After a light breakfast in bed, Geordi returned to his quarters to change for duty. Chancellor Sull dressed in linen lilac pants and a white crochet tunic that opened in a V down the middle of her chest. It was a little daring, but it had sleeves. She sat down to catch up on reports and articles.
Geordi imagined the hiss of the turbolift doors as the withdrawing of stage curtains. He practically burst into Engineering, excited about the last bit of work to do before getting aboard the space station the next morning.
He glanced to his left and saw Barclay at the island ten minutes early.
"Hey, Reg," Geordi said with a bright smile. Barclay glanced up and blinked at his commanding officer's jubilant mood.
"Good morning, Commander," he said quietly.
"We've just got to tackle the injector coils and we should be good to go!" He clapped his hands and walked toward the Warp Core.
"Commander, you seem in good spirits…" Reg offered as they stood in Geordi's office, organizing their materials and waiting for staff to arrive.
Geordi laughed while looking at a P.A.D.D. "Yeah, I suppose so…"
"It was only yesterday you said you wished you could go to sleep and wake up a week from now…" Barclay joked. Geordi laughed again.
"That's true. I guess I just had a nice night and feel a little rejuvenated." He bit his lip and looked away from Barclay. The staff had begun to arrive and Geordi was issuing assignments. Barclay knew what to do, so his thoughts wandered toward La Forge.
He had shown the Chancellor around the Engines the night before. Barclay had still been in Engineering. He hated himself for eavesdropping, but he seemed incapable of resisting. They didn't talk about the engines as much as he would have thought. Sull seemed more interested in the stories Geordi could tell her of his adventures on the Enterprise and even a few rather personal anecdotes that Barclay had managed to pull away from, out of respect for his commanding officer. Also, he had no more reason to be in Engineering. He'd been off duty for half an hour when they arrived.
Geordi left his office with Barclay trailing behind him. Reg felt envious that La Forge had gotten to spend some time with the Chancellor. He wondered how long their evening had lasted. Barclay had enjoyed her company at the party and wished he were a more confident man to inspire her interest. The thought of the kiss made his bottom lip tingle. Then Geordi took one step on the ladder in front of him and winced.
"Are you alright, Commander?" Barclay asked.
"Yeah, thanks," he said as he grunted his way up the ladder. "Just a bit sore today, I guess."
Reg already had a wild imagination, so the explosion in his brain at these words was instantaneous. He felt dizzy. Then he felt stupid. When Geordi looked down at him he pulled his mouth up in a quizzical look.
"Are you alright, Reg?" He asked. Barclay's face was beet red.
"Yes… Fine… Thank you." Then he scurried off back to his duties. Geordi stretched out his arms and chuckled before he got to work.
After a big lunch, Chancellor Sull had finished with her reading for the day. She sat down to observe some communiques. She turned her attention to thinking ahead. She sent out several messages, the first of which were to her fathers. She still had no more information on the tense situation on the Partian moon, but it was suspiciously reckless, even for the Front.
Aside from the serious notes she sent, she was grateful to find that everyone had respected her desperate plea for a vacation and only sent messages of pleasure, and not business.
She had been receiving a flattering number of messages from one-time lovers who resided on Earth. She'd only made plans to meet a few of them during the first week or two, not intending this trip to be dominated by amours. But now they were all to be a little disappointed she would not be journeying to Earth at all. Perhaps if Partia was able to disable the Alldem Front with the blink of an eye, it would all work out and everyone would get laid.
But, yet again, vacation is what you make it. Two remarkable Starfleet officers in her bed within two days. This was some kind of new record for her. She reminded herself to only catch rides from starships overdue for leave.
She wondered if her two shockingly-easy adventures suggested a pattern. She greatly admired and respected all of the senior officers and many of the regular crew. This was a ship with impressive individuals who also happened to be rather enticing.
She contemplated her opportunities. She greatly esteemed Worf, but he reminded her too much of Khitomer and his grandfather. Dell had already fallen hard and fast for Dr. Crusher, and Troi and Riker seemed to have a bond that she did not want to disrupt. They also didn't seem the type to eagerly invite a third to a party of two.
That left one person… She threw her head back and laughed. Captain Jean-Luc Picard was the most controlled man she'd ever met. But beneath it she could feel a passion that heated his blood to Partian temperatures. The first time she'd taken his arm it was flexed and tense. He had relaxed some the evening he'd walked her to her quarters. But that seemed more like fatigue than trust.
She flushed to think on how she'd lusted after him years ago when an Admiral friend of hers forwarded along his picture and the news that he was the first freshman to win the Starfleet Academy Marathon. He was so young she felt positively sinful. But, when you're seven hundred years old, almost everyone makes you feel like an old pervert.
He wasn't a cadet now. He was a highly accomplished and highly decorated Captain. One of the best. She wondered if he knew that there was a relatively secret message board for those whose hearts pitter pat for the French Hero with the resonating voice. If pressed, she would have admitted posting there under a pseudonym.
"Girls and boys, eat your hearts out," she thought. He was trapped aboard just as she was. They were scheduled to have tea at 1400 hours. She decided not to change her clothes. But she did take her hair down.
Right on time, the door chimed. "Come in," the Captain replied. Chancellor Sull walked into his room with a little flutter of her crochet sleeves.
He was standing over the table, just setting down a tea pot. He walked over to her and offered her his hand, which she took in the Partian style. Something in her eyes twinkled and he had to resist squinting.
He was surprised to find her black hair rather wild and curly. He'd only seen it thoughtfully braided and pinned up, in person and in pictures. She'd always presented a neat and tidy front. Then he noticed that she was wearing beaded sandals. Her toenails were painted white.
