As always: I don't own them and I make no money off of them.

A/N: This is a series of Drabbles written while playing at the Delphic Expanse, a place I highly recommend. Some are song drabbles and some are using a particular given word. Enjoy!

The song is "Cell Block Tango" from the musical Chicago.

He had it coming… She tugged on the blanket one more time. Breaking into the transporter to get this far was easy. Getting his qagh-ridden body to the airlock was the hard part. By the time they realized he was gone she would have planted the suicide note and gotten his prints and DNA on everything it needed to be on. She was glad that they had always kept their relationship quiet. No one would ever suspect that it had been her. Jon should have kept it in his pants… but no; he had to go fuck that pointy-eared bitch!

"If I Can't Love Her" - written by Howard Ashman for the musical production of Beauty and the Beast

Jon held her photograph for a moment more and then placed it carefully back in the drawer. It reminded him of all he had lost through his own stupidity. He had let the chance go and she couldn't try any longer. Her passion, her gentleness, her warmth couldn't reach him. He was too driven, too cold. He had been untouchable, pouring everything into his ship. Hoshi was gone, a lost illusion. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror he saw his twisted visage, mirroring his tortured soul. He couldn't love her… and now all he had left was… this.

Beethoven's Sonata for Piano No 14 in C#, Op. 27, No 2 (Adagio Sostenuto) AKA The Moonlight Sonata

The rain came down softly, slowly drenching her to the skin. Standing in the moonlight she shivered. Hoshi's pain was exquisite. With it came the memory of that awful night, so like this one. The blood had been so red and there had been nothing she could do to stop it. Nothing. Tears slowly made their way down her lowered face. The rain gently washed them away, like they had washed away his blood that night. She knelt and gently placed the flowers on the grave. In life she'd given him everything. Now all he could give her was pain.

In response to "Socks"

He came into the room and pulled up short. She was sitting at his desk, humming, her back to the door. The last time he saw her she had been screaming at him, she had wanted a transfer off Enterprise. He was angry, crushed, and confused. Now, he sat on the bed and looked at her, expectant. She smiled and kept on with her work. She was knitting.

I didn't know she knew how to do that.

"What are you making? Socks?"

She held them up. He could quickly see they were too small.

"Booties" she replied.

He passed out.

In response to "token"

The lift was growing hotter by the minute. They'd been stuck for over two hours. If he hadn't known better, he'd swear Trip was only putting a token effort into the repair. The lights went out. The emergency lights came on. Her head was tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. Her uniform was open and pulled off to her waist. Sweat trickled down her neck, soaking her damp tank top. He swallowed hard, eyes wandering. Closing them, he tried to focus. Maybe that'd help. Her hand brushed his. Or not. His token resistance was gone. Their lips met.

Written for the prompt "chemistry"

Their chemistry was undeniable. The whole Bridge Crew felt it. Hell, T'Pol could even smell it! What they all couldn't understand was why those two were still denying it. Yes, Starfleet was a collective prude, but they wouldn't find out, not out here. She'd be happier and he'd be a lot better to deal with. This was getting to everyone. There had even been discussion about trapping them in the lift together for a few hours.
"Mr. Mayweather, stop daydreaming, and change course!" he barked.
"Yes sir, sorry." He replied. Hmph, he'd be nicer if he just got himself laid!