Author's Note: I want to give a huge shoutout to Charlotte S. for her wonderful piece of fanart inspired by Data and Tasha in Chapter 71. You can find her work on Twitter CharlotteyarOoO. It's fantastic!

Plugging right along with our story, this chapter is a bit of a different setup. I'm really trying to give this series an episodic feel but with longer story arcs (similar to DS9).

In this instance, this one-off gives us a chance to explore the characters from a different perspective.

Thank you for your patience as it's been a few weeks since our last update. I wanted to drop the next several chapters close together for reasons that I believe will become apparent once you read them.

Yes, that means you are going to be receiving a freighter load of DaTasha content this week in honour of Ms. Crosby's birthday!

Thank you for your continued support!


The door slid open, and Deanna stepped inside her darkened quarters. The advantage of having quarters located on Deck 9 meant that she had some of the largest windows on the ship.

They provided a soft glow of artificial lighting from the outer rim of the saucer section that flooded the room with a gentle light.

Deciding to keep the lights off, Deanna kicked off her boots and stepped over to the replicator. Deanna tapped the orange button in the top right to access her quick meal pre-programmed favourites.

There was a soft shimmer.

Deanna breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the warm, sweet taste of a raspberry hot chocolate hit her lips.

After a long, luxurious sip, Deanna set it down on the counter as she made to start her evening routine. She would have about an hour to herself before joining Beverly and Tasha for girls' night.

"Computer, dispatches," Deanna ordered.

"Four new appointments. Two requests to reschedule appointments. An invitation to speak at the Starfleet Psychology Symposium on Risa and three communiques from your mother," the computer announced.

"Play back the letters from my mother," Deanna requested.

She sat down at her vanity and unpinned her hair.

"Hello little one!" her mother's voice rang out. "I'm just arriving on Starbase 11. It's one of those diplomatic to-dos but I'm not expecting much fun for the next fortnight. The whole thing's been planned by a Vulcan, and they clearly haven't learned a thing about hosting in the last hundred years."

As Deanna combed her hair, she listened to her mother prattle on about her expectations for the diplomatic conference on Starbase 11.

While some people dismissed Lwaxana Troi as nothing more than a flamboyant aristocrat, the truth was she had earned her position as a prominent Federation diplomat by virtue of her skills.

Telepathy aside, Lwaxana had a way of bringing people together (and cutting through bureaucratic red tape when necessary).

In fact, one of her proudest accomplishments had been brokering a ceasefire agreement between the Vetrushion and Heploid peoples. After eighteen days of disagreement, Lwaxana had simply set the delegates down together in a jacuzzi with enough champagne and chocolate to make everyone happy.

Her tenacity and willingness to try the unorthodox made her a much sought-after negotiator.

At least she's keeping occupied. Deanna mused.

Deanna tapped the top drawer of her vanity. It slid open and she chewed on the inside of her mouth while trying to decide on a shade of lippy.

"Second transmission. Stardate 41412.7," the computer rattled off.

"Hello, little one!" said the log. "I know it's only been a few hours, but I just had to let you know that I ran into Iala Pren at the conference. She's married now to some merchant from Optu IV. Big in the dilithium trades or lumber or something."

Deanna rolled her eyes and grinned as she braced herself for what was coming.

"You and Iala used to play together every day. Now she's got her own family," Lwaxana announced. "Three girls. And wouldn't you know it? Another on the way."

There it is! Deanna thought.

"Now I couldn't remember if you were the same age or if she was a bit younger," Lwaxana said.

Deanna just shook her head. It was all she could do.

Never mind the fact that Lwaxana herself had waited until she was fifty-one and on her third marriage before having Deanna.

She was desperate for grandchildren. In her mind, the perfect scenario would entail Deanna relocating back to Betazed where Lwaxana would be on hand as grandmother extraordinaire.

"Computer, I think we can skip the rest of the message," Deanna instructed.

The computer ended the message. There was a brief pause before the final message from Lwaxana began.

"I'm just concerned. I know you're busy, but it's been four days since I last heard from you and you're always so good about writing," Lwaxana bemoaned. "And don't forget it's Reginald's birthday on Friday. You be sure he gets the care package I sent."

Whenever she knew she was going to be gone for some time on a lengthy mission outside of normal subspace channels, Deanna was always good about padding a few extra messages to keep her mother happy.

But the deviation from their course to chase down the Romulan communications outpost had been unexpected.

Deanna had been so busy with that crisis that she'd barely had time for herself.

"Computer, start a new letter to my mother," Deanna instructed.


Dear mother, I am pleased to hear that the conference on Starbase 11 is going so well. I apologise that it has been a few days without any communication. I want to assure you everyone on the Enterprise is fine. However, we recently had an incident involving a body armour prototype that has taken up a considerable amount of my time.

Before you ask, no. I was not involved in the testing. My role was merely limited to my role as counsellor.

She didn't want to send her mother into a panic.

I am doing well. I'm actually just preparing to join Doctor Crusher and Lieutenant Yar for our weekly get together. It's nothing formal, just a wee bevy sesh for a few games and some idle gossip.

As you are no doubt curious, Commander Data and Lieutenant Yar are both faring well since his hearing on Starbase 173. I'm sure by now you've received his thank you letter. They were very grateful for your support and the support of the Betazoid government in that matter.

Upon learning of Data's situation, Lwaxana had raised holy hell to anyone and everyone that would listen, sounding the alarm among diplomatic circles and tapping into her network of legal advocates she had met over the years.

It was a relief to all that the situation had been resolved before it became necessary to put such pressure on Starfleet.

In fact, I have some news on that front. Data and Tasha are now engaged, and I couldn't be more thrilled for them.

Deanna smiled to herself before adding a necessary warning.

Don't get any ideas.

Anticipating her mother's next thoughts, Deanna decided it would be best to address a few things straight away.

Commander Riker is doing well in spite of a recent scare. You see, he was one of the officers affected by the prototype experiment. I know you're probably thinking that's just in line with the kind of thing he'd do – but you must understand that with each passing day I can see how much he's matured from that cocky young man we met on Betazed so many years ago.


Earlier That Day

Will Riker closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Why don't we take a break?" Deanna suggested.

"No, no, we need to finish this," Riker replied.

"You're exhausted," Deanna observed.

Will was back to a normal duty schedule, but he still got fatigued easily.

"Captain Picard is counting on us completing this before our rendezvous with the USS Berlin," Riker reminded her.

"But that doesn't mean you need to work yourself to an early grave," Deanna commented.

Will set his PADD down on the table. He picked up an old-fashioned notepad where he'd scribbled a series of notes for later review.

Will was always the first person willing to try new technology, new foods, and new ideas. But there were surprising areas in which he preferred old-fashioned methods.

"I still think we need another technician in the Materials Science lab," Riker sighed. "I just don't know how or where without cutting someone from the rotation roster."

Deanna made a face.

"Will, you could give Doctor Kavanaugh ten more technicians and he still wouldn't be satisfied," Deanna advised. "He's the type of person that works best when he feels he's under pressure."

As part of his duties as First Officer, Will was responsible for finalising the crew rotation roster. Four members of Kavanaugh's team had requested transfer to a new department or reassignment to the Berlin.

Data had advised the simplest way to resolve the situation would be to get rid of Doctor Kavanaugh.

As much as Will was inclined to agree, he knew that transferring a problem wouldn't benefit anyone.

"Maybe Data is right, perhaps it is time to have a conversation with Doctor Kavanaugh?" Deanna suggested. "Maybe we could encourage him to take teaching position somewhere? Or find a research opportunity that's too good to pass up?"

Riker wasn't convinced.

"He's a brilliant scientist. I don't want to lose that," Riker said. "I'd rather try to keep working with him, help him understand how to manage the team better. I mean, we didn't give up on Barclay and just look how well he's doing now."

It was far from thriving.

Barclay still struggled – but he was adjusting to life on the Enterprise and isolating less.

"Ten years ago you would have marched down to that office and given Kavanaugh an ultimatum," Deanna smirked.

Riker leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach.

"I was a different man then. Bolder," Riker sighed.

"You were a different man, but I don't think you've lost anything," Deanna assured him. "I think you've gained wisdom and patience."


Present

He's grown up in ways I could never have predicted. I'll say it again – don't get any ideas. Will and I are friends. I feel as if we are closer to one another than we've ever been before.

And we're comfortable with that.

But speaking of growing up, you'd be amazed to see young Mr Crusher now, mother. He's really come into his own as an acting Ensign. Right now, he's preparing for his entrance exams to Starfleet Academy. Beverly couldn't be more proud.

In some ways, Wesley is almost a child that belongs to the community as a whole. We've all been helping him study. Rarely have I met a human with such insight and understanding. It's truly remarkable how open his mind is.

I think that's why Wesley and Data get along so well – they just click.

Data's taken Wesley under his wing and frequently offers his guidance. They two of them together could give the Starfleet Regulations Handbook a run for its money.

"Computer, pause," Deanna ordered.

Deanna stopped her letter just long enough to change into a casual burgundy jumpsuit. It was more comfortable than the purple one she'd worn on duty, and it felt nice to slip into a clean set of clothes.

She pulled her hair back and made a quick check in the mirror.

"Computer resume," Deanna instructed.

I think Data benefits from their relationship too. He gets to experience adolescence through the eyes of Wesley. While hardly a normal teenage life, it does offer Data a new perspective. It's rather like a parent seeing the world, experiencing things again through watching and helping their own child grow.

In fact, Data desperately wants to have a family someday. And if his experience with Wesley Crusher is any indicator, he will make a remarkable father someday.


Earlier That Day

Wesley said very little as he and Data carefully scraped up the remains of his prototype suit design. After freeing the crew, they had trapped the nanocytes inside an energy field.

With nothing to feed on, they had simply deactivated.

The suits were now nothing more than little black piles of goop.

Despite the reassurances of the crew, Wesley still felt awful for his role in the crisis. He had designed the suit. He had assured them it was safe.

It had nearly cost four lives of people that Wesley held dear.

"Have you thought about modifying the nanocyte reproductive cycle?" Data asked.

"Four people nearly died, I don't plan to ever work with nanocytes again," Wesley declared. "I plan to destroy what we scrape up here today. They're too dangerous."

Data cocked his head to the side.

"Many projects are dangerous," Data said. "It is a necessary part of research."

Wesley just shook his head and focused on the tool in his hand.

"Too risky," Wesley grumbled.

After some deep soul-searching, Wesley had determined that he didn't have the stomach for it anymore – not when it put people at such grave risk.

"You took all the necessary steps to mitigate the danger. There is always an element of risk that accompanies the process of discovery," Data said.

"They almost died," Wesley countered. "I'm the reason you and Tasha are-"

"Wesley, the difference of opinion between Lieutenant Yar and myself on the matter of personal safety is just that – between Lieutenant Yar and me," Data said.

Wesley froze.

"I'm sorry, Data. I didn't mean put my nose into it," Wesley apologised.

Data looked up. Everything in his body language indicated that he was fine.

"Please do not presume my statement was a rebuke," Data clarified. "I simply mean that you are not to blame for something that has been a matter of disagreement between us for some time."

Data paused.

"I am trying to say that it is not your fault. Any feelings of guilt are misplaced," Data assured him.

Wesley wasn't persuaded. It was evident from his body language that he was still grappling with remorse over the incident.

"Wesley, risk is our business," Data said. "We are in Starfleet for scientific exploration. Our very mission is one of discovery."

It was the uniting factor for all of them. While Data and Tasha may not have shared the same level of scientific background, they both believed in Starfleet's continuing mission.

For Data, the curiosity of lifelong learning was the appeal. There were always new cultures, new discoveries, and new phenomena. In his twenty-two years of service, Data had observed so much change in the world around him as new information came to light about their understanding of the universe around them.

"Your experiment followed all the appropriate protocols for such a project. Your work on this was exemplary. And though the outcome was not anticipated, we have learned a great deal from this," Data said.

