Riker had instructed everyone to "come hungry" to his party. Tasha was famished – the salt air seemed to augment her appetite. She was debating what to wear; her first instinct was to grab something utilitarian and call it a night, but Troi had helped her pick out some pretty, floaty things that might fit the bill, if only she didn't feel like she was trying too hard. She needed reassurance. She fished her combadge out of her bag. "Yar to Troi."
"I'm outside the door."
Tasha clicked her combadge off and opened the door to the slyly smiling Betazoid. "Were you spying on me?"
"I could feel your trouble from across the hall."
Tasha gestured helplessly at the clothes strewn on the bed. "Look what you've done to me!"
"It's all part of the fun, Tasha. Most people don't wear the same thing every day."
"I'm happy I'm not most people," Tasha grumbled. She scrutinized the Betazoid. "What are you going to wear?"
"Something tight, low, and short," Deanna replied with a wicked smile.
"I see. Something to make him regret what he's missing?"
They shared a frank look. "It's not a subject I wish to discuss, Lieutenant."
"Oh, ho, ho. Now you see how I feel."
Deanna sorted through the hill of clothes on the bed. "I don't mean to be secretive; I simply don't want to reopen old wounds. We had something special – very special – and he threw it over for his career. Threw me over. And just when I thought I was finally over him and able to move on, we get assigned to the same ship."
"I'm sorry, Deanna."
The counselor gave her a bright smile and blinked rapidly. "Nothing to be sorry about. We're just friends now." She picked up a gossamer tunic patterned with whorls of blue on blue and held it up to Tasha's chin.
"Are you still attracted to him?" Tasha asked, dutifully holding still.
Deanna fought back her smile. "Between you and me? Yes. But I think it gives our friendship extra savor."
"Wonder what he thinks."
"Hmmm. He thinks I'm his type, and I think he's mine. Doesn't matter, though. It complicates things too much." Deanna picked up and discarded a split skirt.
"I agree wholeheartedly, though I don't think I have a type."
Deanna chose a silver bralet to go under the transparent blue and a pair of white capris with a lattice of cutouts down the sides. Curiosity lit up her features like the glow of a firefly.
Tasha didn't need Betazoid sensibilities to know where her friend's thoughts had led. "You can ask, but I won't answer."
Deanna handed over the outfit, which Tasha took gratefully. "Ohhh, you're no fun."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?"
Will stood over the firepit like a lord surveying his fiefdom. The glowing flames made a cheerful circle of light on the dark beach. Blankets and cushions from the cabanas were scattered around, completing the setting of ease.
Soon, the members of the bridge crew arrived and took seats around the fire. Worf had finally doffed his uniform for a grey wrapper and black trousers. Data watched the others before choosing to sit cross-legged on a cushion next to Geordi.
"Please don't wait – help yourselves," Will announced. "There are clams, mussels, spider-claws…"
"Is there anything that wasn't swimming around happily before it met an untimely end?" Tasha asked acerbically.
"Of course. The hotel was very generous with the provisions." Will whipped the cover away from a cooler containing a smorgasbord of side dishes.
"I don't understand your squeamishness, Lt. Yar," Worf said, piling a plate with shellfish. "Klingons relish food that fights back."
"Well, I do," Deanna countered. As promised, she wore a skintight singlet with a shiny, transparent pink cover-up that covered up nothing. "Betazoids are vegetarians, too. It's impossible to kill an animal when you can sense its thoughts and desires."
"I know what these clams were thinking before I cooked them: Eat me, eat me – I'm delicious!" Will replied.
Deanna wrinkled her nose at Wes and Geordi's laughter. "There'd better be dessert."
"Would I disappoint you? There's chocolate cake, and …" Will paused dramatically before dragging out a refrigerated container. "Danulian pale ale. I think you'll enjoy it." He began passing out bottles around the circle.
"No, thank you, Commander," Wes said politely. "I don't think my mom would approve."
"Where is the good doctor, Wes?" Geordi asked.
The boy rolled his eyes. "She's having dinner alone with the captain."
"What? They're ditching my party?" Will asked with mock outrage.
"I'm glad – it means she won't make me leave once it starts getting good," Wes replied.
"Mmmm…" Deanna had sipped her beer. "It's flowery – like drinking a bouquet."
