Author's note: This story began life as an out-take from "The Long, Dark Night". It takes place concurrently with the last 2 chapters and features the same characters. To avoid confusion, it would be a good idea to read that story first.

Kroll could not help giving the Vulcan doctor an admiring look. She was much calmer in her demeanour than the last time he had seen her, but she was still magnificent. "Doctor... I am about finished here," he began. "Perhaps you would care to join me for some refreshment?"

Both Moragh and Leandra looked surprised by that. The Klingon doctor had only just got started when they had been interrupted. Neither found the words to argue though. Work, however essential was suddenly the last thing on their minds.

"You should perhaps consider remove the neural scanner from your patient first," T'lia pointed out acerbically.

Flustered by the dry comment, he moved to remove the scanner before trying again, "So will you have dinner with me, Healer?"

"I need to make one more stop to inform Admiral Mackenzie," The Vulcan shocked herself with her answer as she continued, "But after that… yes… I believe I may have a window in my schedule." There was just the faintest green tinge to her skin as she looked at the Klingon surgeon.

Chapter 1

A little later than she had intended, T'lia finally returned to her quarters intending to get a sonic shower and then meditate for a while before going back on duty. She was very aware that she needed some time alone to centre herself and regain her calm. What in the name of Surak had possessed her to agree to a second lunch date with Kroll that afternoon? Over the last few days, he had plagued her constantly, to a point where committing murder was starting to seem more and more logical.

For their first date… no, she told herself firmly, it had not been a date, simply two doctors having lunch together… he had taken her to the vegan restaurant down on promenade level two, a place where, by his own admission, he'd been a little out of his depth, having never tried vegetarian food before. They had spent much of the meal, as off-duty doctors were wont to do, discussing work, various patients and new medical technologies and advancements but inevitably, he had steered the conversation to more personal subjects, wanting to learn more about her.

It was also inevitable that the meal had ended with Kroll pushing her just a little too far and he would never know just how close she had come to slapping him. Determined to pursue a relationship with her, he just would not take 'no' for an answer and she was equally determined that he would not have his way. So why, she asked herself again, had she agreed to another meeting?

Their second meal together, a few days after the first had progressed in a similar manner, except this time he'd taken her to the evocatively named 'Flower of India'. She would give him credit for having done his research - located on Promenade Level Delta, the restaurant did a special lunch time menu and had a very good mix of food, much of it suitable for vegetarians.

In fairness, he had been (mostly) good company, better than she'd expected and their time together had not been unpleasant. She already knew he was intelligent and a fine surgeon, even if his training was not up to the exacting standards of the Vulcan Medical Commission and she had been surprised to learn that he had spent some time in a Federation medical facility on Earth, studying neurosurgery. That revelation explained a lot, she reflected; Qo'noS was not exactly renowned for its medical expertise.

Nor was he physically displeasing to her. While she had never thought of Klingon men as particularly aesthetically pleasing, he was just a little taller than her and although he did not have the big build and over-muscled physique of the typical Klingon warrior, he obviously took care of his body… she stopped herself right there. If she was considering his physical attributes, she definitely needed that meditation!

Her mind still partially on the sheer effrontery of the Klingon surgeon as she walked through the starbase corridors, she turned the final corner to her quarters and came to a sudden halt as she almost tripped over the large, furry body that lay sprawled across her doorway. Cautiously she nudged it with her foot, but it didn't react, just flopped over onto its side. She could see the horn now and the porcine snout. It was a targ, she realised, a real, live… no, cancel that, she thought in disgust; real it might be, but it was certainly not alive… the creature lying at her feet was very obviously deceased.

A folded piece of parchment lay by the side of the dead targ and rather warily, T'lia picked it up and opened it. Unsurprisingly, considering the origin of the Targ species, it was written in Klingon. While she spoke the language almost fluently, she was not so confident with its written form and she read the note slowly and carefully. It appeared, she realised after a moment to be some form of love poetry.

…HIHoHvIpQo', 'a bang jIH waDich.
ghap tlheDtaHlIJ jaymey 'ej HoHmey jIH.
bangbe'. yinbe'

T'lia was fairly fluent in Klingon and spoke it with a flawless accent, but reading was more difficult, and this was handwriting, not printed glyphs. Even so, she could make out the basics of it, and this was very definitely a love poem. Carefully she translated the note.

…Don't be afraid to kill me but love me first
Or your departing defeats and kills me.
No love, no life!'

T'lia gave a low growl that owed nothing to her Vulcan heritage and everything to the company she had been keeping as she stepped over the body of the targ and entered her quarters. Whoever had pulled this stunt was going to regret it! And she had a very strong suspicion as to the identity of the perpetrator.

Hitting her combadge, she said, "T'lia to security. There appears to be a dead animal on my doorstep. Get someone down here to remove it!" She was in a bad mood now and would have slammed the door if it were only possible to slam a sliding door.

"Healer?" the duty security officer asked, obviously puzzled. "Did you say...'dead animal'?"

She almost asked if the officer was deaf, but instead took a deep breath and repeated, "Yes. Dead. An animal. Remove it. Now."

Hearing her clipped tone, he quickly responded. "Yes, doctor, someone will be with you in a moment."

The Klingon poetry is an exerpt of a longer poem by Kereth Makura, who happens to be a good friend.

The usual disclaimer applies that I don't own star trek and am making no money from any of my stories. I write for fun.

Updates to this story will be slow and sporadic as I am writing it in between chapters of my larger story "Captain's Honour" but it will not be abandoned.