"Welcome. Thank you for coming," he said, getting a hold of himself. He gestured for her to sit down opposite him.
"I'm very pleased you invited me!" she said, eying the scones and small sandwiches. "This looks wonderful."
"Sugar?" he asked. She nodded and he added sugar and cream to her tea. She gave it a silent stir, sipped, and smiled graciously. He poured a cup for himself, left it black, and drank.
"Have you always preferred your tea black?" she asked.
He lifted his eyebrows. "Yes," he replied. "My grandmother used to make it very strong. I have fond memories associated with black tea, I suppose."
"That's lovely," she replied, tilting her head to the side. He met her eyes and he seemed perfectly at ease in her presence. This was a comfort. She was getting a little tired of everyone being afraid of her. But then, of course Captain Jean-Luc Picard wouldn't be afraid of something as innocent as her.
"I first had tea like this in Scotland about eighty years ago. It was pleasant, but the company wasn't nearly as fine." She batted her eyelashes.
He smiled wryly. "You flatter me, Chancellor." His breath hitched, flashing on the Counselor's advice.
But she simply answered, "Hardly. You'll know when I flatter you." She wrinkled her nose and took a sip. After feasting on his table and several of his exciting anecdotes, she leaned back into the couch and surveyed his room.
"Do you prefer reading paper books or is that for display?" She pointed to the volume on his desk.
"I rather prefer physical books," he replied, a little elated. "It fills me with a sense of history… a sense of reality…"
"What's the oldest volume you own?" she asked.
He smirked and stood up. He walked to a shelf from which he removed a box. He tapped a key and it compressed open. He sat next to her and offered her the chance to look at the contents.
It was an obviously very old printing of A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens. "Gracious!" she said, touching her fingers to her lips. "Is this…?"
"A first edition." He beamed. "It's more than five hundred years old…" He sat back and stared at it. Then he looked up, "I read it once. Cover to cover." He looked back down. "I somehow felt like I was there. My quarters were no longer aboard this ship. They were in townhouse in the heart of London. People were all around me in carriages and on horseback. And Ebenezer Scrooge was casting a dark shadow on my window…" His expression was softly, giddy, and far away.
Sull was practically motionless. She felt oppressed by the heat in the room. It seemed to waft off of his body. His strong chin, sharp smile, and chiseled body were taunting her through literature. She sat down the tea cup. That pulled him from his meditation and he looked at her.
"Forgive my distraction," he said, locking up the book again.
"It was wonderful. Thank you for sharing it with me…" He smiled and stood up to return the book to the safety of its shelf.
"I try not to over-collect things, but I had to have it. I had to trade three other volumes for it." he admitted as he sat down again.
"I couldn't have resisted it either. You may have to place security on your room lest a madness take me and I try to steal it." She giggled and he laughed.
But the laugh was only half felt. There was something in her expression that puzzled him. So he said, "Perhaps I should keep it in a bigger safe."
"Good thought," she said. "Then I'll still be able to visit your quarters." She lifted her eyebrow roguishly for an instant and then took a sip of her tea.
Captain Picard meditated on this statement for a moment. He had a wealth of questions he wanted to ask her about her travels, but he wasn't sure where to start.
"Tell me more about your favorite literature," she said as he pondered. He took in a breath and lifted his eyebrows. Then he smiled, feeling a bit sheepish.
"I've never been much of an actor, but I have always loved the works of Shakespeare…"
More than two hours had passed as they discussed the plays they both knew and Picard explained several with which Sull was unfamiliar. His reading from The Tempest was most pleasurable and she blushed on more than one occasion as she coaxed him to read a few rather racy sonnets.
After they settled down from a burst of laughter Captain Picard realized they'd been out of tea for nearly half an hour. "Would you like more tea, Chancellor?"
"Yes, thank you, Captain." He stood up and went to the replicator. Then he heard her whisper and he turned. She said forcefully:
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning.
He smiled and felt himself blush. "So…" he replied with a grin. "That's Partian flattery, is it?"
Sull giggled. "It fits you so well. Especially now."
"Especially now?" he asked as he sat down with a fresh pot of tea. Then he poured.
"On your way home, ever delayed by adventure and glory. Legendary adventures are always scarier than they seem in songs, but the bouquets and wreaths are beautiful, and the people love you."
"Thank you, Chancellor," he said awkwardly as he took a sip. "I'm sorry that your holiday was delayed because of this odd business…" Then he kicked himself for raining on the parade, as it were.
But she only chuckled. "I'm not worried. I am very good at finding diversions. I find people to visit and in your case, poems of great relevance."
"That's an impressive skill. I don't know if I would be as relaxed in your position. And I'm not sure I could conjure a true holiday aboard this ship." He took another sip. She left her tea untouched.
"With the right words anything is possible." She stretched her arm along the back of the couch, her fingers mere inches from his shoulder.
He sat his tea down. This was puzzling. "Anything is possible?"
"Yes. I bet I could achieve any desire right now with the right phrase…"
Her eyes were genuinely wild then. Picard felt his mouth go dry, but he did not want to refill his tea cup. This was a surreal situation. He felt as if she were flirting with him. But he felt a certain playful opposition to her game. He would challenge her.
"I'll take that bet."
"Really?"
"Yes. With a phrase," he confirmed.
"What are the stakes?"
He furrowed his brow, "A bottle of Partian watla to a bottle of Chateau Picard."
"Done!" she agreed and they shook hands like humans.
"Now, what do you want?" he asked.
"No, no. Just a phrase." She scooted closer and leaned toward his ear. And she whispered, "Come woo me, woo me, for I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent."