of her way was easy, a cue as familiar as the dance steps he had taught her for their wedding, over two decades ago. He smiled to himself, and Tasha pinched his side.

“You’ve got that look again,” she teased. “Wedding or honeymoon?”

“Am I so predictable?”

“To me, you are.” Tasha gave him a quick peck on the cheek, her hand lingering for just a moment before she went back to work.

“It was our wedding,” Data told her. “I was thinking about our first dance.”

Tasha chuckled. “I remember.” She twirled, her layered skirt flaring around her legs, and Data watched, a swell of affection surging over him. She caught the edge of the table, grinning at him. “My feet were sore for weeks.”

“I did tell you to sit down.”

“I wasn’t going to sit down. It was my wedding!” Tasha bumped Data’s hip with her own, reaching around him to pluck the vine of tomatoes from his grip. “Besides, it wasn’t like we didn’t spend plenty of our honeymoon laying around.”

“I seem to recall someone insisting that rock-climbing was vital to our enjoyment of the time off.”

“Aside from that.” A breeze rustled in through the open window, ruffling Tasha’s hair. She brushed it back out of her face, and the wooden slats beneath their feet creaked as Tasha rocked back on her heels. “Besides. You would have carried me if I got too tired.”

Data scooped her up now, depositing her on the table as Tasha squeaked with delight, throwing her arms around his neck for balance. “Data!”

He rubbed his nose against hers. “I enjoy carrying you,” he murmured.

Tasha’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, slipping under the collar to swipe gently along his skin. “I like it when you carry me too,” she whispered, and tilted her head up to press a soft kiss to his lips before leaning back again. She tapped his chest with a hand. “Come on. We need to finish unpacking. Will and Deanna are coming by later, and if things are still a mess when their shuttle drops them off, Thad and Kestra will make off with all the crackers.”

“It has been a few years since we have seen them. Perhaps their children are better behaved now.”

Tasha gave him a sceptical look, but it broke with her smile. “Because an older Troi-Riker never got into any trouble.”

“A fair point.”

Tasha hopped off the table, scooping up a handful of vegetables and depositing them into a basket by the sink. “Is it weird that I miss having kids in the house? I mean, they never really lived here, but…”

Data set a hand on her shoulder. “I am familiar with the sensation.” Tatum had been a junior grade lieutenant, and Lyra and Aletris pursuing their training at Starfleet Medical and the Vulcan Science Exchange respectively well before Data and Tasha had even claimed this house as a temporary vacation home, much less by the time they’d retired. Having time to themselves was nice, but that didn’t make the quiet less disconcerting at times.

He wrapped his arms around Tasha’s waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “We could have another one, if you would like.”

Tasha laughed and elbowed him gently. “The last time you said, ‘let’s think about adopting,’ we ended up with three in two years. I’m not sure I have that kind of stamina anymore.”

“Your stamina appears sufficient to me.” Data grinned as Tasha shoved him lightly. “I was referring to your outburst earlier. Surely, if you do not need my assistance with the groceries, chasing after children should not be an issue.”

Tasha rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“A fact which I am constantly thankful for.”

Tasha groaned theatrically. “How did I end up marrying the cheesiest man alive?”

“As I understand it, I proposed, and you accepted.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Tasha shook her head, but she was grinning. “What was I thinking?” She dragged Data in by the front of his vest, pulling him until his chest was flush with hers. Data glanced down at her lips, then back to her eyes, and Tasha smiled coyly. She leaned in, and then stopped, shoving gently, “Finish your work, mister, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Promise?”

She laughed and pushed a little harder. “What happened to the innocent Data I met on the Enterprise? The one who wouldn’t understand a joke like that, much less make one?”

“He fell in love with a very demanding woman.” Data swooping in to steal one last kiss, then darted away before Tasha could retaliate, folding up the discarded bags and returning them to their rightful place by the door before helping Tasha finish up in the kitchen.

When they were done, Tasha collapsed onto the sofa, picking up Data’s lute and plucking absently at the strings. “What were you playing before?”

Data sat beside her and took the instrument from her, adjusting it as Tasha snuggled into his side. “I was transposing,” he said.

“Oh?” She tilted her head up to look at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Which song?”

Data feigned like he hadn’t heard her, tightening one of the strings to retune the sound. Tasha nudged him. “It’s our song, isn’t it? The one you wrote for me?”

Data fought a smile as he settled the lute in his lap, plucking the opening chords. He stopped abruptly and teased, “You have heard it many times. You must be tired of it by now.”

“Just shut up and play the damn song,” Tasha said, and Data grinned, resettling the instrument in his arms and letting the melody wash out into the little cabin. Tasha closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. Data closed his eyes too, playing from memory, and let the bubble envelope them for just this moment.

[rikerxworf]

for the otp ask pls answer them all

this is the first ask I got for this meme and it’s honestly giving me life you guys;;

1.       Who laughs at their own joke and who deadpans at the joke?

Will definitely laughs at his own jokes, and he will not stop just because Worf won’t react to them and would just stare back – that’ll only make Will laugh even more. As soon as he looks around though (and realizes that in fact NO ONE laughed), he might shut his mouth and look down lol.

2.       If they had a secret handshake, how would it go?

A Klingon one, maybe! Like the Qapla’ greeting just one each other’s shoulder instead of their own. Or just a really low high five, like super casual, maybe even without looking at each other, that’d be cool as well.

3.       It’s movie night, what movies are they gonna watch together?

The classics. Disney movies because Will loves them, and Worf learns to appreciate them over time. War movies, but those with hyper homoerotic subtext (I imagine those must be all over Klingon cinema lol). Queer cinema in general. The stuff Worf can get overly invested in lol

4.       It’s time to name their pet they adopted together, who gets to name it? How do they come to this decision?

Worf comes up with a name so great Will just says yes. He’ll probably choose something with an elaborate meaning. (Even though the name is already short, Will finds a way to construct a diminutive.) The Real Question is, what kind of pet would they adopt? Not a cat, I presume. A dog, rather. A big, ugly, dangerous-looking Klingon beast. Maybe. Like a warrior sehlat that everybody is afraid of, and then Will comes in like “Aren’t you a good boy??? Who’s a good boy???? You’re a good boy!!!” and it would whine like a puppy lol.

5.       Who would they love to go on a double date with?

Will would love a double date with just about anyone, simply because he likes double dates so much. Worf probably needs some persuasion, but he too would go on a double date with Geordi/Data or Deanna/one of her many girlfriends, if the location is to his taste. However, both Will and Worf draw a line when it comes to Lwaxana Troi, who is the greatest fan of double dates in the quadrant.

6.       Who wakes the other up in the morning? How do they wake them up?

I don’t think either of them has a problem getting up early in the morning, first of all. Worf gets up earlier because he wants to train on the holodeck before duty. When he comes back, he wakes Will with a gentle hand on his shoulder. When they are on vacation, say on Risa, Will gets up first to prepare breakfast. He goes to wake up Worf with a cup of coffee in his hands and whispers his name before he sits down on the edge of the bed. Once Worf is awake, Will gives him a kiss. (I’m getting soft just imagining this y’all)

7.       How do they celebrate Halloween?

To Will, it is just another opportunity to dress up like a slut and eat candy. Worf dresses up with a little accessory. They prepare sweets for the ship’s kids who do trick or treat, which is the quiet part of the evening. Once Alexander is in bed, they go to Ten Forward to celebrate with the other officers. Will gets very drunk. And flirty. Worf doesn’t mind, of course.

8.       Who is more likely to call their partner ‘dude’?

Will lol. Probably when Worf does some disgusting Klingon ritual that even Will can’t look at.

9.       During a thunderstorm how do they react? Is one scared? Do they both love it? Do they take pictures?

Both are fans of thunderstorms! Maybe in Klingon culture, a thunderstorm means that the Heavens are having some warrior’s party or something. It’s loud, it’s messy, it’s raw nature, that’s why Worf stands by the window and stares with a wide smile. Will does too. However, I’m playing with another idea: that he’s scared/nervous/concerned, and Worf needs to do some comforting – but that’s just my voracity for H/C speaking. Oh, another idea: Worf insists on going outside to experience the storm as intensely as possible, and Will worryingly recites thunderbolt protection rules in the hopes that Worf doesn’t get himself killed lol

10.   Who would looking lovingly at their partner and call them ‘idiot’?

Worf definitely has some gentle expressions going on from time to time, but Will is this pair’s Heart Eyes Department, so he’d stare lovingly at Worf, who is I don’t know, trying to brush his teeth or so, failing, and then say ‘idiot’ with a soft chuckle. And then he’d help him, of course ♡

11.   It’s time to get groceries, who likes to look at everything and who just wants to power through and get everything done so they can go back home?

I can imagine either version! Will being so enthusiastic about cooking that he’d check every shelf they pass, and Worf just clutching the (hover) shopping cart, praying that it’s over soon. Or, the other way around: Will has his quick shopping routine but can’t get anything done in time because Worf is so fascinated by everything they walk past on the market.

12.   Who is more likely to make a mess in the kitchen?

Worf. When Will cooks, it’s mostly orderly and not that much to clean up. But Worf – let’s just say Klingon kitchens are something else. Plus Worf doesn’t know shit about cooking because he’s so used to replicators. When he does try to cook (maybe to do Will a favor?), he not only messes up the kitchen, but also himself – face full of flour and apron bespattered with sauce, eyes wide – and Will finds him helpless like that, only to smile at him gently and help him clean up. And help him cook as well, think standing behind Worf and coordinating his hands while burying his nose in long curly hair~ uwu

13.   Who likes to try to prank their partner?

Definitely Will. Surprise parties, surprise kisses, lame joke items, lying (“Nope, no idea where your hairband is…”), but it’s never something serious or overly elaborate like those fake youtube pranks.

14.   When scrolling on their phone, who is more likely to show their partner a cute picture/video of an animal?

For cute animals, it’s Will showing them to Worf: “Aw, look, a bunny! Look at its tiny eyes and the fluffy ears! Look!!!” For dangerous/awesome animals, it’s Worf: “Have you ever seen a creature this majestic? Look at its eyes. The eyes of a warrior – a pause – The bunny is nice as well.”