Data paused, the corner of his lip curving upward.

"Never doubt that," Data said.


Present

I'm going to pause for a bit mother as I'm due to join Doctor Crusher and Lieutenant Yar this evening.

"Computer, pause recording," Deanna instructed.

There was a small chime as the computer signalled that it had stopped.

Deanna made one last check in the mirror before stepping out for an evening with her friends. On her way out the door, she snagged a bottle of Orion spiced rum for the evening.

It was one of her personal favourites.

While synthehol was normally the preference of the crew, girls' night was the perfect opportunity to let their hair down and partake in the real stuff.

Tasha was already at Beverly's by the time Deanna arrived. They were just setting up the table for the evening. Tasha spread out a tablecloth and loaded up a bucket of ice. She set out glasses for the three of them.

"Come on in!" Beverly called out.

She returned from the replicator, delicately juggling a large bowl of popcorn and two trays of snacks.

"Let me help with that," Deanna said, taking a plate of fruit from where it had been precariously balanced between Beverly's forearm and shoulder.

"Thanks," Beverly replied.

Deanna took her usual seat on the left side of the table, facing toward the window. Tasha always liked to sit opposite of that. She liked to sit where she could see the door and never, ever with her back to it.

Tasha reached into her Parrises Squares bag and retrieved a bottle of whisky and jar of hot pickles. Unscrewing the cap, she reached right in to snag one.

"I see your appetite is back," Deanna grinned.

"But I sure hope you're eating more than pickles and pincha peppers," Beverly remarked.

"You know my appetite might come back faster if I were cleared to resume my fitness training," Tasha countered, giving Beverly a knowing look.

Deanna could sense it was a sore subject between them.

"I brought Orion spice rum if anyone would like a Samarian Sunset," Deanna offered.

She was hoping to change the subject.

While the offer was tempting, Tasha was keen to stick with her usual whisky. Beverly also declined. She'd been on a Bolian brandy kick as of late.

As they started a game of Fizzbin, they chatted about the latest happenings on the ship. On a vessel the size of the Enterprise, every day included special events – birthdays, anniversaries, cultural festivals, transfers, promotions, and occasional retirements.

"Did you get to Ten Forward last night?" Beverly asked.

Deanna shook her head.

"No, I was with a client," Deanna replied.

Lieutenant Olivet's son was still struggling at bedtime. Deanna's presence along with a series of calming exercises with mum were helping. Routine was key. And now that they had gotten the boy settled in, Deanna was reluctant to deviate.

"We went late," Tasha said. "Around midnight. Data wanted to see the ceremony."

Last night had marked Aar Li Boryhas. It was a Bajoran festival that marked the end of the harvest season on Bajor. It was also a day in which Bajorans honoured their ancestors and celebrated loved ones that had passed on.

"It was beautiful," Tasha shared.

Shortly before midnight, the Bajoran officers and families onboard lit candles and special lanterns. They paraded through the halls of the Enterprise as they left a Jumja pudding outside their neighbours' doors.

Once that was complete, they met in Ten Forward to construct an altar the included photos and earrings from loved ones, small family heirlooms, flowers, Mapa bread, and offerings of grain and herbs.

At the stroke of midnight, they broke out into song. Lieutenant Najo was a gifted Tivara player. And the primary school choir had serenaded the crowd with a medley of Bajoran favourites.

"I only stayed for a bit. Had to be up early this morning for an inventory count. The Berlin is hoping to use us for a partial resupply," Beverly explained.

"You missed the best part," Tasha said. "The real party didn't start until after the programme."

"The real party?" Deanna asked, raising an eyebrow.

Though she was back on duty, Tasha had been knackered. She still fatigued easily and her usual habit of burning the nacelles at both ends of the clock had been unattainable.

Tasha nodded, smiling.

"Mapa bread and milaberry jam. Groatcakes. Honey and kava root mead," Tasha said with a wistful sigh. "I swear I saw kid with a Jumja stick taller than she was."

Tasha lived for food and Bajoran cuisine was no exception. She'd first developed a taste for it during her time at the Academy. There was something about the humble, spicy delicacies that reminded her of home – albeit Bajoran food was lightyears ahead of Turkanan cuisine in terms of quality.

"Wesley said it was a good time," Beverly said.

She paused to take a sip of her brandy.

"How is he?" Tasha asked.

She'd spoken with him twice since the incident – assuring Wesley that there was no reason to feel glum or blame himself. Nonetheless, she remained concerned.

"He's doing better," Beverly acknowledged. "His conversation with Data helped."

Beverly turned her attention to Deanna.

"How's Reg?" Beverly asked knowingly.

Deanna had anticipated this question.

"He's… conflicted," Deanna answered. "He's struggling to balance this newfound feeling of self-confidence against a lifetime of insecurity."

"I feel just awful. We were so rotten to him," Beverly confessed.

Ignoring Barclay had not been intentional. They never meant to harm him. But it was a necessary part of their jobs to filter and prioritise. Beverly, Geordi, and Data were all used to eager young crew members thinking they had the next latest, greatest idea.

"I wish there was something we could do," Beverly said.

"Agreed. I owe him my life," Tasha said.

"You know it's Mr Barclay's birthday on Friday," Deanna announced.

Beverly squealed and clapped her hands together.

"We should do something for him," Beverly urged. "Something big."

She froze.

"What is it?" Tasha asked.

"I just don't really know that much about him," Beverly confessed. "He's taken a few of my acting courses. But he shares very little about himself."

"Well we know he's creative," Deanna offered, recalling the incident involving his holodeck experiences.

While unusual and unhealthy, it certainly showed just how imaginative Barclay truly was.

"He's been great helping to programme more realistic holodeck training scenarios for my team," Tasha said.

Indeed, Barclay's holodeck training programmes were some of the most sophisticated, detailed, and terrifying trainings Tasha had ever conducted.

"Why don't we use the holodeck?" Deanna suggested.

"I'll talk to Guinan about the food," Tasha offered.

