Season 1 - Episode 9: Ex Post Facto (part 3)
June 20, 2371 (3 Months, 5 Days in the Delta Quadrant)

I could feel the deep rumbling bass of the music vibrating through my chest and down my bones. Like an ancient war drum pounding away on the eve of battle, it got my blood pumping and aggression up in anticipation of a fight, which I believe was the opposite of the music's intended effect if my eyes were to be believed.

B'Elanna and I were in a club whose name roughly translated to "Song-Nest" but I was calling "Avianus" - after a Latin writer of fables. It seemed appropriate, since what was a song but a very short story. Plus, you know, birds. I'd stumbled across this place the day before, but we'd all been a little too busy buying and selling goods to worry about entertainment.

Today, on the other hand, was a very different day. With all our bartering done, B'Elanna and I had been given a few days of R&R while Paris and Kim continued to work with Professor Ren. Much to my disappointment, Janeway went back to Voyager after all her diplomatic work had been completed. She'd arranged for our repairs and paved the way for diplomatic agreements and higher level trade with the Federation, should we reach this far in the future, but that meant she left Paris free to get in trouble as he did in the original timeline, seeming to forget Tuvok's point about leaving Paris & Kim alone once she assumed her self-appointed job was done.

I would have been annoyed, should have been, by that, but it was out of my hands. Saying something now, without evidence, would not only be dismissed, but could hurt my credibility with the crew even if something happened, as it would be a case of 'why didn't you stop it'. From my time working undercover, I knew that pointing out I'd been overruled, while it would attenuate the blame, wouldn't remove it entirely. Events would transpire with or without my input, so there was no point in worrying about them. All that was left to do was wait and see if the changes I had already pushed through be enough to butterfly away the worst possibilities. Then, see if it was worth doing something about to fix.

Besides, there were other things for me to worry about now. With Janeway on Voyager, and, at Chakotay's recommendation, and the Banean's permission, there was talk about letting groups of ten planetside at a time for some downtime while a few government officials and members of their Engineering Institute were touring our ship. Security on both sides was going to be run ragged and I wasn't looking forward to watching over puffed -up dignitaries as they pretended they weren't trying to steal our schematics.

However, all of that was for tomorrow's Shepard. Tonight's Shepard just wanted to relax and enjoy himself.

"So," Torres spoke, just loud enough to be heard over the music, "the Banea are interesting."

"How so?" I replied, lifting a glass of a blue ale I had ordered. Scans of the local food showed they were safe for Human consumption, although I quickly learned that even on a diet of mostly fish, seeds and fruits, one could get smashed easily. The drink I held was basically made from the local equivalent of a strawberry, but had a higher alcohol content than vodka.

B'Elanna had an identical glass of her own, and seemed to be enjoying the sweet beverage if the touch of rose on her cheeks was anything to go by. We had both opted to forgo the uniform since we weren't on duty; myself in a semi-formal jacket over a yellow button down shirt, and her in a light green tunic that covered her arms and neck but had this strange side slit window that showed a little skin before reaching her pants. Conservative, but interesting.

Considering our location, I assumed we both felt weirdly overdressed.

Motioning towards a Banea, who was prancing around on a little stage near us, my companion explained, "Well, they seem very...reserved, until you turn down the lights."

Avianus had a circular bar in the middle of the floor, like a nest, with a display of drinks on glass shelves that glowed from within in an array of bright colors, extending nearly to the ceiling, that the bartenders scaled with near acrobatic grace. A half dozen male and female Baneans tended the bar, taking orders from all around it. At three equally spaced platforms around bar, was a glowing pad that highlighted the shapely barely-dressed men and women who danced atop it.

Barely-dressed being a nice way of saying that they were naked except for these interesting beak-shaped headdress that looked like hawk-masks, and some brightly colored leggings that accented their plumage.

It was a little jarring to learn that the feathers didn't just stop at their heads and necks, but made sense in retrospect. Feathers could be seen traveling up the arms from the back of their hands towards their shoulder blades to link into a 'V' across their upper back, which then traveled down their spines before splitting up again near the hips and traveling down the side of their legs. The feathers were thickest on the upper arms and thighs, as well as their heads and vestigial tails, but there was a smattering of them across the upper chest and middle torso as well.

They were lovely, and painted as they were to glow under the special lights in the club, they were easy to make out.