15.   Who causes the tomfoolery and who has to try and stop the tomfoolery?

Will may cause deliberate tomfoolery. If at all, Worf is more of an involuntary troublemaker with the best intensions, whereas Will can be quite mischievous from time to time, I imagine. Although it’s all in good fun, things can take a turn for the worse when in combination with his clumsiness.

[annoyedfanfiction]

Jim Kirk x fem!reader (7)

“Morning Len,” you smiled, tiredly, as Jim led you over to a table a month later. “Commander Spock. How are you both this morning?” You’d settled easily into a routine on the ship, that often found you and Jim watching the early morning stars together before breakfast. “Better before this hobgoblin showed up,” McCoy grouched, fondly, patting the seat next to him. Spock quirked an eyebrow, but made no comment. “Quite well, Ambassador,” he said to you, “The doctor and I were just discussing the growing popularity of ‘gossip’ that has joined us along with our new recruits.” “And what, exactly, does this gossip say, Mr Spock?” Jim asked, mirthfully, as he settled into the seat beside Spock. “Many things, Captain,” Spock answered, vaguely. “As is its nature. However, I do believe the most common topic concerned the relationship of yourself and Ambassador (L/N).” “He means the media shitstorm before we left off hasn’t left off us,” McCoy translated, irritably. “Really, we’ve an entire ship to run, floating through a vacuum that would kill us in seconds, and they don’t have anything better to do than discuss the love life of the Captain.” You sighed, twisting your apple miserably between your fingers. “They'll move on, anyway.” “I think we can safely say with their track record that this gossip will not make it to the press,” Jim pointed out, easily, toying with his second piece of toast. McCoy grunted noncommittally, then gestured at you both. “Are you two going to eat or just play with your food all morning?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow. “Shift starts in fifteen minutes, and you, kid, still have to accompany me to Medbay before that.” Jim rolled his eyes and bit into the toast, leaning across the table to place a buttery kiss on McCoy’s cheek. “I’ve got rounds to do, see ya later Bones,” he announced, wandering out of the mess as Bones wiped the butter off his cheek, muttering.

“Morning (Y/N)!” Nyota greeted, happily, as you entered the bridge and took your seat beside her. She tossed you a smile, turning away to tap at the console as a beep sounded. “Captain, we have a distress signal from Betazed,” she relayed, frowning. You quickly programmed the co-ordinates into your locator. “Co-ordinates?” Jim requested, turning. “8.56N -3.2W, sir,” she answered, immediately. “Remote village in the north eastern quadrant,” you continued, sending the location to Spock’s scanner. “Maidara.” “According to our records, no contact has been made in that area,” Spock added, frowning. “Signal source, however, indicates it is emerging from some kind of personal beacon established at the village.” “Take us into orbit, Mr Sulu,” Jim commanded, thoughtfully. “Uhura, set up a link with the capital, I want as much information as I can get.” “Link established, Captain,” Uhura answered, almost instantly. “Queen Zitaxna Troi, sir.” “On the screen, Lieutenant,” Jim ordered, gesturing Spock to stay at the scanners. “Uhura, (L/N), with me.” You both stood, coming to stand either side of the Captain’s chair.

“Captain Kirk.” The woman on screen cut an imposing figure, pale blonde hair contrasting with her black eyes, but she smiled. “We were not expecting you.” “Apologies, your Majesty,” Jim replied, politely, “We were intending to pass by, but our scanners picked up a distress signal from the north eastern quadrant. As a rule, Federation starships are required to answer any distress signals within reasonable safety parameters.” Her face tightened, visibly, and her smile faded. “We have been having some...problems in the remote areas of the quadrant,” she answered, coldly. “I assure you it is nothing we can’t handle ourselves, Captain. Thank you for your concern.” “You don’t mind, then, if we beam down a landing party?” Jim continued, as Spock approached him with a PADD showing scanner results. “Just for policies’ sake.” “It would be unwise,” Zitaxna answered, firmly. “There are significant security issues in the area. We will manage our internal affairs, Captain. I will answer any questions from StarFleet.” The PADD showed a variety of disease hotspots around the beacon, encircled within the village. “As you say, your Majesty,” Jim answered, inclining his head. “Would you mind if beamed down a small party to gather supplies from Rixx?” “Of course,” she said, relaxing her tight posture. “I look forward to it.” The link closed, and Jim leant back in his chair as silence reigned. “Mr Spock, send those results to Dr McCoy,” he commanded, finally, turning to you and Uhura. “Assessment?” “She’s lying,” Uhura answered immediately. “Whatever is happening down there, she doesn’t want the Federation to know about it.” “(Y/N)?” Jim prompted, turning to you. “I agree,” you shrugged, “She visibly tensed when you mentioned the distress signal. Unfortunately, a landing party could cause a diplomatic issue. Although, since you already suggested sending people to the capital, they have no reason for suspicion about our remaining in orbit. It is unlikely they would notice a second party.” Jim smiled, wryly.  “Excellent,” he said, popping out of his seat. “Mr Sulu, you have the conn. Commander Spock, Scotty, (Y/N) with me. Uhura, you’ll manage communications onboard. I think we will need your expertise.” Uhura returned to her post, grinning at you. “Good luck, (Y/N),” she laughed, easily. “I’ll call Dr McCoy and a security team to the transporter room, Captain.” “Exemplary as always, Lieutenant,” Jim answered, as the four of you stepped into the turbo lift.

“Alright, Spock, McCoy, Riley, you’re with me,” Jim commanded, entering the transporter room. “Hendorff, Jameson, Scotty accompany Ambassador (L/N) to the capital. Scotty, come up with something you need.” Scotty rolled his eyes, but joined you and the two security officers on the transporter pad. “Does he always operate on such limited instructions?” you sighed, materialising outside the walls of the city Rixx.  “Aye,” Scotty agreed, as you began your walk into the city. “Lot of freedom on this ship lass, long as you can predict the crazy master plan.” You laughed, turning to the two security men. “Phasers to low stun,” you instructed, “The Betazoids are our allies and will be treated as such until the situation requires otherwise. Scotty, I want you to keep a line open to Jim the whole time. Hendorff, keep in touch with the ship. We can’t afford to lose contact.” They all nodded, and you twisted your own phaser to low stun, tucking it back into the holster hidden under your dress. The city could have appeared directly out of Ancient Athens, with huge marble columns and brightly painted statues lining the path to the gates. You recognised the royal purple dresses on three of the queens atop the stairs as you climbed, surrounded by black-clad security.  “Your Majesties,” you bowed, lowly. “Ambassador (Y/N) (L/N) of the Starship Enterprise. This is Chief Engineer Scott, Lieutenant Hendorff, and Officer Jameson.”  “I am Queen Zitaxna,” Zitaxna answered, stepping forward. “My colleagues Queen Deanna and Queen Lwalla. You are not accompanied by your Captain?” She frowned, and the security guards edged in a little closer. The two other queens behind her leaned together, but you could not hear their words.

“The Captain is indisposed at the moment,” you assured her, stepping up closer, and lowering your voice. “With so many new recruits, there has been some trouble, the Captain took the opportunity of brief pause in orbit to attend to those matters. He sends his apologies.” She smiled once again, catching sight of the Ambassadorial rings on your uniform. “That is no matter, Ambassador,” she assured you, eyes still cold. “You must be the new graduate. I hear you beat the Kobayashi Maru simulation, Ambassador? You must inform us. Atrixa!” One of the guards stepped forward, obediently. “Attend to the needs of the Chief Engineer. Would you prefer to be accompanied by one of your officers, Ambassador?” You glanced over at Scotty, thoughtfully. “No, I believe Mr Scott will benefit better from their service,” you said, looking back to her. “The ship needs some intel hardware.” “Of course,” Zitaxna conceded, happily. Scotty opened his mouth to protest, but you shook your head slightly. “It was the comms console that needed intel refits, right Mr Scott?” you insisted, firmly, willing him to understand. He glared at you, but stepped back, nodding reluctantly. You could see the confusion in his face, but you could only hope that his genius extended to word play.

[douxreviews]

Star Trek: The Next Generation - ‘The Pegasus’ Review

"You were the captain, I was the ensign. I was just following orders."

A good episode. But I really wish we hadn't been able to guess exactly how it would end.

Admiral Erik Pressman's mission was to find the wreckage of the Pegasus, a starship that was thought to be completely destroyed, in order to conceal a critical secret aboard her from those pesky sniffing-around Romulans. Twelve years ago, Admiral Pressman was the Pegasus' captain when his crew mutinied. Riker, a young babyfaced ensign at the time, was a member of that crew and chose to back his captain.

Early on, Picard told Admiral Pressman why he chose Riker as his second when Next Generation began – Picard wanted someone who wouldn't be a yes man, who would always give him his honest opinion even if they disagreed. Pressman was the opposite: he wanted blind, unwavering loyalty. It's not surprising that Riker, a young ensign right out of the Academy, would give him that back then, but Riker has matured. When Riker wouldn't tell Picard what was going on with Pressman's mission, Picard said he would trust Riker to do the right thing. And of course, Riker did. I found it somewhat annoying that Riker kept his mouth shut as long as he did, but if he hadn't, there would have been no drama.

Starfleet admirals all seem to go bad eventually, don't they? Admiral Pressman's true personality was revealed when he simply ignored the bodies of his former crew frozen in time in the wreckage of the Pegasus. He treated them like furniture. And he broke the terms of a Federation treaty to do something he thought would give Starfleet an edge, and I would get that, except that it was still treason.

And OMG, Admiral Pressman was played by a baby Terry O'Quinn with fake gray hair, clearly trying to look 60 when he was only 42. Yes, I get why they did that. Terry O'Quinn and Jonathan Frakes were the same age, and not ageing Pressman would have felt wrong. But it kept jumping out at me while I was doing this review because I spent six years writing about Terry O'Quinn on Lost when he was actually the age he was trying to fake in this episode. Not that Terry O'Quinn wasn't awesome as Pressman, because he was. He's a terrific actor now, and he was a terrific actor back in the nineties, too.

