Romulan Ale
By Laura Schiller
Based on Star Trek: The Next Generation
Copyright: Paramount
The reception tent was a blur of warm sunshine, white-and-gold dress uniforms and shimmering gowns of every description. Data led the band in a warm and lively rendition of Blue Skies, revelling in his new emotion chip, as Will Riker and Deanna Troi whirled across the dancefloor with matching, dreamy smiles on their faces. All in all, it was the happiest occasion the Enterprise crew had known in months – the day that their former Counsellor and First Officer finally tied the knot.
Nobody seemed to notice one large, chocolate-skinned man with thick cranial ridges and his hair in a tight braid, slumped over at one one of the tables with several empty glasses.
"Romulan ale should be illegal," Worf muttered, and his face went down into his folded arms in a most un-warriorlike position.
Maybe it was the drink talking, or maybe it was just the idea of weddings in general which was hateful to a man who'd seen two mates murdered. First K'Ehleyr, then Jadzia. And now, the third woman he had loved, the one he'd let slip through his fingers merely for that Deep Space Nine assignment, was married to somebody else. If that wasn't a reason to get stupidly drunk, what was?
Not that the drinking helped.
He couldn't look at Deanna anymore. The sight of her, like a dancing rose in that floating pink bridal gown, her hair carefully ironed out and pulled into a knot, was damnably painful. He liked her hair in its natural state, a coal-black riot of curls to tangle one's fingers in. And once upon a time, he had imagined her in a different wedding gown – a red one embroidered in cloth of gold, in accordance with Klingon tradition.
But no, he was confused … Jadzia had worn that blood-red gown, and less than a year later, her real blood had stained his hands as she died.
"May I join you, Mr. Worf?"
The wry, elegant tone of his former Captain startled Worf into straightening up. Jean-Luc Picard smiled; Kahless bless him, there was no pity in that careworn face, only understanding.
"Certainly, Captain," Worf grunted. "But I must warn you, I am very poor company today."
The Captain surprised him by letting out a sigh as he settled down opposite Worf. "That's all right," he said. "Neither am I."
The older man sipped a glass of wine, watching the dancers over Worf's shoulder with the air of a man looking far back into his own past. Glancing briefly in the same direction, Worf noted a flash of orange hair and green silk. Dr. Crusher was dancing by on the arm of her date, laughing at something he said. Worf glanced back at his Captain, but the look of raw longing in the other man's eyes as he watched his lovely CMO forced Worf to look away, out of respect for his Captain's dignity.
"I hate weddings," Worf burst out. "You Humans get so – so sentimental about them. Any unmarried being in attendance has to face the patronizing looks of all those happy couples," with a glare in the direction of the dancefloor. "If Captain Riker and Counsellor Troi had not been my comrades, I would not have come at all."
"I suspected as much," said the Captain. "I'm happy for them, of course, but … "
Worf nodded. They didn't need to talk about it – it would have not have sat well with their masculine dignity – but the same thought was on their minds like a layer of heavy smoke.
It's too late now. Why did I ever let her go?
Worf reached for the bottle of Romulan Ale. Another glass or two and the lake of self-pity he found himself swimming in might drain away, preferably replaced by unconsciousness. Instead the Captain pushed the bottle away.
"I think you've had quite enough for today, Commander," he said, in that ringing tone there was no arguing with. "I want you fit for duty tomorrow, remember? For the flight to Betazed? You wouldn't want to walk onto the bridge with a hangover, now would you?"
"You are right, Captain … as always," he rumbled.
"Now, while you can still converse with reasonable intelligence, tell me – what do you think of the new refits for the Enterprise?"
Worf smiled, fighting down a human impulse to hug the formidable Captain. He was letting Worf save face, steering the conversation back to safe and familiar ground, and implicitly showing his care and concern. As they talked enthusiastically about engine modifications, the third holodeck and the seatbelts for the chairs on the bridge, Worf thought, with a measure of surprise, that perhaps he was not alone in the universe after all.