"And I'll get the invitations squared away," Beverly said. "Discreetly."


After a few hours (and more than a considerable amount of spiced rum), Deanna returned back to her quarters.

She stepped out of her boots and snagged a cool glass of water from the replicator.

"Computer resume the letter to my mother," Deanna instructed.

I wanted to let you know that we'll be doing everything we can to help make Lieutenant Barclay's birthday special, mother. He's shown remarkable growth recently – especially with his help on our latest incident.

Lieutenant Yar, Beverly, and I will take care of the arrangements for the party.

You know, I think part of why I'm such good friends with Beverly is that I see a lot of you in her.

Both women were vivacious, eager to try new experiences, and had a tendency to pour themselves into their work.

"Just don't ever share that with Captain Picard," Deanna added.


Data and Tasha were spending the evening in his quarters.

Tasha wasn't surprised in the least to find Data still up when she arrived. Whenever she went to girls' night, Data would typically dip off to the holodeck with Geordi and Miles or join his musical troupe for rehearsal.

But tonight Data was standing near his workstation as he played his violin alone. For supposedly having a lack of emotion, Data could produce some of the most moving music Tasha had ever heard.

Tasha slipped out of her boots and stepped over to the table, noticing a package that sat atop the surface. It was an ordinary brown box with twine wrapping.

The package was addressed to both Data and Tasha. Below the printed letters, someone had scribbled that the package was for 'Mr Data and Ms Tasha. Starship Enterprise. Space (not Earth).

And in another set of handwriting, someone had written a note acknowledging space was vast and an apology that the sender was uncertain of the precise location of the Enterprise at the time of posting.

Data stopped playing. He tiptoed across the carpet to come up behind Tasha. He pressed a kiss to the side of her face and then settled on resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Hi," Data said.

"Hi," Tasha repeated.

Data slipped away to return his violin to its case. He was practically giddy with excitement as he closed the lid shut.

He'd been waiting all afternoon in anticipation of Tasha's arrival so that they may open the package on the table together.

Physical mail was such a rare treat on a starship. Most of their communications were sent via subspace channel either through video, audio, or text files. The replicator and ship's stores saw to all their needs onboard.

Crew members could send and receive physical packages and letters – though service was infrequent. Sometimes it could take a month. Other times, depending on her location, the Enterprise could go months without mail service.

This was a special package – one that had come a long way to reach them.

Data snaked his arms around Tasha's waist as he buried his head against her neck.

"Open it," he instructed.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Tasha smirked.

"What's got you so eager?" Tasha asked.

"Open it," Data repeated.

"Maybe I should conduct a level-one security sweep first. Just in case?" Tasha asked.

She was teasing him, deliberately drawing it out just to toy with Data.

"Can't be too careful," Tasha said.

She yelped as Data tightened his grip.

"Open it," he growled against her ear.

Tasha froze. She turned in Data's arms and studied his face.

"What's so important about this?" Tasha asked.

Data's face lit up.

"I have been anticipating such a package. I believe you will find it amusing," Data said.

"Alright then," Tasha replied.

She stepped aside so he could join her at the edge of the table.

"We'll do it together," Tasha said.

Tasha removed the twine as Data carefully lifted back the edges of the box. A feeling of warmth filled Data as he spied the contents.

There were little glass jars of homemade cherry jam, strawberry preserves, and apricot marmalade. The package included pickles, candied lime peel, and saltwater taffy.

Data reached inside. Pulling out one of the small rocks, he examined it closely.

"Brachiopods," Data gasped.

He held the rock out for Tasha and pointed at the small, fossilised shell in the limestone.

Also stuffed inside the box were a series of letters.

After snagging the box, Data and Tasha settled down on the sofa together to read the letters to one another. Tasha was sitting back against the side of the sofa with her legs on either side of Data as he rested his head back on her chest.

"Dear Mr Data, I thank you for your last letter. The addition of a rock sample from the Mindril system was an excellent addition to my science project," Tasha read.

She lowered the letter so they could both read it.

Data and Tasha had honoured their promise to maintain correspondence with the children they had met on Earth months earlier. Every now and again, they would send a subspace text file for the children.

Three months earlier, Data had sent back a package to the children that included Enterprise ration packs, dried flowers from the arboretum, toy tricorders, and rock samples. It seemed Rupert, the most scientifically minded of the bunch, had been keen to repay the favour by sending back some rock samples of his own.

They read through a series of letters as the children recounted their recent school science projects, the excitement over the summer holidays, and the latest news from the little village Data and Tasha had visited.

Neither Data nor Tasha had a 'back home.' Data kept in contact with his retired Admiral Rahim Farooq. And Tasha had a handful of former colleagues that were friends. They occasionally exchanged letters – though all of them were the type of people more inclined to a life of solitude.

It was a new experience to receive a care package.

"We hope this letter finds you well. Sincerely your friends, Bertie, Frankie, George, Henry, and Lucy," Tasha concluded.

"Do you miss them?" Data inquired.

"Oh every once in a while I suppose," Tasha said.

"Why do you say that?" Data asked.

Tasha unfolded another letter.

"Well, I'm quite certain that's a booger at the bottom of this letter," Tasha said.

She carefully moved her hand to avoid the suspicious crusty substance at the bottom of the letter.

"This is a drawing," Data said.

His eyes narrowed as he studied the image.

"But of what?" Tasha giggled.

"That, my dear, is open for interpretation," Data replied.


The next day the senior crew were assembled in the Observation Lounge for a midweek briefing.

"Inventory is coming along. I believe we'll be in a position to help resupply the Berlin with most of the essentials," Beverly reported.

The Berlin had recently expended most of her resources while assisting in the evacuation of the Federation colony on Tucho Dene. Unusually heavy rainfall had led to unexpected flooding.

The Berlin had been in the area to answer the emergency hail.

They'd managed to successfully move the colonists to higher ground. But Berlin was not big enough to serve as a transport ship. She'd managed to supply the colonists with provisions, camping equipment, and medical supplies until Starfleet could dispatch a proper supply ship.

