A/N: Original prompt, for the curious: "wow the hell am i the father?" "you see me screwing with other guys?"

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To Sleep, Perchance

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"How the hell am I the father?"

"You see me screwing other guys?"

"Well…no," he was forced to admit, much to his own consternation. Sure, she'd been known to get a bit flirty if it suited their needs, but—for as long as they'd known each other—it had never escalated to actual intercourse with anyone besides him. And while it was true a mere handshake or the sharing of a drink in some species could result in pregnancy, Lore was reasonably certain medical assistance would be required to produce a half-human hybrid with them.

"So," Ishara concluded, pointing at her noticeably-pregnant stomach, "this has to be yours!"

"But I don't even ejaculate! I don't produce sperm! How could I have gotten you pregnant?"

Before Ishara could answer, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see his father standing next to him—not as Lore had last seen him on Terlina III, old and decrepit, but as he'd been on Omicron Theta, younger (if still old for a human), with a face that more closely matched his own.

"My boy," Soong said, giving him a squeeze with one hand while he wiped a sentimental tear from his eye with the other, "I'm so proud. And just think—me, a grandfather!"

Lore knocked his arm away and took a step back. "What the fuck is going on? You're supposed to be dead! Again, how are you even pregnant?" he demanded, pointing a finger back to Ishara. "Seriously, what the fuck is going on?"

"Lore," someone else said, and there came Data, strolling into view, a handful of Starfleet-issue PADDs in his hands. "I have been researching the mating rituals of various species and cultures. Oftentimes, when a male is on the cusp of leaving behind the solitary existence of his young adulthood and embarking on a life of family and partnership, there is a ceremony to celebrate and commemorate this change. Therefore, as your brother and the closest thing to a male friend you might have, I feel it is my duty to plan a 'bachelor party' for you, sometimes also referred to as a 'stag do.' I have assumed a traditional human version of the ritual would be most appropriate, but if you would pref—"

"Jesus, Data! We're not getting married, she's just pregnant! And I'm not even the father, because that's impossible!"

"Oh," Soong said wistfully, "if only Juliana were here."

"Why the fuck are you here! Why the fuck are either of you here! What the fuck is going on!"

"Oh, no," Ishara said, and suddenly put a hand to the wall for support. She clutched her belly with the other. "I think it's time!"

"WHAT?!" was all Lore could screech. Data quickly and courteously pulled up a chair for her, his old man ran off to get some hot water, and—

Lore opened his eyes and found himself looking at the dark ceiling of Ishara's quarters. The woman in question was naked and pressed up against his left side, breathing slowly and regularly, with an arm draped across his bare chest, and he abruptly flung it off of him and bounded out of the bunk. Ishara woke at the movement, muttering, "What the hell…?" but Lore was already out of the cabin and stalking toward the ship's rarely-used sick bay, in too much of a rush to even bother putting on a pair of pants. He knew he had a medical tricorder buried in a back drawer somewhere in there, and hell if he could say why he'd held onto it in the first place, but the fact of the matter was he was suddenly very glad he had.

He smacked the light panel upon returning to her quarters and flipped the tricorder open. Ishara was propped up on her elbows in bed, and let out a groggy cry of complaint as the room flooded with illumination. Belatedly, she clapped a hand over her eyes.

"What the hell are you doing!" she demanded.

"Checking something," was all he said as he scanned her with the device. He'd never used one of these things before—not for its intended medical purpose, at any rate—but the interface was easy enough for his positronic brain to understand, and within a matter of seconds, he had the information he was looking for. Not pregnant. Thank the stars. With a sigh of relief, he snapped the tricorder shut, tossed it unceremoniously on a chair that held half of the clothes she'd worn the day before, hit the light panel again, and then slid back under the covers. He laid flat on his back, stared at the ceiling, and took deep breaths to cool his internal processors down—they had a tendency to run hot in response to a heightened emotional state.

Ishara irritably nuzzled back up to him. With a reluctant fondness, he wrapped an arm around her and let her get comfortable against his shoulder. "Mind telling me what the hell that was all about?" she grumbled.

"Just…remind me never to run my dream program again."

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A/N: Alternative title for this fic: "Get Thee To a Nunnery." XD

Anyway, my headcanon for this is that Ishara eventually convinces Lore to spend the occasional night next to her in bed (idk, girlfriend likes cuddles, and is sick of waking up after sex to find him already showered and doing engine work or whatever), and an android can only think and calculate shit in his head for so long before he's like, "Fuck it, I've got this dream program—guess I might as well use it?" Pfft, oh Lore.

As always, thanks for reading!