"Ideals"
By: Doctor Ilan Potts - Assistant Chief Counselor
Crewman Leilani Pfeiffer - Lounge Staff [NPC]
and Ensign Raina Derrell - Medical Officer

Location: USS Sulu, Deck 2 Corridor and Ship's Lounge
Stardate: 57908.01, 00h39

***

Ensign Derrell had had another long day in Sickbay and she desperately needed to unwind. While her meeting with the CMO had gone quite well, the meeting had reinforced her diligence to duty and she ended up not only working her own shift but most of Beta as well. It wasn't a problem really; Emergency Medicine demanded long, odd hours and she had been acclimated to them for years. In fact, she had shown up on all the Sulu duty shifts during her brief time on the ship. However, those demands taught the experienced officer to take advantage of downtime when you could. Medical emergencies were somewhat unlikely while the ship was still in spacedock and that was the time to take advantage of the various social accoutrements. One might not have the chance later.

With that in the back of her mind, Derrell found herself on Deck 2 with no clear idea on where she was going or what she planned to do. Deck 2 could be considered the social hub of the ship; there were two holodecks there as well as the ship's lounge and mess hall. Vaguely, Derrell had a drink on her mind but a late night snack also held a certain appeal and her steps towards the lounge were slow and plodding as they were dogged by her indecision. Just at the point that she finally chose sustenance over synthehol with the former being further away than the latter, a couple of crewman burst through the lounge doors looking like they were running from a Borg assimilation. Before the double doors slid back shut she caught a whiny, nasally, and yet somehow familiar amplified voice drifting out into the corridor:

"Thank you, thank you, Sulu," the voice said with enthusiasm. There was a pause and a slight squelch of an old fashioned microphone. "I'd like to take it down a notch and croon to you with the soothing tunes of Mis --"

The door slid closed, shutting off the sounds but Ensign Derrell was already on her way to it with a smile on her face to witness the massacre in progress.

***

The song "My Ideal" had been treated to more than a few renditions in the 450 years since it was written by Leo Robin, Richard A. Whiting, and Newell Chase. Chet Baker had taken a crack as had Frank Sinatra, Anna Callahan, Jimmy Dorsey, and Sarn Religus. It was a short song, lyrically simple, with an instrumental interlude that took up fully half of it. Accompanied by a jazz horn, it was a song that demanded nearly no vocal range and almost could have been performed as a spoken word piece. It was a hard song to mess up.

Ilan Potts was up on a makeshift stage in an ill-fitting black tuxedo that was too long in the arms while being too short in the leg. His bow tie was undone in true lounge performer fashion with one hand gripping a sweating gin and tonic and the other wrapped tightly around an old fashioned wired microphone. His gestures were a little too animated for the slow deliberate trumpet that formed the melody. His nasally voice made the lyrics quite unpleasant to the ear but what he lacked in talent, he made up in showmanship:

"Will I ever find / The girl in my mind / The one who is my i-deal? / Maybe she's a dream / And yet she might be / Just around the corner wai-ting for me. / Will I re-cog-nize / The light in her eyes / That no other eyes reveal? / Or will I pass her by / And never even know that / She was my i-deal?"

As the instrumental began, Raina ghosted further and further into the lounge until Crewman Pfeiffer, leaning on the bar, spotted her in the corner of her eye. For her part, Pfeiffer had heard Potts mangle the same song so many times in the past half hour that she was swiftly becoming immune. Still, she couldn't help but misinterpret the smile on Ensign Derrell's face.

"Please don't tell me you're actually enjoying this, sir?" Pfeiffer pleaded.

"Well, no...don't misunderstand me. I'm amused to actually see him this way. He was one of my professors at the Academy," Raina commented.

"Maybe that explains the smile," the Crewman said, seemingly relieved. "Can I get you something?"

"Fruit juice will be just fine, Crewman. Anything more and I'll be up all night," Raina added.

Pfeiffer nodded towards Dr. Potts. "You may be up all night anyway, sir. I think I'll be haunted for quite some time. I didn't think it got worse than Espinoza's 'Always on my Mind'." That said, she left to get Raina's drink.

Potts, in the midst of swinging his microphone during the long instrumental spotted Derrell and smiled broadly, though out of recognition or appreciation of having an audience was impossible to tell. Potts upended his drink and sat the glass down on a nearby barstool. He pointed at Raina as he broke into the big finish:

"Will I re-cog-nize / The light in her eyes / That no other eyes reveal? / Or will I pass her by / And never even know that / She. Was. My. I-deal?"

Raina just continued to listen, still amused by the scene before her. He had been one of her more eccentric instructors as a Cadet. Now he was here on the Sulu. She thanked Crewman Pfeiffer when her drink arrived.

In absence of any kind of applause, Potts still managed to keep his grin. "Thank you, Sulu. Thank you," the microphone squealed. "I'll be taking a little break for the next five to ten but I'll be back. Count on it." Pfeiffer merely let a slow sigh escape as Potts bounded off the stage towards Ensign Derrell. It seemed that 'My Ideal' was destined to become part of her brain chemistry.

"Raina Derrell," Potts greeted heartily, approaching the lovely dark haired woman perched on a stool at the bar. Derrell had made quite an impression on Ilan when he was an instructor and he hadn't even needed a moment to search his cluttered mind for the woman's name. He extended his hand. "Are you following me, Ensign? If that's the case, you are incredibly slow."

She returned his smiled. "No I believe this time you are following me. I have to say it's a surprise to see you on the Sulu," Raina admitted. In fact that did truly catch her off guard.

"Brand new arrival," Potts said, doing a funny little leap onto a bar stool of his own. He held out his hands to steady himself for a microsecond before giving Crewman Pfeiffer a double-point. "Gin and tonic with a twist of turnip, my good Crewman," Potts said, banging out an unmelodic drumbeat on the bar with his fingertips.

Pfeiffer waited until she passed and her back was to him before she rolled her eyes. "No turnips, sir," she reminded him for the fiftieth time. "You're getting lime. And you're liking it."

"Yes, sir," Potts said cheerfully. He turned back to Derrell. "Are you an old space dog aboard the ship, Derrell? Been with her a long time?"

"Older than you but not old I'd say. Sulu is a pretty new assignment for me as well," Raina replied.

Potts nodded politely. "Medical or Science?" he asked, indicating her blue collar. "If you tell me you're in the Counseling department, I'll be in absolute heaven. I love to surround myself with friendly beautiful faces."

Raina answered with a slight smile, "Medical. I'm Sulu's Emergency Medical specialist. Sorry to disappoint you, Doctor."

"Oh, no disappointment at all, Ensign," Potts said happily. His drink spun to a stop in front of him and he picked it up for a sip. "So, you're getting to work closely with Doctor Sefton then," he said, a tad enviously. "Remarkable woman."

"That she is. Dr. Sefton is an excellent department head," Raina commented, taking a sip of her drink as they conversed.

"I'm a little sweet on her," Potts admitted, even becoming a little bashful. He noticed Ensign Derrell's amused look. "Oh, she already knows..." Potts tapped the side of his head "...Telepath, you know." Potts frowned thoughtfully into his drink. "I'm not sure if she's very fond of me."

"Oh I know she's a telepath." Raina did her best not to look startled by his admission. "I'd say I'm surprised but then that isn't really anything new with you now is it. Though I'm not sure it's the best way to make a good first impression on this ship either."

"I've given up on first impressions long ago, Raina," Potts laughed heartily. "People usually warm up to me sooner or later, given enough time and synthehol." He raised his glass in salute and gulped gin. "What you must have thought of me, your first day in class back at the Academy."

Raina laughed at his comment, "Well I wouldn't exactly say I was your typical Cadet. Though things have changed a lot since those days, for better or for worse."

"Things look for the better from where I'm sitting," Potts offered, looking over Derrell with only slightly restrained eyes. She was certainly a vision with porcelain skin and rich brown hair but there was a certain stiffness in her manner and a restraint in the way she spoke. Potts may have found her insanely attractive but his inner counselor was taking over for his libido. "Am I wrong, Ensign?"

"Wrong about what? I was just making a comment. There are some who see things differently," she replied. Interested to see just what Potts was getting at.

"Am I wrong about things being better?" Potts clarified. "You seem a bit melancholy. Is anything wrong?"

Raina looked at him. "Things are fine. It's just been a bit of a rough transition. No you aren't wrong about things being better, either." Finally a smile appeared.

"Good," Potts said. "Very good." He took a sip of his drink and steeled himself before looking to Raina. "So are you finding yourself sexually attracted to me at all, Ensign?"

That one caught Raina totally off guard. Her expression indicated she really didn't know what to say. "I guess I could ask you the same question," she commented. "This isn't really something I've contemplated until you asked that question. You were one of my instructors."

"Oh, I find you furiously attractive, Miss Derrell," Potts admitted rather bluntly and with a lascivious wink. "I never could ask your thoughts on the subject before since I was your instructor. But now...we're in different departments and you're not a patient or an underling. Just a lovely, lovely woman I would like to get to know better."

Honestly Raina hadn't had anyone say that to her in a long time. It was the second time in the last several minutes she had almost choked on her drink. "Well I'd say you truly have me at a disadvantage. You have to understand that recently my personal life hasn't exactly been a high point of my existence."

"How so?" Potts asked sincerely all the while inward cursing his professional side for interfering with his sex life.

"Let's just say fate hasn't always been kind to me. Duty sent me into a situation that took away innocence." Raina paused. "Since that time no one has been able to see me for who I truly am."

"I'm sorry, Raina." Potts expressed, a fair bit of sympathy also pushing his libido out of the way. It looked like the pants weren't going anywhere. "What is it people fail to see?"

"I think people can't look past the fact I found myself on the wrong side of enemy lines and that my captors decided to have their own sort of fun," she replied almost a bit too quietly. "Not something I dwell on and I've worked hard to recover from but most people don't dare to try an look past that."

"But how do they even know?" Potts asked. She seemed to be talking around the specific points and it was easily confusing to Ilan.

She looked at him. "I don't know it just seems that way or it certainly is after they find out so things never work out."

Potts was still confused. "But are these people accessing your private records or are they --"

"I think as much as everything else I'm scared. This wasn't a question I was prepared to answer on such short notice," Raina admitted.

"Well," Potts began, rolling the admission around in his head. "You certainly should get in with someone at counseling. Not me, I'm afraid. Our previous student teacher relationship would make my being your counselor a little improper. And it would prohibit me from asking you out on a proper date which I might very much like to do...if you're willing."

"Don't worry about the Counseling part...that's already under control. As for asking me out on a proper date I never said I wasn't willing," Raina replied. Unseen by Derrell, Pfeiffer turned slightly from her position down the bar, eyes wide at the admission.

"Just thought I should warn you given the tendency for talk on this ship," Raina finished with total sincerity.

"A little talk has never bothered me, Ensign," Potts said truthfully. "To me lumped into the rumor mill with you would be an honor and a pleasure." He smiled at her. "I might start a few myself."

Raina looked at him yet couldn't hide the smile that appeared. "You haven't interacted much with the medical staff then." There was part of her that wondered what had gotten into her.

"Only Doctor Sefton," Potts admitted, trying to not sound dreamy about the Betazoid. "She didn't strike me as much of a rumormonger but I've been fooled before. We'll just have to make sure to give her and her staff something interesting to talk about."

This was one moment she found herself at a loss for what to say. "Well I have to admit this wasn't a confession I expected to get this evening but it's a pleasant surprise."

"I'm literally full of surprises, Raina," Potts said proudly. "Both pleasant and otherwise." Potts went quiet and appeared to be scheming. "How about we both meet here again when the ship goes through the wormhole? The light show inside is supposed to be quite spectacular, I'm told. We can watch through the portals."

Raina nodded his invitation sounded like a wonderful idea. "Sounds good to me. I'm not exactly worried about what my department head will say because you're right, she's not that type."

Pfeiffer looked down and shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I will be counting moments," Potts said, getting down off his stool. He took her hand, bowed, and pressed his lips to it. "Now, if you will excuse me I need to get back to my singing. Can't disappoint the fans," he added, gesturing to the otherwise empty lounge.

"We can't have that now can we," Raina answered with a smile. "If you'll excuse me I should be getting some sleep. I have duty in the morning."

"Of course," Potts smiled, helping her down from the barstool. Raina smiled politely and walked for the door. As Potts watched her exit, he looked less dreamy and more troubled. Ensign Derrell was the loveliest of creatures but she had a streak of problems that was going to constantly pull his mind from the bedchamber and into his office. He wouldn't be able to help it. She needed a Counselor and a friend more than she needed a lover.

Pfeiffer leaned on the bar with an amused expression and watched him watching Derrell walk away. "Doctor," she said after the door closed on Raina's exit.

"Yes?" he responded, turning to her and smiling pleasantly.

"You know if you start singing that song again, I'm going to call Security. Right?"

Potts smiled bigger. "Can't disappoint the fans, Miss Pfeiffer," he said, making his way for the stage.

---

"Breaking the News"
By: Ensign Amy Reese
Counsellor Brennyn Scott

Location: Counsellor Scott's Office, USS Sulu
Stardate 57908.01, 16h15

***

Brennyn was just about to greet her next client in the waiting area when the chime rang, signalling she had an unexpected visitor. It was not uncommon, but still, it puzzled her since most people were busy working and visiting Deep Space Nine. Not too many people wanted to waste a moment more than they had to with a counselor. This must be important, Bree thought. Puzzled, she called out, "Come in!"

"Hi, Counsellor Scott." Amy Reese, attired in her Class A uniform, waved to the counsellor and took a step inside. "Not busy, are you?"

Scott was surprised to see Amy standing there. She'd received Potts' notes on his first session with Amy and had understood she had requested to see him from now on, which had surprised Scott, but it was Amy's choice and she was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I have an appointment in ten minutes, but I have some time. What's up?"

"Oh...nothing really," she answered with a shrug. She gave a nervous chuckle and restlessly swung her arms back and forth, glancing around the room anywhere but at the counsellor. "Did you do something different here? I could've sworn that plant was in the other corner."

Bree laughed. "Potts' idea. I'm humoring him."

Amy's attention was gripped immediately, and the smile she gave Bree was large and beaming. "Oh, he's a delightfully eccentric man, isn't he? I've decided to pick up one of his books." She sighed wondrously. "He has an amazingly intricate mind too." Amy went silent, and her grin seemed to wane. "See, he sort of understands me, Counsellor, for whatever reason. I-I mean, you're wonderful too and all, but..."

"But you'd like to see him instead of me?" finished Scott.

Amy sighed helplessly. "It's just...he understands me so well, Counsellor. And you are so nice and smart...but...I don't know." Frowning quizzically, she asked, "You're not mad...are you?"

Bree smiled wistfully and shook her head. "Of course not, Amy. I'm surprised, yes, and perhaps a little sad to see our meetings come to an end, but ultimately, I want what's best for you. If you're more comfortable with Dr. Potts, then who am I to stand in your way? I will of course still monitor your progress."

"We can still talk and stuff, though, can't we?" Amy smiled hopefully. "Girl talk, sort of. And...and I don't think he'd really mind if I spoke to you once in a while, would he? The more minds working to solve my problem, the better....right?"

At this she laughed. "You're not a hopeless case, Amy. And yes, if the three of us agree it's called for, you and I can still meet, but I think it's important for you and Dr. Potts to develop a strong therapeutic relationship. If he is to be your counselor, it's important that he know you won't just run to someone else every time the urge strikes you, and you deserve the continuity and stability that comes with having a regular counselor."

Amy shrugged at that. "I just want to get better. No matter what. If seeing two counsellors will do it, what's so wrong with that?"

"I'm not sure seeing two counselors will do it," Bree explained. "Not all counselors approach matters the same way, Amy. The direction you and I might take might be completely different than the one you and Dr. Potts take. He might recommend or suggest something for you that goes against everything I believe in as a counselor. It may not be bad, but perhaps a new philosophy that I don't agree with. You would then have to choose how you want to handle things, but rather than feel motivated to make your own choice, I would worry you'd feel pressured to choose between the two of us. I don't want you to feel that pressure, Amy, and I don't want Dr. Potts to second guess himself simply because his boss is also counseling his patient."

Amy nodded solemnly, then let out a heavy sigh. "I guess you're right...." She snickered. "Okay, of course you're right. You're a counsellor!" Again, she sighed and her bubbly mood seemed to deflate. "I really am sorry, Counsellor. I just want what's best for me and Kitty. But...if things don't work out with Dr. Potts, I can still talk to you, right?"

Scott smiled. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, Amy. At least you came here to tell me. I really appreciate the heads up. You cared enough about my feelings to let me know what you wanted before you decided to see both of us on the sly. That's progress! And yes, if you and Dr. Potts decide that it's best for you to see someone else, you can always come to me, but I want you to promise to at least think about what he suggests. If for any reason you feel what he's doing is inappropriate, I want you to know you can talk to him and you can let me know."

Amy grinned. "Definitely." Then, impulsively, she rushed towards Brennyn and embraced her. As an added show of unrestrained affection, that seemed to be her tragic vice, she kissed Bree's cheek. "You're the best, Counsellor Scott." Amy paused in thought, then pulled back slightly and asked, "Since you're not my counsellor anymore, can I call you Brennyn?"

Bree laughed. "Of course! You always could, my dear," she added while returning the embrace. "Now go and talk to Kit about all this!"

Amy sighed happily, then pulled away with a large grin. "Thanks, Brennyn. This means a lot to me." And waving briskly, she backed towards the door with a light skip in her step. "I'll tell you how it goes!" she called out, then she was gone.

---

"In the Middle of the Street"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: Bajor, Kendra Province
Stardate: 57908.01 16h42 (57908.01, 04h42 Standard)

***

"Only 5 litas a crate," the old, corpulent vender announced.