"Excellent," Picard nodded.

He turned his attention to Tasha.

"And your team is ready?" Picard inquired.

"We're all set, sir," Tasha answered. "Lieutenant Worf's team has already conducted the preliminary Security checklist for the transfer. I'll be overseeing the final stages before we beam the supplies aboard."

Even simple transfers were required to undergo a series of Security checkpoints before they could be moved. Transfers were one of the most vulnerable times for a starship.

In addition to their preliminary scans, Tasha's department was responsible for conducting a secondary checklist immediately before transfer in order to ensure the goods were set to go and safe as a final check.

"We've coordinated with Commander Creighton on the Berlin. They'll be ready on their end," Worf added.

Commander Creighton was Tasha's counterpart on the other ship.

"And the crew rotation?" Picard inquired.

Riker briefly looked to Data before turning back to Captain Picard.

"I believe Commander Data and I have finalised that list," Riker advised.

"Yes, sir," Data nodded in agreement. "With your permission, sir, we would like to proceed with the recommendations forwarded for your approval."

"I'll review the list and sign off on it tonight," Picard said.

There was just one final department requiring his attention.

"Now then, seeing as all that's in order," Picard began. "Mr La Forge, Mr O'Brien, I know you typically like to use this time for maintenance. However, I'm wondering if we could either complete that work prior to rendezvous or postpone it?"

Miles shifted in his seat to confer with Geordi.

"Captain Donovan was hoping to send over her senior Engineering team for a tour," Captain Picard explained.

Competitiveness between Captains was only natural, and Jean-Luc was hardly immune. He liked to show off his ship and the fine work his crew put in to make her run.

But Geordi was only half listening.

"I don't mind. I was going to move up our standard coil cleaning but there's no reason that can't wait," Miles said. "We're ahead on it already."

Silence gripped the table as they all waited for Geordi to chime in. Typically, he was the first to jump at the chance to show off his Engineering team.

"Mr La Forge?" Captain Picard prompted.

Geordi did not respond.

"Geordi?" Data asked in a low voice.

"What?" Geordi gasped as he snapped back to reality.

Geordi took a hasty breath and shook his head.

"Sorry, sorry everybody," Geordi apologised to the table.

"It's quite alright," Captain Picard assured him. "Are you feeling ill?"

The crew were familiar with Geordi's migraines, and they recognised the symptoms. At times, it made it difficult for Geordi to concentrate.

"I'm fine, sir. Thank you," Geordi replied.

"I was just asking if it was possible to postpone any maintenance until after our rendezvous with the Berlin? I'd like you to provide their crew with an in-depth tour of our Engineering facilities," Picard said.

Geordi baulked.

"A tour?" Geordi asked in disbelief.

"Is there a problem with that? We could assign additional crew to assist with any-" Captain Picard began to explain.

"No, no," Geordi said quickly. "We're fine. Everything will be ready."

Jean-Luc wasn't entirely convinced.

"Really," Geordi added, feigning confidence as he plastered a big smile on his face. "We'll really give 'em the gold-star treatment."


As soon as he left the briefing, Geordi made a beeline for the nearest lift.

He'd been in a foul mood ever since mail call and embarrassing himself at the team briefing had only made it worse.

Geordi kicked himself internally for being caught off guard. He prided himself on being the Chief Engineer.

He was always prepared.

Every contingency.

Each emergency.

Geordi knew that a good Chief Engineer always had a backup plan for his backup plan.

There was nothing more humiliating than failing to pay attention.

Just before the lift doors could close, a familiar pale hand shot out to stop the doors. Data slipped in next to Geordi.

"Would you like me to pick you up some dinner from Ten Forward?" Data offered.

"No, thanks," Geordi replied.

"I could bring you some of that ginger tea," Data said.

Geordi shook his head.

"I'm fine," Geordi replied.

Data frowned.

"Geordi, with all due respect, you are not fine," Data said. "Your posture and tone of voice would indicate that you are overcompensating."

Geordi groaned as his shoulders slumped.

"I will be fine, okay?" Geordi asked.

Data waited patiently for Geordi to elaborate.

"Look, I got some rather unpleasant news in the last incoming batch of messages. Everything's fine," Geordi assured him.

Data cocked his head to the side and blinked in confusion.

"Geordi, the characterisation of your news as 'unpleasant' would seem to contradict your assertion that everything is fine," Data pointed out.

Geordi reached up and scratched the back of his neck in the same manner he did whenever he was nervous.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Data offered.

A pained expression crossed Geordi's face. He shook his head.

"No, no I just need to get to work," Geordi muttered. "I've got a lot to do before our rendezvous."

Data could tell Geordi was lost in thought. What he didn't know was just how much work Geordi was planning to take on over the next few days.

"Would you like assistance?" Data asked.

Geordi hesitated.

"You know what? Yeah, that would be great," Geordi replied.


Sitting in that Observation Lounge two and half years ago, I never thought it was going to work between Geordi and Data.

Now I know you may think that strange, mother – but I truly had my doubts.

Geordi was born and raised in Starfleet, hopping from assignment to assignment with his parents. In a way, you could say Data was raised by Starfleet too.

But as a product of Starfleet, Geordi knows first-hand that theory and practice are two different things. He knows how the politics and inner workings of such a large organisation operates – and he understands precisely how to navigate them.

Geordi is one of the most creative minds I know. His approach to problem solving, ingenuity, and willingness to give the unconventional a shot make him such a great Engineer.

He's flexible. Geordi recognises that rules and regulations cannot be written for every contingency.

I never expected Data to understand that. I will admit that like so many before, I underestimated him.

And while I initially expected friction between the two, they hit it off from the onset and are brothers in every sense of the word.


Two Days Earlier

"How's it coming on those transfusers?" Geordi asked.

Ensign T'Mir paused his work.

"I have completed the initial scans and am about to begin my diagnostic analysis," T'mir answered.

He was a recent addition to the Enterprise.

T'Mir was a recent graduate of Starfleet Academy. But unlike most of his peers, T'Mir was much older.