"It has some tartness, too – nice contrast," Geordi added.
Tasha took a long drink. "I can't taste the alcohol – it's really yummy." Her eyes widened. "Oh, no."
Will's eyes sparkled with devilry. "Oh, yes."
Hours later, the party had definitely gotten good. The moon was high in the sky, the flames were dying down, and the least word brought out laughter from the crew as they shared tales from their academy years and former postings.
"That reminds me of the time when…" Will began.
"No – no more stories," Deanna interrupted. "We should play a game or sing songs or something."
"Pah!" Worf said in disgust.
"I may be drunk enough to sing, but you all aren't drunk enough to hear me," Geordi slurred.
"Data can sing," Tasha piped up. She lay with her head on Deanna's lap, the Betazoid stroking her hair as if she were a cat.
"Really, Commander?" Wes asked excitedly.
"I can reproduce the recordings of several billion performances," Data replied.
"No, he can really sing. In his own voice," Tasha insisted. She sat up and pointed at him, her forefinger wavering as she tried to focus. "I've heard you."
"Yes, yes, a song!" Deanna clapped her hands.
Data still looked reluctant. "While I am able to sing with perfect pitch and rhythmic accuracy, I am far from competent at conveying the textual shades of meaning that elevate a song to a work of art."
"I can sing the famous heroic aria from Aktuh and Maylota," Worf offered, "though it is not so magnificent without the accompaniment."
"No! Data, we've barely heard from you all night. Please…" Deanna cajoled.
"If you insist…"
"We do," Geordi answered.
Data sat up straighter on his cushion. He threw one more cautious look around the circle of smiling, nodding friends and began to sing. "My romance doesn't have to have a moon in the sky…" His light, sweet tenor commanded the attention of everyone there, even through their alcoholic haze. "My romance doesn't need a blue lagoon standing by, no month of May, no twinkling stars, no hideaway, no soft guitars. My romance doesn't need a castle rising in Spain, nor a dance to a constantly surprising refrain. Wide awake, I can make my most fantastic dreams come true. My romance doesn't need a thing but you."
The crash of the waves was the only audible sound for a few seconds after the last note died away, before they all burst into applause.
"Data…but…that was lovely," Deanna cried.
"You've been holding out on us," Will agreed.
Data accepted the praise of his friends with unflinching modesty, his eyes on Tasha, who was pouring the contents of her beer bottle down her throat. While Data had been singing, Tasha had felt the rest of the world shrink to a pinpoint, leaving just the two of them, the fire, and the crashing waves. It was an almost unbearably touching moment. She'd felt such a surge of love and pride that she thought her heart would burst. Romance had always been a bad word to her, a red flag, a childish fantasy that wasn't real and shouldn't be expected unless she wanted to be disappointed. Now she was silently telling herself to keep her feelings under control, though the moonlit night and the ale and the passion inside her were all at odds with her internal monologue.
She got unsteadily to her feet. "Think I'll call it a night."
"No!" Protests came from all sides.
"You can't go now – Worf is going to sing us some Klingon opera," Geordi said with a laugh.
"All the more reason. Goodnight." Tasha ignored her friends' protestations and turned away, staggering in the soft sand.
"Lt. Yar." Data was suddenly by her side, steadying her with a hand on her elbow. "Allow me to assist you."
"Thanks," she whispered, keeping her voice quiet for fear that she'd betray the emotional upheaval she felt, the zing of desire from just his light touch on her arm.
As he led her back to the hotel, the first howls of Worf's aria floated back on the breeze.
Wes waited for an opportune moment to take his leave. "Thanks for inviting me, Commander." He said goodnight to everyone and walked back to the hotel. The bridge crew may have been able to sit through Klingon opera for a laugh, but Wes couldn't stomach it, at least not stone cold sober.
He got back to an empty room. Mom's still not back, he thought. She and the captain were old friends. They were probably catching up on old times, the way adults always do. Wes went to the balcony and looked out over the beach, where he could still make out the fading embers of the bonfire. It was sure nice to have been included – there weren't many kids his age on the ship, and sometimes it was tough to figure out where he fit in. Most of the children were younger – not many teenagers would've have left high school to explore space. Of course, he'd jumped at the chance. And he planned to apply for early admission to the Academy at one of the satellites soon. They had quotas at the satellites – that was the only drawback – but it would be great to go to a school where he'd be surrounded by likeminded kids his own age.