What I liked most about this episode was the final reveal of Admiral Pressman's "secret." Throughout the episode we're going, what could the experiment possibly be, and how could it be so important? I was sure it would turn out to be a let-down – but it wasn't. For years, fans of the original series wondered what happened to the Romulan cloaking device that Kirk and Spock went undercover to steal in "The Enterprise Incident" and why the Federation never developed one of their own. And voila, a rational explanation: they did it secretly in violation of the Treaty of Algeron that kept the peace for sixty years.

The reason Ronald D. Moore decided to make the cloaking device the Macguffin was because, and this is hilarious, he was tired of getting that question from fans at conventions. It was also the last season of Next Gen, and they were winding things up and tying them with a bow. I have to say that incorporating phasing in the cloaking device added a creepiness to the denouement, with finding that the Pegasus solidified inside solid rock. It also imparted some significant tension to the scene where the Enterprise was phasing through the asteroid itself.

I also have to give points for the adorable opener that featured an uncomfortable Picard judging the winners of "Captain Picard Day." The best part was Jonathan Frakes doing a spot-on Patrick Stewart impression. And I just realized that it essentially foreshadowed the plot of the episode, because Riker did end up picking the winner. It really was "Captain Picard Day."

Bits:

— Stardate 47457.1, the Devolin system.

— Admiral Blackwell called to tell Picard to pick up Pressman from the USS Crazy Horse. A great historical name and so much cooler than the more boring starship names like Intrepid or Valiant.

— Deanna Troi was only in the opening "Captain Picard Day" scene, and Admiral Pressman kept sitting in Troi's seat on the Bridge. Was that because Troi might have told Picard that Pressman was deceiving him?

— Riker said he'd only had his beard for four years. I think it was longer than that.

— In line with the recent episode "Force of Nature," Picard was told he could break the warp speed limit this time. I know they're just being consistent, but it's a little bit silly. What would happen? Would a patrol starship pull the Enterprise over and give Picard a ticket?

— This episode is heavily featured in the series finale of Star Trek: Enterprise, "These Are the Voyages..." I had forgotten, but Memory Alpha reminded me.

— The Romulan warbird Terix was captained by Sirol (Michael Mack), who was appropriately devious and slimy with his plans to take the Enterprise crew back to be imprisoned on Romulus, and blowing up the entrance to the asteroid stranding the Enterprise within. Memory Alpha also tells me that this was the first time an African American played a Romulan.

— Riker will face disciplinary action for concealing Pressman's actions. If this had happened earlier in the series, it might have been a good explanation for why Riker didn't get a ship of his own.

— This episode was directed by LeVar Barton.

Quotes:

Picard: "You'll be interested to know that I've arranged for a Commander Riker day next month. I'm even considering making an entry myself." Riker: "Great."

Riker: "I wasn't a hero, and neither were you. What you did was wrong, and I was wrong to support you, but I was too young and too stupid to realize it. You were the captain, I was the ensign. I was just following orders."

While this episode would have been more powerful if the outcome hadn't been predictable, it was still pretty good. Three out of four phasing cloaking devices,

---

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

[overelegantstranger]

Adrontis, Data, and Liberosis, Worf?

so one of these is much too long to post and the other is alright, so there’ll be an ao3 link for one and the other in full - i’ll put these under a cut when I can do that.

Data / Adrontis / Frustration with at how long it takes to get to know someone

G - hinted Data/Geordi - very vague body horror - Lwaxana + Deanna Troi

well, whatever,nevermind

 “Humans,” Mrs Troi says, twirling a cocktail in onefine-fingered hand and shining with humour, “So simple! Don’t you think, Data?They think they’re so complicated, silly dears.”

Data is not quite sure what the correct thing to say wouldbe. He finds he cannot agree without lying, and he does not particularly wishto lie.

Mrs Troi doesn’t seem to notice his silence, especially asCounsellor Troi walks through the door just as the span of time that wouldcount as a polite silence elapses.

Mrs Troi waves, and Data watches the microexpression of exhaustionthat passes over Counsellor Troi’s face. However, the expression is followed bya genuine smile and Deanna walks over, settling herself on the stool on Data’sother side.

“Good evening, Mother, Data,” Counsellor Troi says, as MrsTroi orders her one of those same cocktails.

“I was telling the fine Commander how simple humans are,”she launches in, and Data glances at Counsellor Troi. He could show her amicroexpression of confusion, if he wanted, but as he considers it he thinksperhaps this would only complicate the situation. She may feel compelled todefend humans on his account, and he does not wish to sour relations betweenher and her mother.

“Why do you say?” she asks, and Data sees her look aroundTen-Forward, as if for clues. He sees her stop, and realises she has caughtsight of Geordi in the corner, surrounded by his younger engineers.

Mrs Troi wafts a careless hand in that same direction. “Theyoung Mr. La Forge,” she says, with a tone that suggests she believes this sayseverything.

“Ah,” says Counsellor Troi, as if it does.

Data considers asking for clarification, but instead hestays quiet. He has a perfect visualisation of the Ten-Forward in his head; hedoes not have to turn slightly and look at Geordi. He does regardless.

Behind him, Counsellor Troi laughs. Data decides that sheand her mother must be conversing telepathically, and so he disregards this.

“Their desires are so very simple,” Mrs Troi says.

Geordi is telling the engineers some kind of story; he ispunctuating his speech with expansive hand gestures. Data wonders if it is astory Geordi has told him; he wonders if it features him. The gatheredengineers laugh.

“They tend not to think so.”

“Oh, of course, but humans are always so terrible at readingthemselves.” There is a baited pause, and then Counsellor Troi makes a noisethat she tries to muffle in her drink. They must be conversing telepathically again. It would be pleasant, Data thinks,to understand people as quickly as the Trois seem to. Like uploadinginformation. Complete knowledge, whenever you wanted it.

It may be possible for him to do so, Data thinks; it issimple enough for the Borg, after all. He visualises Geordi, wired into theBorg as the Captain had been not so long ago, and is immediately repelled.

Counsellor Troi puts her hand on his wrist and squeezes. Heis unsure what the gesture signifies; generally he would think sympathy, but ashe is one of the few forms of life Deanna cannot read, she must be doing it forsome other reason.

He does not ask, but he does not remove his wrist from hergrasp either.

“I think,” he says, “That I would like to understand humansthe way you do.” He doesn’t know which he is addressing, and he doesn’t know ifit matters, “As I have no innate understanding, I must always start from thebeginning.”

Counsellor Troi sips her cocktail. “Sometimes I would liketo start from the beginning.”

Mrs Troi makes a noise that Data is not sure how tointerpret. It sounds both affirmative and negative at once.

Data’s gaze drifts back to Geordi. The engineers havewandered off, and now he is talking to Lieutenant Worf and Commander Riker at atable in one corner. For once Geordi is taller than them both, and Data isconfused by his sudden desire to smile.

-

“Oh, of course, but humans are always so terrible at readingthemselves.” As are androids, it seems.

—-

Worf  / Liberosis / The desire to care less about things

G - can be read completely gen but hints of Worf/Riker - set after sins of the father

running in thedirection of the moon

 It is dark in his quarters. A very little starlight takesthe edge off the darkness, making dim blue shapes of the furniture. Through thedoorway into the next room, the red standby light of the replicator glows. Theever-present background noise of the engines is lower tonight than usual. Theyhave nowhere to go, awaiting orders, all but idling in space. The engines areon, of course, for life support, but the ship drifts through the dark on theechoes of impulse power.

Worf sits up, leaning his head half on the edge of theheadboard and half on the windowsill. The elastic of his hairnet itches wherethe knot presses against the thin skin behind his ear and he pulls it off, letshis hair fall against and behind the headboard. Strands fall in his eyes and helets them.

He could ask the computer for the time but idly he thinks itwould be a shame to disturb the quiet so he lifts his PADD off the bedsidetable and reads the time off the sleeping display. 0300. Time for Delta shiftto relieve Gamma. If he had woken some half an hour earlier he would have gone,swapped shifts with Lieutenant Hal-Var and given his six hours to Starfleet inthe muted, quiet space of what they called the early morning.

continue here

[aceholmes]

the uncharted (9/?)

not-quite a summary: i need to stop giving everyone filler chapters

here it is on ao3!

Ke’lth straps himself into the chair in front of the console, grumbling. “I’m a doctor, not a pilot.”

“You’re the one with the most piloting experience, Doctor,” Troi sighs, helplessly. “It’s not like we had much choice.”

“Well said.” Swift gives a light-hearted smile. “There’s only the three of us.”

“Get ready to disable force fields.” Troi commands, keying in a few commands into the console. “Engines are ready.”

“Force fields disabled.” Swift reports, and the shuttle is pulled out of the shuttlebay, through the depressurisation of the shuttlebay alone. The shuttle shudders as it’s blown right and left by a storm that’s raging. Maybe it would’ve been better to wait, but given the circumstances, nobody wanted to be on that ship any longer. As they clear the ship, Troi looks back, not only with a sense of relief, but also worry, both at the same time.

The Delta steers again, and the left warp nacelle creaks and groans.

“We’re going to have to get as far away from the ship as possible.” Swift reads the data on the console. “The warp nacelle’s overloading.”

“Then I’m glad we’re still not on that wretched ship.” Ke’lth returns.

“Time to warp nacelle overload?” Troi shoots back. “We’re not out of the woods yet, Doctor,” she snaps.

Ke’lth gives a dignified cough. “Of course, Commander.”

“Three minutes.” Swift reads off.

Troi takes a breath. “Are engines online, Doctor?”

“Online and running, sir.” Ke’lth responds. A low hum fills the shuttle, signifying that the shuttle is waiting to burst into warp.

Troi keys in the coordinates of the planet they’ve found earlier. “We could risk breaking the Prime Directive, you know.”

“Commander, we are in uncharted territory. We’re not even sure of our location. Landing on the inhabited planet and asking the inhabitants for help might be the only way we could get help from Starfleet.” Swift suggests.

“Jump to warp, Doctor.” Troi gives the signal. “Engage.”

“He was very discreet, Captain.” Jamin says, a sour expression upon her face.

Yar sighs, and puts her head into her hands. She resurfaces. “Commander, you are accusing a fellow crew member of blackmail that may be even seen as treason, to the Federation.”

Jamin shrinks. “I would not come to you directly unless I was almost completely sure.”