"I wonder if it's part of a mating ritual?" I mused. When Torres cocked her eyebrows up, I explained, "Some species of birds on Earth like to showcase themselves to find a mate. They'll do some funny things to get attention."

"Like what?" she asked, taking another sip.

"Well," I thought for a second, and then smiled as I recalled, "Flamingos dance in a big group. They stretch their necks and flip their heads back and forth while taking these tiny steps. If two like the way they dance, they break off into pairs to breed."

"Flamboyant plumage colors and elaborate displays of prominent feathers or body shape can show off how strong and healthy a bird is, advertising its suitability as a mate." I went on. "Peafowls are one of the best-known species for showing off a stunning display. Other birds may use a subtle change in posture to show off the plumage to the best effect, such as raising a crest or flaring their wings."

"You seem to know a lot about birds." Torres observed with a smirk. "Are you saying you're an ornithologist on top of being an engineer and security expert?"

"I brushed up on the topic," I admitted, eyes wandering across the crowd. "Especially once I started noticing similarities in how the Baneans compared to Earth-fowl. Physical movements, like dancing in an intricate sequence with wing flaps, head dips, or different things can be part of a courtship ritual. In many species, the male alone will dance for his female while she observes his actions and passes judgement. In other species, both partners interact with one another. Mistakes in the dance show inexperience, weakness, or hesitancy which would not likely lead to successful mating. It's a show of physical prowess and confidence, not that far off from normal dancing, just more… flamboyant."

From where we were seated, in a ring of booths about two meters from the bar, we had a decent view of the rhythmic gyrating taking place not far from us. Aside from the black spotlights on the dancing platform, and the multicolored technobeat lights ringing the bar, most of the establishment was muted in the dark. Neon lights overhead radiated out from the bar like rays from the sun, but they only provided enough light to keep you from tripping over your own feet.

At least that was the case for us. Turns out that Baneans had excellent night vision, as expected of an avian species, so this little bit of lighting was more than enough for them. Us mere pursuit predators had to deal with the almost total darkness in our booths or tables around the dance floor further towards the back of the room. That being said, the half-Klingon across the glass table room me and lounging comfortably in the soft booth didn't seem to be having any trouble seeing either. My old department had night-vision contacts, but I hadn't thought to bring a pair down with me, my pair hidden in my quarters up on Voyager.

Banean music, much like their untranslated speech, was full of clicks and whistles but also heavy on bass and drums. I hadn't gotten a look at their instruments, but I had heard a lot of it being played over various entertainment devices while we shopped around. The style reminded me more of heavy metal but seriously filtered through an electro-pop strainer. Not bad, just different. Sadly, I didn't think it was something human ears could truly enjoy since most of the upper and lower tones traveled into frequencies we couldn't hear. Didn't stop me from bargaining for a copy of their basic media library, already on its way to Voyager.

"Does that mean you're going to dance for me?" Torres suddenly asked, looking for the top of her drink at me as she sipped at it.

I smiled wide at her, laughing a little. "I don't think that is a good idea. If you saw me dance, you might suddenly decide Mr. Paris would be a better prospect."

"Ew!" Torres giggled, almost snorting into her drink at the idea. "That man is a pig! Have you seen how fast he has been 'moving through the ranks'?"

I nodded, knowing full well that Tom had been something of a horn dog since he got on board, flirting with everyone but moving on as soon as he got enough resistance. Fortunately for him, no one in Security had given him the time of day. I wouldn't want to be anywhere near him if he did and then broke the young woman's heart. Those girls knew how to get revenge, as I'd already seen when a few other brave, foolish, individuals tried to play them, not hesitating to share the crewmen's actions to the rest of the department.

Never underestimate the value of HUMINT.

"I'm willing to dance," I explained, "I'm just not sure if my two left feet won't send you running to one of those men or women up there shaking their tail feathers."

"Feathers aren't really my thing." she quickly replied, "but I'll make sure Harry comes to this place."

I smiled at that, taking a long drink of the fruity beverage, before I mentally told myself 'fuck it' and stood up to extend an arm. "Well, would you care to dance?"

Torres smirked up at me, and sat her drink down to reach up and firmly grasp my hand.

The two of us headed for the dance floor as the music continued to bounce around us. My chest tightened at the thrum, but it was a pleasant sensation. Eyes from around the club followed us, the locals getting a good look at the aliens and how they danced.