Lyrr ignored him, while she delicately traced her finger over the curve of the gleaming, orange fruit on display atop the wooden wagon. She smiled at her reflection in it. As much as she loathed the memories returning home evoked, she couldn't deny her appreciation of the many resplendent treasures it offered; it was a wonder she'd stayed away for so long.

To blend in with the other market-goers, even with as comfortable as she had become in her Starfleet regulation uniform, she felt more at ease in the casual attire fashioned on Bajor. Her earthy green pants provided far more leg room than her uniform pants did (it always had irked her that they clung so tightly to one's legs, and she wondered if its designer had been a voyeuristic male salivating at the opportunity of seeing a woman modelling them); the russet shirt - matching her scuffed, worn boots - was rolled up at the sleeves and its tails tucked loosely into the waist of her pants, for despite the casualness of her clothing, she still desired some amount of sophistication in her appearance. With the day's heat (many days on Bajor were wont to be stifling during this time of year), she'd opted not to button her shirt entirely to the collar, as her sense of propriety would have otherwise dictated, and instead left much of her chest exposed to the warmed air. The one, glaring omission to her ensemble was the traditional Bajoran earring she had refused to wear all her life, and which now earned her more than a few disapproving frowns. Other than that, with her outfit matching her nostalgic state of mind, Lyrr truly felt good to be home.

The idyllic vision of her world, however, was tainted nearly immediately by a rank miasma coming in the form of a very familiar, offensive voice from a way's away. Lyrr nearly crushed the ripe fruit in her hand at the sound of it alone, imagining the neck of the perpetrator constricting along with it.

"That's right," called Farrell. "She's with me. Move on."

Activity on the street seemed to come to a halt. A man holding a loaf of bread stopped his motion with the loaf halfway into a bag, watching the confrontation. A woman pulled her child to her skirts. A pair of old men halted their game of stones to stare worriedly.

Lyrr sighed wearily and set down the plump marolla fruit she'd selected from the neatly formed rows atop the cart. She wasn't technically on duty, but as Farrell's superior, she was sworn to keep him out of trouble, though he could do with a few good blows from some thugs. Shouldering her way through the slowing traffic of pedestrians-soon-to-be-onlookers, Lyrr sought to get him out of trouble fast, and off her planet even faster.

Seconds ticked by. No one moved. Farrell, in civilian clothes himself - - boots too battered to have been replicated and a long vest accompanying loose, functionally cut trousers and a baggy short-sleeved shirt, was locked in a stare. His opponent, a street tough in leathers, flanked by his pack of ruffians, stared back. A girl of no more than twelve or thirteen years was hiding behind Farrell. The air grew charged. It was a heady energy. Struggle. Aggression. Violence.

Five seconds. Ten. The gang leader clenched and unclenched his fist. Farrell was a rock, motionless in the middle of the street save for the throb at his temple where his jaw clenched.

"Good. Get yourself killed," Lyrr muttered as she reached the edge of the crowd. "You'll only prove me right: you are a reckless, self-destructive dolt."

Fifteen seconds. The leader gave a single short laugh, and with a growling "Come on boys. They're not worth the trouble," he led his pack down an alley. The street gave a collective shudder as dozens of people exhaled at once.

Farrell watched them go until they were out of sight, then turned to the girl, who had kept him between herself and the bully-boys.

Lyrr halted, still at a distance, and created an obstruction in the market-goers' path that they weren't hesitant to bump as they weaved around it. "Lucky bastard," she said under her breath, not even loud enough to block out the words coming from Farrell's moving lips.

"Now see," Farrell said to the girl, "this puts us both in a sticky spot. If you're telling the truth, I'll keep lying and saying I'm your friend. But if you're lying, then I tell the truth, and walk away the next time your boyfriends show up."

"Oh, I'm honest as the day is long," grinned the girl. Her nose ridges crinkled deeper with the smile. It was a cute smile, and one she'd probably depended on many times. She stuck out a hand. "Thanks for helping me out. My name's--"

"Monn Tasa!" came the unmistakable scold of a mother. A bony Bajoran woman with a relatively plain earring bustled out of the crowd and collared the girl. Tasa struggled, but apparently knew better than to pull too hard.

"What trouble have you been getting yourself into now?" the woman demanded.

"No trouble, Mother. Friss and his boys were messing with me, but my new friend here," she smiled at Farrell, who arched an eyebrow, "chased them off."

"Is this true?" Mother demanded of Farrell. "She wasn't stealing from you?"

Farrell smiled in surprise. "No, Ma'am. She's tellin' the honest truth."

Mother looked suspiciously at Tasa again, then swatted her lightly on the head. "Get home, child."

Tasa turned to scamper down the street. She turned after a few steps. "See you!" she called, waving at Farrell, and then continued on her way.

With his head turned away, towards the young girl, Lyrr took it as her opportunity to march forward unseen. She prepared mentally the substance of her tirade, but the moment she stopped behind Farrell, it became truncated to simply: "You're done being the valiant defender. Now get out of my province, and off my planet."

Farrell was startled at the voice, and looked quickly at Lyrr. The confusion lasted a fraction of a second, visible to her only because he was looking directly into her eyes. Then he laughed. "Snuck up on me again," he chortled. "Lyrr Tayla, I'd like you to meet," he turned to Tasa's mother, "Monn. . ."

"Jeraxa. Monn Jeraxa," she said, a little uncertain at being introduced so civilly to one so hostile.

"Mason Farrell, ma'am," he said, nodding respectfully and glancing at Lyrr. "We're pleased to meet you."

"I am pleased to meet you as well, mister Mason." She nodded at Farrell and Lyrr in turn. "Or do you prefer Farrell? I can never remember how human names go," she smiled, genuine but uneasy.

"Mason's just fine," he smiled. Hers grew more comfortable. "She get in trouble a lot?" He nodded in the direction Tasa had run.

"Oh, by the Prophets yes," Jeraxa sighed with a roll of her eyes. "The birthing chimes gave me the last moments of peace I've had with that child." She sighed again, and then smiled a genuine smile. "Still, you did help my daughter and you have my thanks, sir."

"You're very welcome," Farrell smiled. He glanced at Lyrr again. "I need to be moving along, but before I go maybe you can give me some directions. Can you tell me how to get to Dahln's Apothecary?"

Lyrr folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes skeptically at Farrell before Jeraxa could jump into her reply. "And what do you need to go there for?" she interjected.

Jeraxa closed her mouth and looked away. Farrell looked quickly from one to the other. "Please forgive my associate," he said to Jeraxa. Then to Lyrr: "Let me get these directions, and then we'll review."

He turned to Jeraxa and nodded with a smile. She gave Lyrr another glance and started talking, pointing down the street and moving her hand with the turns.

Lyrr, all the while, sighed intermittently, shifted from foot to foot with impatience, and left not an eye-roll out. Finally, she cut in. "Look, why don't I just take you there myself? It'll save everyone the trouble."

Jeraxa stopped mid-sentence. "Hush," she snapped at Lyrr. "I'm almost finished." Farrell's eyebrows rose, and he rubbed his forehead with a finger to cover the fact that he was looking away.

Lyrr, respectful of her elders and not about to enter into an argument with the woman, went silent. Still, she glared at Farrell while her anger stewed within her.

As she had said, Jeraxa was almost finished.

"Thank you very much," Farrell said pleasantly when she had completed her explanation.

"Quite welcome, Mason," she nodded. "Lyrr," she added for the sake of form, nodding curtly to the younger woman. Manners satisfied, she returned her gaze to Farrell. "Thank you again for helping my daughter."

"Think nothing of it," Farrell smiled. "Have a good afternoon, ma'am."

Jeraxa, with a final disapproving glance at Lyrr, moved down the street with her head high.

Farrell chuckled and shook his head. "Bajoran women really do all glare the same way," he said.

"Who's glaring?" she asked humourlessly. "And what are you doing on Bajor, Ensign? This isn't another shore leave, or another opportunity for you to find mischief."

"Actually, I heard this was the Lyrr province, and I wanted a holo of me standing next to the big 'welcome to Lyrr's place' arch on the outskirts of town," Farrell said flatly. "I can't seem to find it, though. Maybe you can help me out, seein' as how this is your province, on your planet."

Lyrr smiled wryly and shook her head. "This is precisely why I've been avoiding any situation that would require us to converse: you always turn to the sarcasm. Are you even capable of holding a serious discussion?"

"What in--" Farrell hesitated, shaking his head slightly. "Why--" He stopped again. "I--" He grimaced, like he'd just eaten something sour, and pointed to his own chest with both hands. "I always turn to the sarcasm? You're the sarcasm queen."

Lyrr rolled her eyes. "Why do I even bother?" she muttered as she brushed past Farrell.

"You are the rudest woman," Farrell muttered as she did so. "Did your mother teach you no manners?"

Lyrr halted and ground her teeth in suppressed fury, undercut by a sorrow she'd worked years to dampen. Farrell seemed adept at always triggering the wrong nerve. "My mother taught me more through her absence then you could ever hope to learn through all your scheming and cheating," she rasped, without turning to regard him. Soon after, she was marching forward again, though she appeared a touch unsteady now.

Farrell cocked his head to the side with a thoughtful frown.

"Whoa whoa," he said with no sarcasm at all, pacing her down the street. "Absence?"

"I don't have to explain anything to you, Ensign!" she hollered back. Her pace seemed to hasten, which only revealed further her desperation to escape Farrell's scrutiny.

"What do you mean, 'absence'?" Farrell pressed.

"Absence," Lyrr snapped as she swung around to face him. "As in 'not there,' as in 'missing,' Ensign. Are you truly this stupid or are you playing at it?"

Farrell pulled up short so he wouldn't walk past her. "Now who's--" He stopped himself, looked down with a frown, and held up a hand. "Okay, okay. Overstepped. My fault."

Lyrr narrowed her eyes at him and slowly took a step closer. "You do it purposely," she whispered. "You intentionally touch upon sensitive topics to get a rise out of me. Don't you?"

"Aw, C'mon," Farrell winced. "I don't know anything about you."

"Other than that I'm an elitist bitch," she recalled. "Or comparable to a merciless Cardassian Gul." She smiled coldly. "You know me well enough, now don't you?"

"I apologized for that," Farrell pointed a finger at Lyrr for emphasis.

"And I refused to accept it," she countered. "You said it for a reason; you meant it, and your apology was an attempt to dig yourself out of yet another hole. If I forgave you, I'd be endorsing a lie, and I won't do that, Ensign. Especially not for you."

"What? I meant it, but it was a lie? Can you hear yourself?"

Lyrr sighed irritably. "Do you or do you not think me an elitist bitch, Ensign? Answer truthfully and with no fear of formal retribution."

Farrell chuckled ruefully, and reached into his vest, withdrawing a cigar. "Now that's one seriously loaded question. I mean really. What can I say to that?" He put the cigar in his mouth, and kept talking. The cigar clamped in his teeth gave his speech a sibilant quality. "If I say 'yes' you'll hate me forever." He took a lighter out of his pocket. "If I say 'no' you'll call me a liar and still hate me forever." He paused to light the cigar, and puffed a few quick times to get it going. With it clamped between his fingers, he gestured along with his final point. "I should refuse to answer on the grounds it may incriminate me."

"Then refuse to answer," she replied impatiently. "Just don't ever attempt to press me for information when you refuse to deliver, yourself." Coughing, she briskly fanned the billowing, malodorous smoke away from her face. "And try to light up when I'm not in your presence."

Farrell laughed. "You ought to try it. It may calm you down. But you want an answer? You really want an answer? No traps, no tricks, no treachery?"

Pursing her lips to hold back an explosive reply, Lyrr simply nodded.

"Alright. Yes, I think you're an elitist bitch. But I also think you don't want to be," he added quickly.

A frown formed immediately and Lyrr's entire demeanour changed to express indignation. "And what is that supposed to mean? I don't want to be?" She snorted. "You're not making sense...again, which is not surprising."

"I'm trying to get into the Lyrr Tayla Contradictory Sentence club. I understand you have to make one up in order to join." Farrell took another draw on his cigar, and exhaled downwind so as not to catch her in the cloud again. "I don't think you want to be a bitch. Who wants to be a bitch? More often than not, you are one, but I don't think you mean to be."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment, Ensign?" She chuckled wryly. "Just stop trying. I know what you think of me, and I'm not about to go out of my way to change your opinion of me. I'm not going to offer you the crucial piece of knowledge that will give you full insight into why I am as I am. You haven't earned that, so stop trying."

"Fine, hate me forever. Figured you would."

"And I suppose you're absolutely enamoured with me?" Lyrr smirked. "Don't be a hypocrite, Ensign. You're already a bad liar." Shooting the cigar between his fingers a distasteful frown, Lyrr pivoted away from him and resumed her previously interrupted departure.

He watched her walk away. "Then again, maybe a bitch is all you know how to be," he mused to himself, taking another good draw.

---

"Bajoran Girls"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Monn Tasa; Juvenile Delinquent [NPC]

Location: Bajor, Kendra Province
Stardate: 57908.01 16h53 (57908.01, 04h53 Standard)

***

He watched her walk away. "Then again, maybe a bitch is all you know how to be," he mused to himself, taking another good draw.

"It's dangerous to say stuff like that about Bajoran girls," piped the cheery voice behind him.

He wished he could turn around, but he was rooted to the spot. He'd felt the dreaded twinge right after the thug named Friss had left the street, and had hoped to find a quiet little food stall to lean on for a minute. Instead, Lyrr had pounced from the crowd almost immediately. He'd had to be flippant in order to cover the fact that he wasn't thinking clearly. He'd had to light a cigar to give his hands something to do besides shake. The episode was fading now, and he expected control to return in a few moments. Until then, he had to keep up the act.

"Shouldn't you be gettin' home?" he asked, not looking behind him.

Tasa came around in front of him. "She's a Bajoran girl. You keep talking like that, and she'll beat you up. Bajoran girls are like that."

"You think she can take me on?" he mused. He could feel his feet again. That was a good sign.

"Well, maybe not as long as you've got that pistol," Tasa said, pointing slightly at his back.

"How do you know I've got a pistol?" He was suspicious, but had regained enough control to move his legs. He shifted to face her better.

"I'm short," she quipped. "I've got a better view."

He looked at her, deciding she was indeed short. She might be twelve, all prepubescent angles and knees and elbows. She was slightly built, too, but had a confidence about her that reminded him just a bit of her mother. And Lyrr.

"And you're not intimidated by me being armed?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"Nope," she grinned. "Half the people on the street here are armed. Now, if you'd actually shot Friss, maybe. But then his boys would have shot you."

"That's what I was thinking," he grinned around his cigar.

"Good thing, too. Friss and his pack are fast with the shooting, but if you can catch him in a staredown he never wins. He can't look people in the eye for very long," Tasa said, sounding wise beyond her years.

"You know this guy pretty well," said Mason.

"Yeah. I used to go with his brother."

"Come again?" Mason asked. "Go with?"

"Yeah, we went out. And stuff," Tasa said, preening just a little.

"How old are you?" Mason asked.

"Thirteen."

"How old is Friss's brother?"

She thought a moment. "Fourteen."

"How old is Friss?"

"Sixteen."

Mason pointed at the alley the pack had disappeared down. "That guy was sixteen years old?"

Tasa shrugged. "He might be seventeen now."

"He's pretty hefty for sixteen."

"Well," she said, like she was the adult and he the child. "How do you think he got to be the leader?"

Farrell regarded her flatly for a moment. "Of course. I should have known," he said, without inflection.

Tasa giggled. "Yeah." She thought a moment. "Hungry?"

"Hungry?"

"Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. She continued slowly, "Are you hungry? Do you want to eat something?"

Farrell smiled. "Sure. I could go for some dinner."

"Come to my house, then," Tasa said. "Mother always makes too much. She's worried I won't get enough to eat," she grinned.

"You just don't want to get the beating you'll have coming when your mother gets home before you do," Farrell said.

Tasa grinned again. "You're smart, for a man."

"Sometimes we even surprise ourselves," he winked. She giggled, and he continued. "I've got a stop to make, and then I'll get you home and explain to your mother that you were with me."

"Okay," she shrugged. "Where are we going?"

Farrell looked down at her. "We aren't going anywhere. I'm going to visit an apothecary, and you're tagging along so you stay out of trouble."

Tasa gave a pout. "I thought you were going to be fun."

"You'll get over it when you can actually sit down tonight."

Tasa pondered that, and then followed him down the street, following Jeraxa's directions.

---

"A Prayer for the Lonely"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Monn Jeraxa; Harried Mother [NPC]
Monn Tasa; Juvenile Delinquent [NPC]

Location: Bajor, Kendra Province, the Monn Home
Stardate: 57908.01 18h00 (57908.01, 06h00 Standard)

***

"Do humans have an eating ritual?" Tasa asked.

"Tasa!" Jeraxa hissed. She was still more than a little mortified that her daughter had just brought Mason home. He had tried every reassurance he could think of, but she wouldn't hear of him not staying for some dinner, though she apologized every few minutes for the temperature, the quantity, the flavor, and a plethora of other minute details. And they hadn't even started eating yet.

"It's alright," Mason said, wishing Jeraxa would calm down. She was getting as high-strung as Lyrr. "Yes, Tasa, humans do have an eating ritual. We call it Grace."

"It has a name?" Tasa asked. "We all just say our own thanks."

Mason nodded. "Humans generally have one person lead a prayer, and everyone says 'amen' at the end. And then we eat hearty," he winked.

"Can we have one?" Tasa asked, the words rushing out.

Mason glanced at Jeraxa. "Well, it's been a while."

"Tasa, don't put mister Mason on the spot," Jeraxa scolded.

"I want to hear it," Tasa said again, with more emphasis.

"It's alright," Mason said again. Damn, how many more times was he going to need to say that tonight? "Let me think of one."

Tasa smirked at her mother, who glared, but only for a moment. Apparently she was interested, too, though she was trying to be polite about it.