“Unless there is evidence that shows that he has instigated the Romulan incident, and evidence that he was the one who put the Romulan files into your database, I can’t open an investigation. Not at this time. We don’t have crew to spare.” Yar says.

Jamin shakes her head. “I didn’t ask for an investigation, sir.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Yar rises from her chair. She paces a few steps, then leans on the edge of her desk, almost perching. “As Head of Operations, Hurley does have access to certain security codes that most of the other crew does not. It would be hard to detect any suspicious activity from him.”

“I would be inclined to agree.” Jamin puts out, in a cold, emotionless way. “Do you trust me, Captain?”

Yar feels put on the spot. In her heart she wants to believe Jamin, because Jamin’s been a trustworthy friend and an honourable officer, but she forces herself to be fair. “I hope I won’t hurt your feelings by saying this, but although I do take your words to heart, I can’t fully believe you, Jamin.”

Jamin blinks, and nods quietly. “So be it, then.” She gazes past Yar, in full silence.

Time seems like an eternity when silence hangs in the air. It’s only when the comm-system comes alive with the sound of Hurley’s voice, the tension finally breaks.

“Hurley to Captain Yar; Captain La Forge has just beamed aboard.”

“Acknowledged.” Yar replies, stern. “Invite him to meet me in the briefing room. Jamin, get back to your post.”

“Acknowledged, Captain.” She returns, almost hurriedly. Yar’s heart sinks a little at Jamin’s coldness. She knows it isn’t right to favour Jamin, but something in her heart is biting back at her. She shakes the doubt off, and arrives at the briefing room.

Captain La Forge arrives at the brief room shortly after the announcement. Looking up from her PADD, Yar notes that he hasn’t changed much since their last meeting a few years ago. He still has the implants in, and to someone who didn’t spend a lot of time around him, he might have looked intimidating, but Yar knew otherwise.

“Captain La Forge.” Yar greets, formally. “Take a seat.”

“Tasha.” La Forge starts, but then stops himself. “Captain Yar, I mean.” He takes a breath before taking the seat across from Yar on the opposite side of the table. “I’m sorry. I’m just so used to calling you-“

“Tasha, I know.” She waves it off. “It’s a habit.”

“Thanks for understanding.” La Forge nods. “And we’re here to discuss the environment domes.”

The ship stabilises, and everyone heaves a big sigh of relief. Ke’lth leans back in his chair. Troi runs a hand through her curly hair, and then removes the hair tie from her hair. Swift virtually almost collapses, clutching her stomach.

“Now that was a ride.” Swift points out, smiling.

“Absolutely.” Troi gasps, swivelling her chair around. “Anyone hungry?”

“Famished.” Swift shoots back. She rises, and goes to the back of the shuttle. It takes a bit of effort to get the cabinet door open, but it eventually gives way. She takes three ration packs and returns to her seat.

“Bon appetit,” swoons Swift, and throws the other two packs to her fellow crew members.

“Forgive me for asking, Lieutenant,” Ke’lth starts up, “but what was the meaning of the phrase you just used?”

“Bon appetit.” Swift repeats, spreading her hands. “It’s French. An earth language. Means enjoy your meal.”

Ke’lth nods in approval. “Well then, Lieutenant,” he raises his pack. “same to you.”

Troi agrees, and the three tuck into their meals. Ke’lth devours his heartily, and while Swift cautiously nibbles at the bar and tries to ignore the taste, Troi takes one bite of it and sets it down.

“Penny for your thoughts, Commander?” Swift speaks up, her speech muffled.

“Don’t chew with your mouth open, Lieutenant,” Troi pokes back in jest.

Swift makes a defiant grunt. “You’re not my mother.”

“But I am your commanding officer,” Troi insists, resisting the urge to burst out into laughter. It’s the same situation back at home, before the incident. Tasha would always jokingly complain about how Deanna would chide her for staying up late, or ordering that second cup of coffee, or spend hours in the holodecks working at that fitness program.

Deanna. That’s a name she hasn’t heard in days. Not since the name last slipped past Tasha’s lips and reached her the fateful morning the accident happened.

“It’s back to the grind for both of us, Deanna,” Tasha laughed, pressing a kiss to Deanna’s lips. Tasha smelled like the strong, black coffee she drank every morning, and a hint of the facial wash Deanna had got her from Betazed. When they went their separate ways for the morning, Tasha to her office to receive reports, and Deanna to the transporter room to give the briefing for the away team, Deanna couldn’t help but feel that the parting felt almost final, although she was almost certainly sure that she would see Tasha again at the end of the day…

“Commander?” Swift sits forward in her seat, trying to get her attention. “Are you alright?”

“Just homesick.” Troi sighs, but the corners of her mouth curl upwards into a warm smile. “We all are.”

The cabin is silent for just a second, but Troi continues. “We’ve been under a lot of stress, and I know that this time can’t be easy for any of us.”

Ke’lth muses silently, staring out at the stars. “They look similar to the stars back home, but we’re a long way from home.”

“There’s gotta be a way back home.” Swift offers, her tone enthusiastic.

“Thank you for the encouragement, Michelle,” says Troi. Swift gives a tired, weak smile, and closes her eyes as she leans back into her chair.

[halfwayinlight]

Series: Precious Commodities Chapter: 2 The Let Down Rating: PG Pairing: Will Riker/ Deanna Troi Notes: continuing part two of Precious Commodities, set in the midst of Menage a Troi. For @nothingeverlost. Once I finish beta-ing it, I’ll cross-post to AO3

Security was a precious commodity, and Deanna is acutely aware of how little security or control she has right now. Moments ago she was teleported for at least the third time in, well… she didn’t know how long it had been. And as she felt herself de-materializing again, her stomach rolled and every nerve seemed on edge.

It took several long moments for her to realize she had been returned to the brig. That it was Will moving toward her as she instinctively backed away.  Her legs were like a baby deer’s, colliding with the edge of the padded bench and forcing her to sit down hard. “Gods,” she huffed, realizing she’d lost the blanket again. It’s harder than ever to regain her bearings, and the cold around her is permeating. She drew in her legs, curling up to conserve what little heat she had.

“Hey,” Will’s voice dropped, and he went stock-still, keeping a few feet away when he realized that she’s only now starting to reorient herself. “Your things are right here,” he picked up her dress and her tights that he had neatly folded and stored on the other bench.

Some clinical corner of her mind recognized the coaxing behavior.  When she didn’t reach out for it, he settled the items on the bench within reach before he returned to the entrance to glare at their captors who are engrossed in their chess game.

Her control on her emotions teetered on tenuous, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in her own bed in the Fifth House under the heaviest blanket she can find and sleep for a few days. It’s the last thing she would’ve expected a few hours ago when she and Will first arrived on Betazed. When they took their stroll through the gardens, and she had sensed the joy and the desire from Will. Emotions that were going to be so easy to give in to. That she wanted to give in to.

Right now, she wanted to kick something. Or punch it. The padded bench is tempting, but it’s probably not as padded as it looks. She should know that because she’s achy from however long they lay there. Whether it was a phaser or something else, Deanna was certain that they had been unconscious for at least a few hours. She’s still struggling to shake off the after-effects of it. It made her feel out of sorts, and had left her with a dull headache.

It was out of respect for her that Will had moved to the doorway. He had not only turned around to give her privacy, but he was also guarding her and staring daggers at their captors. Deanna has never minded nudity, but she detests being cold. It’s always cold on the Enterprise, and she’s adjusted to it somewhat. It was such a relief to be in her home planet, and now she’s on this ship that is far too cold and smells strange. And the Ferengi stripped her not only of clothing, but also of a part of her identity for a second time because the blanket her mother had handed her didn’t make the transport with her.

Every layer of clothing she pulls on helps, but there weren’t enough layers. She struggled to pull on the tights because of the cold, because she’s shaking. And aches and tiredness were wearing down her defenses.  Deanna found herself staring at the dress—her favorite dress. A new one. One that she had found earlier in the week in a short break between conference meetings in a favorite boutique in Medara. She loved the beautiful, bold colors and had so looked forward to enjoying a holiday and indulging in all the delights and liberty of home.

“Oh,” she gasped as she struggled back into clothing, pain making itself suddenly known as she tried to slide her arm through the shoulder strap.

It caught Will’s attention, and he rejoined her. “Deanna?”

“I’m fine,” she protested defensively, gritting her teeth as she attempted to get her body to cooperate.

He found the small zipper, and he’s always had this uncanny ability to find those little zippers and hooks. It was something she used to tease him about, even having some dresses specially designed years ago to make a game of it. “Remember what happened to your emerald dress?” he asked softly, persuading the zipper a little lower and easing the fabric around her.

She nodded and swallowed down a surge of her own tumultuous emotions. She’d gotten exactly one night out of that dress. Dinner and dancing. A walk in the gardens, where they had found a private little grove. Eventually his impatience and urgency had overtaken his skill. Later, she’d had the material repurposed into a handbag. But now Will’s hand has found her left arm, guiding it through and stopping completely when she hissed in protest.

“You’re hurt,” the words were blunt and clinical. “Hold still, let me…. I can get this.” He examined the angles and the give of the fabric and stepped close enough that she could absorb a little of his body warmth. He shifted and pulled the material nearly to the point of tear, but managed to get it to settle properly before zipping her up.  “Can I see?”

She hadn’t realized that she was holding her arm close until he asked. Instinct made her flinch before taking a short breath and nodding. “It’s been achy since you woke me,” she admitted, unable to bite back a murmur of discomfort even though he’s only lifting the off-the-shoulder-strap to examine it. No bruises, yet, but it’s tender enough that she couldn’t quite put it out of her mind.

“What do you want to bet their doctor’s idea of medicine is leeches and miasmas?”

The sarcasm was meant to lighten the mood and make her laugh, but she couldn’t even summon a smile right now. “I don’t like this. I don’t like that mother made me leave her.”

His concern narrowed, and it was startling to suddenly realize how intently that concern focused singularly on her. “You’re guarding. Even with a crash course in first aid and triage, I can see that.” His fingers ran over her bare shoulder, trying to warm up her up a bit. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine,” came her reflexive answer, and she trembled when he took another step closer before carefully pulling her against him. She tried for a long, painful moment to hold it together before shuddering and letting the gasp and first tears out against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair, hands and arms finding their familiar holds and letting her feel his solid presence. She urged him closer, crying silently all while frantically grasping for some semblance of control. They’re stuck on a strange ship. They don’t even know where they are. He has her mother—. “Imzadi,” his mouth was by her ear, voice pitched low and soft for her, let go for a minute. I’ve got you,” he repeated firmly, tightening the deep hug he has her wrapped up in, knowing she needs the pressure to ground her.

It’s her job to keep everyone sane. Quite literally. Or at least to do her best to keep them sane. She has her own counselor that she meets with regularly over subspace. Honestly, they need more counselors on so large a starship, but the reality of it is only just starting to make itself known. And it will be some time before anyone higher up in Starfleet realizes it’s truly a necessity.

But in these moments she could let herself feel. Feel the weight of her own emotions. Rage. Cry. And her body trembles at the intensity that she doesn’t quite know how to name or to expel. The coldness of the room, the ache in her arm, and the intensity of the trade agreements have left her drained of her usual resilience. She’s angry and upset. Frustrated that the universe won’t even let her have a vacation when she needs one. Angry that her own annoyance kept her from oskoids and uttaberries as she’s suddenly acutely aware that she’s so hungry that she feel hollow. And in that moment, she can feel herself deflating.

His arms are there, supporting her and easing her onto the padded bench. Her comforts right are his presence and the utter disregard of their captors. At least she could have her emotions in some semblance of privacy. For a person who spends so much time digging into everyone else’s minds and motivations, she craves the deepest privacy for her own feelings. She could count on one hand the number of times she’s really lost control of herself on the Enterprise. One of those times involved a ceremonial gong, but she doesn’t want to remember that right now because it reminds her that she’s hungry and that her mother is with…him.

“Better?” he murmured into her hair, his thumb stroking her temple tenderly.

She sniffled and nodded, wishing so much that they were able to stretch out and relax, to let him play with her hair while she drifted after they’d had their fill of each other. She wasn’t sure she even had the energy to muster up a kiss right now. “Thank you, Will,” she rasped, and she allowed herself relax against him.

For someone who is so tall and conspicuous, Will could be subtle when he needed to be. But she could sense his attempt at subterfuge, so she still flinched when his fingers ghosted over her left arm. “How big of scene do I get to make over this?” His face was a careful mask of control, but his voice carried a steely coldness.

“Later,” Deanna insisted. “Nothing’s broken.”

“Are you sure?”

Her right hand lifted, and she rubbed her eyes and nodded. “I must have landed on it wrong. Get us out of here, and Beverly can fuss over it later.”

“She’s a professional Mother Hen,” he scoffed before looking back down at her and raising and eyebrow. “I could kiss it and make it better.”

It finally earned him a ghost of a smile and a soft sigh. “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I thought about us ending up alone on vacation together.”

“You thought about us alone together?” he’s teasing, but it has lightened the mood.

“I’d rather be stuck here with you than anyone else,” she admitted.

Will smiled before bending down, pressing a light kiss to her bare shoulder and rubbed his hand along her right arm to warm her a bit.

“Human mating rituals are so unnecessary,” their guard was at the opening, appalled and clearly offended that his charges were more focused on one another than on their plight at his hands.

“You should be so lucky,” Will muttered before glaring over his shoulder. “What do you want?” he asked languidly.

The Ferengi scowled, or at least it seemed like a look of contempt. It was still strange to only sense her mother and Will. Deanna couldn’t feel his emotions. And to her, the Ferengi expression seemed to be one of perpetual scowl. Though she knew it was only her bias and their inherent features that made it so. “You are our prisoners. We will ask the questions.”

Contempt practically dripped from Will as he rose to his full height and gave a lazy turn. Sharp blue eyes flicked over the Ferengi before he stalked past Deanna and dropped indolently onto the padded bench between her and the opening. They would have to go through him before they had any hope of reaching her. “If you’re going to starve us, then I have nothing to say to you.”

It was almost comical to see how much it angered the guard to be so deliberately ignored. She and Will settled together, his side pressed against hers to lend warmth. Their captor ranted for a while, stamped his foot, and asked any number of questions. Had it been at a lower tone, Deanna would’ve napped through it. But it was all sound and no force, so she rested her head against Will’s shoulder.

Was one vacation too much to ask for? she queried, idly tracing the soft purple fabric of her dress.

Easy, Imzadi. His arm slid into its familiar place around her waist. Think about the garden. And the muktok. We’ll see it again. Let me work on a plan, and not too long from now we can take a nice stroll on shore of the Opal Sea on the holodeck. Not a Ferengi or another soul in sight.

What he wasn’t saying was that it would be different. It always was. By necessity. Somewhere in that second year or so on the Enterprise, they’d reached a comfortable agreement: when their shore leave and vacation overlapped, it overlapped. They enjoyed their time and each other. What happened off ship, stayed off ship.  But a starship, especially a flagship, necessitated a certain formality. And he was the First Officer. And they were both senior staff.

There was no way to judge how long the tirade from the guard lasted. But they sat unmoving, staring at the wall across from them. She flinched, but Will managed not to, when the Ferengi finally slapped at the force field in anger. He stalked away at last, and a few minutes later a tray with some items materialized on the small table at the back of the cell.

Will was the one to investigate. He moved slowly, not wanting to give the offering too much importance, though she knew he was at least as hungry as she was. She was thankful he was the first to taste the offerings. While Deanna enjoyed plenty a gourmet dessert, she was never as gastronomically curious as he was. And it was more than mere curiosity. She was always more sensitive to everything than he was—from the temperature, to emotions, down to food and spices. While she loved her role in diplomatic relations, it had taken some work for Beverly to find just the right concoction for a hypospray that she could reliably use before their meals when they were invited by hosts and ambassadors. More than once she had ended up in sickbay from a combination of spices or foods that her sensitive system simply couldn’t handle.

He finally brought everything back to the bench, offering up a flat item that was somewhere between a loaf and a biscuit. “Can I offer you an appetizer?”

Her first taste was cautious. It was dense, and didn’t have very much in the way of taste. Right now it wasn’t up there with chocolate by any means, but at least it wasn’t gagh. “If this is your idea of a small café for lunch, you’re slipping.”

“I’m wounded,” he countered, leaning back as though actually offended. “How about a rain check?”

Her eyes lifted to meet his, and though she had sensed his disappointment with how their leave was turning out, the intensity of it in his gaze was stronger than she had expected. We both wanted so much more. It took several moments to chew the bite enough to swallow it down with the help of a sip of water. “How about this… Angel Falls. The next time we return to earth?”

He lifted his cup to hers, and they clinked the plastic material together gently. “It’s a date.”

[halfwayinlight]

Title: She’s an Intensely Private Person Pairing: Troi/Riker centric Rating: PG at worst?

Will’s perspective of “The Child,” episode 2.1

Will Riker is sure there’s not an especially delicate way to break the news of an unplanned pregnancy. It’s not in any officer training he received. For a diplomat, later it will occur to him that the captain’s announcement was unceremonious at best. And blunt.

Will is handling it all wrong, and he’s painfully aware of it before his shipmates are staring at him in surprise. He deserves Deanna’s sharp retort that it’s an even bigger surprise to her.

One look at her, and he can see how she’s holding herself stiffly. Compressing in any emotion. Constrained and with that stoic mask in place. It’s more than the emotional wall she’s carefully constructed. It occurs to him that she is sitting as far as she can from everyone else while still being in the same room.

This new ship’s doctor is bring them up to speed with detached professionalism. It’s the biggest pile of nonsensical ideas, and before any more of the words can make their way through his ears and interpret into meaning, there it is on the screen, alive and even more real.

A very clear growing fetus. Soon to be a baby. Deanna’s name and rank are displayed with Starfleet precision, and Will is struggling to figure out why they are having this conversation at all. Because while she’ll certainly have to rotate off duty in the future, he’s simply wondering how this happened at all.

There are precautions they all take, and it’s standard. Because while some families live on board, Will hasn’t heard of an unplanned pregnancy on a starship before. Or at least Deanna used to take these precautions, a sinister part of his brain reminds him that it’s not a topic that comes up in their professional discourse. He’s seen her around the ship an in Ten Forward before, but usually with Beverly or Data.

She’s an intensely private person, but she’s never hidden relationships before.

“…. We believe conception took place eleven hours ago.”

“What?” the word is out before he can hope to stop it. It’s reflexive, and certainly nothing like a professional First Officer should be reacting to a colleague. The ephemeral edges of something is starting to fit together, but Will is still trying to wrap his head around the idea that Deanna would… what? Have a relationship with someone else without him knowing? Plan a family?

She won’t meet his gaze, and Deanna clearly wants to be somewhere else altogether. Her only words have been directed at Will. And were defiant. In any other context it would be disrespect for a superior officer. But this was less like Starfleet rank or decorum and felt as charged as their lover’s quarrels.

None of it is making sense in his brain. Hours later and weeks older. And thirty six hours more until a baby, and Will can’t control his words today. It has to be asked because there aren’t any explanations, and so he asks for the one answer that he thinks should be the easiest to explain. The father.

But when she finally starts to talk for herself, she finally looks at him. And she’s talking about her sleep and a presence, and it unsettles all of them. A part of him realizes that it’s not about how they feel—Picard, Data, Worf, himself. Their ship is supposed to be safe. The safety of the crew is first. But at her most vulnerable, asleep, something had happened. And she was struggling to find words or an explanation to encompass it.

He wants explanations. Rationalization. Because how can anyone on the ship be safe—how can she be safe—if they don’t even know what or who? He’s not saying she should abort, but he wants to know the options. There are supposed to be explanations. Because she has choices, but they have a crew and ship to consider, and there’s Deanna’s health and safety, too. And yet he’s painfully aware that they have a window of time, a fast-closing window thirty six hours. And even that is an estimate for a situation that has already proved wildly unpredictable.

Leave it to Counselor Deanna Troi of the Fifth House of Betazed to put down her foot. The captain is smart enough to know she’s going to be unyielding on this point. Will wants to argue, but she gives him that look. The one that he knows means there is nothing he can say or do to change her mind.