Can't say I blamed them, but it was a little uncomfortable as my training made me painfully aware of everyone looking our way, and I had to tell myself those gazes were social interest, not threat assessments.

As we hit the floor and joined in with the other thirty or so people moving their bodies, the song's tempo picked up and suddenly we both had to work hard to keep in time with the rhythm. We stuck close together deep in the middle of the floor, surrounded by avians lost in their moments, bodies close enough to feel the heat radiating between them. As the minutes passed, I began to notice a light sheen of perspiration building on her brow, which made me more aware of my own.

I watched, almost mesmerized as her hips swayed back and forth to the beat. Our bodies moved in sync with one another as short, ragged breathes worked their way out of us. We came closer to each other, almost touching, and I could feel her hot breath on my cheek and neck as I towered over her.

We were close enough that I can smell the drink on her breath, the sweet hint of warp plasma emanating from her hair. The occasional hard bump or gentle caress of fingers sent electricity across my skin, and time just seemed to pass us by as I'm lost in a sea of sound and motion.

Eventually those brief moments of contact became lingering touches, and as the music began to ramp back down so people could catch their breath I ended up rest my hands on her waist. Before I could think of backing away, her arms went up and clamped together around my neck while she rested her forehead on my chest.

We stayed like that for awhile, just swaying with the music. As friendly as I was becoming with the Chief Engineer, I hadn't exactly expected this situation. We often spent time together, at least as much as you can when you're in two very different departments, but I always assumed this was just a friendly relationship. The kind where you help each other on projects, or just talk to each other when something is on your mind. Not… more.

It was quickly becoming obvious that more is where this was heading. Was that something either of us wanted?

Torres broke me out of my thoughts when she grabbed my hand and started to drag me off the dance floor and back to our table. I didn't know how long we'd been dancing, long enough to feel it at least, but I wasn't too worried about it.

Our old table and been taken by some Banea so we moved on to another further away from the bar. Before we had finished taking our seats, a server, wearing about as much as the dancers, came around and placed two more of those blue drinks in front of us before smiling and moving on.

After she took a sip of her drink, and got her breath back, Torres laughed at me, "You weren't kidding about the horrible dancing, but at least you got better as you kept going."

I shrugged helplessly, taking a moment to quickly flash scan the drinks with my omni-tool, before nodding to myself and throwing the beverage back. The cool alcohol was as refreshing as it was inebriating.

Taking a moment to just... be, I gazed at my companion. Her hair was sticking a little to her head, sweat slicked, and her dress hugged her just a little bit tighter in the right places. It was only after I had done it I had realized what I was doing, and so had she, but her only response was to smile a little wider.

"Well," I started, "I had a good teacher to follow, didn't I?"

B'Elanna looked me over, her eyes seeming deep, before she asked, "Maybe we should be getting back to the hotel?"

The hotel was a location near the spacedock that the Central Authority had set up for the away teams to rest in. They didn't want to deal with our people traveling back and forth via teleportation, and we didn't want to deal with a constant stream of shuttles leaving and arriving. The solution was to buy hotel rooms in the area and stay the night. They'd been bugged, but only for audio, and I'd left them alone.

I nodded, and then held up my hand and said, "How about you wait here one minute. I need to freshen up."

As I rose, she nodded and smirked at me. I took a quick glance back at Torres, enjoying the sight, before I headed to men's room in the corner of the space, tucked away and out of sight of the dance-floor.

I felt the drinks I'd had, and was forced to squint in the near-darkness, but it wasn't too difficult to locate the hidden hallway, a few Baneans hanging out, as seemed to be universal to these kinds of places.

One thing that took a moment to adjust to was that a lot, but not all, restrooms were dual use for both men and women. I supposed it made sense among a species where both genders were fairly equal in terms of both size and strength, or it could be some kind of cultural development they had a long time ago. Either way, it wasn't my business how other species did their business so long as I could as well.

The interior of the restroom was what you would expect of a place like this in a high tourism location. Well-lit white tile covered floors and walls wrapped the space, stainless steel-like sinks adorning a central mirror-wall that split the area but left room at the front and back so people could walk around. On the entrance side, opposite the sinks, was a row of recognizable urinal fixtures, not all that different from what I was used to seeing. On the other side of the restroom was the various closed-door stalls that you could use, a few were a bit larger than others but not by much. They didn't use toilets as I knew them, but these odd looking rings in the floor.