Wes lay back on a lounge chair, hidden from view by the potted trees lining the balcony, and looked straight up at the stars. They weren't so bright or so numerous as they were in space, but they were still beautiful, and beckoned him to their mysteries.
A noise startled him out of his reverie, and he looked between the fronds of a potted palm to see Lt. Yar come out to the balcony two doors away. She'd taken off her tunic and was dressed in a silvery half-top and capris that gave significant glimpses of her skin. He thought she looked pretty – she didn't often strike him as pretty; she was so businesslike all the time. But Lt. Yar was nice, she always had a smile for him, and she was one of the youngest senior officers, young enough to be like an older sister, or a cool aunt.
She was presently joined by Lt. Cdr. Data. Wes couldn't hear what they were saying, but he thought it was nice that everyone on the bridge crew was such good friends. It was like a special family, bigger than the one he'd grown up with. It'd been just the two of them for most of his life. He often wished his mom would think about dating someone. It would be neat to see her really happy, and to have a father figure, someone to do guy things with.
Lt. Yar and Cdr. Data seemed very friendly. She was leaning back on the clear railing, smiling and laughing, and he was standing close to her. Very close. And suddenly, Wesley wished he'd gone back inside.
They were kissing. The sight of it was searing his eyeballs. Lt. Yar and Lt. Cdr. Data? Seriously? In a flash, Wes remembered his friend Jake talking about walking in on his mom and dad, and how it had scarred him for life. At the time, Wes had been totally nonchalant about it. "You know your parents do it, right? How else do you think you came into the world?" But now, Wes completely understood. It was like a disaster he couldn't tear his eyes away from. Lt. Yar seemed like the career Starfleet type – married to her job. And Data was… Data. This couldn't be happening.
And yet, it was. Not only was it happening, but it was getting worse – Data had his hands on Lt. Yar's bottom. Wesley began to silently pray to be transported away, or to disappear.
Tasha broke away and cradled Data's face between her hands. "We should do this on our own sometime." She kissed his cheeks, made her way down to his jaw, ruffling his hair and weaving a little on her feet.
"Do what?"
"Go on vacation alone together. You could sing to me. I could show you how much I like your singing." She pulled him in for another searching kiss.
After a time, he raised his head from hers. "But if we went away together, would that not be tantamount to announcing that we are a couple?"
"I don't care." She hopped up on the thin railing, holding his shoulders for balance, and linked her arms around his neck. "I just want to be with you alone, somewhere beautiful like this."
"Hmph." A happy expression lit the android's features. He put his hands on her waist and threw a look of assessment at the thin barrier between a drop to the ground several floors below. "This railing is not suitable for sitting, Tasha."
In response, she hooked her legs around him and launched herself into his arms. "Fine. You know what I want?"
"What?"
"I want you to carry me to that bed and have your way with me. You know why?"
Data swallowed hard, an apt mannerism for the change overcoming his body. "Why?"
She leaned forward until they were nose-to-nose. "Because we're in love. And that's what people do when they're in love."
He waited no longer to concede to her wishes, pushing open the door with one hand while he supported her with the other.
Wesley let out his breath as the officers went back inside. Scarred for life. He got up and backed into his room, horrified to think on what was happening a few meters away. He jumped when the front door of the suite opened. "Mom?" he called.
Beverly paused at the door. It had been unreasonable to hope that Wesley would still be out, and that she might have a few minutes to change the tone of the evening from friendly to something more intimate. She gave the captain a regretful smile. "Goodnight, Jean-Luc." She turned and closed the door before she could see the disappointment on his face.
She took in her son's distressed look with instant concern. "Wes, are you all right?"
"Yes – no – would it be okay if I went for a walk?" he stammered.
"Yes, dear. Stay close to the resort."
"'Bye." West went out as if he were sleepwalking.
Beverly took in the now-empty room with chagrin. "Damn!" She said out loud. "Damn, damn, damn!"
A/N: My Romance – Music/lyrics Rodgers and Hart. That doesn't make it a songfic, does it? Does it?