 She carries motherhood well. And Will does his best not to stare. Because she’s striking in the rich blue, and she’s settled into her usual spot on the captain’s left. For all of their shock and how washed out she was the day before, she’s glowing now.

He doesn’t begrudge her this chance at motherhood. Part of him wants to think he would be more open to it had she been in a relationship. It’s backward and smacks of something he can’t quite name. It’s old-fashioned. A small part of him finally admits that he used to imagine that someday she would look something like this while carrying their child.

But Deanna has been very busy. In less than a day Geordi helped coordinate her move to family quarters. Data had helped her organize her things. But he had bridge duty, and he has sufficiently put his foot in his mouth so much in one senior staff meeting alone that Will didn’t dare show his face.

 He heard Data’s call for the security team to sickbay, and he knew. He knew she was in labor. There were protocols that Worf had already insisted upon. More than once in the meetings between the security chief, and captain, and himself Will had wanted to shake the Klignon for the imagined threats Worf had implied. The captain’s cooler head had prevailed, ultimately scaling it down to a small security team.

While he was still struggling to warm up to this new doctor, at a time when he knew Deanna would’ve far preferred Beverly Crusher, he was glad when he arrived at maternity to find the steely doctor had insisted security stand aside.

He should be in there with her.

It seems calm for a birth. There are quiet assurances from the doctor, but he can hear her effort from the door. He should be holding her hand. Encouraging her. Offering her strength. But he hasn’t been welcomed or asked. And he’s hurt her too much before and been too careless with himself to intrude on this moment. If she’s finding something good in this, he doesn’t want to interfere with these moments of joy.

The small cry hurts, though. Because he had ideas of what it might have been. If he hadn’t been so arrogant and full of his own ambitions. Will has imagined several ideas of what their children could have been. Taller like him, with her dark hair and curls. Unfathomable dark eyes full of quiet knowing. Maybe one of their children might have loved music like he did. Or inherited some smaller traces of Deanna’s empathic abilities. Or her gift for languages. And a small squeak emerges from that infant as if to highlight these last thoughts. Will wonders.

As the security detail tucks tail and exits, humbled by the sight of an ordinary baby, there’s her father’s name supplying the answer. He’s moving in now, unable to stop himself. Shifting from orbit to be drawn like gravity to her side.

And like the sun emerging after a storm, she’s smiling at him. A bigger, more open smile than he’s seen from her in a very long time. His own smile comes readily to greet it. “Were you here all along?”

He can feel her forgiveness in those five words, and Will’s smile widens as he nods. Because there’s no one whose anger is worse when it’s directed at him than Deanna’s. He’s relieved, too. That it’s a humanoid baby. That she’s safe and made it through the last days, seeming to thrive. That she’s not in pain. And she’s happy. And he has tears in his eyes.

The words are hard to get out. Because Ian is a beautiful child. And she’s never looked more beautiful to him. And he doesn’t know what to expect next, so he kisses her cheek instead. The depth and fragility of the moment is summed up in a gesture, and he feels the ghost of the connection between them for a long moment. Her understanding and thanks.

 The bridge seems emptier without her. He’s never really considered it before. Because she has always been in and out with her responsibilities as counselor. But now she’s on maternity leave. While he’s heard plenty of stories of long labors and partners with hands practically crushed with the tension of a women in labor… well, hers seemed so easy and calm.

Will wants to check in her, but he has the bridge. They’re in the middle of transfers of delicate cargo. Dangerous cargo.

And it will have to wait until he’s off duty.

He’s fully cognizant that Deanna struggles with asking for help. But surely she would trust him to hold Ian for a bit or watch after the boy while she rests because he’s worked with enough new parents to know sleep can be hard to come by. He wants to confer with Dr. Pulaski to see if anyone has talked to her about a nurse to help her at night so she can still get some sleep. Knowing Deanna, she would insist she could handle it. It feels too much like interfering to go directly to the doctor, but maybe he can bring it up to Deanna later.

But later doesn’t come. Because it doesn’t take gossip long to travel around a ship, even a larger craft like the Enterprise. He hears things he doesn’t like hearing crew say about one of their own. Will is painfully aware that his past relationship, and privately tangled feelings about Deanna, make him more defensive than usual.

He can’t help but overhear the chilling call to Deanna’s quarters. Not once has he heard her this upset, and it’s worse yet because she’s always the more composed among the crew. They’ve always relied on her to steady them in times of crisis. But she has Ian clutched to her chest as though willing the boy into health. And Will is kicking himself not doing the math sooner. While this is far sooner than they ever could have predicted… had any of them considered that if Ian continued this rate of growth, a heartbreaking end was barreling toward them?

Will is frozen to the spot. He’s useless here. Nothing he can do medically to help. No solutions he can conjure for a rabbit trick. She’s struggling front of them, and he’s helpless.

They have an explanation now. It’s logical. Simple. But not harmless because of the toll it has taken on her. She’s silently falling apart, but he’s acutely aware she’s holding herself together for their sake. He wants to stay with her. To comfort her. But she’s not asked. She will grieve privately. And only after they go, and so the only compassionate thing he can do is encourage Data and Pulaski to follow. He hates leaving her to this. Set apart. Just as it began.

[aceholmes]

The Uncharted (7/?)

summary: emotions are running high as both yar and troi have to think fast to get out of their respective situations.

here it is on ao3!

“Commander Rak Jamin.” Yar states, standing. “We have come to a conclusion.”

“Which is?” Rak remains stoic, unmoving. Kaz watches, almost completely emotionless as well.

“Unless there is evidence that Kaz has any information you are willing to believe that she has taken from you, she would be innocent for the time being.” Yar states.

“Who are you to say that she will be tried by the Federation’s Justice system?” Rak sneers. “This is a Romulan offence, after all.”

Yar shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “You claim she has information. And when was this?”

“Yes, information that is strictly classified. The transmission that was sent to Kaz Jamin was sent to her two months ago.” Rak returns.

“If Kaz Jamin were to receive this supposed information, where would she able to do it from?” Yar asks.

“Are you playing games with me, Captain? Hurry up or I shall fire on you again, and I will be less kind this time.”

Yar continues. “She would only be able to do it from this starship. Our ship’s logs will indicate that Kaz Jamin has not left this ship for three months and fifteen days.”

“And your point, Captain?” Rak huffs, impatiently.

“Whatever information she may have received would result in traces in our computer databanks. In fact, we would be alerted immediately if a file from a Romulan source entered our databanks.” Yar explains. “If you run a scan of Kaz Jamin’s, computer and PADD databank, you will find that all her files originate from Federation sources.”

“Captain.” Commander Hurley, the head of Operations, speaks out. “It would not be wise to let the Romulans have access to our files during the scanning.”

“I’ve taken that into consideration, Commander.” Yar takes a deep breath. She nods. “You may proceed.”

“Scanning files of Personnel 5153-RJ. Commander Hurley announces. Scan complete.”

“Nothing but Federation files, Commander.” A bridge officer on the Romulan vessel shouts. Rak Jamin’s expression is unchanging, but even Yar can tell that he’s clenching his jaw.

“Thank you for your time, Commander.” Yar raises a hand, and urges Hurley to cut the connections. “Stand down, and get ready to retreat.”

“Aye, sir.” The helmsman replies. “Retreating.”

Yar sits down in her chair, shaking.

“What have I done.” She mutters, under her breath.

“Captain.” Hurley speaks up. “I would want to question why you did let the Romulans scan our files, given that it could pose a potential security risk.”

“For Commander Jamin’s case, it shouldn’t have.” Yar explains. “She came to me a few weeks ago and inquired about having new encryption software installed. The engineering team has come up with a solution, and we have implemented it.”

“Since when?” Hurley crosses his arms. “We weren’t informed.”

“This morning, when I got back on board.” Yar grits her teeth. “Sorry.”

“Captain, could I request to converse with you privately?” Hurley informs.

Yar nods. “In my ready room, Commander.”

Hurley opens his mouth even before the doors to the ready room close. “Captain, could I speak frankly?”

Yar nods. “Proceed.”

“I personally disagree, to a strong extent, with your actions regarding the Romulan encounter.” Hurley spits out, brutally honest. “It was not in the best interest of Starfleet to allow them access to our files. It wasn’t in our best interest either for you to activate the new encryption software without informing us beforehand.”

Yar gives an audible sigh, and buries her face in her hands. “I thought so too. I wasn’t thinking.” She pauses. “Commander, do you think I’m a bad Captain? Be honest.”

“You’re normally capable of handling your usual duties.” He hesitates.

“And because my wife goes missing, I have become slave to my emotions and I’m unable to think objectively.” She continues. Rising from her seat, she faces the window, looking as the stars streak by.

“Captain, you must understand, you should be given time to grieve, yes, but there is work to be done.” Hurley urges.

“What are you going to do about that? Relieve me of duty? Report me to Starfleet?” Yar’s voice rises.

“I’m sure that you’re well aware of the responsibilities that come along with being a Captain.”

Yar snaps. “Commander Hurley, I’m well aware of your upbringing as an Admiral’s son, but you do not have the right to address me as if you were an Admiral.”

Hurley shrugs, mockingly. “Wait and see, Captain.” He turns and leaves in a huff, without waiting for Yar’s dismissal.

Enraged, Yar almost slams the drawer shut again, but stops herself. Shaking her head, she heads to the holodeck, determined to let off some steam.

“There’s a body in here.” Swift gestures to the Jefferies tube, breathing hard.

“A body?” Ke’lth looks up from his station. He blinks, hard. “Let me get to it.”

“No,” Troi insists. “The EMH recommends that you complete your therapy sessions with him before you engage in any physically vigourous activity.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I think I’ll manage.” Ke’lth insists. Troi gives a sigh. Ke’lth’s the most stubborn person she knows, but stubborn in a good way.

“It could help us find out what happened to the ship,” suggests Swift. “There seemed to be a clear blue precipitate on the body.”

“Precipitate?” Ke’lth turns back from the Jefferies Tube. “Solid or liquid?”

“Seemed like a fluid to me.” Swift shrugs.

“Did you come into contact with the body or the precipitate?” Troi asks.

Swift shakes her head. “Thank God, no.”

“I’ll have to return to sick bay to get a biohazard suit, and some apparatus to store the precipitate in.” Ke’lth reports, and leaves the bridge.

Troi glances over at Swift, her empathic senses on full alert. Something’s hammering at her, and she doesn’t know whether it’s Swift’s fear or her own.

“You’re greatly alarmed,” Troi notes, placing a hand on Swift’s upper arm. Swift shivers, grimacing.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” grumbles Swift. “I’m not supposed to be scared of these things. I’m supposed to be the head of Security who deals with threats firsthand, and not the poor cadet who heads in the opposite direction at the speed of light.”

“Once in a while, people do get scared. We’re in an unfamiliar environment, and an unusual one. Situations like these tend to keep us all on edge.”

“I just can’t wait to go home.” Swift groans, throwing her head back and yawning. “Don’t you miss home?”

An emptiness strikes at Troi’s heart, but she doesn’t push it away. She’s spent all week repressing that feeling, trying to keep focused on the immediate tasks at hand.

“Tasha’s out there. Maybe she’s looking for us.” Troi wants to shrink into a small ball. Counselling people is different from feeling the emotions firsthand, and she knows that.

“And what if they think we’re dead?” Swift drops the question nobody wants to ask. She brushes her hair out of her eyes, and Troi can see that she’s on the verge of crying. “I’m just so tired.”

“You should rest.” Troi replies. She turns back to the big viewscreen, the stars still dancing across the sky as they normally do. She brings her attention to the ring on her left hand, and sighs deeply as she twists it.

“Knowing Tasha, I don’t think she’ll give up that easily. I have faith in her.” Troi suggests, optimistically. Deep down, there’s that small twinge of doubt. She fights against it, pushing it away.

Oh, Tasha, if only I could find you. Her mind searches, thoughts winding. Maybe she could attempt to send a telepathic dream link tonight, but it would only reach Tasha if she was lucky.

Another vase smashes as Tasha brings the bat around, clenching her teeth at the sound of the shatters. She picks one of the bigger shards up and throws it upon the ground again, letting loose a cry. Blinking the tears out of her eyes, she finds that her hands have been stained with fresh blood, the source being numerous shallow cuts on her palms. It’s almost satisfying to see the broken shards of porcelain, but not quite.

She’s so busy she doesn’t even notice Kaz standing behind her, and almost swings the bat into her. She stops in the nick of time, her cheeks flushed and tear-stained.

“What are you doing here?” Tasha demands. “I thought I overrode the privacy controls.”

“You didn’t.” Kaz explains. “You forgot.” She reaches out for Tasha’s hands. “Let me see.”

Tasha stubbornly turns her back to Kaz, crossing her arms. “You don’t need to help me. There’s nothing wrong with me. I just wanted to let off some steam, after all.”

“Anger is a stage of grief. Recovery is, in most cases, not instant, nor is it linear. I, for one, think you need to be given more time to grieve.”

“She’s not gone forever.” Tasha bites back on her words. “There’s a possibility that she’s out there, maybe in another timeline. We can still get them back.”

“A traumatic experience such as this could take years to recover from.” Kaz reaches out.

Tasha snaps, voice rising in a crescendo. “Would you stop accepting that they’re gone?”

“They aren’t. But there’s still work to be done, and people need to understand that you’re having a tough time juggling your work and your emotions.”

“I wish I could talk to Deanna about this. With her around, we didn’t need a counsellor.” Tasha recalls the times Deanna helped her through with her trauma. She remembers the countless nights where memories of her childhood came back to her and she could do almost nothing but cry, but Deanna was never away from her side. Deanna, Deanna, Deanna. The main source of stability in her chaotic life.

“I wonder how she must be feeling right now.” Tasha says, out loud.

“She wouldn’t want to see your hands in this state.” Kaz points out. “She wouldn’t want you to be hurting yourself. She’d want you to carry on, with your fierce strength.”

Tasha looks down at her blood-stained hands, and chokes back tears. “She’d want me to continue doing my work to the best of my ability. That’s what she loved in me. I tried my best at everything I put my hand to.”

“Come on.” Kaz urges, turning to leave the holodeck. “Those hands aren’t going to patch themselves.”

Tasha reluctantly accepts treatment, and as Doctor Ogawa goes over her hands with a dermal regenerator, Tasha warns Ogawa to swear the incident to secrecy, to which Ogawa sheepishly nods.

After returning to her quarters, Tasha stays in the shower for a long time, so long that Kaz has to check that she’s okay. Snapping out of her own thoughts, Tasha dresses, carefully avoiding Deanna’s nightdresses. Kaz offers to tuck her into bed. As the sheets are drawn over her weary, tired body, Tasha regrets this decision. It makes her feel weak and vulnerable, like a young sapling who can’t take care of themselves.

Pity, it seemed, could possibly be the worst thing a person could feel towards you.

Rolling over, Tasha drifts into sleep, with her conjured-up version of Deanna’s voice.

Tasha. Tasha.

Suddenly, it all feels very real, and Tasha doesn’t know how exactly to deal with it.

[aceholmes]

the uncharted (4/?)

jo’s unofficial summary: this is the most filler thing i’ve written ever.

here it is on ao3!

“No, no, dammit.” Distressed, Yar puts down her PADD. She still doesn’t know what exactly happened, or how she’s going to get Deanna back. Slamming the drawer, her pinky catches in the gap and she cries out sharply. She winces as she massages her finger, blowing on it.

The door chime sounds.

“Come in,” Yar announces, trying to act like nothing’s happened, which is exceedingly difficult to pull off when your finger feels like it’s on a hot stove.

“Captain.” Doctor Ogawa steps in, clearing the doorway. She comes forward, sitting on the chair when Yar invites her in.

“So, I’ve been receiving reports that,” Ogawa starts, but stops when Yar looks away. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing.” Yar tries to fake a smile, keeping her hand under the table. Her cheeks redden - the pain’s not easy to conceal. After years of having access to painkilling hyposprays almost as and when she needs them, just a slight bit of pain almost seems unbearable.

“Let me see that.” Ogawa glances over at Yar’s hand. Reluctantly, Yar brings her hand over the side of the table and lets Ogawa examine it.

“Bleeding under the nail.” Ogawa chides. “I’ll have to get my dermal replicator, and edit the frequencies to work around the nail. But that’s not the main reason I’m here.”

“Oh?” Yar sits forward. “There’s something else?”

Ogawa pauses, considering her words. “Captain, it’s about your health.”

“What about my health?” Yar shoots back, nonchalantly.

Ogawa reads off her PADD. “Replicator logs suggest that you’ve increased your caffeine intake by five hundred percent during the course of this last week. It’s five extra cups of coffee every day, not enough for an overdose, but still concerning. The security logs reported that you haven’t been in your quarters for three days.” She leans forward, a sympathetic look on her face. “I’m aware that you’re very worried about Commander Troi, but it’s not worth ruining your health over.”

“So I’ve been sporadically drinking coffee throughout the day to keep myself awake.” Yar states. “You’ve made it sound like I take the five cups all at once.”

“You haven’t been sleeping.” says Ogawa. “And I need to make sure that you get the rest you need, or you’ll collapse.”

“I’ll rest when I find her.” Yar resists, stubbornly. “There’ll be a breakthrough.”

“It could take a long time. What did Ensign Rutter say, something about time anomalies?” Ogawa asks.

“There’s still hope for Commander Troi and the others.” Yar shifts in her seat and crosses her arms. “We just have to keep searching.”

“Look, if you don’t calm down and get some rest I’ll have to relieve you of duty.” Ogawa warns, her voice stern. “I’m doing this in the best interest of our ship and for you. A tired Captain can be prone to making all the wrong decisions.”

Yar leans back in her chair and lifts her left hand to cover her eyes. Considering for a moment, she finally speaks, shaking her head. “I need to find her. There’s no reason for me to give up now.”

“Then in the best interest of this ship and its crew, I, Chief Medical Officer Alyssa Ogawa, temporarily relieve you, Captain Natasha Yar of duty. Until you return from shore leave, I don’t want to hear another word from you about work. Understood?”

Yar sighs, before giving in. “Understood.” It’s hard to take in, that she’s just been forcibly pulled away from her mission. She rises, surveying the table. “I’ll get a pilot to take me to the nearest Starbase in a shuttlecraft. From there I’ll find transport to Earth. I’ll be there for two weeks, and by then the Vienna should be in orbit around planet X-2030, which will have its classification by then.”

“That’s right.” Ogawa nods. “Starfleet will inform you if there are any changes, or if the missing officers have been found.”

“Alright.” Yar removes her hand from over her eyes. “To be honest, Alyssa,” she sighs, “I didn’t think you were going to be serious about relieving me of duty.”

“I do what I have to do. It’s what kept Beverly’s sick bay running.” Ogawa smiles. “Have fun on shore leave, Captain.”

Ke’lth sits propped up against a wall, breathing hard. He hands the medical tricorder to Commander Troi, who scans him. His Klingon tones are gruff enough, but combined with the physical exertion of breathing with the injury, Ke’lth’s words are almost indecipherable.

Lieutenant Swift bends down, meeting them at eye level. “Bring me to sickbay,” pleads Ke’lth. “Two broken ribs, and risk of a punctured lung.”

“How did this happen?” Commander Troi asks. “Both Lieutenant Swift and I passed through the rift fine.”

“We were thrown out of the rift.” Ke’lth replies, stopping to cough. “You two passed through with only mild concussions. I was thrown against the console before I passed out.”

Commander Troi nods. “Computer, are there any life signs on board?”

“Three life signs. One Klingon, one human, one human-Betazoid hybrid.”

“Where is sick bay located?” Lieutenant Swift asks.

“Sick bay is located on Deck 14, Section 12.”

“Are all systems functioning normally?” Commander Troi inquires again, motioning for Lieutenant Swift to wait before dragging Ke’lth to their feet.

“Artificial gravity systems on decks 10 through 17 are offline. All other systems working.”

Commander Troi assists Lieutenant Swift in helping Ke’lth up, and the trio hobble towards the turbolift.

The sun is warm when Tasha arrives at her room at the hotel, tired from the flight. Her simple luggage hangs by her side. As she steps through the door, her PADD beeps with a message. With her heart in her throat, she’s expecting it to be the message that announces that Deanna is back, but is ultimately let down.