I wasn't sure how those worked, and didn't worry, as I hadn't the need to use them.

A lot of the room was packed; a small flock of black feathered hens were applying something to their feathers near one end of the room, a couple of men with teal crests were talking animatedly about something in a corner, there was a lone girl with these beautiful swan-white feathers preening in front of the mirror and applying some kinds of red face paint, and most of the stalls had closed doors which signaled occupation.

I tried to ignore it all, to not soak up all these random details, but instincts are a hell of a thing to fight. When you are trained for a good chunk of your life to be hyper observant, to notice the details most miss or take for granted, trying not to just makes it stand out more in your mind.

With an effort, I pushed those errant thoughts from my head and headed over to a fixture in the corner, so I only had to pay attention to one direction. A few moments later I was doing my business and trying to ignore how I was two sheets to the wind.

So far, I reflected, this has been a productive stay. Rather than the original timeline's plan of sending two idiots in a shuttle to discuss replacing a single broken part for the ship, we brought the whole damn vessel and took care of some serious problems before they started. Moral was even up as people anticipated a chance to stretch their legs and breathe fresh air.

Between Chakotay, B'Elanna, and I, we'd managed to trade away the Vidiian goods in short order. Turns out there was high demand for their technology, at all levels, so it wasn't difficult to find buyers. It was much harder to find things we needed or wanted, but that was taken care of quickly enough. In exchange for the tech and minerals, we got resupplied on our antimatter reserves, some compressed deuterium to back up what little our bussard collectors gathered while traveling, a few spare components, and a large assortment of raw food, with an equally large assortment of seeds.

Combined with all the repairs we have been able to make, Voyager hadn't been in such good shape since she left Deep Space Nine.

A couple of people filtered in behind me that I paid no attention to. I was focused more on how quiet it was getting as the hens moved out of the room. In the wild, the first warning that a predator was approaching is the silence. When violence is imminent, animals instinctively know that keeping quiet and still is their best shot at survival. I wanted to dismiss it as paranoia, but a club is a lot like a jungle, and in it silence is never a good sign. Averted eyes, people moving away quickly, and guys wearing heavy clothing on a warm day also indicated trouble's coming.

Three such guys walked past me and I caught sight of their red crests. They wore the equivalent of the local business suit, not cheap but not what you would wear to a place like this either.

Every environment has its own set of rules and customs, and your survival often depended on knowing them as well as those you were raised with. On Qo'noS, you never refuse blood wine. Among the Cardassians, you always clear your dinner plate. In a prison, regardless of species, you're careful about making eye contact. Too little, and you look weak, but too much and you become a threat. Either way, a glance too much is all it takes to get a knife in the back.

These three were paying me far too much attention.

I finished my business, tucked my shirt back in, and moved to the sink to wash. Thankfully, most species, once they developed to a certain stage, took indoor plumbing and hygiene seriously. It kind of goes hand-in-hand with the knowledge of germs and how to fight them, and let me move on autopilot as my attention was elsewhere.

Standing in front of the sink, I slowly lathered up my hands while my eyes watched my surroundings. Adrenaline was already starting to flood my veins in anticipation of a fight, clearing my head of the alcohol-fueled haze.

When you're being watched, what you often need most is contrast. A background that will make the followers stand out. It was difficult to get more variance than men in identical suits and the same red plumage in that club's restroom. That was what left me noticing that, since I entered the room, only five other people had come in. Five near identical Baneans who obviously weren't here to enjoy the drinks or dance.

As they made their rounds of the room, I could see that those who had previously been in here had all cleared out. That just left the six of us.

Like vultures circling, the five walked a trail around the room before coming to a stop. Two were near the door, and two more at the opposite end of the room. 'Where did the fifth-'

Somehow the fifth Banean had managed to make it into my blind spot, and I was almost too late in noticing where he was, and that he was holding something in his hand. Something pen-like. As I twisted sharply, the time for subtlety over, something nicked the back of my neck, and a cold fluid was partially shot into me, the rest running down my neck as the injector broke contact.

That didn't stop me from spinning, grabbing, and locking on the wrist with the 'pen', while I brought my free hand around in a punch to the little bastards face. He hit the floor hard, but ripped his hand free as he rolled back to his feet further away from me. I blinked, hard, as his form started to blur and felt the floor shifting under me, like a ship under fire.