"Okay," Mason nodded. "This is a simple one my grandfather liked. We all clasp our hands," he did so, and Tasa and Jeraxa followed suit, the former quicker than the latter. "And we bow our heads and close our eyes. I'll say grace, and when I say 'amen,' you say 'amen,' and then we eat."

"Hearty," added Tasa.

"Right," smiled Mason. "Now bow your head."

Tasa and Jeraxa did so, and Mason recited the old prayer his grandfather had loved so much:

"For food, for raiment, for life, for opportunity, for friendship and fellowship, we thank thee." His hesitation was not noticeable. "Oh Prophets. Amen."

"Amen," Tasa and Jeraxa said together.

"That was very nice, mister Mason," Jeraxa said.

"That's way better than mine," chirped Tasa.

"Well thank you," Mason nodded. "Now we eat."

"Hearty," Tasa added again, smiling at him.

***

Tasa had been sent to bed, but was of course ignoring her mother again. Several of her friends had come over, and the gaggle of girls was in her room now, giggling.

"So, mister Mason," Jeraxa said, pouring him some tea. "What brings you out this far?"

Mason settled back in his chair. Jeraxa's tuwalli pie had been excellent, no matter how much she protested. "I'm a supply officer for a ship at DS9," he said, blowing across the top of his cup and taking a sip.

"Federation?" Jeraxa asked.

Mason looked at her briefly. "Yes," he nodded.

"You say that as though you dislike it." She blushed as soon as the words were said. "I'm sorry. I'm being rude."

"Not at all," Mason chuckled. "And I don't dislike Starfleet. I've just found it easier to get certain things done if I don't advertise my loyalty."

"I certainly understand," she said. He thought he detected a sadness beneath her tone. "Our black market is still thriving, I suppose. It's one of the few industries left in this province."

"Your province looks to have been hit hard."

"It was beautiful once." Jeraxa's sadness took hold now. "Rural, but beautiful. Few Cardassians were sent here, but the ones who did come were cruel. They were to oversee harvests, and had tight quotas. Many of our people died working in the fields. We owe the Federation a great debt for their relief efforts. Of course things won't ever be as they were, not in my lifetime, but I do have hope that my Tasa and her children won't have to bear the struggles we've toiled with."

She sighed resignedly. "You may not think we have it so badly - you were in that marketplace today, all that abundant produce for sale - but there was a time when not a weed would grow in our soils. For all our hard work during the Occupation, the Cardassians repaid us by poisoning our land. Not even the most loving attention could encourage the soils to produce." Jeraxa could do nothing more but shrug. "The soil reclamators have helped, but there is still much to do."

Mason nodded and sipped his tea. "You seem to be getting along here," he said, glancing around. The Monn household was small and homey, dilapidated but cared for as best the occupants could manage. A few holostills of a waving little girl and a pair of happy parents hung on one wall alongside a handstitched sign in Bajoran that Mason couldn't read.

"We get by," she said, following his looks around the room. She saw his eyes settle on the small sign. "Do you read Bajoran?"

"I don't," he chuckled. "Sorry."

"Not at all," she waved away his apology. "Not everyone can know every language. Even the important ones," she added with a small teasing smile.

Mason smiled back. "What does it say?"

"Hope is strength. In all things hope," Jeraxa recited.

"A fine sentiment. A prayer all by itself."

"And a true one," she added. "I say it every night as part of my own eating ritual."

"I believe you," he said, finishing his tea. "Thank you for dinner, Monn Jeraxa."

"You are very welcome, mister Mason," she said as he stood from the table. A gasp and fit of giggles sounded from the next room. She looked toward the noise. "They fancy you. Few men have been here in many years," she said with a chuckle of her own.

"How long has he been gone?" Mason asked, then held up a hand. "I'm sorry. An overstep." An overstep, he thought. He'd used that word with Lyrr earlier. Her mother had been 'absent.' He wondered why he remembered that just now.

"He died when Tasa was only a few years old. He was crippled by the overseer and never recovered. The complications. . . "she trailed off, looking away. The same way Lyrr always did when. . .when what? She did it periodically. When?

"I'm sorry to have asked," Mason said quickly. "I shouldn't have pried."

"No no," Jeraxa said, taking a deep breath and regaining her composure. "A sad subject. That's all. I am sad to speak of it, but it is a truth I accept."

Of course. The pieces fit. It was a look of specific sadness. The sadness of loved ones that were gone.

"Thank you again for dinner. It was a marvel," Mason said quietly.

She rose to see him out. "You are too kind. We are simple people, leading simple lives."

"In my experience," Mason said. They were passing through the small living room. Four Bajoran girls, Tasa among them, shushed themselves as he entered the room. "The simple pleasures are often the best," he finished.

This brought on another fit of giggles, which Jeraxa silenced with a withering glare. It was so much like Lyrr's that Mason almost jumped himself. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced with a smile.

"Yes they are. Thank you for coming, mister Mason."

He nodded to her in appreciation, and was gone.

---

"Barhopping"
By: Lyrr Tayla

Location: Kendra Province, Bajor
Stardate 57908.01, 21h45 (57908.01, 09h45 Standard)

***

"Tayla, not too late! We have an early start tomorrow."

She ignored Mother Yalen's appeal and tromped out onto the landing, into the cool night. Lyrr made certain to express her annoyance with her foster mother's intrusive questions during dinner by slamming the door closed behind her. Once her boots crunched atop the dirt road outside the quaint cottage, she closed her eyes and sighed, grateful for the escape. Yalen meant well by her persistent inquiries, but she always did exceed the limits of casual conversation and end up in the realm of prying. That was always when she made her hasty retreat.

"No boyfriend yet?"

Lyrr groaned in response to the memory, as she had to the question at dinner. "There is no room for a companion in my life," she answered evasively. "I'm trying to focus on my career."

"But there must be someone--"

"Yalen, leave the girl alone." Loyal, understanding Father Derna. Lyrr smiled wryly. He always had fathomed her, though he never cornered her with his knowledge and attempted to press her for answers by exploiting her vulnerabilities. Mother Yalen on the other hand....

"What about that Terran fellow - the handsome one with that brogue?" She'd cooed, then. "He liked you, I knew it right away, and you shared that sentiment. Isn't he on board now?"

"No." Her answer had come out harsh and snappish. Derna again attempted to rein in his wife. She had become more insistent, though, probing for details about her life Lyrr had refused to divulge. She couldn't very well tell her about T'Kal and their blossoming friendship, which seemed to be definitely bordering on something more, though with their postponed dinner at Jeremy's she would have to wait at least another day to delve further into that. Instead, Lyrr had shoved back her chair, left behind her steaming hasperat - extra spicy, but leaving a bitter taste in her mouth that night - and fled. Now, she sought solace and freedom...and an end to a search that had consumed her for fifteen years. Perhaps tonight would bring a resolution that she desperately needed, for her own sanity.

***

The sticky, pungent odour of spilled liquor left stagnating on the floor from many nights of drunken revelling, and the heady fog of burning tobacco hung both in the air. Among the inebriated ruckus, a tinny honky-tonk number from an unseen music player was churned out into the room, lending a rugged ambience to the already sleazy bar. The majority of patrons were roughneck males at varying stages of intoxication, and some soliciting the attentions of the resident prostitutes, who flaunted their goods with little reservation.

Ale was poured, slurred conversation and bellowing laughter persisted, and Lyrr Tayla watched it all from the doorway. She wasn't interested in the alcohol, or seeking a night of anonymous sex with a filthy ruffian who wouldn't ask questions; her eyes scanned the room, looking for the true source of her interest, instead. And there he was, sitting alone at a table set apart from the rest, and staring into the bottom of his mug.

Lyrr set forward, detaching her boot soles from the tacky residue beneath her feet and ignoring the inspective glances finding her. Suggestive chuckles following a lewd comment she was likely the subject of came from a nearby group of rabble, and the hungry smiles they directed at her when her attention strayed towards them validated her assumption. She shifted her focus away and set her sights again on the lone man, whose ale remained untouched, but who had the quiet, listless demeanour of one far past the stage of rowdy drunkenness and closer to the state preceding near-comatose sleep. The four empty mugs arranged on the table gave credence to that. She, herself, had only ever experienced that once, though Yalen had punished her the next morning by using a particularly head-splitting pitch as she scolded her - it had ensured Lyrr would never do that again.

The vacant chair at his table slid out with a dull grating noise that seemed not to disturb the man, nor did he notice Lyrr as she occupied the seat and folded her hands atop the rough table-top. She studied him, finding it hard to believe he could provide any assistance whatsoever, especially in his present condition, but she wasn't about to become choosey - desperate people never were.

While the other patrons contributed to the bar's din, Lyrr and the man remained in silence. He was a middle-aged Bajoran whose face showed much wear and sign of hardships, as all Bajorans did, simply in different ways. His clothing was modest, and she spotted a stain on the breast of his yellowing white shirt; it looked like grease to Lyrr and she wondered what other work he did aside from his night masquerading.

His clear blue eyes sluggishly turned up and found hers. He blinked slowly, awakening from his stupor enough to cast a wary look upon her. "Not interested in some fun," he slurred.

"Not offering," Lyrr answered blandly. "It's your services I'm interested in...Yer Aeriq."

The haze over his eyes seemed to clear and his ears visibly perked. "You want information, then." His lips stretched to reveal stained, crooked teeth, some of which were no longer there. "Now, that's not the proper greeting for a man of my expertise."

Lyrr returned his gnarled smile with a humourless one of her own. Her hand disappeared beneath the table. His smile twitched and his eyes narrowed as he visibly stiffened, expecting a weapon to be drawn. Her hand reappeared, and he relaxed when, with a recognizable metallic clink and an enticing gleam, a latinum strip was laid down before of him. "I trust," Lyrr drawled as he palmed the latinum, "that will do."

The man chuckled hoarsely. "For now. It all depends what you seek, and how difficult it is to procure."

She smirked. "And whether I wish to buy your silence as well, hm?" He spread his hands and lowered his eyes in a disgustingly unctuous gesture. Lyrr snorted derisively. "I thought so." Another strip of latinum was handed to him, and quickly pocketed. "Now that I have your attention..." Lyrr glanced from side to side, ensuring their privacy, then leaned forward. "You can find people, people who don't wish to be found, correct?" At his nod, she continued. "They've been missing for fifteen years, and it's unlikely they still answer to their original names."

"And a physical description..." He sighed as she lowered her eyes. "You're asking me to search through the five million names of people reported killed during the Occupation--"

"They're not dead!" she snapped, drawing briefly the attention of some surrounding patrons. Lyrr exhaled deeply to re-gather her composure. The outburst was quickly forgotten, and the men returned to their ribald jokes and drink ordering. "Look," she said more calmly, "their names were Lyrr Koreg and Feyla. They disappeared fifteen years ago and I need to find them. They worked for Gul Perak in Danae, and went into hiding years later. I-I don't know what they look like, but I have the names of two former Resistance fighters who would have seen them all those years ago." Lyrr leaned in closer, and her once neutral facade began showing signs of desperation. "I have their names," she whispered. "If you find them, they might know where to find my-- to find the Lyrrs. Can you do this?"

Aeriq pondered his finger making circles in the warm ale within his mug. Lyrr imagined he was counting how many strips of latinum he could milk her for. "That will be very difficult," he mused. "Many Resistance cell members were killed or fell into obscurity during and after the Occupation.... Even today many of them don't wish to be found."

"Are you saying you can't do it?" Lyrr asked with a skeptically raised eyebrow. "A man of your supposed talents? Or has your reputation been" --she held her thumb and forefinger up, keeping them a short distance apart-- "severely exaggerated?"

He harrumphed gruffly, and irritably shook the ale off his dripping finger as if she'd insulted his endowments rather than his reputation, though to men such as Aeriq, the two were one and the same. "It'll take time and more latinum than you're bound to have, young woman."

"Your shortcomings are not my own, Yer," she retorted. "I have the latinum for such a task, and as for time.... I won't be returning to the planet for six Terran months. More than enough for you, I gather?"

He nodded stiffly. She smiled, satisfied and slid a datapad towards him. "The names of the Resistance members and where they were last seen. More than enough information."

Aeriq accepted the PADD and surreptitiously stuffed it inside his shirt. "I will need more than two strips of latinum to get me started. Maybe...fifteen? And two full bars upon successful retrieval of this information you seek? Hm?"

Lyrr sat back and stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. "I've already paid you two strips. You'll get twelve for now. And I'll agree on a full bar, until I see what sort of information you've got for me. Agreed?"

His snaky grin sealed the deal. She gave a curt nod, and after delivering the small sac of latinum she'd had prepared, Lyrr rose. "In six months' time next week, we'll meet here." Lyrr then flattened both hands atop the table and bent over, her face close enough to his that she caught the bitter smell of ale on his breath. "If anyone finds out about this, you'll become just another ghost alongside those other five million. I'm sure you're not too drunk to understand what I mean." Her smile was falsely pleasant. "Good evening." And she retraced her steps out of the bar, this time the straying eyes following her backside instead of her chest.

While Aeriq swivelled around in his chair and hunched over to greedily count his night's profit, three long shadows fell over him. A heavy hand came down upon his shoulder and he hastily stuffed his earnings back into his sac.

"Been busy tonight, haven't you, Yer?" The deep voice chuckled, and Yer was jerked around in his seat. He lunged at the young thug as his sac was plucked from his hands, but he was forced down again by the leader's accomplices. Repeatedly tossing the money bag up and catching it again in a taunting manner, the stout hoodlum asked, "Now...tell us who your friend was and you can have this back. Otherwise" --he grinned-- "drinks are on you tonight."

***

Five million. Lyrr knew the numbers, but it had never truly struck her until now how staggering a death-count it was. But her parents weren't dead - they couldn't be, not with as much effort as she'd put into finding them. Whatever the case was, she would know one way or the other in six months. She sighed. There would be many restless, nervous nights until that time.

Kicking up dust and pebbles, Lyrr took the long route home on the relatively deserted road. The bar was far behind her now, but even still there was the odd drunk passed out on the roadside, or mumbling gibberish to himself. Lyrr was accustomed to it all from her youth. Mother Yalen had always upbraided her soundly when she arrived home well past a decent hour, sometimes tipsy, but it was the only time of day Lyrr could find true solitude. It wasn't so, that night, however.

The crunching of heavy footfalls pulverizing the gravel beneath them disrupted the quietude achieved by the cool night. They were directly behind her, and the volume of them indicated more than one individual. Their steps were steady and deliberate, not like those of men under the influences of more alcohol than they could handle; and they seemed intent on drawing nearer. Lyrr resisted the urge to glance back, and instead picked up the pace. They, too, lengthened their strides.

Although her town didn't cater to the most unsavoury of folks, there were still those who weren't above taking advantage of a woman out alone in the middle of the night, but she refused to group herself with those other women who hadn't the combat training she had, which made them ineffective in defending themselves. She was truly grateful, then, for T'Kal's guidance the previous day. Not allowing them the opportunity to get closer, Lyrr bolted.

A single shout came from one of the men, and soon all were following. Their pounding footsteps beat at her ears, much as her heart was against her chest. From the decreasing volume of their footsteps, however, she was confident they were falling behind, but after overcoming their initial confusion, they set a thundering, steady rhythm and charged forward. They were determined to catch her, and they might in due time.

Lyrr took her current freedom as an opportunity to plan an attack strategy. There were at least three men, judging from their unsynchronous footfalls, and all largely built, which meant her position would be a defensive one. Even with as insurmountable as the odds seemed, she would still not go down easily.

Rapid, heavy breathing sounded from either side, and she knew they had almost overtaken her. A hand clawed roughly at her back, and managed to clutch the fabric of her shirt, but Lyrr twisted out of his hold and darted forward. They hollered at her, and jeered, but their words were lost among her heart pounding out a frantic rhythm in her ears. A cheer soon erupted as two burly arms girded her waist, pinning her own arms against her sides. A protesting, angry cry ripped from her throat and both legs kicked wildly when she was lifted off the ground.

"Now, now," the rasping, breathless voice said against her ear, "behave."

She growled and wriggled in his hold, but it proved secure. Her vision became a blur as she was carried off the road, and was soon consumed by darkness when they entered a side alley. Lyrr felt the arms relinquish their hold, and she braced her tense muscles for a hard sprint, but she was instead slammed up against the jagged stucco wall behind. Her vision cleared and acclimated to the darkness enough to make out three figures - one standing before her and the other two on either side, holding her in place.

Lyrr smiled viciously at the headman, no doubt, and kicked out. The foot aimed for his groin was deflected by a hand, but his sharp gasp and ensuing curse indicated she'd at least jammed a finger. His backhand connecting with her cheek echoed in the narrow alley, and was followed up by his booming voice. "Who do you work for?"

Lyrr laughed mockingly. He slapped both palms against the wall on either side of her head and brought his face dangerously close to hers. "Why do you wanna know about Resistance fighters?" he asked coldly. "You a spy working for the Cardassians?"

"You idiot," Lyrr spat. "Why would I work for those bastards?"

"You could be one of them," he replied.

Again, she laughed. "You fool! I bet you don't even know what one of them looks like. It's no wonder you spend your nights victimizing fellow Bajorans - you've no sense of who's a friend and who's a foe!" This earned Lyrr a crushing blow to the gut that had her crumple forward in a coughing fit.

The interrogator grasped her chin and forcibly raised her head. She sucked in a wheezing breath that brought focus back to her eyes. The man's were staring directly back. "We don't like people asking questions around here," he whispered. His hand released her chin, and coarse fingertips dragged down her throat, towards her chest, leaving behind a sickening taste in Lyrr's mouth. "Now, if you are a Cardassian, that should be easy to find out. Don't those ridges go all the way down?" His lackeys chortled. Lyrr struggled, and their holds tightened. "If you were us," the aggressor continued, as did his hand towards her bosom, "wouldn't you want to protect the safety of your people from filthy spoonheads?"

