Geordi LaForge, Data, Worf, and Duffy (random one-pip engineer) are seated around a table in Ten Forward enjoying a little off-duty synthehol, or, in Worf's case, prune juice. Data is drinking merely to enhance the others' perception of him as "one of the guys."

GL: You guys will never guess what I found out last night.

Duffy: What?

GL: Guess.

Duffy: I don't know. That real women are better than Holodeck babes?

Duffy breaks out in friendly laughter at the peeved expression on Geordi's face. Even Worf lets out a faint growl-like chuckle.

Data: With sincere concern. Geordi, are you plagued by a disorder similar to Lieutenant Barclay's?

GL: No, Data. Duffy was just joking. Eyeing Duffy. Wasn't he?

Duffy: Quickly shaping up. Yes, Sir.

GL: Sternly. And how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Sir off-duty? Smiles good-naturedly. Now, about my juicy info. Did any of you see the Captain last night?

Worf: Captain Picard was not on duty last night.

GL: Oh, yes he was!

All are confused.

GL: On looooove duty. And, so was Dr. Crusher, if you get my drift.

Worf: Looking uncomfortable. It is dishonorable to—gossip.

GL: Worf, it can't be gossip if it's true.

Worf: In that case, I heard that they achieved nga'chug.

Data: Nga'chug. Accessing. Eyes dart side-to-side for a moment, then: Ah. Sexual pleasure arising when a male and a female—

Geordi's and Duffy's eyes widen.

GL and Duffy: What?!

Duffy: Attempting to outdo Worf. Well, that makes sense, considering I heard that—that—that Dr. Crusher's expecting!

GL: C'mon, Duff, you know you just made that up.

Duffy: Yeah, you're right. But I did hear rumors that they were together last night. I just brushed them off as stories until now.

Data: It would seem that the majority of the Enterprise's 1,947 adult passengers are aware of Captain Picard's and Dr. Crusher's prospective activities last night.

GL: Lets out a soft whistle. News doesn't travel that fast when a shipwide announcement is made during red alert!

Guinan: Seemingly appearing out of nowhere. More prune juice, Worf?

Worf: No. Thank you. I must return to my quarters and inflict pain upon myself.

Guinan: In an initially calm but increasingly threatening tone. That would be nice. But let me tell you how this is gonna work. You're gonna stay here until you've finished this glass of prune juice. Maybe you're not aware of the fact that I just took my valuable time and energy to, first of all, pick up a mental signal from you saying you wanted more prune juice, haul my 1000-year-old ass over to the replicator, order you the juice, and then walk the juice from behind the bar all the way over to your table. Now, if this glass is not emptied within five minutes, you're gonna learn something about the El-Aurean method of inflicting pain. Nobody and I mean nobody tells Guinan what they do and do not want to drink.

Every eye in Ten Forward is on Worf. In extreme dishonor, the Klingon picks up the prune juice and drinks every last drop of it.

Guinan: Sweetly and sincerely. There, now, I'm glad you enjoyed that. She returns to the bar.

Duffy: After picking his jaw up from the floor. Whoa. Worf, are you okay?

GL: Yeah, man, she really chewed you out.

Worf: If Klingons could blush visibly, he'd be bright red. I must go now. He leaves.

Geordi, Data, and Duffy resume conversation. After about five minutes' time, Deanna and Beverly enter Ten Forward. They seat themselves at the bar.

Guinan: Warmly. Deanna, Bev, nice to see you.

DT: Hello, Guinan.

Bev: Hi, Guinan.

Guinan: Producing two syntheholic beverages, one blue, the other green, and both bubbly. Here you are.

DT and Bev: Thanks.

The occupants of Geordi's table notice that one of the topics of their conversation has just entered.

Duffy: Well, this is weird. I never looked at Dr. Crusher in this way before.

Data: In what way are you looking at her?

Duffy: A hungry one.

Data: With a look of confusion. While consuming another human would provide substantial nutritional benefits, cannibalism is widely considered to be a barbaric and socially unacceptable practice.

GL: Ew, Data, no. We seriously need to update your program on "casual conversation."

Duffy: With a crazed determination in his eyes. Watch this, boys.

Duffy saunters up to the bar and positions himself to the right of Beverly.

Duffy: Suavely. Hi. He flashes a cheesy grin.

Bev: Um, hi. She studies him. I'm sorry, do I know you?

Duffy: Ouch, babe, that hurts.

Bev raises an eyebrow.

Duffy: Don't you remember? Three weeks ago. Biobed malfunction. Around 1500 hours.

Bev: Hesitantly. Yes—

Duffy: Overconfidently. Yeah, it's all coming back now, isn't it? Suggestively. Why don't we—reminisce—in my quarters? I think it's about time for my biannual physical.

Bev: How dare you proposition me? With that she slaps him—hard—across the face. C'mon, Deanna, let's get out of here. They leave.

Data: Geordi, did Duffy just get—"burned"?

GL: He sure did.

Duffy returns to his table.

Duffy: I don't know what came over me. Humbly. I guess I'm just no match for a bald French sophisticate with a starship.

GL: Patting Duffy on the back. Don't worry about it, man. At least you tried.

Wesley Crusher enters. Geordi and Duffy quickly turn their chairs around in an attempt to conceal their identities. Wesley surveys Ten Forward, desperately looking for someone he knows. A nerdy grin spreads across Wes's face when he spots his three "friends." He heads toward their table. Geordi and Duffy roll their eyes.

Wesley Crusher: Hi, guys! Mind if I join you?

GL: Whoa, Wesley! Didn't see you come in! Sure, have a seat.

Data: Good evening, Wesley.

Wes: Hi, Data. Noticing the conspicuous red blotch on Duffy's left cheek. Duffy, what happened to you?

Duffy: Mumbles. A woman.

Wes: Who? I might know her.

Data: You are correct in assuming that you are familiar with the woman who struck Ensign Duffy. Wesley, it was your mother.

Wes: Wow. I thought she only did that to me!

Duffy: Apparently not!

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