'Great, Shepard, you were already well on your way to drunk before you got injected with whatever that was. How are you going to get out of this?'

The fucker with the pen touched his face, and wiped away some of the blood I had drawn as I swayed back and forth on my feet. Slowly his outlines merged back into one enemy, my vision straightening up as my training kicked in and I focused through the drug-induced haze.

"Why isn't he down?" asshole three at the back of the room challenged.

The one I hit stood back up, muttering, "He only got a small dose. Stopped it too soon."

"They want both of them." Three stated. "Hurry up here so we can get to the other."

'Both? Wait, B'Elanna? What the fuck?!'

Asshole two, standing next to three, added, "Doesn't look like he is going to drop without a fight." He started taking off his jacket.

"I've got this," the asshole who pricked me, 'heh, a little prick,' said confidently while stowing the injector and pulling out a knife. "We can patch him up as long as it isn't fatal. Might be better that way."

As the asshole lunged at me with his knife, I could already feel my reflexes beginning to slow and turn sluggish. Instead of moving to the side and grabbing his knife hand as I should have, after years of training and experience demanded it of me, I instead had to manually force my body to react to the imminent threat. I twisted to the side, spinning into the attackers lunge, just barely missing the sharp edge of the weapon. I followed through, bringing my hand up as I continued the spin and connected my open palm with the back of the Banean's head, not trusting my own timing to grab anything. Gripping it as best I could after I felt the impact, I used my momentum to drive the man's face into the seemingly stainless steel sink as hard as I possibly could. Enough to bend the fixture as flesh and bone collided with metal, and lost.

An audible crack echoed off the tiled walls at the sound of a skull being crushed. It was louder than I had expected, heard clearly over the reverb of the music just outside the room, and in my drug-addled state my brain paused to focus on how odd that was.

Seeing what had happened caused the other four to pause, staring at the strange alien that had just casually been drugged and still managed to kill their comrade. I cursed myself, having only meant to knock him out, but I couldn't stop now. Not wasting any time, I twisted my wrist and activated my omni-tool. As the holographic interface opened, I opened my palm and called out, "combat baton!" The computer near instantly recognized the command, projected the correct item into the air, and I snatched it.

In a fight, you have to be careful not to break the little bones in your hand on someone's face. Never happens in the movies, but in real life a busted hand can get you killed. That's why I like bathrooms and their many hard surfaces. Plus it never hurts to bring an equalizer. Humans are a tool using species after all.

Asshole three calmly said, the anger and menace in his voice merely an undertone, "You have already lost."

"Yeah, ma'be." I said, trying to steady myself from the sudden rush of action, feeling like I hadn't stopped spinning.. "Then again, I'm hungry, and it's been a long time since I 'ad fresh turkey."

Asshole three dropped a knife into his hand, having hidden it up his sleeve, and drove towards me, point first. I stepped to the side, slamming his wrist with my baton to direct it away, the impact making a snap that rang out loudly in the empty bathroom, and only just managed to see the fourth asshole who had stalked up behind me, unseen.

Fourth had swung his knife down at the same time as Three's dive, and if I hadn't moved as I did, meeting him head on, the blade would've been buried in my spine.

As Three yelled and fell back, I fell forward at him, barely managing to catch his wrist with my numbing fingers and jerk him around as I stood back up, so we were face to face, my arms linking with his and directing his own knife, still gripped in his broken hand, towards his head. He held his arms tight, not giving an inch as he grimaced in pain, so I pushed him backwards into Four and, like a bull, charged them into the wall. As the three of us bounced off the cracked tile, I took a quick step back and landed a front kick on Three's stomach before swinging the baton at his knee.

'All the same old, familiar places.'

The crack of a snapping joint and Three's scream of pain joined the sounds of heavy breathing and yelling as the fucker fell to the floor and Fourth jumped off the wall toward me. I swung and missed his face with the club, while he countered with a strong right to my jaw that sent me staggering back, barely having felt the blow.

From his left the knife came up and stabbed forward, narrowly missing me as he buried it into the wall. Lurching past him and turning, my elbow came up and connected with the back of his skull, bouncing him off the wall and dropping him.