Lyrr surged forward with a shout as he grabbed the front of her shirt and tore it open. His boys hollered at her and flung her back against the wall. Her head snapped back into the hard cement, but she maintained consciousness. The lead man laughed with deranged pleasure and finished forcing open her shirt, buttons ripping free and his nails scraping her flesh. His laughter took on a leering quality as the fabric was spread to expose her torso.

"Well, not a Cardassian." Cold, searching hands ran up her sides, ostensibly feeling for the characteristic bony ridges of a Cardassian, but lingering too long in one place to make it believable. "She certainly is a pleasing sight," he chuckled. "Though, she could do with a lesson or two about manners."

"Why not teach her, Draal?" one of the henchmen asked. The other verbalized his support with a braying laugh. The leader nodded thoughtfully. "You know, boys," he mused, while both hands scraped against the delicate skin of her abdomen, "that's not a bad idea."

Lyrr's eyes grew fierce as they saw the lewd intent in his. She ground her teeth and emitted a savage cry when both grubby hands grasped at her breasts. Oresh's smile replaced that of the thug's and his oily black eyes stared back. She had vowed never to let him touch her again, and she wasn't about to now. Still screaming ferociously, Lyrr's knee shot up to find the soft spot between the man's legs. He screamed shrilly, and his hands fell away to cradle his wounded genitals.

She thrashed wildly to extricate herself from his lackeys' hold while their ringleader recovered. One arm broke free, but the now empty-handed ruffian threw his own around her neck and squeezed. With diminishing strength and little oxygen, Lyrr still struggled to throw her attackers off. But the two were much more than she could handle, and together they wrestled her to the ground. The scuffle continued down below, raising dust and stones as the two men fought to secure her, and Lyrr to escape certain violation.

---

"Alley Cats"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Monn Tasa; Juvenile Delinquent [NPC]

Location: Bajor, Kendra Province
Stardate: 57908.01 23h20 (57908.01, 11h20 Standard)

***

Farrell heard the scuffle, the short screams, and the cursing, and flattened against the wall of the nearest shop immediately, one hand at the back of his belt. It was far too late at night, and he was on ground far too unfamiliar, to not consider the worst-case scenario immediately. He moved quickly along the wall, drawing his disruptor as he went. It felt good in his hand. He'd always preferred the usual perpendicular-grip design of non-Federation weapons over the standard issue phaser. It felt normal. It felt right.

He risked a glance down the alley, and it told him all he needed to know. He wheeled around the corner, brought the disruptor up in both hands, and fired.

The thug atop the woman was thrown up and back by the coruscating green beam, its brilliance strobing the alley. The thug flopped into the dust, motionless. In the flash, Farrell caught sight of a third attacker a meter or two from the main scuffle, one hand on his groin, struggling to rise to his knees. Farrell adjusted his aim with his entire upper body and put a beam into the kneeling man, just in case. He kept his disruptor aimed centrally down the alley for easy target acquisition, and addressed the last man.

"Alright, Sekk," he said to the third mugger, the Bajoran expletive one of the few words he knew in the language, and, he had been assured, one of the most vulgar. "How about you let the lady go before I have to burn your little boys off."

The third man, still kneeling over the woman, cocked up his head. His features were indistinguishable in the darkness, but from his frozen stance, Farrell would have seen true fear on his face if it were visible. He appeared for a moment to be complying as he slowly removed his hands from the prone woman, but in the next instant, he was on his feet and bolting.

Farrell drew a bead on the man's fleeing back, but the woman, apparently unfazed by the encounter, suddenly entered his line of sight as she picked herself up from the ground. He flipped the barrel upward as the non-hostile entered his shot, and cursed to himself as he ran after them both.

The thug's movements were clumsy and erratic as he so quickly faced a role reversal, and was now playing the part of the hunted. His head swung back to gauge his pursuers' distance, and the murderous glint in the woman's eyes flashed at him. Past her was the gunman, gaining on them both surprisingly fast, and the thug emitted what sounded like a frantic cry. He weaved around the debris littering the alley, tripped on a crate he'd failed to avoid, crashed into a garbage receptacle while veering around a crossing rodent, and finally came down tumbling as the relentless woman tackled him from behind. Arms came up to shield his face as her fists assailed him with wild blows. She spewed a volley of Bajoran vituperation at him along with her punches, and all he could do was plead for mercy.

Farrell leapt atop the crate to get a clear shot, but the woman had brought her attacker down and was hammering him brutally. Tasa has been right, he reflected. Bajoran girls really would beat you up. He briefly considered intervening, but decided she deserved a little payback, so he let her take it. He glanced back down the alley, where the other two thugs were still motionless, and he patted his disruptor gently before stashing it at the small of his back again. Disruptor-stun was a hell of a lot nastier than phaser-stun, and the Romulan settings went higher than the norm.

His weapon stowed, he stepped off the crate. The mugger was silent now, and even the woman had gone quiet, her blows slowing as her arms tired. A few more crunchingly wet blows later she settled back on her knees in the alley, sucking wind and trembling visibly. He squatted next to her. The thug was a bloody mess, his face a ruin of shattered nose and broken jaw.

"Well," Farrell said softly. "He had it comin', I guess. You okay?"

Her rent shirt flapped open as the rising gales swirled around them. It revealed her heaving chest, speckled with blood not entirely her own, and livid scars peeking out from beneath the undergarment concealing her breasts, telling the tale of a past far more violent than what both had witnessed that night. The woman's head turned mechanically towards the man, and even in her wild, unfocused gaze was there a note of recognition. She looked away quickly before she could witness the clear shock affecting Farrell's features and hastily wrapped her shirt closed as she rose on unsteady legs.

In his shock, Farrell actually fell over trying to rise from his haunches. He crabbed away from her briefly before reaching the alley wall and using it to help him regain his feet, the act clumsy and distracted.

"Commander?" he asked at last. His legs were going numb. He folded his arms across his chest and clenched his jaw to hide the rising tremor.

She shook her head vehemently as she staggered off. How could she deny what happened when clearly he'd seen it all and when he would never lie for her? Lyrr's hands clutched her arms as they wrapped around her in a self-embrace, staving off a chill that shook her violently. The inclement wind battered her as the thugs had, and her weakened body wilted under its intensity to collapse against the nearby wall. She exhaled a feeble sigh and crumpled to the ground, depleted of strength and resolve, and far too disoriented to go anywhere. And worst of all, Ensign Farrell was witnessing it all.

Farrell watched her collapse, helpless to aid her. His legs were rebelling, and threatened to buckle beneath him if he took a step. His hands, tucked beneath his arms, each threatened to clutch his ribs until blood was drawn. His mind whirled, trying desperately to exert control over a body completely under the sway of autonomic fight-or-flight function.

They stared into each other's eyes, neither able to move, and neither able to look away, for a long thirty seconds. Finally, feeling returned to Farrell's legs, and he moved haltingly forward to kneel next to Lyrr. Her eyes tracked his every move, though she remained on the ground. She was suffering, he could tell. And it wasn't physical. She hated him, and hated weakness, and he had seen her like this. What was she doing out here alone, anyway?

He reached out and gently touched her shoulder. She shrank away from him, feebly but meaningfully.

"Tayla," that had sparked her last time. And he didn't want to keep calling her Commander here in a dark alley. He cast a glance back toward where he had stunned the first two muggers. "Tayla, we've got to get you out of here. Are you staying somewhere nearby?"

"No," she rasped, then clenched her eyes shut and shuddered at the thought of what Yalen and Derna would think to see her in this state. She shook her head numbly. "I can't," she muttered. "Not like this."

He thought a moment. "Can you walk?"

Showing some sign that the real Tayla still thrived within the battered body, she laughed hoarsely. "And I suppose you're going to take me away from here?" She drew her knees closer to her chest, pulling away from him. "You saved the day...now leave me alone."

He nodded bitterly, and considered leaving her. The dumb bitch had gotten herself in this trouble. She was still alive, and she could get herself out of it. Then his mind dredged up an image of another hardened woman curled in a ball against the pain. The pain of a disruptor burn that had torn into her lung. And he acted.

"No, sir," he said, "You think what you want, but we've got to get you out of here. Come on," he pulled gently at her arm. "Lean on me." What was he doing? She hated him, and had told him to go the hell away. Was he that intent on putting his hand in a plasma conduit again? No, he had to help. Better to have her angry at him for helping than have Salinger court-martial him for leaving Lyrr to catch pneumonia in an alley.

Lyrr had intended to put up a stubborn fight, but the moment she was on her feet and stars swam over her eyes, she decided she was in no shape to. She allowed her arm to fall across Farrell's shoulders and leaned heavily against him, angry with herself for requiring his help. He'd likely gloat over it the first chance he got. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, she managed a steady pace with Farrell's support. "Where are we going?" she asked quietly. "I don't-- Don't take me to any doctors, and I don't want to go to the ship."

A shadow detached itself from the wall and piped up, "Take her to my house."

Farrell's disruptor was out immediately and he whipped it toward the small figure, who crouched and ducked reflexively.

"Yikes!" Tasa squeaked. "It's me!"

Lyrr sighed wearily. "Who else did you bring with you to witness my shame, Ensign?"

"Tasa, what the hell are you doing out here?" Farrell demanded, putting his disruptor away again. "Your mother's going to kill you."

"You got me out of one beating already," she quipped. "And she's hurt and you don't have anywhere else to go but back to your ship and she told you not to go back so my house is it," she finished in a rush.

Farrell looked at Lyrr, who was mustering her best scowl in spite of herself. Then he looked back at Tasa, who had folded her arms expectantly, jutted her chin, and was trying to glare her opinion at him. Then he looked at the street and shook his head.

"Bajoran girls," he muttered.

Lyrr closed her eyes and winced a wry smile. She'd been Tasa once - vibrant, definitely headstrong, and now she was limping out of a darkened alley, broken and battered, with a man's blood staining her hands. What disturbed her more was the knowledge that to find her parents, she would go through it all again. It confirmed what she had believed about herself for some time, but which she'd attempted to deny through dedication to Starfleet and maintaining a pristine lifestyle: she was self-destructive and withdrawn...and would likely be doomed to loneliness because of it. Lyrr, for the first time she could recall, pitied herself, and did so with a choked sob. The single display of emotion she'd allowed didn't last before her head dropped onto Farrell's shoulder and the looming unconsciousness she'd been fending off took her. Experiencing another first in her tragic life, Lyrr finally allowed someone else to carry her.

---

"Bajoran Women, Part One"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Monn Jeraxa; Harried Mother [NPC]
Monn Tasa; Juvenile Delinquent [NPC]

Location: Bajor, The Monn Home
Stardate: 57908.02 01h20 (57908.01, 13h20 Standard)

***

It was dark, as all things seemed to be in her disordered world recently, but a soft glow illuminating the edges of her groggy perception pulled her free from the snares of the abyss. Sensation returned, and an unsteady hand came up to hold her throbbing head. Lyrr Tayla groaned and blinked away the tearful haze, pain-induced, blurring her vision. Tired brown eyes sluggishly took in her surroundings and winced at the light streaming in through an ajar door.

She wasn't lying unconscious on a cold street, as her disoriented mind had first suggested; beneath her, instead, was a lumpy mattress that creaked when she gingerly sat upright. The feather-stuffed comforter that had been covering her fell away, and the narrow band of light landing diagonally across it from the doorway illuminated a whimsical pattern of vibrant flowers she couldn't recognize, but which likely existed somewhere on Bajor - or had, at least.

Her eyes travelled from the blanket's fold to the unfamiliar, white gown that now replaced her torn and blood-stained clothing; they continued their ascent up her torso, and stopped at the loose bodice slipping down to reveal her undergarment had been removed, and the dried blood cleaned away. Lyrr's mind reeled at the thought that Farrell had seen her body in its entirety, that he had laid his hands on her as those bastards had attempted to do.... Then, she noticed how neatly she'd been tucked under the bedsheets, and how much care had been taken in cleaning her wounds, and realized if it had been him, he hadn't exploited her vulnerability. At least she could give him credit for something.

Pulling up the falling strap of her borrowed nightgown, Lyrr let her eyes wander about the foreign room to get some bearing on where exactly Farrell had dumped her. There weren't many decorations to give an indication of anything, really, except for a lone wooden shelf mounted across the center of the facing wall, where various stuffed dolls sitting atop it drooped forward and where a little girl's carved trinket box served as a prop for a small collection of books. The bed itself, upon closer inspection, seemed just the right size for a small girl, and considering her appearance at the market, and at the site of her brutal encounter, Lyrr guessed the young Tasa had given up her bed for her. Lyrr reminded herself to thank the little girl when she had the chance, and felt guilty about spending another moment on it.

Overworked legs swung over the side of the mattress, and sore feet bumped a blanketed mound on the floor, which gave an answering whimper. Lyrr leaned forward and looked down, noting a thin, pale leg extending from beneath the rumpled sheets. The compact size of the heap indicated a small person, and judging from her earlier summations, she was certain the coltish Tasa was hidden underneath.

Lyrr rose quietly from the bed, stiff muscles straining as she did, and carefully stepped over the small form. Tasa shifted in her sleep, and the sheets pulled back to reveal a tiny, curled hand Lyrr could have fit into her own. She smiled at the innocence the young girl exhibited, then, despite the impertinent tendencies she'd displayed when she was awake and seeking mischief on the streets. Lyrr identified with her entirely, now.

The light spilling from the doorway drew her attention away from Tasa, and the incomprehensible murmuring accompanying it lured Lyrr closer. She leaned gratefully against the wall when she had covered the short distance across the room, and turned her ear to the opening.

"She's scarred like a resistance fighter," she heard a woman's voice say.

"That doesn't surprise me," the response was unmistakably Farrell.

"That she was a fighter, or that she is scarred?" The question was soft and serious.

"Neither. Both," Farrell sounded thoughtful.

Lyrr furrowed her brow in distress and gripped the edge of the door frame, preparing to push herself out into the room before the woman could tell Farrell anything more. She found herself frozen with shame. How was she to face Ensign Farrell after what he'd seen? And how could she ensure his silence? Lyrr sighed and pressed her forehead against the wall, willing to admit defeat for once, but was soon drawn back to the muted discussion.

"What was she doing out on the streets at this time of night?" the woman asked. "My doors have locks for a reason."

"Good question," Farrell answered. "I don't know if it's worth asking."

"Why is that?"

"Lyrr Tayla's a hard woman," Farrell said. "She's not prone to giving out reasons for the things she does."

"Does she work on your ship?"

Farrell chuckled at the phrasing. "It's her ship."

The woman had no response.

Lyrr did and it came in the form of a characteristic eye-roll. She was feeling better already, and decided it was time Ensign Farrell knew it. "The ship," she corrected, surprised at how weak her voice sounded, "is not mine." Lyrr emerged from the room at an easy, careful pace, and squinted against the light coming off the single table lamp. She fought off a shiver from the cold cement touching her bared feet. "Last I recalled," she continued, "it was the captain's ship, Ensign."

Farrell did not immediately react. He continued looking into his mug of tea, and rubbed his nose. Then he looked up and met her eyes.

"Sleep well?" he asked, not a trace of humor evident, but no hostility either.

She stopped a good distance from the table, bringing her arms up over her chest to cover what the flimsy nightgown insufficiently concealed. "I don't really know one way or the other," she replied flatly. Her eyes fell upon the woman sitting across from Farrell, struggled with a vague sense of familiarity, then nodded slowly. "You were from the market today. I'm sorry for this imposition. If you'll kindly retrieve my clothing, I'll be on my way." She glanced pointedly at Farrell. "We both will."

"There is no imposition, Lyrr Tayla," Jeraxa said quietly. "Tasa's asleep, I hope, and will stay that way. She sleeps like the dead when she finally gets around to it. You're welcome to stay."

Lyrr shook her head, earning herself a wince. "No," she whispered, her voice thick with pain, "I have to go. People are expecting me and they'll be worried."

"Commander, you're a wreck," Farrell said. Jeraxa arched an eyebrow at the title. "You ought to rest. Let me make some calls for you if you need."

Lyrr declined with a hand raised in a halting gesture; she knew better than to shake her head again. "I don't need you to make calls, and I'm hardly a wreck," she said firmly. "I just need my clothes, a private talk with the ensign, and then I need to go."

"Where?" asked Jeraxa. The question was polite, but Lyrr caught the hint of challenge. She'd asked questions like that herself.

Lyrr met it with a hard stare. "Home," she answered tightly. "Does it really make a difference where, at any rate? I don't intend to be anyone's charity case, or had you planned on keeping me prisoner here?"

Jeraxa met her gaze with the hard stare a mother reserves for wayward children. "Where is your home?"

Lyrr's eyes narrowed, appearing ready to butt heads with the woman. She thought better of it, especially with how sore she felt, and sighed. "Tanova street," she muttered. "My Mother Yalen and Father Derna have a small home there. I'm staying with them."

Farrell perked slightly at the mention of the word 'mother.' Then covered the motion by rolling his shoulders.

Jeraxa softened. "Let us call them and tell them you're alright. I know how I'd respond if Tasa came home beaten half to death. It's best to give a mother some warning. Please, sit down here," she offered a chair at the simple table. "I'll make some more tea. You have your word with mister Mason."

She left the room.

"Unrelenting woman," Lyrr commented awkwardly. She gripped the table's edge and the top of the chair back for support as she carefully sat. Her teeth drove into her bottom lip as her tender ribs protested, but she managed to avoid vocalizing a complaint and expelled her pain with a sigh. She glanced up at Farrell, noticing him studying her a touch inquisitively, and smiled wryly. "I know what you're thinking," she said. "I had this sort of thing coming, that my attitude was bound to get me in trouble some day...." Lyrr chuckled soundlessly. "And that if you'd known it was me, you would have turned a blind eye on the whole thing. Hm?"

Farrell thought a moment. "Nobody deserves what was about to happen to you in that alley. Nobody," he said quietly.