He was already an alum of the Vulcan Science Academy and had nearly five decades of experience aboard a Vulcan research vessel before joining Starfleet.

Vulcans represented less than ten percent of all Starfleet personnel aboard the Enterprise. Working as a Gamma shift engineer meant that T'Mir was primarily on duty with younger, less-experienced officers.

He had a difficult time fitting in with his peers.

It was precisely why Geordi had reassigned T'Mir to the Alpha shift (at Sonya's recommendation). In fact, Sonya had been the first to flag that T'Mir was uncomfortable. She politely nudged Geordi, suggesting he may feel more at ease working with people closer to his own level of experience.

"When do you think you'll be finished?" Geordi asked.

Geordi could sense from the way that T'Mir bristled that he did not care for Geordi's question.

"I'm not trying to rush you. Take your time. You do great work," Geordi replied. "I just want to make sure you're not going to work through lunch."

Geordi flashed him a smile.

"Some of us are going to head to the canteen for a bite. Care to join?" Geordi offered.

"No. Thank you, sir," T'Mir replied.

He turned back to the transfuser box and focused his attention on the diagnostic tool.

"I could bring something back if you'd like," Geordi suggested.

"No. Thank you, sir," T'Mir replied in his usual dry voice.

Geordi felt Data's hand on his elbow.

"Come, Lieutenant. Or we will be late," Data said.

"Well, if you get hungry – you know where to find us," Geordi said.


As soon as the lift doors closed Geordi could feel Data giving him a look.

"Don't say it," Geordi warned.

"Geordi, Ensign T'Mir is older than both of us combined," Data reminded him. "He has more experience serving on starships than we do."

Geordi sighed.

"It's not that," Geordi said. "It's just that he can be well-"

Geordi paused as his brow furrowed.

Normally, he didn't like to speak about his team with the other officers. Some of the departmental heads liked to gossip.

Geordi only ever spoke to the other senior officers about his team when and where it was appropriate and only if it involved their work.

"He just, well, prickly," Geordi settled on.

"Prickly. Spiny. Sharp. Barbed," Data paused as his neural net shifted gears. "Ah, I see. The secondary meaning of the word as a cantankerous or irritable-"

Suddenly, Data stopped.

He gasped and turned to Geordi.

"Geordi, Vulcans may seem aloof, but they are merely-" Data began to explain.

Geordi shook his head.

"No, no. He's snippy, okay? Even for a Vulcan," Geordi sighed, utterly exasperated. "I don't know what to do with the guy. When I check in with him, he seems upset. When I try to be hands off, well, he confronted me about it. Was worried I was ignoring him."

"But you were ignoring him," Data interjected.

"He felt that without my feedback, he was being unfairly treated. Not given the same opportunity to improve," Geordi went on.

Geordi trailed off. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a slow, steady breath to regain his composure.

"He wants constructive feedback. But when I offer it, he doesn't take it well," Geordi explained. "In fact, it seems just opening my mouth sets his hair on end."

"Have you tried an alternative form of communication?" Data asked.

Geordi didn't follow.

Data shrugged innocently.

"Another approach or setting. Perhaps T'Mir prefers handwritten notes or carrier pigeon?" Data suggested.

"Was that a joke?" Geordi asked.

"Was it funny?" Data inquired with hope.

Geordi made a face.

"Do me a favour and don't try your material on T'Mir," Geordi advised.


After lunch, Geordi was back in Main Engineering as the team continued their work. T'Mir was about three-quarters of the way through his task when an unwelcome alert began to sound.

Everyone immediately dropped what they were doing and flew into action.

The alert indicated that there was a blockage somewhere in the coolant fluid drainage system.

"I'm showing a massive temperature spike in the reactor core," Lieutenant Phillips reported. "Backups are not functioning."

"Davies?" Geordi asked.

Ensign Davies had been the first person to reach the coolant control master console.

"There's a blockage registered at subsection L-38. Flow output is down to seventeen percent," she advised.

Using his VISOR, Geordi scanned along the coolant pipes in an effort to try and identify the blockage. He couldn't spot anything visibly causing the backup to fail."

Unless. Geordi thought.

"Phillips, get these people out of here!" Geordi ordered. "I need a volunteer to stay at the master control console."

Geordi grabbed his toolkit and started up the ladder. He tapped his combadge just before grabbing the first rung.

"Bridge, this is La Forge. We may have a problem with the coolant system. I'm investigating now. Standby to issue ship-wide red alert if we need to eject the core," Geordi said.

"Acknowledged," Captain Picard responded. "Lieutenant Yar, be prepared to raise shields."

Ensign T'Mir stepped forward and called after Geordi.

"Sir, Starfleet Regulation 79143.2 subsection a requires you to-"

"Get out of here, Ensign," Geordi barked.

After scrambling up the ladder, Geordi raced for the terminal at subsection L-38. Geordi dropped to his knees and flipped open the console.

Scanning the various input sensors, he detected the one in question. Geordi practically slapped his combadge as he rushed to get started.

"La Forge here. Is there anybody at the master control console?" Geordi asked.

"Ensign Davies, sir," Davies responded.

"Davies, I want you to begin the preliminary steps to eject the warp core. Checklist items one through seventeen," Geordi instructed.

The simulations at Starfleet Academy always made it look easy – but there were a whopping nineteen steps involved with ejecting a warp core.

"You'll need to be ready because if I'm wrong then we're not going to have much time for plan B," Geordi said.

"Plan B, sir?" Davies asked.

"Ejecting the core," Geordi explained.

He quickly stripped away the wiring from a secondary sensor. Then he snagged a brand-new sensor port from his toolkit. Geordi always kept a few extras stuffed in there.

"How's it coming down there?" Geordi asked.

"Good, sir. Just waiting on your orders," Davies answered.

"Hold tight," Geordi replied.

It was muffled as he had his sonic driver wedged between his teeth.

Geordi pressed the new sensor port into place. It didn't go. Banging on it to wedge it in, he sat back on his knees and said a silent prayer to any deity that was listening.