One and Two at the entrance looked at each other briefly, then the pair came running towards me. A kick toward One made him pause before it could connect, throwing himself backward for a moment, before he swiftly recovered and lunged with the knife. I blocked it with a flailing chop to the arm and kick to the stomach, sending him away from me and freeing my other hand to pop the baton into the side of Two's head twice in rapid succession as he charged into the space One left behind.

He didn't fall, and I spun my elbow into his face for good measure. It sent him down to a knee, and I looked up frantically to see One charging me once again. I slipped under his lunge, almost falling down completely, bringing my arm across his chest and lifting up as I charged forward into a side slam, trying not to faceplant. We hit a wall and bounced off, both of us crashing to the cold, hard tiled ground.

I couldn't waste time on the floor, and rolled over just as Two got back on his feet and drove down at me knife-first. The knife found only a little resistance as it pierced my arm, driving into the space between my radius and ulna. I was two wired to worry about that now, and too out of it to feel pain, twisting on the floor and quickly righting myself to my feet as my arm ripped the blade out of Two's hand. I connected with a punch to his eye, a baton to his neck, and finished it with a kick to his groin as I fell backwards that sent the man down.

Rolling and staggering to my feet, bouncing off the wall as I did so, the blade still in my arm, I heard a yell behind me, and spun to see One bringing his knife up towards my stomach. Both my arms shot down to cross-block, the blade skidding off the armored omni-tool, which allowed him to freely grab me with his off hand and shove me across the room. He followed, grabbed me again, and tried to flip me into the corner, but having a weight advantaged gave me an edge. I flipped him around, and drove him into the wall, one hand on the knife wrist, the other driving the baton into One's face. I missed the impact, cracking tile, and he tried to tackle me off the wall, so I used his momentum to fling the asshole through the bathroom stall with a terrible crash.

Three was back on his feet, mostly, and looked like he knew how to handle the knife better than the others. He held it reverse hand, and used a driving punch towards my face in the likely hope of hitting something important like my eyes or neck. A deflection from the baton opened me up to punch at the throat, but they were moving and weaving through my increasingly lethargic attacks with ease. His knife and my baton would strike each other more often than we did, and I became painfully aware of why.

'I'm slowing too much.'

Even as I tried to fight back, I was forced to back up more and more to gain space as they swung expertly for vital points. The back and forth continued, and I didn't have much more in the tank. I was breathing too hard, labored, and suddenly I was feeling all the places on me that I had been cut, the places that training had told me to ignore, were important. They hadn't been deep or in vital places, so I just ignore the muted pain and kept moving, stopping was the same as dying in this kind of fight. That didn't prevent my blood from flowing out, or for the drug to be pumped harder through my system. Already my extremities were going completely numb.

'Keep moving.'

If I didn't end this soon I wouldn't be able to move ever again. I threw my baton when he closed, the avian asshole dodging it, laughing at me, not noticing that it disappeared behind him. I moved my numb fingers, having to think about each individual moment, as he slowly approached, sure of his win. I swung hard, as hard as I could, and he leaned back just enough to miss my empty fist.

Except it wasn't empty.

A horrific crack could be heard echoing through the space, and as his body hit the floor I saw the unnatural bend in his neck.

'Let the bodies hit the floor. That's a good song.'

I dropped the created hammer, it disappearing as it was no longer needed, and I stood still, taking stock. Of the five, three was dead. A wave of nausea hits me, as the walls around me flexed with every breath, but I force myself to focus. Mission first, secure the targets. The others are still, but breathing. My own breathing is labored, and I am having trouble seeing straight. Or at all.

The lighting must have been turned down, 'cause everything is dimmer. Why had they gone from white to red light?

'Roxanne...you don't have to turn on the red light….'

I limp towards the door, only now noticing that it has been locked, or that my leg has a large cut in it above the knee. When did that happen? Everything is spinning, and I wonder if this club has a rotating floor. That'd be neat. Staggering out, I see a line of people waiting to use the facilities, and say, "Sorry. Might want to call...maintenance." Well I try to, but it comes out "S'rri. Mit wanna call m'ntafence."

They stare at me like they've never seen an alien before, which I find rude, but I do my best to ignore the pretty birds as I wobble back to the table and Torres. She sees me, but I'm having a hard time seeing her in all this darkness, so I stand as best I can and slur out, "I 'hank 've coo 'o na'," just before the club's lights go out completely, and everything goes silent.