Lyrr's attempt at a smirk ended up a trembling smile. "And what exactly was about to happen there, Ensign?" She leaned forward, her eyes fierce and her breath coming and going rapidly to mirror her desperation. "Nothing happened...alright? No one hears about this. No one."

Farrell nodded, his face expressionless, and stared into her eyes. "For the record," he said softly, but in the near-monotone cadence of one reading a court transcript, "I have no knowledge of any incident of any sort on the night of stardate 57908.01. I was on a re-supply errand on Bajor, and never saw Commander Lyrr at any time."

She nodded slowly, exhaling a deep breath. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything you did tonight....and whatever else you plan on doing. I was in trouble - I admit that - and you happened to be there to help me out. Now, I don't for a second believe you would ever go out of your way to help me like that again, no matter what the predicament, but for this time...thanks."

"You're welcome," Farrell said, then added, "sir," the same way he had in that café on Risa the morning after Salinger's stabbing. It was a tone Lyrr had now heard only twice. Was it respect?

"Do you want me to call your--" Farrell paused. "...folks?" he shrugged. "You ought to rest."

"They really shouldn't hear about this," Lyrr told him with a wan smile. "And I don't want to stay here...." She pressed her thumb and index finger into her tired eyes and sighed. "I'll just find a place for the night. I think I still have some latinum somewhere."

"What are Yalen and Derna?" Farrell tried to remember the names, and at Lyrr's nod he continued. "What are they going to think if you don't come back tonight?"

"They'll worry," she answered forthrightly. She smiled weakly. "They always worry about me. As long as I return in the morning, they won't be too concerned." Lyrr pondered on that thought for a time, then sighed. "Okay...they will be. Which means" --she braced her hands against the tabletop and slowly rose-- "I should go, even if they are going to have a fit over the sight of me."

"Let me call them," Farrell said. "Or you call them, and tell them you're staying with some friends and you'll be home in the morning." He sat back in his chair and smiled a bit. "When my brothers and I would get caught sneaking in late with black eyes and bloody knuckles it always led to screaming and nobody got any sleep. Rest now while you can and let me work this for you," he finished, serious.

Lyrr eyed him warily. "They don't even know you," she pointed out. "But having lived with them for years, I must admit, you're absolutely right. If I go home like this, my headache will only get worse. But you don't tell them what happened," she reiterated firmly. "And when you address them, you do so as Mr. and Mrs. Ferl." Before he could ask, she added, "They're not my parents...so don't refer to me as their daughter."

"Are you a niece, then?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Just refer to me as Lyrr. They'll know who I am. And Mother Yalen might rant for a time - just ignore her, and she'll stop. Got it?"

"Perfect," Mason smiled, unmistakably mischievous. "You go rest. I'll handle this, and fill you in later. No worries." He held up a finger to forestall whatever other protest she was about to lodge. "You're my superior and you've set me a task. Now you stop worrying about it and trust that I'll get it done. Go get some sleep."

Lyrr chuckled weakly. "How can I, knowing I'm now indebted to you?" She shook her head regretfully and started back to the room, one hand favouring her right side. She would never live this down.

"Commander," he called after her, but gently.

She bristled as she slowed to a stop, prepared to lash out at him for attempting to satisfy his ego's desire to have the last word at such a time. But she wasn't about to exert what little energy she had left calling him on it, and instead stopped with her back to him. She gestured for him to proceed.

"I'm an Operations officer on your staff. I'm doing my duty. You don't owe me anything." There was no mockery. No humor. It was stated seriously, as fact.

There was a moment of ironic amusement in realizing, for once, she'd underestimated him. That was soon followed by a feeling of intense self-loathing in even allowing herself to make such an irksome admission. She looked over one shoulder at Farrell, despite the spike of pain it caused, reverberating in her skull. Her lips parted, meaning to utter another thank-you, but there was an odd sense from Farrell's expression that convinced her it wasn't required. She wondered if it was simply pity for an enemy who had encountered a rigorous trial and failed miserably. Or did he hate her just a micron less? Unlikely, she thought to herself wryly. She was still an elitist bitch in his mind, the last time she'd checked. Perhaps she hadn't underestimated him after all. Lyrr smiled tightly, and instead settled on a: "Goodnight, Ensign," before shuffling off again.

Jeraxa came back in with fresh tea as Lyrr disappeared into the bedroom.

"She's staying then?" she asked.

"Looks that way," Farrell answered. The bed squeaked in the next room as Lyrr climbed back in. "I need to borrow your replicator."

Jeraxa looked amused. "We don't have a replicator."

"That makes this a little tougher, then," Farrell mused. "Do you have a visual communications rig?"

"Yes," she nodded. "It's small, but we have one."

"Okay, then I need to borrow it for a bit."

---

"Bajoran Women, Part Two"
By: Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Ferl Yalen; Screeching Harridan [NPC]

Location: Bajor, The Monn Home
Stardate: 57908.02 01h45 (57908.01, 13h45 Standard)

***

Farrell settled into the chair. He'd hung a simple blue-grey sheet behind him, and flexed his shoulders in the uniform he'd had transported down. He was running a communications uplink from the Monn communicator through the Sulu's transmitters, which he figured would clean up any problems this little civilian unit had, as well as mask the origin of the transmission. Crewman Frazier had initially balked at patching it all together, but he'd promised her fresh fruit and real cream and she'd obliged him with her expertise as well as her promised silence.

A worried looking Bajoran woman keyed on the viewer at the Ferl household.

"Yes?" Ferl Yalen's tired eyes narrowed, almost getting lost in the dark bags beneath them. Her graying brown hair was an unkempt mess of loose tendrils falling around her face. One look at his uniform, and her quizzical expression transformed to one of concern. "Is this about Tayla?" she asked worriedly. "Something's happened? I knew it had! Derna," she called back to someone in the background. "It's a Starfleeter about Tayla!" Her attention back on the screen, her face loomed closer, revealing tearing eyes. "What's happened? Where is she?"

"Ferl Yalen?" he asked, official but polite.

"You'd better hope I am, young man," the woman replied sardonically, "or you'll get a tongue lashing like you've never experienced for worrying me so."

"Ensign Farrell, ma'am. USS Sulu. I apologize for the late hour. I've been asked to contact you by Commander Lyrr. She's been called back for an urgent meeting, and asked me to let you know, so you wouldn't worry."

"Well, it's too late for that!" she crowed, her thrown up arms going out of the frame. "That girl could do to learn a little responsibility," she continued to gripe. A man's voice from the background murmured quelling words that she dismissed. "She runs off without a word about where's going, keeps us up all night worrying, and now she deigns to let us know she's in a meeting? Well!"

"She regrets not being able to speak with you personally, but her attention is needed elsewhere," Farrell continued, adopting just the right expression of a cowed clerk trying to smooth things out. "She asked me to thank you, and let you know she enjoyed her visit and will try and see you again before the Sulu has to leave Bajor."

"What?" Yalen's tone softened, and unmistakable disappointment possessed her features. "She will try to see us again?" A sun-darkened, rough hand gently settled on the woman's shoulder. She reached up to squeeze it for comfort. "I know she is never glad to visit," the woman continued, more to herself than to Farrell, "but she could at least give an old woman a break by appearing happy." She sighed sharply, then, and a fire similar to one that often ignited in Lyrr flashed in her eyes. "It's those damned graves," she complained. "She doesn't need any more reminders!"

"Yalen, not now," the unseen man whispered gently.

"Yes, now!" she shot back. "As long as those bloody things are there, she won't move on. She won't believe they're gone!" Yalen snorted defiantly. "I'll show her differently, alright." Her attention fixed on Farrell again, and one calloused finger jabbed towards the screen. "You tell that girl that if she doesn't get her underfed rear back down here by tomorrow morning, I'm cleaning out her little garden ornaments. You tell her that!"

"I understand your frustration, ma'am." Mercy, but this woman was a banshee. No wonder Lyrr got shrill sometimes if she was raised with this. Farrell had to remind himself to stick to his plan. "But Commander Lyrr is a person of importance on board. Let me assure you that were the need not great the Commander would not have been called away from her family."

"Oh, let me tell you this, messenger boy," she went on with no sign of losing steam. "If we had given birth to that girl, she might show us a little more respect. But we're nothing!"

"Hush, Yalen," the man behind whispered quickly.

"I won't!" The woman's eyes again flooded with tears, and hastily she wiped them away. "We raised that girl, gave her everything" --her shrieking voice was thick now-- "but she wouldn't let us be anything but strangers. We're not the ones who killed her parents; but she treats us as if we were just as guilty of it." Yalen's body shook with a tremulous sob, but much like Lyrr, she attempted to suppress her emotions, though was much less successful. "We love that girl, but she gives us nothing but grief. You tell her--" Her voice cracked. She cleared it, and continued with renewed resolve. "You tell her if she's not down here by tomorrow morning, she can forget all about us, because I refuse to claim a heartless, ungrateful woman like her as our daughter. You hear that, messenger boy?!"

"I'll pass that along, ma'am," Farrell said quickly, back on message in the face of obvious and meaningless ranting. Then, after a perfect moment of hesitation: "Ma'am, it may not be my place to say so, but I've worked with the Commander for a little while now, and I think she appreciates you more than you know. She tells stories of growing up sometimes, and I wish I had had a childhood like hers, the way she tells it." It was the most flawless lie he had ever told. It surprised him that he was telling it on behalf of Commander Lyrr, rather than to her.

"Then she was fibbing," Yalen replied harshly. "Her childhood was spent driving us mad, coming home at all hours of the night, running off on us to join that foolish resistence and getting herself into all sorts of trouble because of it!" The woman, again wound up, shifted closer to the screen and appeared fiercely determined. "They sent her home to us, did you know that?" She chuckled lowly. "Oh yes, they did. Got herself into trouble there with some Cardassians, and they sent the poor girl home. We tried to comfort the girl...she refused! She wouldn't even let me near her - slapped me when I tried to hug her. That's the thanks I got for trying to love the girl! Then she up and leaves and we don't hear from her again for years!"

The man off-screen sighed, and now gripped both her shoulders firmly. "Yalen, the boy doesn't need to hear all about this. Please, stop."

"Well, Ma'am," Farrell's composure cracked just a bit, and he fumbled for a moment, thinking of something to say. Trouble. Cardassians. Scars. Slapped away a hug. Begged him never to discuss the alley. Damn. "I--" He hesitated again as he whipped himself back into focus. "I'm sorry I've upset you, ma'am. I will give the Commander your message. Sir," he addressed the man's hands. "I do apologize for the lateness of this call."

"It's no trouble," the gravelly voice replied, just as Yalen let slip another sob and dropped her face into her hands. The man leaned over as he reached out to the terminal, revealing his weathered face. It was only a moment later when the image winked out.

Farrell settled back in the chair, listing slightly to one side so he could place a thumb against his temple and his fingers on his forehead. He stared at the comm unit for a long time. It had happened to her before. Lyrr had been raped before. That explained quite a bit. And explained why, in the final analysis, she preferred being alone and friendless. Something odd floated back to him then.

Lyrr's words from after his attempted post-hospital apology echoed back to him. 'The next time you wonder why you're alone,' she had said, 'look upon that incident, upon every single conversation we've had that ended badly, and you'll know why. Solitude is not something that's forced upon you, Ensign; it's a choice, and from what I've seen of you, you prefer a life without companionship. And I don't know why. But the next time someone offers it, try not to slap their hand away, as you did with me.'

Companionship. He turned the word over in his head, his mind spinning at high velocity. Companionship? Was she making a genuine offer? Had Lyrr been opening up to him in that hospital room? It hadn't been contrived? No, it had been contrived, but not in the way he'd thought. She was opening up to him, but not as Commander Lyrr. She had been opening up to him as Tayla. She had said he'd be alone. She hadn't meant that he'd be without anyone. She had meant he'd be without her.

What a fool! He cursed himself inwardly. What a fool he had been! He knew she kept her emotions deeply closed-off. He had known she was incredibly defensive about anything deeper than her rank and position. She'd been trying to let him in, and he'd kicked her in the teeth.

He wondered what to do now. If she had opened a window, it was certainly closed now. How to atone for this error? If he had only been listening closer. But he'd given up trying to get inside her head. And just as he had abandoned that quest, she'd tried to let him in. Dammit!

He'd hurt her. Deeper than he had intended. Deeper than he had imagined. And the best thing to do about it, he realized, was nothing. He had to let her run her course and hope for the best. Saying anything about it--doing anything about it--would only make it worse. It wasn't about duty. She wouldn't make it about duty. It wasn't about sex, either. Surely it wasn't about that. This was about needing a friend. Lyrr Tayla needed a friend. Badly. Mason wondered if he could handle being that.

---

"Oil and Vinegar"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla; Executive Officer
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer

Location: The Monn Home; Nondescript Hill, Bajor
Stardate: 57908.02 04h30 (57908.01, 16h30 Standard)

***

Lyrr Tayla bolted upright, disturbing the sweat on her brow and setting it into motion down the sides of her face. More perspiration had collected in the hollow of her neck, and the nightgown she'd been lent clung to her sticky-wet body like Oresh had in her dream. She groaned as the heels of both hands ground into her eyes, rubbing away any sign of the tears induced by her nightmarish vision of the one man who had ever had any hold over her. Judging from her trembling body, and her nightgown soaked through with sweat, he still did.

An explosion of stars consumed her vision as she opened both eyes, then cleared upon blinking it away. She was still in Tasa's room, and it was still dark, but in her restless sleep, she knew no more than a couple hours could have passed. It was more rest than she often ever achieved. Again swinging her legs over the bed's edge, this time refraining from accidentally kicking the girl at her bedside, Lyrr meant to rise and seek out her tattered clothing. Instead, she found a pile of unfamiliar attire folded neatly atop a chair beside her. Lyrr's own boots sat beneath the chair, and beside them a few slips of latinum still remaining from after her transaction with Yer. Lyrr left them untouched in favour of the clothing Jeraxa had supplied her with.

Soundlessly rising from her bed, she shed the damp nightgown and quietly slipped into the perfectly sized pants and woven shirt. After her boots went on, Lyrr stepped lightly out of the room, seeking the front door.

The living area was a sea of impenetrable darkness. A curtained window at one end of the room provided scant illumination that barely cast an outline to the various obstacles in her path. Lyrr held out her arms, searching for the dining table she remembered was somewhere-- She cursed as one foot caught on a chair leg and jostled it. After steadying it with both hands, Lyrr froze and listened for signs that she'd roused Tasa or her stalwart mother. Lyrr was just a little intimidated by the woman, but she wasn't at her best, judging from the nagging ache in her side and jaw. But, they were minor compared to what could have happened to her. Confident that all within the small home were still fast asleep, Lyrr resumed navigating the precarious living area with far more caution this time around.

Her eyes stared sightlessly into the thick darkness, straining to find the doorway. She never had been comfortable in the dark; wandering around in it fifteen years ago was what had gotten her into trouble, but she refused to let it immobilize her with fear.

Much distance had been covered and Lyrr believed she had come to the end of her journey. She set her arms down and strode with greater confidence, only to collide with a solid barrier that had her reeling forward. Lyrr groped frantically for something to keep her upright, managed a weak hold on something cushiony she thought could only be the back of Jeraxa's sofa, but still came crashing down.

She sucked in a sharp breath as her tender ribs slammed into two long legs, that jerked beneath her as their owner awoke with a start. Next, she was struggling with the stranger as strong hands closed around her arms reflexively. Lyrr gave a shout and desperately slapped them away, while she twisted wildly to find her footing.

Farrell originally thought it was one of those Falling Dreams, where the dreamer wakes with a violent start as he hits the ground. But the ground, as he recalled, didn't usually try and fight a person off. He was tangled beneath a flailing weight and his blanket, and the entire snarled mass slid off the couch and onto the floor. What was going on? He wriggled out from under the blanket as his assailant struggled upright, blundered into the couch again, cursed in a gruff but feminine voice, and finally managed to get onto her feet. He skittered clear, still on the floor.

"Commander?" he hissed. "What are you doing?"

"Farrell?" The voice was bewildered and detectably quivering. Lyrr halted her foot in mid-swing, aiming for the supposed perpetrator if she could find him. She leaned over to get a closer look, and could barely make out his dazed expression in the darkness. "Sorry," she whispered. "I...I didn't know you were still here." Lyrr extended a hand towards her fallen comrade and sought out his own. She found first his chest, which was decidedly bare and warm - her hand flinched away, then found his upper arm, and moved downwards finally to his hand. "Don't worry," she assured him, "I'm not going to break anything."

"Except me?" he whispered with a chuckle. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you up," she answered, then tugged and did just that. "I couldn't sleep," she went on, "so decided now would be a good time to take my leave."

"It's not even dawn yet," he continued to keep his voice low. "Where are you going?"

Lyrr shrugged. "Out. Why? You're not going to start following me, are you, Ensign? You've sufficiently done your duty to the ship for one day."

Farrell sighed and shook his head. "And you called Jeraxa unrelenting," he chuckled. "Regulations say you ought to have an escort, you know."

"But we're not on board," she pointed out, then sidled past him, though not entirely successfully as her shoulder bumped his. "Besides," she added from behind, "you've barely had any sleep tonight. Get some rest. I promise not to find trouble."

"Right," Farrell muttered, clearly not believing her. "My story stands about tonight, but if you never make it back to the ship it won't hold up long. Let me put a shirt on."

Lyrr cleared her throat and awkwardly scratched at a spot on her cheek as she turned her back to him. "Good idea," she murmured, then louder: "What did you tell Mother Yalen, anyway? Did she chew you out?"

"And how," he said, muffled through his shirt. His head poked out and he reached for his holster rig and started belting it on. "She wants to see you tomorrow, or else."

Amused, Lyrr asked, "Or else what? She'll disown me again?" She snorted and shook her head slowly. "She's used that same line on me hundreds of times. Empty threat. What else did she say?"

"She's threatened to disown you hundreds of times?" Farrell asked. "She sounded pretty serious this time. Talked about throwing something of yours out. Garden ornaments or something."