We’ve arranged dinner. Meet us at the Ambience cafe at seven. It’s a simple affair, nothing fancy.

J-L and B.

Tasha groans, sinking onto the bed. She’s got a few hours to kill before that, and she decides to unpack. The first thing that falls out of her luggage is her photograph of Deanna, which flutters gently to the ground like a feather. The breeze picks up, and the photograph wafts towards the open balcony door. Alarmed, Tasha jumps and reaches for the photograph. Her fingers, long and slender, catch the slim object between them just before it disappears over the edge of the balcony. She heaves a sigh of relief, and returns to her room, shutting the glass door behind her.

Deanna smiles back with the starlight in her eyes, reflecting off the gloss of the photo. Tasha remembers that photo well - they took it during their last shore leave together, when they went for a nice hover-skiing holiday on the slopes of Argra. A snow colony of the Federation, they had enjoyed themselves immensely interacting with other officers who had come from far and wide to wind down.

Sighing at the memory, Tasha glances back down at the photograph again.

Deanna’s grey-streaked hair is covered with the hood of her snow jacket, which is a rich royal purple. Deanna looks good in all colours, Tasha notes. Clasping her gloved hands, she looks regal as she does always. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, and her lips slightly chapped. Even if it’s just a photograph, it seems real enough to Tasha. She closes her eyes, and wishes that Deanna was actually there with her. No, she waves it off. She’s not a child any more, and wishing isn't going to do any good.

A tear rolls off her face, and splashes onto the collar of her shirt. “I miss you so much,” Tasha softly sobs, and tucks the photograph into her breast pocket. She lets herself sob openly - it’s the first time since she allowed herself to show any strong emotion regarding Deanna’s disappearance. Tucking her legs up, she curls up on the bed, relaxing her muscles. As she hazily breezes in and out of consciousness, it’s almost as if she can hear Deanna humming, soothing her to sleep.

Troi whispers a soothing lullaby to Ke’lth as she, Swift and Ke’lth traverse the zero-gravity environment of deck 14. Ke’lth’s forehead is slick with sweat, and he breathes heavily with every movement.

“You’ll make it there,” Swift assures, looking down the hallway. “Another three hundred meters to go.”

Ke’lth winces.

“Computer, is rerouting energy systems to gravity modifiers possible?” Troi asks.

“The available energy is only sufficient to stabilise artificial gravity in a class-B room or lower.”

“Sick bay.” Swift says. “Sick bays are usually class-B.”

“Great.” Troi replies. “We’ll just have to make it there.” Ke’lth tumbles through the atmosphere, narrowly clearing an overturned utility trolley. Troi dodges it too, but Swift doesn’t move fast enough. It clocks her in the knee, making her shout and curse in pain.

“I’m alright,” reports Swift. “Just bruises.”

Troi takes a deep breath, and forges forward.

[aceholmes]

the uncharted (2/?)

not an actual summary: jo gets shippy and/or tries to actually further the plot

here it is on ao3!

The door slides open with a whoosh, and Captain Tasha Yar steps onto the bridge of the USS Vienna. A sleek, brilliant Intrepid-Class starship, it is her pride and joy, as well as her most pressing responsibility.

“Captain,” Commander Jamin, the second officer, calls from from the helm. Her slightly pointed ears mark her as having Romulan blood, but Yar trusts her nonetheless, as a fellow Starfleet Officer. “We have reached the coordinates you have specified.”

“Very well.” Yar walks over, and sits in her chair in the centre of the bridge. “Engines to full stop.”

The head of Operations, Lieutenant Hurley, calls from a station to her left. “Starfleet has an incoming message for the bridge crew of the Vienna. Shall I put it on the viewscreen?”

“Please do.” Yar nods, and turns to the screen. After a brief pause, the image of Admiral Leila Johnson appears on screen. She’s one of the newly appointed Admirals - Yar was there at the ceremony where she was given her rank. With a stony, serious expression, she explains that there’s been a natural disaster on Meinar VI, a class-M planet at the edge of discovered space. Yar listens on, with sympathy for the refugees, who will have to evacuate to the nearest habitable planet. But there’s more, Admiral Johnson says. “Premature scans of that sector have shown that there are habitable planets in that region, which has not been charted yet as of now.”

“And my orders are to find a habitable planet for the refugees to settle?” Yar reiterates. “Admiral, are there no other planets in the region that have been confirmed to be habitable?”

“I’m afraid not. The planets in the Marion System are all ice planets, except for Meinar VI, which is close enough to their sun to be habitable. Scans by the USS Delta have shown that the planets in the next system, the Veonia System, have temperatures that are sustaining life. However,” the Admiral pauses to take a breath, “Delta was destroyed by a Romulan freighter when passing through the area. They did not report any more additional information about the Veonia System.”

At the mention of the word ‘Romulan’, the whole bridge seems to flinch. Commander Jamin steels herself, clenching her fists.

“We shall follow our orders.” Yar replies. The screen blanks out. Glancing at her console, Yar locates the position of the planet.

“Set a course for Meinar VI, Commander Jamin,” orders Yar. “Engage.”

A chime sounds, indicating that the shift is over.

“We should go,” Troi indicates for Yar to step down. She’s very aware of Yar’s tendencies to overwork herself, and she’s determined to have that happen as little as possible, especially on a day like this. They’ll reach Meinar VI in eighteen hours, and it’s a huge operation.

Tasha hands over the bridge to the night crew, and leaves the bridge with Deanna. The turbolift is empty, silent except for the whirring of the machinery moving. Inching closer, Deanna slips her hand into Tasha’s. Tasha flinches slightly, but takes her hand gratefully.

“What are you afraid of? The whole crew knows we’re married. It’s not like it’s even recent news,” Deanna pokes, smiling. “We’ve been married for five years now, Tash.”

Tasha stifles a giggle at the mention of Deanna’s special nickname for her. “I can’t believe it’s been five years.”

“It feels longer.” Deanna reminisces. “Remember when we first started serving on the Enterprise together?”

“With Geordi and Worf and Beverly and all the others. I miss them.” Tasha sighs.

“Speaking of Beverly, this brings us to shore leave.” Deanna brings up. “We’re very lucky this time. Beverly and Jean-Luc are taking their shore leave at the same time, and they’ll be in Paris for a few days. Which, coincidentally, is the place which I’ve planned for us to visit.”

“Paris. City of Love.” Tasha says, giving a side glance at Deanna. “How are they, anyway?”

“Jean-Luc and Beverly? Engaged.”

A smile spreads across Tasha’s face. “That’s wonderful of them.”

The doors open on Deck 5. Deanna leads Tasha by the hand, back to their quarters. Upon entering their shared quarters, the lights brighten, and Deanna walks over to the replicator first. “Two bowls of Feline Supplement 56.” Shimmering, the two bowls appear and she puts the bowls down on the floor. The two cats, Data and Geordi emerge from the bedroom and run for their food. Bending down, Tasha lightly pets Data, the tabby cat, on his head. His wide eyes stare curiously, before dipping down again to focus on his food.

Tasha looks over at Geordi, the black cat. Human superstition has said that black cats are bad luck, but Geordi’s case would prove otherwise. To Deanna and Tasha, Geordi’s brought much joy and little trouble. Most importantly, he’s drawn them closer than ever before.

“I wonder how Data and Geordi feel about us having cats named after them.” Deanna says.

Tasha shrugs, getting to her feet. “I guess we’ll have to let them know.”

“Tasha.” Deanna says, her tone stern. “You’re worried.”

“I’m not,” denies Tasha, but there’s no lying to an empath. She knows.

“Would you want to talk about it?” Deanna asks, leading Tasha to the sofa.

Tasha clasps her hands. “It’s just that,” she pauses, “I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Deanna probes.

“You know. Being a Starfleet officer means being in the line of duty. I don’t want to see you on the transporter pad for the last time because something happened to you on a planet’s surface and we can’t save you-”

“This has to do with what happened fourteen years ago. When you nearly died on that away mission to save me.” Deanna whispers. “Oh, Tasha.”

“I’ve seen more and more death as time goes on.” Tasha says, shivering. “I can’t bear to lose you.”

“It’s a risk we all have to take,” Deanna explains, grabbing Tasha’s hand. “Take a few deep breaths. You’re very tense, Tasha.”

“I know,” Tasha acknowledges. Trusting fully in Deanna, she follows the instructions. After a few minutes, Tasha lies back on the sofa, relaxed. “I’ll try to keep it off my mind.”

“Good.” Deanna smiles, her eyes full of stars, reflecting the web of constellations in the dark indigo fabric that lies just beyond the tempered glass window. “We should get some sleep.” Rising, she turns to the bedroom. “Come along,” Deanna says, smirking. “I’ll even undress you if you like.”

Tasha follows, biting her lip. She loves the way Deanna’s hands gently and skillfully meander across the fabric of her uniform, sending shivers all over her body. When Tasha stands in the corner of the bedroom, down to her undergarments, Deanna lets Tasha do the same. To Tasha, undressing Deanna is like unwrapping a gift. Usually, she does it eagerly and hastily, but this time she takes her time, removing each clothing like it’s an important ceremony to her. Which it is, because she’s undoing all the layers that is Commander Troi of the USS Vienna and coming down to the core, which in its very purest form, is her wife, Deanna. The wife she loves and adores.

“You look beautiful tonight,” gasps Tasha, running her hands over Deanna’s shoulders, stopping to finger the strap of her lace brassiere. The look on Tasha’s face is one of astonishment, and of awe. In the fourteen years they’ve known each other, they’ve changed both physically and emotionally over the years. Though streaks of silver have started to cut through Deanna’s black, curly hair, they seem to only accentuate her timeless elegance and beauty.

“You’re always beautiful to me, Tasha.” Deanna leans in, her lips meeting with Tasha’s. It’s a short, chaste kiss, eventually. When they pull away, they can’t see each others’ expressions in the dark, but they both know that the other is giving them a lingering, loving glance, and that satisfies the roaring emotions in their hearts.

Tasha pulls the sheets over both of them as Deanna snuggles up against her, arms around Tasha’s hips. Yawning, Tasha says a muffled ‘good night’ before the exhaustion catches up with her, and she dreams of their good times together.