"La Forge to Davies, cancel the ejection sequence," Geordi said.

Next, he notified the Bridge that everything was under control.

"I'll be up shortly to report, Captain," Geordi said.

"Looking forward to it. Close call?" Picard asked.

"You don't know how close," Geordi responded.


Following his report to the Bridge, Geordi returned to Main Engineering with Data in tow.

Ensign T'Mir saw his opportunity.

"Lieutenant Commander, I would like to speak with you," Ensign T'Mir said.

Geordi nodded, indicating he'd get started while Data dealt with the personnel matter. As the Chief Operations Officer and Chief Science Officer, Data was accustomed to receiving feedback from junior officers regarding their departmental heads.

"Alright, let's get all the sensor ports out of storage. We're going to run a diagnostic check one by one," Geordi ordered.

The team groaned.

"Didn't we do this? After McKinley?" one of them asked.

"Yes. And we're going to do it again. We've taken some new packs on board. As we feared, I don't think this port issue was isolated to any one replacement batch," Geordi said.

As the team went to work, Data met with Ensign T'Mir in the corridor.

"Proper procedure dictates that we should have ejected the warp core immediately," T'Mir said.

"In accordance with the manual, correct," Data said.

"Then surely you of all people can appreciate that following such procedures is the proper response to an emergency situation," T'Mir said.

"If we had followed the manual without considering all the available evidence then we would currently be on repair duty as the Enterprise continued on to our rendezvous with the Berlin at impulse speed," Data said.

T'Mir was unconvinced.

"In the past year, Lieutenant La Forge has identified a manufacturing issue with some of the coolant sensor port replacement packs," Data explained.

"But the output flow measured-" T'Mir began to protest.

Data put his hand up to stop T'Mir from going any further.

"You find such readings are caused by the faulty sensor port," Data said. "As we have discovered on eight prior occasions."

Fortunately, Geordi had been actively working on the sensor port array the first time it had occurred. The incident and timing had been a fluke – but it had provided them with an important clue to the problem.

"If he had been wrong…" T'Mir trailed off.

"If Geordi's theory had been incorrect, he would have given the order to eject the warp core," Data finished for him.

"We may not have had time," T'Mir said. "At that distance – even ejected – it was likely the Enterprise would have suffered significant damage."

Data nodded in agreement.

"Indeed. Damage estimates range between forty-six and fifty-two percent of the ship," Data said. "Ejecting the warp core at the moment of discovery would only result in a damage estimate of thirty-nine to forty-five percent of the ship."

Data paused.

"A statistical insignificance that Captain Picard does not feel is worth risking the warp core for," Data said.

Data knew.

After all, he'd been the one to conduct the analysis.

"And may I just say, you would have been informed of this plan had you attended Lieutenant La Forge's last team briefing," Data added.

T'Mir had skipped it. And the one before that.

Though his expression was emotionless, Data could sense that T'Mir's pulse was beating rapidly. And the corner of his eye was twitching ever so slightly.

It was evident he was frustrated. And Data couldn't help but pity a man that had been quite literally thrust into an uncomfortable situation. Going from the heights of a successful career to the bottom of the barrel was no easy task – especially for someone as experienced and intelligent as T'Mir.

"I find Geordi's briefings to be most informative," Data said in a much softer tone.

There was a hint of surprise in T'Mir's face.

"You also attend?" T'Mir inquired. "I assumed based on the agenda that they are nothing more than remedial preparation for our shift."

"That would not be an accurate assessment," Data replied.

Geordi didn't mean to eavesdrop. It was sheer coincidence that Ensign Davies had pulled him over to assist at her station when he heard their conversation around the corner.

T'Mir nodded slowly.

"I know that it can be difficult to trust humans, particularly ones with less experience than you," Data acknowledged. "But Lieutenant La Forge will always do everything in his power to keep his team and this ship safe."


Present

Trust is such a strange concept on a ship full of humans. There are very few Betazoid crew members aboard the Enterprise.

As you know, most other species – especially my human and Vulcan counterparts – often say one thing but think differently. They conceal their emotions. They hide their thoughts.

In short, they are not as open as we are.

When I first joined Starfleet I feared that trust would be the most difficult of all accomplishments. But I found that I do trust the other senior officers – even without always relying on my empathic abilities.

If anything, my empathic abilities have only reinforced the faith I have in this team.

"I just hope they trust our plan for Friday," Deanna remarked.

She paused the letter to her mother and ordered the computer to dim the lights.

"Goodnight mother," Deanna said.


Geordi and Tasha stepped through the door that led to a dark cosy room with a low fire.

Tasha was immediately overwhelmed by all of the stuff.

Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with antique books and dusty, cracked spines that showed the wear and tear of time.

A high-backed chair lined with red velvet sat facing the fire. Tasha grinned to herself, knowing this would provide a perfect spot for Data to curl up in.

The violin case sat closed in a stand along the wall.

The top of the mantle and the writing desk had all of the details Tasha had requested – the emerald tie pin, a copy of Whitaker's Almanac, the snuff box of Wilhelm Gottsleig Siegesmann Van der Romstein.

She ran her hand along the mantle in appreciation of the hours of labour Geordi had poured into designing this residence.

Tasha turned back to Geordi who had been waiting expectantly for her approval.

"It's perfect," Tasha said.

Tasha pulled Geordi into a tight embrace.

"Thank you," she said.

She meant it. Every word, from the bottom of her heart.

"You're squeezing my rib cage," Geordi managed to choke out.

"Sorry," Tasha apologised as she released him.

As soon as he was free, Geordi cleared his throat and straightened his uniform.

"So you really like it?" Geordi teased.

"This is so," Tasha trailed off and sighed as she surveyed the space.

She stopped and turned back to Geordi. Tasha was beaming.

"Thank you," she repeated.

"So does this mean we can move onto actually inputting the storyline and the NPC holograms now?" Geordi asked as he pulled back the door.

They stepped out onto the partially constructed Baker Street.