Lyrr froze, and struggled to see Farrell's face in the darkness. Was he serious? "She wouldn't," Lyrr whispered, unconvincingly. "She didn't-- She really said that?"

"Yep." Farrell snugged his belt just so, and draped his shirt over the rig. "She really said that. So where are we going?" he asked, reaching for his vest.

"Is everything alright?" Jeraxa stood in the doorway tying the cloth belt of a worn robe. "I heard a yelp."

Lyrr's eyes squinted as the lights were activated. "Sorry we woke you. I was just leaving, but now that you're here...thank you for your hospitality. I'll be sure to return your clothing to you as soon as I can."

"Think nothing of it," Jeraxa said quietly. "While I do wish you'd stay and rest, I certainly won't keep you prisoner any longer."

She smiled grudgingly at the woman, then glanced aside at Farrell and nodded. "I'll meet you outside if you still insist on following me." And with the single overhead lamp providing enough illumination to light her way, she made for the now visible door.

***

"Mind if I smoke?" Farrell asked, setting his bottle down in the grass.

Lyrr pulled her own bottle from her lips and shook her head with a wince as the liquor scorched her throat. "If you share," she croaked, then coughed and set down what she swore was antiseptic between them.

"Just swallow before I light this for you," he chuckled, popping open a cigar tube and sliding the dark brown roll between two fingers. He pulled a small gleaming square of metal from a pocket. "That hooch is pretty strong. Here, I'll split this one with you." He slid the cigar halfway through a hole in the metal square, and with a swift click it was sliced in half. He lit his half quickly, and offered it to her for ease of use.

"This isn't like the dungbomb crap most smoke merchants sell. Don't pull in too much until you're used to it. Just puff," Farrell coached. "Keep the smoke in your mouth instead of your lungs for now."

Lyrr watched him sidelong with a hint of amusement, then chuckled and snatched the half-cigar from his fingers. "I know you think I'm stuffy and uptight, Ensign, but I have done this before." Lyrr sniffed briefly at the severed end of her cigar, made a quiet sound of approval and finally closed her lips around it. After drawing in a long stream of smoke, Lyrr pulled the cigar free and let the cloud linger in her mouth.

It was a strange flavor wrapped in a strange sensation. The smoke was almost fluid, rich and thick and strong. Its flavor was riotous: coffee, chocolate, cherries, leather, nuts, and other notes all played in the smoke. Lyrr was reminded a bit of the toddy Farrell had brewed her a few weeks back. This cigar was like that: disparate flavors that didn't seem like they should go together, but in fact did, and surprisingly well.

She swallowed it down, then, as if consuming a decadent chocolate cake, then sighed out a rolling cloud of the smoke and nodded at her cigar. "They certainly don't sell this at any old merchant's cart." Lyrr smiled at Farrell. "Where'd you get this?"

"Risa," he winked, rolling a mouthful of smoke around with his tongue. "These are premier blended Sekkua rolls, only available on Risa."

"Ah." Lyrr indulged in another pull of the cigar, then reclined onto the dewy grass. One arm curled beneath her head to prop it and the other rested atop her stomach with the cigar still securely in her grasp. Lyrr watched the moon through a haze of perfumed smoke; it loomed low in the sky, and the tall hill they'd found upon which to share in their various acquisitions brought them even closer. Lyrr chuckled as her hand twitched with a yearning to reach out for it. "Ensign Farrell?" she asked.

"Hm?"

Turning her head aside to regard him, she continued with the burning question: "Why do we hate each other again?"

He thought a long time before answering. "I don't know," he said at last. "I want to say it's because you're an elitist bitch and all the usual stuff. But I don't think that's really true. We're just both headstrong people, I reckon. And we're headstrong with two different ways of doing things. Oil and Vinegar."

Lyrr nodded thoughtfully, while her eyes absently studied Farrell's hand, resting upon the grass but obscured by her bottle. The pink flesh was grotesquely distorted by the clear glass, and with her cigar still in hand, she traced the contorted outline of his hand over the glass with her baby finger. She couldn't imagine ever overcoming her anxieties enough to do such a thing to a hand in the true flesh, and nearly swatted the bottle away in disgust. She sighed and returned her gaze to the moon. "One thing that's strange about oil and vinegar," she mused, "is they taste damn good in a salad. Don't they?"

"Yep," Farrell replied. "When they get tossed together, they're mighty tasty. But they can't ever stay mixed long."

Lyrr smirked. "So...we're destined to be arch enemies forever, then?" She shrugged and added, "Seems a little trivial, when one considers everything else that goes on in this universe. Ensign Storm, for starters. I bet he'd be looking at us with disdain right now if he knew we expended so much energy bickering, while he's out there somewhere just trying to find his way home." Again regarding him, she chuckled weakly. "Pretty idiotic, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Farrell said. "And we're not always enemies. You supported my plan on Risa. Part of it anyway. We have our moments where we can really get working. When our ideas happen to meet, we do well. We just don't meet often."

Both were quiet for a time. Farrell broke it. "I was thinking the other day about that hospital screaming match we had."

Lyrr cleared her throat uncomfortably and, whereas she had just displayed a level of openness rare for her, she defensively closed herself off again by sitting upright and pulling her legs into her chest. "I thought we'd already had this discussion," she told him. "You were sorry, I said you weren't, and we put it in the past?"

Farrell chuckled, and took a moment to blow a smoke ring. "Easy, Commander. I'm not looking for a rematch. I'd like to make you a deal."

Lyrr grinned wryly. "A deal with the craftiest officer in the 'fleet? That'd just be asking to get burned."

He chuckled again. "Try and keep an open mind, willya?"

"I'm trying," she replied, then motioned for him to continue. "So...what's the deal, then?"

"That's the deal," he said. "You try and keep an open mind, and I'll try and run my crazy ideas by you like you wanted."

"I never said that," she replied defensively. "I was never trying to keep you under my thumb. I was just-- I was offering constructive criticism and assistance. You were the one not keeping an open mind, Farrell."

"My open mind was the reason we got into the argument in the first place," Farrell said flatly. "I was putting ideas in motion that bothered you."

Lyrr gaped. "Ideas? What ideas? That I was an--" She snapped her mouth shut and shook her head firmly. "No...not getting into another fight tonight, especially not with you. I think one scuffle is enough for anyone." She fell silent after that, staring pensively at her burning cigar. A soft chuckle broke her reverie, and she glanced at him sidelong. "Oil and Vinegar, huh?"

Farrell's nonplussed look split into a grin and he looked down and shook his head. "That's us. I'd make a crack about which is which, but it works both ways, I guess." He took another draw on his cigar. "Shall we change the subject?"

Lyrr dropped her chin onto her knees and nodded. "Anything in mind? I know you've got plenty. Your brain's always working, isn't it?"

"I'll keep it duty-related," he said. "What are we going to do about Storm?"

Her features changed, all levity vanishing from them and becoming serious in quality. "I haven't had a chance to speak with the captain since yesterday," she replied. "Captain Waverly has organized search parties...and while we're docked at DS9 for repairs, there isn't much we can do."

"Waverly must have it in hand, then. The Captain didn't seem too terribly concerned yesterday."

Lyrr cocked an eyebrow. "Very smooth segue, Ensign," she quipped. "Spill it."

"Oh, now you want to know the gossip, eh?" Farrell chuckled. "You'll actually be the first to hear this one, since only I saw it."

Lyrr growled playfully in frustration. "Will you just tell me!" Then she grinned. "I'll make it an order if I have to."

"Alright," Farrell said, taking a swig off the bottle and smacking his lips to try and keep them from going numb because of it. "Yesterday," he paused. "It's stardate 02 now, so it wasn't yesterday. Stardate 31, which was sort of yesterday--"

"You're a horrible storyteller, Farrell," she interjected. "Now, will you get on with it!"

"Okay," he said, with a humorous pout. "So I'm on the DS9 promenade, and who walks right past me but our own good Captain, dressed to the nines and with our own Lieutenant Tagliesh on his arm, heading for Quarks where I can only imagine an evening of romance awaited. Now I'm not saying that's necessarily bad. They're people, and appear to be very happy with each other. Or on each other, or whatever," he waved a hand absently. "All I'm sayin' is, we've got a missing man. That's all I'm sayin'."

A little too drunk to register any anger, Lyrr could only shake her head in disappointment. "I told him that woman would bring him down," she muttered. Smiling tightly, she added, "I guess I'll be returning to the ship early." Lyrr raised her index finger for emphasis. "But not right now. There's still much drinking to do."

Farrell laughed and handed her the bottle. "Fair enough."

After a much needed toss from it, Lyrr passed the bottle back. She sighed, pondering the vile, yet surprisingly satisfying flavour, then rested her cheek upon her raised knees to regard Farrell. "Did you know Storm well?"

"No," Farrell shook his head. "We met just before he got arrested. I don't think anyone knows him well. He's a loner to the bone. Too bad, too."

"That he's missing," she asked, "or that he didn't have the pleasure of making your acquaintance?" She chuckled teasingly and reached aside for the bottle of cheap, noxious liquor. Before bringing it to her lips, she held it out to him in offering.

Farrell laughed out loud at her crack, and accepted a shot of the hooch. He shook his head to clear it as he handed the bottle back. "No, too bad that he's a loner. The guy's got heritage. Famous grandfather, hero father. The family's swimming in medals from half a dozen different governments. And he's got it in him to match up. He just doesn't feel like he knows how."

Lyrr smiled pointedly at Farrell. "Sounds familiar..."

"Yeah," Farrell said, the look in his eyes telling her he caught her meaning. "Maybe that's why he gets to me. His discipline thing reminded me a lot of mine. Maybe I want to see him recover from it a little different than I did."

"You had a discipline problem?" Her smile was rich in sarcasm. She smothered it with a quick toss of the bottle, then a pass of her hand over her lips. After a wheezing cough, she sighed and handed the bottle back. "Is that what happened on Starbase 242, then?" she asked. "A discipline problem?"

"The Judge Adjutant saw it that way," Farrell said, exhaling smoke through his nose. "But the point's not me. The point is, Storm went and got himself in trouble. And if he's not careful, he'll end up screaming at his XOs and serving as an Ensign the rest of his career. And he's better than that."

Lyrr cocked an eyebrow at him. "And you're not?" She chuckled to herself, and shook her head. "I guess Counsellor Scott was right," she mused. "She said you felt you could never measure up. To what? I don't know. Though I doubt the 'what' are my expectations for you." Lyrr scrutinized his face, searching for any shift in his features to gauge his reaction. His poker-face remained firmly in place. "Yeah...I thought it was a complete joke, too. I mean you? Self esteem issues?" She snorted derisively.

"Yeah," he said in a mock-sagely tone. "People like me and you? We're plenty satisfied with who we are. Counselor Scott's been sniffing acrylates."

Lyrr gave a genuine laugh that was at once lyrical and full-throated. She watched Farrell with detectable joy in her brown eyes, and once the laughter died down, Lyrr sighed. "It's strange," she said thoughtfully. "One never knows just how truly dysfunctional they are until they encounter someone just as badly off as they are." Her gaze was fully on Farrell as she said it. "It doesn't mean it's going to help you change...but it is nice to know that at least you're not alone." She smiled to herself, pondering the word, and realizing she knew its meaning all too well. "I guess some of us are just incapable of being rehabilitated," Lyrr muttered wistfully.

"Maybe. I just hope Storm's not a lost cause, is all." Farrell took another swig and grunted. "Why are we drinking this? Say, did you finish that brandy?"

Lyrr smiled guiltily. "Not all of it.... After the hospital, I acted on impulse motivated by anger and donated it to Stencil. I mean...it's not like it was a heartfelt gift, although if it had been, it would have felt ten times more satisfying disposing of it to spite you."

"That's a shame. Yridian brandy's hard to come by. Stencil probably served it to some fool like Collins who just wanted to get loaded." Farrell shook his head.

Lyrr raised their bottle of cheap liquor, and studied it critically. "Yes...some fool...." She flicked her eyes in his direction, then chuckled and thrust the bottle towards him. "I'm almost drunk. You'd better take this before I become more so and start saying things that actually make sense."

Farrell laughed, took the bottle, and set it down. "No thanks. I want to keep my eyesight." He looked back at the sky. "Sun's coming up," he said off-handedly. "We ought to get back to the ship."

Lyrr shook her head firmly. "I'm not going up there like this. I mean, people will ask questions, it'll filter down through the ranks...." Her next thoughts were of T'Kal finding out and likely going on a rampage. It would take some artfully contrived explanation to satisfy his curiousity when he inevitably interrogated her. "Oh, just go," she sighed and dropped her forehead onto her knees. "I'll figure something out."

"Farrell to Youssenian," she heard him say after the chirp of an activating commbadge. "One to beam directly to Quarters 2A. Acknowledge." She felt a light tap on her back, between her shoulder blades.

Lyrr's head popped upright and she glared at Farrell sitting beside her. One hand, reaching behind her, brushed against the cold metal of a communicator as she whispered, "What are you doing!" He simply shrugged and offered one of his obnoxiously smug lopsided grins.

"Acknowledged," came the voice of Youssenian.

"Execute."

Lyrr sucked in a deep breath, preparing for the blistering tirade she was to assail Farrell with, but the transporter beam caught her before the first harsh word could spill from her lips. The last thing she saw among the sparkling haze was Farrell, smiling with a burning cigar gripped between his teeth, and a bottle of moonshine raised high in salute.

---

"A Rose By Any Other Name"
By:Crewman Emma Summers
Nurse Amy Reese

Location: Kit and Amy's quarters; Lounge, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57908.01, 19h31

***

Emma Summers pressed the chime on the door and heard it sing out inside with the chirp. She leaned against the wall dressed in casuals - jeans and a floppy top that hid her figure. Her hair was bound up in a loose bun - she looked 'very' casual.

"Coming!" came the shout from within, then heavy, running footsteps. "It's just for me," the feminine voice was heard calling back to someone else in the room, then the door swooshed open. Amy Reese appeared, standing there in bright orange slacks and a far too small t-shirt with a web of multicoloured, intersecting lines shooting across her chest. Her hair, however, was her natural strawberry blonde shade, and gathered at each side of her head in two pigtails. She squealed at the sight of Emma before her, and impulsively trapped her new friend in an embrace. "I'm so glad you're here!" she gushed. "Oh, this is gonna be so fun!"

"What are you doing?" Emma looked over her shoulder, wondering who else was in her quarters as she hugged Amy back. As she drew back Emma had a grin on her face that was sly. "I've got to tell you something before you go on shift today - you're working with Szerda aren't you?"

Amy cocked an eyebrow at Emma, and leaned in towards her, intrigued. "I am.... Why? What have you heard?"

"Not what I heard..." Emma drawled. She pushed past Amy and breezed in to the small quarters. "Did I hear you talking to someone?"

Amy watched her friend's back, too curious to be irritated, and answered, "Just Kitty. He's in the shower."

"Uhuh." Emma sprawled on the couch. "I was hoping we could talk." She didn't look happy about Kit being there. "Anyway..." she grinned, "I had a date last night.."

Amy's glossed lips spread wide. "With who!" she shrieked, then threw herself onto the sofa, jarring Emma with the impact. "You have to tell me," she begged, and even clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture. "Kitty can't hear us...I promise!"

"One of the science guys," she smirked. "That's not the good bit!" She leaned closer so that Kit wouldn't be able to hear. "I was in the lounge, and Szerda was there." She chuckled rather evilly. "She was talking about you again." Emma lifted a hand and absently polished a bright scarlet fingernail. "I had an accident with a glass of something red...and it went all over her front.."

Amy gasped and a hand dramatically flew to her mouth. When it slid away, she was wearing a large grin. Soon, a squeal and boisterous laughter erupted and Amy had gripped Emma by both shoulders. "Oh that's wonderful! Did she scream? Did she cry? Tell me!"

"I don't know what it was - 'cause I borrowed the glass from a guy I was next to." Emma laughed. "You should have seen her face - she was beside herself!" She leaned closer again. "I told her that if she talked about you again - I'd rip her tongue out." Emma's eyes glittered with malevolence. "I really can't stand that bitch," she added softly.

Amy mirrored Emma's resentment with narrowed eyes and a feral smile. "Neither can I. But I think after that, she won't be saying another word about me." Her features softened and Amy quickly kissed her friend's cheek. "Thanks, Emma. You really are great."

Emma's smile softened as she looked at the only friend she had. "Hey," she said softly. "Anything for a friend...." She smirked. "Just tell me if she says anything to you...I'll talk to her again." She waved absently at the noise coming from the shower. "So..." she asked. "How's things with Kit? You okay?"

"Oh, sure," Amy answered with a dismissive gesture, "things are dandy. Though, Crissy's given me this crazy idea that I should suggest he and I see other people while staying boyfriend and girlfriend." She paused to take a deep breath and roll her eyes. "Like that will go down well with him. I don't even know if I should bother mentioning it!"

Emma frowned. Leaning closer she put a hand on Amy's shoulder. "What do you want, Amy? I'm hearing a lot about what Kit wants - and now what Crissy wants for you...but what do you want?" She looked deeply into Amy's eyes and said, "That's what's important. You have to be who you are, or who you want to be. Don't let anyone - including Kit - make you conform to something that you aren't. If he loves you like you say he does, then he loves you - the woman he met - not the woman he wants you to turn into. You can't just fall in love with someone and hope that they become what you want." She looked away for a moment a tear in her eyes. "Believe me, Amy, I know!"

Amy frowned at her friend's distress, and sympathetically trapped her in another embrace. "I guess, then, it's up to me to decide what I truly want." Attempting to inject some levity into their emotion-laden moment, she grinned and pulled back. "Let's get out of here. Just you and me, fun, drinks, and whatever else we can think of...though considering you did come up with that Szerda prank, I have a feeling we're in store for some trouble tonight!"

