*Disclaimer: Star Trek the Next Generation is property of Paramount Pictures and all respective cast, crew, and employees. I am not making a profit off this. This is simply for fanfiction enjoyment.**

Summary: The crew of the Enterprise battle with the devastating loss of their comrade. But one friend is still holding back...

Fallen Angel

The crew watched in horror as the Schimtar exploded, bathing the Enterprise in a blinding white light. In an instant, everything was gone. The Schimtar… Schinzon… the Viceroy…

…. Data.

All that was left was fiery debris floating aimlessly in the black space.

Captain Jean-Luc Picard waited, listening intently for a familiar sound. The sound of his friend and comrade of over fifteen years, beaming aboard. But the sound did not come.

Somewhere in the distance, the turbolift doors hissed open.

"Captain?"

But Picard paid no attention to the concerned voice of his first officer. He couldn't speak, couldn't move. In all his years as captain on the Enterprise , nothing could have prepared him for this. He continued to stare at the hole that used to house the viewsceen. The debris had finally subsided, revealing the black space speckled with stars. Nothing more.

"It… It's Data," counselor Troi stammered.

Will Riker looked from his wife's tear-stained face to the stunned faces of the crew, immediately noticing the officer who was missing. He closed his eyes and fought the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Troi collapsed in his arms, sobbing. Riker struggled to fight back the tears, but it was a losing battle. Soon, tears streamed from his eyes and fell onto his wife's hair.

Dr. Crusher, who had witnessed death before could not maintain her composure. She did not need to be on the Scimitar to know that her friend and colleague had sacrificed himself to save the crew and everyone on the Enterprise . Her shoulders shook as sobs finally surfaced.

Valiantly, Geordi La Forge, Data's best friend, refused to give up hope. He used his new optical implants to the best of his ability and scanned the black space and Bridge. He tried to ignore the tears filling to the brims of his eyes. He searched harder, listened more intently. The harder the tears threatened to fall, the harder he looked. It was as if a part of him truly believed that the harder he looked, the better the changes his best friend would somehow miraculously survive.

bleep

The soft sound echoed in the silence of the Bridge, jolting the crewmembers from their thoughts. It took a moment for Captain Picard to react.

"On screen," he said, his voice barely above a whisper; he then looked at the hole he had been staring at for so long, "… open a channel."

The conversation that followed was a blur to Picard as he responded listlessly to reaction from the Romulans. As soon as the channel was cut, he retreated to his Ready Room.

Picard had no time to even breathe when his Ready Room doors closed, secluding him from his crew. The computer on his desk hummed as it unfolded automatically. Pushing his emotions down his throat, the captain sat in front of the screen that showed the Starfleet insignia with the words: Incoming Transmission below.

With a push of a button, Admiral Janeway appeared; her usual serious expression bore a wide grin.

"Congratulations, Captain Picard," she smiled, "I guess this defeat was just as easy as defeating the Borg."

The captain forced a painful smirk, but his eyes revealed his true feelings.

"I didn't do anything," he replied, "First Officer Data was the one who fired on the Thaleron weapon… He saved us all." Picard closed his eyes. It felt good to call Data that… his First Officer. It was a long overdue promotion.

"Then bring him here, I want to congratulate him myself."

Picard held his breath as he rested his forehead on his hand and looked away. He did not want the admiral to see how fragile his resolve was.

"He's not here," the captain's voice was barely above a whisper, "He sacrificed himself for me. Transporters were down after I beamed over.

Admiral Janeway's smile quickly disappeared, "I… I'm sorry. After I spoke with Sub-commander Donnatra, I thought everything was fine."

"Everything is fine," the captain replied, "thanks to Data."

~~~~~~~~~~

A Klingon officer on a Starfleet vessel, Worf often found himself at odds with cultures. What would be considered normal behavior on his world was often regarded with confusion and even disgust on a ship filled with humans. And today was no exception.

When the Enterprise docked at Starbase 23 for repairs, Worf went to his quarters, reflecting upon the last few hours. He thought about his friend, who had died with the highest of honors. Though his Klingon culture told him he should be happy and celebrate his friend's legacy, a part of him panged.

"I was born Klingon, I am a Klingon," thought Worf, "Klingon blood courses though my veins… but my behavior is still influenced by the people on this ship." And for the first time, he didn't regret the feeling. For the first time, he was at peace with the mixed emotions he felt, from both cultures.

Slowly, Worf filled his lungs with air, and let out a cry that reverberated throughout his quarters, though the closed door of his quarters, and down the hall. The Klingon death cry that resounded from Worf's throat was normally reserved for Klingons. It was a sacred ritual that only the most honorable were blessed with. And Worf could think of no other man who deserved it more than Data.

To be continued...