Emma smiled and wiped her eyes. "Okay." She stood and pulled Amy to her feet with her hands. "I'm not exactly dressed for it...." She looked at Amy hopefully. "Can I borrow?"

Her smile stretched to mischievous proportions, and with a sharp tug, she had Emma stumbling behind her as she dashed towards her room. "Dress-up time it is!" she announced triumphantly, and was determined to find Emma the slinkiest, sexiest outfit in her wardrobe...which meant she had plenty of rifling to do.

***

Emma smoothed the silken sheath at her upper thighs that barely covered her. It was a band of deep scarlet material that exposed her belly and black stocking covered legs; the black stiletto heels made her four inches taller. She wore a black bolero jacket that wouldn't fasten and a matching scarlet tube across her breasts. Her hair was a dark loose mass of glossy curls and her make-up was darkened lashes and bright red lips. She felt like a vamp, and it had been a long time since men had stared at her in the way they were doing now. She draped an arm across Amy's back as they stopped just inside the doors to the crew lounge. "Pause for effect, dear," she whispered to Amy. She flicked her eyes down the body of her fellow nurse, admiring what she had chosen.

It was comparatively conservative to what she normally wore during outings, but still daring enough to capture the attention of more than one set of eyes in the lounge that night. Her skirt, made of a metallic fabric, glistened and stretched tautly as she moved within it. It molded seamlessly to her hips and rear, and left little room for movement of her bare legs. Her top was fashioned in a flat, black material, and had one strap over her right shoulder, while the other remained bare. The neckline ran on a bias that exposed cleavage, the top of one supple breast, and curved around under her left arm to dip low at her back. Her hair remained its natural blonde colour, but was slicked back in a sultry style. She smiled with glittering lips and glanced aside at her friend. "Definitely show stoppers," she quipped.

"Let's have some fun." Emma looked across a sea of faces, looking first for Benedict, but not seeing him. She found that he hardly ever visited the crew lounge, not like he used to on the Windsor, or the Galaxy. She was glad that he wasn't there, and a touch disappointed. "Music..." Emma drawled. "I need a drink or two." She started toward the bar. "Come on...let's tease."

Amy smiled and hurried to keep up with Emma as she strode confidently towards the bar. "I'm really trying to be good, you know," she told Emma. "I think even teasing is prohibited."

Emma cast her a sidelong glance that showed plain disapproval. "You know one day you're going to get a little cramped in that tiny box Kitty is trying to keep you in. You love the guy, right?" She turned to face Amy, leaning close so that they couldn't be overheard. "Is there anything about him that you want to change? Would you want to change him if you could? And if you did, would he be the same guy you fell in love with? Amy - he's trying to make you into something you aren't - it's like pulling off the petals of a flower just because you don't want them - it's not going to change the nature of the flower - but it'll sure as hell kill it!"

"H-He's not trying to!" Amy stammered. "He...he just doesn't like sharing me, that's all. And I love him the way he is." She chewed her bottom lip and looked away. "Although....I sorta would like him to be a little more...aggressive, you know? I-I would like, for once, for him to fight for me - not literally or anything, but, that sorta thing...."

"If you wanted a real man, Amy you should date one." The retort was regretted as soon as she said it, and she put her arms around Amy and said, "I'm sorry, honey - I shouldn't have said that." She sighed and drew back. "You want him to fight for you and he won't. Doesn't that tell you something? He wants to lock you away. How happy are you going to be fighting against yourself. I can see it, baby...." She smoothed a strand of hair away from Amy's face. "All I see is him wanting you to change the way you are - you're a beautiful giving person and he wants that all for himself." She smiled. "You really can't change who you are - no matter what you do cosmetically to make it look like you've changed. You are who you are. Be you!" She gripped Amy's arms firmly and shook her a little as she said it. "Now - let's forget about this crap and have some fun."

Amy sighed, then reluctantly nodded her head. "Well...a little fun couldn't hurt..." She giggled at her vivacious friend, then bounced past her to the bar. There, she waved vigorously at one of the servers. "Two very attractive ladies would like a drink!" she announced, and the man visibly blushed. Amy patted the seat beside her for Emma. "You still have to tell me all the details about your date," she sang, paused momentarily to pass on their drink orders to the tender, and returned her focus to Emma with a grin. "Do tell."

Emma chuckled. "He's in science - his name's Vincent. He's cute. We only had drinks." She crossed her legs and swivelled to lean back on the bar. "He's funny," she added. "Not funny weird - but funny funny...well...maybe just a little bit weird." She pinched two fingers together to show a small gap.

"Weird is good," Amy replied, smiling brightly. "Some would say my Kitty is weird...and me." She smiled suspiciously at her friend, and leaned in towards her. "So...no kiss goodnight? Hm?"

"Nope..." Emma smirked. "He wanted to...but you can't give in too easy. Men like to chase. They like a challenge." She laughed softly. "You have to learn the art of teasing, Amy - it's sometimes more fun than anything." She looked into Amy's eyes and ran a finger lightly across the bare skin of her arm. Her red nail scratched the flesh as she smiled seductively. In a voice that sounded like a purr she said, "You have to establish a little control...a little need...drive them insane until they'll do just about anything." She grinned and playfully slapped Amy's arm, seeing the almost involuntary reaction in her to respond. "Don't try to control yourself, Amy Reese - just use it to control everyone else!" She giggled as she snatched up her glass and took a sip. "Sex is a weapon. A weapon of mass destruction if you really know how to use it!"

Amy frowned inquisitively. "A weapon? I mean, I've used sex before to get little things, like favours and stuff...but you make it sound so...low." She shrugged and puckered her pink lips around her drink's straw.

"It's not low, dear, it's the naturally endowed weapons mommy nature gave us. Besides once you give a man what he wants he becomes complacent. Always keep him wanting more." She grinned at Amy. "You don't ever have that problem, Amy Reese - just look at you...you're beautiful." She turned to look out at the crowd of Starfleet Officers. Some of the women were giving them dirty looks. She just gave them a catty smile.

"Pick one," she said to Amy. "I'll show you what I mean."

Amy shot Emma a questionable gaze, while still sucking on her drink. She glanced vaguely back at the crowd, and without relinquishing her lips' hold on the straw, she pointed randomly to a male officer with ruddy-coloured hair and a trim, solid build. Her eyes flashed back towards Emma as she murmured into the tube, "Him."

Emma grinned. "Not too bad." She looked him up and down. She stared in his direction for a few minutes, casually sipping her drink until the man happened to glance her way. He caught her looking at him and she gave him a slight smile and demurely looked away, then as she re-crossed her legs. She looked back and broadened her smile by a fraction. He was still looking at her and their eyes met and she turned back to Amy. "Any minute now..." she whispered with a smile.

"Hi," a male voice said a minute later.

"Hi," Emma said, looking up at him with a sultry smile. She was still leaning back against the bar. She flicked her hair off her shoulder with a slight move of her head that exposed the curve of her long neck, and smiling up at him she said, "I'm Emma."

"John," he grinned and leaned against the bar real casual like. "John Sorensen, engineering."

"Nice to meet you, John." Emma gave him a smile and extended her hand. As he took it, she said, "This is my friend Amy." She held on to his hand a little longer than necessary and turned slightly toward him. Her leg touched him, but she didn't move it away. He glanced down at the expanse of black-clad thigh her short skirt exposed and the tight, well-defined stomach with a glistening diamond peeking out of her belly-button. He swallowed hard.

His smile went from Emma to Amy and he said, "Can I get you girls a drink?"

"Sure..." Emma said cheerily. She looked at Amy and winked.

She first glanced down at her half-full glass, then Amy smiled up at the man. "Drinks...sure." As an afterthought, Amy yelped and hastily shifted over a seat. Her eyes motioned towards it. "Make yourself comfy, Jonny." She giggled.

His grin could have decapitated him. He laughed at Amy's antics and moved into the seat. The three other engineers that he'd been talking to a minute before were staring in disbelief as he perched himself casually between the two women. He faced the bar, while Emma turned so that her body was facing him, one elbow on the bar, the other hand straying to her black stockinged thigh. "I'll have a Screaming Orgasm," she said, looking into his eyes.

"That's a drink right?" he asked uncertainly, looking at Emma and then at Amy.

"If you like..." Emma chuckled. It was a throaty purr. She caught Amy's eyes.

Emma was far more forward than Amy had ever thought herself to be. In fact, she was impressed. "So, Johnny," Amy asked, attempting to pry his eyes from Emma's, "did you go to Risa? Have fun?"

John Sorensen grinned widely and nodded. "Who didn't?" he asked rhetorically. "Pretty cool actually - did a bit of surfing...you know..." he shrugged. "What about you?" He looked at Amy Reese as the barman deposited Emma's drink before her. John ordered a beer and looked at Amy expectantly. "You want what she's having?" he asked cheekily. His eyes were a deep amber and his large, strong-looking hands tapped a casual beat on the bar top, his muscles bunched beneath his uniform showing corded arms.

Emma was grinning at Amy behind him. She sipped her new drink, thinking about how she could use an engineering officer. He was an Ensign so wasn't high on the food chain, but she had to remind herself that she was 'only' a crewman.

Amy glanced past the ensign at Emma, wondering just what this entire exercise was meant to prove. If Kit even suspected she was flirting.... "Um...I think I'll stick with my cocktails," Amy told him. She leaned in towards the ensign, and whispered, "I'm sorta taken...but she isn't, and it looks like she's certainly willing, so why not direct your attention towards her, hm?"

John smiled. Sorta taken? he thought. He nodded, his eyes straying down her body. She looked fine - they both did. He didn't want to push it so he turned back to Emma.

Emma had heard what Amy had said to him and she smiled. Amy was being a good girl for little Kitty-Kat. How she could go for that little weed while turning down a guy like Sorensen was beyond her. What the hell did Markham have that made Amy want to do this to herself. Was it true love? There was no such thing! Maybe that was the lesson Amy needed to learn. Sooner or later she'd be betrayed by Markham. Putting those thoughts aside she turned her charm on the engineer. "I love the ocean," she said, stirring the creamy cocktail with one finger. "Maybe you could teach me to surf.."

John Sorensen immediately imagined the dark haired beauty beside him in a bikini. A very tiny bikini. "I'd love to..." he said as casually as the lump in his throat allowed.

Emma's face fell as she sucked her finger. "That would be so great...but with the new holodeck restrictions on leisure use...." She shrugged. "I've already run out of allocation." She looked up at him innocently.

He grinned. "Not me...I haven't had a chance to use mine. The Chief's been working us ragged with all the repairs. I'm not even gonna get a chance to go near a holodeck for a while. I'm lucky to get tonight off - I just pulled a double shift."

Emma leaned in against his arm and dropped one hand to his thigh. It felt tight. Muscular. She looked into his eyes and smiled. "Tell you what," she breathed. She leaned closer and her lips brushed his ear. "Let me use some of your holodeck time while you can't...and when you can...you can teach me to surf." She leaned back slowly as he regarded her. "You can teach the both of us..." she suggested mildly as she looked at Amy. "Want to go swimming, Amy?"

Amy glanced between the two and nodded wholeheartedly. "I like swimming." She leaned her elbows onto the bar top and rested her chin in both hands. "You really gonna let us use some of your holodeck time, Johnny?" Her smile became sultry in quality, though she resisted the urge to settle a hand on his thigh, much as Emma was. "We'd really be grateful, you know."

John Sorensen looked down at Amy Reese and then at Emma Summers. A part of his mind was telling him that he was being suckered, but how could he pass up getting holodeck time with these two? The very idea of watching the pair on a beach in next to nothing on would keep him going through the double shifts over the next couple of weeks, and the guys would be envious as hell! He grinned. That was what really clinched it. What use was holodeck time he couldn't use? When he could get to it - he'd have two gorgeous women to spend time with. It beat poker with the guys any day! "Sure thing," he grinned. "I can do that."

Emma's hand tightened on his leg and her smile was radiant. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, slowly so that he could get a feel of her cheek against him and scent her perfume. "Thanks, John," she whispered in his ear. "Any time you want to take me surfing, I'm in medical...Beta shift." She pulled back. "Do you dance?" she said silkily. "Let's dance, Amy." She cast Amy a smile and grabbed her hand. "Come on...."

Amy shrugged at John as she hopped off her chair. "Don't be afraid to join us, Johnny," she told him, gave a little wave, then skipped along behind Emma towards the open dancing space. "I can't believe you did that!" Amy whispered, giggling. "He practically gave us all his holodeck time for just a smile!"

"Not to mention surfing lessons." She laughed and rolled her eyes. "See...it's a weapon," she laughed. "Wanna heat things up?" She moved sinuously closer to Amy as the music started. "And you've been a good girl too," she smiled. "Flirting is fine...driving them crazy is better." She cast a glance at the engineer and smiled for him so that his friends could see her blow him a kiss. He grinned from his stool. Turning back to Amy she said, "Every man's fantasy is to have two women...just the thought of it makes them crazy. You don't really have to do anything, just let them imagine that it might happen." She danced closer to Amy, moving almost against her as she brushed a hand through her own dark hair, tossing her head slightly as she looked back at John and smiled. She was dancing with Amy but she made it seem like she was dancing with him - at least as far as he was concerned.

As much as Emma was enjoying their game, Amy was horrified at the image of Kit walking into the lounge and stumbling upon Emma swaying against her. Looking down at her friend's hips, Amy made a mental correction: Grinding against me. But Emma wasn't interested in her - she was more interested in manipulating a few holodeck rations from some gullible engineer, and she did move well.... Amy sighed inwardly and decided one dance wouldn't hurt...she supposed.

She smiled silkily at Emma as she drew her hands over perfectly curved hips and rested them there; the fabric of the tight skirt Emma wore was certainly riding up as she undulated gracefully against her, and Amy surreptitiously attempted to push it back down. Her own, however, wasn't any better off now that she was slipping easily into the sensual dance. Their hips seemed interlocked as they moved in synchronous rhythm to each other's body. Amy's breath caught when their chests brushed and she was drawn in closer to her friend - so close, Emma's warm breath mingled with hers, and the scent of her Orgasm was detectable. She knew she was in dire trouble.

Emma sighed audibly as they brushed together, but didn't pay any attention to Amy at all. She looked at John as she moved, and could feel Amy get closer as the beat turned primal. As Amy's hand brushed her thigh she ran a gentle hand down Amy's back, grazing the skin with her nails and letting a throaty groan leave her parted lips. John was riveted to the scene, as were several other men. It was a purely sexual dance and although Emma was directing her stares at the engineer, she could feel Amy responding. She smiled as she felt their thighs connect, Amy's hot skin and Emma's silken stockings sliding together.

"So," Amy said breathily against Emma's ear, "this is supposed to accomplish what again?"

Emma laughed, a throaty sound that was completely sexual. She reached her hand up to Amy's face and turned it slightly so that she could see John Sorensen and, standing with him, his three mates from engineering. They were staring at the two women in what looked like complete silence, intent gazes taking them in. She chuckled in Amy's ear. "Those guys are totally hooked," she whispered. "We'll have more holodeck time than we know what to do with." She giggled as the music stopped for a transition into another song. Emma reached for Amy's hand and started to lead her over to them. "Come on." She turned her back to the guys and looked straight at Amy. "Let's say our goodbyes.... I'd better get you home before we get into trouble." She gave her a sexy pout and swung back to the engineers.

"Hey guys..." she said as they both stood before them. Emma leaned over John and kissed his cheek again. "Thanks, Johnny," she breathed just loud enough for the others to hear. She stood back and gave them all a smile. "We gotta go." She looked back at John. "Call me," she said as she brushed a finger along his jawline.

With that she pulled Amy along as they went toward the Lounge exit.

Amy gawked at the three men, then at her friend, who she'd severely underestimated the first moment they met in sickbay. Emma was a complete minx...and Amy was impressed. When they sauntered into the corridor, she regarded Emma with a smile of amazement. "Where did you learn that?"

Emma laughed. "I'm a Counsellor, silly!" She looked rather sly as she said, "We learn how to use psychological as well as physical weapons." She grinned, "Thus endeth the lesson! See, you don't have to give 'em anything to get what you want - but the minute you do...they walk all over you!"

She regarded Amy seriously. "You have a rep, Amy - and we gotta change it - but that doesn't mean we gotta change who you are to do that." She grinned. "Just get charged up like we did in there...and then use it on Kitty. I'm jealous...I don't have anyone to take it out on!" She pouted and sighed. "Oh well...I'll have plenty of holodeck time."

"You have lots of guys interested in you!" Amy exclaimed. "Hell...you had three ready to bed you right in there!" She snorted with laughter, then, and nudged her friend. "Or are you just a tease, then? Hm?"

She gave Amy a sad smile. "I'm not a tease, Amy. I just can't...you know...." She shrugged. "It's difficult for me. I'm no good with men. Not anymore."

"Not anymore?" Amy frowned, all sign of humour vanishing. "What do you mean, Emma? Did...did something happen to you?"

Emma nodded. "I don't want to talk about it here, Amy." She let her see the deep anguish in her eyes as she turned away. "Let's just leave it for now, huh?" She gripped Amy's hand and started walking again.

Amy nodded slowly, watching Emma sidelong and wondering just what had happened to her to turn her mood so sour. Amy was determined to eventually find out. "Well...we don't have to talk about it now. But...if you ever need a confidante, Emma, I'm here." Always one to express compassion, Amy planted a kiss on her friend's cheek and squeezed her hand. "You can count on me, Emma."

"I know," Emma smiled and squeezed her hand back. "Thanks - you're a real friend, Amy." She pulled Amy along a little faster. "I'll tell you all about it some time...I promise." She smiled.

Amy chuckled and rolled her eyes, knowing she'd probably never hear about it again. Though, she understood Emma's reluctance - she'd likely just spill her secret to Crissy during their daily gossip session in sickbay. Though, she grinned broadly and innocently at Emma. "Don't worry, your secrets will always be safe with me."

Emma grinned. "I know..." she said and laughed. "Come on - I have'ta get ya home, girl."

And she did, within enough time to avoid piquing Kit's suspicions. Any he might have developed, though, were easily forgotten as Amy took Emma's sound advice from the evening and used her feminine prowess to pleasure any of the doubts away.

---

"Not Tonight, I have a Headache"
By: Commander Lyrr Tayla
Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal

Location: Security office - Commander Lyrr's Quarters, USS Sulu
Stardate 57907.01, 21h07

***

Benedict tapped his commbadge as he sat in his office chair, settling back and tugging on the Class B uniform to straighten the shoulders. The badge chirped and he said, "T'Kal to Commander Lyrr." It was late, but he'd been told that she'd been beamed aboard from Bajor earlier in the evening and he wanted to apologize for having to cancel dinner. Jeremy was understanding about it - but it just didn't seem right to be laughing it up considering the circumstances. He hoped that she wasn't asleep - the commbadge chirped a second time.

***

"Why?" Lyrr Tayla, face in her pillow and aching body sprawled on her bed, groaned. With her commbadge still on Bajor, she'd had all comm requests forwarded to her communications terminal. And after its second beep, she regretted it. Her head throbbed and her muscles protested at even the slightest movement, but she managed to bear it all and roll over onto her back. Eyes still sealed shut and tongue weighing heavily in her mouth, she mumbled, "Computer, receive." The ensuing chirp signalled receipt, and with a deep sigh, she called, "Lyrr here. What-- Yes?"

"Hey, it's Ben. I didn't think you'd be asleep...." He frowned on the other end of the comm. Her voice sounded groggy and thick.

Lyrr winced. She had assumed he would be too occupied with ship-related tasks to call. At least he hadn't simply dropped by.... "Oh...I was just napping," she answered, carefully sitting upright so her head wasn't shaken too terribly. "It's alright, though. Go ahead."

"I wanted to apologise for missing out on dinner - and ask if you'd be up for our game in the morning?"

"In the morning?" Lyrr held one side of her head, and massaged it gently as if attempting to coax out the missing pieces she required to bring some sense to the conversation. She sighed. "I don't know, Ben.... I'm a little worn out. Does it have to be springball? And does it have to be--" Today? Tomorrow? What day was it? She switched gears immediately. "When are you due to leave for the search party?"

She sounded confused. She'd been fast asleep and didn't want to admit it. He grinned - she needed the sleep and she wasn't one to usually relax. "Not until the Rio Grande shows up and is refitted with a Tac Pod. Day or so they said." He didn't sound impressed with that. Every hour counted on an S&R mission. His voice gave away his frustration. "If you don't want to play Springball we can always just go for a run...then breakfast. How about it?"

"Look, Ben...." She sighed. He was growing suspicious, no matter how adequately he was covering it. "I'm just not up for anything strenuous today...tomorrow--" She was failing miserably, and her addled mind wasn't helping matters either. "Ben," she said softly, "I'm just...I'm tired. I'm sorry, but I promise, we will meet before you leave."

There was a moment of silence as Benedict lost his smile. She hadn't backed off from a game or a physical challenge since he'd known her. She was always the early riser - and she'd never used a line like, "I'm too tired"... She was avoiding him. He'd pushed too hard at dinner. She was running away - he knew it. His heart sank like a stone. "Okay," he managed to say. It was supposed to be casual but it didn't sound convincing. She was backing off...he had to let her have some space. Could he just leave it at that without at least asking? He had to.... "Is everything okay?" he said it lightly, his heart hammering, waiting for the axe to fall.

Lyrr closed her eyes slowly and inwardly cursed her own cruelty. She could keep secrets, but not if it caused the disappointment she heard in his voice. Sighing audibly, she rose from her bed and walked dizzily towards her desk. With a grunt for her tender side, she settled into the chair, then leaned in towards the dark screen of her terminal. "Ben," she spoke at it, as if she were addressing him in the flesh. "Bajor's been rough. There are things... They're just hard to deal with, and I've been trying to do so...." Lyrr exhaled deeply, and admitted, "I'm hung-over. That's why I can't see you. I'm sorry."

Hung over? She'd been to see her family and he knew she didn't really want to. So she'd had a few drinks - more than a few if she was too wasted to play ball in the morning. He was relieved. It was like a weight being lifted off him suddenly and he grinned. It wasn't him - thank The Prophets! He chuckled at her. "Okay - so you need a little extra beauty sleep...." He sighed. "I'll let you pass on breakfast then - as long as we're okay."

Lyrr chuckled, understanding now the source of his concern. "Is that what you were worried about?" she asked. We're? It was official, even if she had suspected it before: she and T'Kal were in a relationship, and what an unconventional one it would likely be. "Look," she said finally, relenting, "we can meet tomorrow. Lunch, maybe?"

"I'll squeeze you in I guess." He grinned. "Sorry...I thought...well...you know." He laughed. "Lunch then." He sighed audibly. "I'll be gone for a few days...depending on when the runabout shows up. I guess we'll be heading through the wormhole straight after...so take care of what you need to on Bajor." Her words echoed through his mind again: Is that what you were worried about? She'd said it with a laugh in her voice - like she hadn't even considered that as something to worry about. He grinned. She couldn't see his face - and she wasn't going to let him see hers. So there was a streak of vanity in her!

"What about you?" she countered with a laugh. "Isn't Jeremy expecting you at his table before we leave? Sounds like he's the type of man to use such a snub in his favour if the opportunity calls for it. If I were you, I'd arrange to make it for dinner." Lyrr smiled, unseen to him. "And to make sure you do attend, I'm coming along."

"That would be great, Tayla." He meant it. His voice took on a disappointed quality. "It really would, but with Storm's disappearance - we're waiting for the Rio Grande, I don't think it's appropriate to be off the ship socialising at a time like this." He really would have loved to have that dinner. "Storm's one of mine - it wouldn't be right. I know you understand that. Duty first."

"Of course," she replied. "But I'm sure you can squeeze in some time before we're off." She held up her hands, then, though he wouldn't know one way or another. "But, if you really don't want to, I'm not going to push. Frankly," she added with a grimace, "my head hurts too much to argue. I'll be better for lunch tomorrow, though. I promise."

"If I can, you know I will," he said seriously. "I want to - really." He smiled and his voice took on a definitely softer quality. "The other night was...special. I really enjoyed it, and I'm looking forward to doing it again...and I promise to take you someplace other than a holodeck." He chuckled.

She laughed softly in response. "I don't mind the holodeck, as long as it's springball. Maybe you can help me with my chopstick technique in your quarters sometime soon. And," she added, grinning slyly, "I get to choose your outfit this time around."

He laughed at that. "Ahhh, okay...." Unseen he nodded his head. "Same rules apply - I don't wear dresses! And I promised to cook if you paid for dinner - and I ended up paying - so it's dinner in your quarters." He laughed as he spoke, humour filling his every tone, playful - no longer worried by her evasions.

"Alright," she answered, her tone cautionary, "but I never said I had good taste in cuisine, so you might be in for an unpleasant surprise."

"A replicator can't do too much damage," he replied. "I'm sure Sikara could prepare something if the XO asked him to," he suggested. "Isn't that a prerogative of command? He'd be pleased to...and we could concentrate on your chopstick style."

Lyrr grimaced ill-temperedly. "The Risan? He'd likely slip a good helping of poison into the dishes. I was against his addition to this crew, if you remember correctly. But...if it's genuine food you want...."

"I don't really care as long as it's with you," he replied. "Whatever you like."

Lyrr sighed. "Well, it looks like I'm going to have to be the decisive one in this..." She chuckled and answered, "I'll think up a menu and have it delivered to Sikara."

"I defer to your orders, Commander," he said in mock seriousness. "I can't wait to get back," he added softly. "I think a few days in cramped quarters with a couple of Vulcans will have me climbing the walls."

"Don't panic yet," Lyrr advised. "You're still here, aren't you? And if you're truly nearing madness," she added with a smile, "there are always subspace transmissions to the ship...if you needed a sympathetic ear."

"Hmmm...I can imagine trying to talk to you with five sets of ears in the runabout...two of those sets having extremely acute hearing." He chuckled. "I'll take my chances and hope that I'm sane enough when we get back." His voice turned serious. "I hope we find them, Tayla - I dropped in on Crewman Moreau when I got back to the ship last night. She's not taking this very well - she and Storm have a relationship. Lieutenant Saavar indicated to me that he included her in the mission because he wanted to focus her on something constructive. You know - for a Vulcan he's okay."

"For a Vulcan," she amended, "that was a most heartfelt gesture." She couldn't help smirking. "It's no wonder he and Lt. Tagliesh don't get along." On a more solemn note, she added, "But if anyone can find them, I know you and the team can. He may have had his problems, but he showed promise, Ben. It'd be a shame to lose him."

"I totally agree. I think Storm and I reached an understanding before he went. Now that the hearing is out of the way, he can settle down. He's a little bit like myself when I started out in Starfleet. He's been a loner with too much to prove. There's too many loners these days." He didn't mean to include Lyrr in that statement, but he realized that she might well take it that way. "Ensign Collins is a prime example. I've tried reaching out to her but she rejects it. I have to mould these officers into a team - and they're fighting it. Maybe you could give it a try with Collins while I'm away. I have a feeling you could reach her better than I can - I've already lost two men getting her on this ship - I don't want to have their sacrifice mean nothing by transferring her out."

"I tried to reach Collins the first day she came on board," Lyrr pointed out. "I had to throw her into the brig. But as commander of this vessel, it's my duty to make sure no one else must sacrifice themselves for her, so you have my promise that I will try."

"Go easy on her," he cautioned. "She's been through a traumatic time. She's a hard-case, but I think she feels like we bailed on her when we had to lock her up - and I think throwing her in the Brig when she did get to Sulu just added to the detatchment she feels. Her past isn't great - but she can do a lot better with the right coaching." He sighed, "I don't mean to tell you how to go about it - just that coming down heavy will just reinforce the issues. The girl needs help. I've organized Counsellor Scott for her mandatory counselling sessions. Maybe she can do something. Anyway...enough of that. You need to take something for your hang-over and get some sleep. I'll quit bothering you. I have some reports to finish off before I grab myself some sleep. I'll be running in the morning - if you feel up to joining me you know where I'll be. If not - well, sleep in, you need to relax a bit. I'll see you for lunch. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day."

Lyrr smiled at the blank display. "Tomorrow, then. And sorry for scaring you. I promise to only ever do that when I'm beating you in springball."

He chuckled. "See you tomorrow," he said and disconnected. He didn't want to acknowledge the fact that she had scared him. It was disconcerting to feel that way. He still had a smile on his face as he got back to work - there was still so much to do before he had to leave the Sulu and he felt frustrated that he wasn't already following after the Jemison.

---

"Potted Advice"
By: Doctor Ilan Potts - Assistant Chief Counselor
and Crewman Emma Summers - Medical Technician / On Call Counselor

Location: USS Sulu, Counseling Offices
Stardate: 57908.01, 23h55

***

Dr. Ilan Potts lingered in Lieutenant Watts' office, using the last five minutes of his shift waiting for a meeting he could not put off. One of the things that had given him pause in accepting assignment to the Sulu besides the absolutely phenomenal amount of disturbed crew was an Assistant Chief position required that you occasionally act like someone with a bit of authority: Deflate a few egos, set some underlings on the right path, and give the incorrigible malcontents the what for. Pott simply hated passing out anything remotely resembling discipline. This was just going to be a friendly chat with hopefully a few wise observations by yours truly, he reminded himself.

Lieutenant Watts was not the subject of this little meeting, though her office would be the backdrop. Watts had asked for an evening off and had decided to take advantage of Deep Space Nine's facilities while they were still available. Tonight, the officer in her chair would be the On Call Counselor Emma Summers and it was with her that Potts had his professional beef.

Emma Summers entered her office for the night with her head down in a PADD. At the moment the door opened, she felt Pott's curious energy bouncing off the walls like a springball in a locked box so he didn't surprise her. She looked up and took in the sight in all its glory: Huge baldhead with thin long limbs and an amazingly fat stomach sheathed in a Starfleet Class-A. He wore a white silken scarf around his neck along with a pair of what looked to be ancient flight goggles. He also wore brown synth-leather sandals and had remarkable long polished toenails.

"Hullo!" Potts greeted, flashing a decaying smile at the young girl. Summers drew closer and hovered over the much shorter male Counselor, looking for all the galaxy like an Amazon meeting an ordinary mortal man. He extended his hand to her.

Her smile was bright and pleasant. It had to be. The little absurd man standing in front of her was hideously ugly. "Hi." She shook his hand which to her dismay was slightly sweaty. It left her palm feeling damp. "Doctor Potts," she said softly. "Nice to meet you at last." She walked around the desk to take the high backed chair, surreptitiously wiping her hand on her Class A's. She'd changed into the one-piece for her counselling shift - it was more comfortable than having a patient desperately trying to look up her short skirt while on the other side of the glass topped desk. She was inwardly delighted that she'd made that decision looking across at Potts. "What can I do for you, Doctor?" she asked as she sat and arranged the padd perfectly in line with the desk edge.

"I'll get right to the point, Crewman," Potts said, settling into the seat and doing his best to at least sound official. "Last night you poured a drink down the front of Annikafiore Szerda's uniform." It wasn't a question, only a statement of fact.

Emma smiled. "Yes I did," she said without a hint of remorse. "I felt it was appropriate. A dose of public embarrassment does wonders sometimes. It was a harmless gesture of displeasure at her malicious gossiping about my friend and work colleague, Amy Reese. I hope that it makes her reconsider her actions in the future. Rather than take the issue to her superior in a more formal manner, I chose to be more direct." She looked at Potts and gave him a warm smile. "Did she complain?"

"Not to my knowledge," Potts said, shaking his head and doing his best to not let the cozy grin distract him from duty. "I observed the incident. One of my patients had suggested a lounge encounter and I like to go where they feel comfortable and I can get a good gin fizz." He smiled at the thought of going unnoticed. "I've been singing a bit in the lounge after my shift so I tucked myself into a corner...it wouldn't do to have a therapeutic session interrupted by multiple song requests from happy patrons."

"I can understand that..." she laughed lightly and twirled a strand of dark hair between her fingers, absently brushing the ends close to her lips. She wondered if he had also been watching her with Vincent. "If I were you, Doctor, I'd have a little informal chat with Szerda about her behaviour. I can't - working with her in medical puts me in a delicate position. That's why I've requested a transfer to Counselling - besides the fact that I've been working double shifts for weeks now and it's not good for me..."

"I'm in a delicate position as well, Crewman," Potts said as gravely as he could manage. "I'm quite fond of Ensign Reese myself but it simply doesn't do to have a staff counselor pouring drinks on fellow crew. In this instance, her cattiness might be tolerated by regulations. Had Ensign Szerda decided to make a complaint about this incident, your behavior would not be. I would hate for something like this to reflect negatively on your transfer request." Potts frowned, looking genuinely unhappy.

"Please call me Emma," she said with a demure smile. "I'm sorry about putting you in a delicate position, I'm sure it won't ever happen again...and frankly the sooner I'm out of medical the better." She leaned forward on the desk, resting her elbows on the glassy surface as she rubbed a temple with long manicured fingers, looking directly at Potts. "I've been stressed lately too," she said softly, a little sadly. "Transferring here, then the double shifts and the attack...." She looked up at the doctor. "You weren't here for that...sorry. I had a rather frightening experience and I still see the...bodies...and the smell.... I'll never forget that smell." She shook her head as if to clear the images from her mind. "I'm sure I'll be okay though..."

Potts looked at her. "It also doesn't do to have a counselor suffering from post traumatic stress," he pointed out. He glanced at his naked wrist as if miming some archaic time-telling ritual. "I'm off the clock at the moment...Emma...but if you would like a session, I can extend my hours. Or have you been seeing a counselor aboard ship regularly?"

She smiled. "No, I'm okay really. Just a lot of work - and as I said, being in medical right now isn't the best place for me...it's a really bitchy place, doc." She chuckled and sat back. "I guess I didn't help it any," she said, shaking her head. She looked contemplative for a moment, playing with her hair. "It really wasn't the right thing to do was it?" She looked across at the weird little man with the shiny pate and fat belly and inwardly shuddered that such a thing could be birthed and not aborted before term. She looked contrite.

"No," Potts said, narrowing his eyes at Summers. While it had never been conclusively proven that Ilan had any kind of the psionic ability typical to one half his biology, more than a few people thought that his intuition bordered on empathy. Sitting across from Emma, Ilan felt like he was looking upon an empty vessel. He got no more a sense of her and who she was than he got from a holodeck character. He rose to his feet.

"No," Potts said again. "It was not the right thing to do. However, in absence of an actual complaint, I feel compelled to let this one slide." He looked at the empty desk, one PADD near the edge. "I'll leave you to your work," he said, motioning at it. He headed for the door.

Emma smiled politely. Allowing him to go without speaking. She sat back and retrieved the padd.

Potts paused before the door moved and turned back to Crewman Summers. "Emma, there is one more thing..." he trailed off.

She looked up as he turned around. "Yes?"

"If you're planning on seeing Ensign Chan socially, you won't be able to continue as his Counselor." Potts lifted the flight goggles from around his neck and placed them over both eyes. "We have to be professional about these sorts of things, don't we?" Potts asked, his milky blue orbs distorted horribly by the thick lenses. He looked even more like a frog than usual.

Emma smiled. "I already shifted him to Counsellor Scott, Doctor." She winked at him. "Thanks for your concern though."

Ilan nodded politely and threw the scarf over his shoulder with a flourish. A step backwards. Whisk...another step...whisk. And gone.

She stared at the closed door for a long time. There was something about Potts that struck alarm klaxons. She sensed danger and her mind shifted toward this new threat. She had effectively countered the telepaths. That was no longer an issue, although she still had to move away from medical. Potts was somehow dangerous - even if he looked ridiculous...

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