For nearly a year, they'd been working on an interactive holographic programme for Data. It was set in the fictional world of Sherlock Holmes's London.

With the help of Geordi and Worf, Tasha had combed through all of the original works and in an effort to create the perfect programme for Data.

Tasha wanted something that would wow him with the meticulous attention to detail and challenge him mentally.

Data had privately shared that there was nothing more thrilling than new experiences – particularly ones that offered him a bit of a challenge.

"I know you want to keep this top secret so it's a surprise, but I'd really like to bring in Reg Barclay on this," Geordi commented.

He stopped and put his hands on his hips as he glanced around at the half-finished buildings.

"There's a lot of work to do here yet," Geordi observed. "And Reg is the expert when it comes to holonovels."

"As long as he understands he's not to say a word," Tasha warned.

Geordi chuckled.

"I think with a little strategic division of labour we can keep this secret," Geordi replied.

As they walked along, Tasha's pace slowed.

"Geordi, can I ask your help with something?" Tasha inquired.

"As long as it isn't another holodeck programme," Geordi retorted.

Tasha stopped walking and made a face.

"Don't tell me," Geordi warned as he put up a finger.

"Geordi please," Tasha requested.

Geordi didn't mean to seem unhelpful. He was just simply swamped. His budding romance with Ensign Sonya Gomez meant that Geordi found himself with considerably less personal time than before.

In addition to his enormous responsibilities as Chief Engineer, Geordi was assisting Tasha with her project, working on an independent dilithium recycling project with Wesley, and teaching a class on basic replicator repair.

"Tasha, I really don't have the bandwidth to add an-"

"It's for Barclay," Tasha shared.

Geordi took a breath. His shoulders relaxed.

"Barclay?" Geordi clarified.

Tasha nodded.

"When's the deadline?" Geordi asked.

Tasha hesitated.

"Tasha!" Geordi pressed.

"Friday," Tasha said.

Geordi was stunned.

"I'll cover your class," Tasha offered.

"No offence, T. But replicators aren't really your area of expertise," Geordi said.

He was right and they both knew it.

"I'll get Data to do it. Promise," Tasha said, pleading with him.

"Look, I want to help Reg too. He really saved our butts with the prototypes. But I don't know if I can pull off-"

Tasha was giving him her very best pleading look.

And it worked.

"This is really important to you, isn't it?" Geordi asked.

Tasha nodded.

Geordi exhaled slowly, signifying his begrudging acceptance of the task.

"Alright," he agreed.

"Thank you!" Tasha said as she rushed forward.

"Ah!" Geordi said, putting out a hand to stop her.

"I'll be gentle," Tasha grinned.

She did her best to contain her enthusiasm as she gave Geordi a tight hug.

"T!" Geordi protested as he felt his feet leave the floor.


When he got back to his quarters, Geordi detached his VISOR and set it down on the table. He snagged an iced coffee from the replicator.

"Double sweet, shot of caramel, extra whip, toffee sprinkles," Geordi ordered.

He was going to need it.

"Rough day?"

Geordi startled, nearly spilling his special ice coffee as Sonya giggled.

"Sorry," she apologised.

"I thought you had breakfast with Luis today?" Geordi asked.

Sonya's cousin, Luis Cevallos, was a Security Officer on the Enterprise. The two had grown up together and were close.

As Sonya worked the overnight shift, she usually ate her breakfast around 17:00 hours. Every Tuesday, Sonya shared 'breakfast' with her cousin Luis before he went on duty.

"Emergency band practise so I thought I'd stop by and see you," Sonya said. "Seems maybe you need some cheering up."

Geordi sighed as he flopped down on the sofa next to Sonya.

"I can leave too if you'd rather be alone," Sonya offered.

She understood that everyone processed feelings in their own way.

"No, no," Geordi assured her. "I'm glad you're here."

Geordi had been dreading this conversation, but he knew it was inevitable. Sooner or later he would have to confront the matter – and the sooner he did, the more time he had to deal with the fallout.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sonya asked. "Or we could, you know, just sit here if that's what you'd like."

Their relationship was still new and both Sonya and Geordi had agreed to take things slow. But one of the things Geordi had come to appreciate about being together was just how composed Sonya could be.

Sure, she was nervous at times – especially when her anxiety kicked in.

But when they were alone, Sonya could be the most considerate, relaxed person he knew. She had this calming aura about her that put Geordi right at ease.

Sonya was also perceptive. She read body language and intonation well. And because she understood just how difficult it could be to communicate when anxiety or fear took over, Sonya was infinitely patient with her colleagues.

All of that made what Geordi had to say even more challenging.

"Computer, play first saved message," Geordi ordered.

There was a short hum as the communications system accessed the last saved message on Geordi's device.

"Hey, baby bear!" a voice announced.

Geordi cringed at the use of his childhood nickname.

"Don't," Geordi warned, stopping Sonya before she could make a comment.

Sonya sat back and gestured that her lips were sealed.

I know this is out of the blue – but I was on Tucho Dene studying the acoustics of their famous Singing Sands when disaster struck. As luck would have it, I've been informed that our rescue from the USS Berlin is making a rendezvous with Enterprise!

I've decided to forgo relocation and stay on the Berlin so we can see one another. It will be our own little family reunion. I've also just gotten word that my request for transport has been approved.

That means there's no reason to rush – I'll be travelling to Relva VII with you which means we'll have at least three weeks together!

I can't wait to see you again, and I am so excited to meet all your friends. Mum says you're seeing someone and expects a full report on the matter.

So be sure you tidy up, get rid of that peach fuzz you call a beard, and be on your best behaviour. See you soon, favourite baby brother!

"Your only brother," Geordi grumbled.

"Do you two not get on?" Sonya asked.

She knew Geordi had two older sisters. One was on Earth. The other had followed in mum and dad's footsteps – joining Starfleet and forging her own impressive career.

He'd never mentioned any disagreement between them, but his reaction indicated he was anything but excited about her impending visit.

"It's not that," Geordi said. "Ariana is great. Better than great. She's outgoing and brilliant. Witty. She's not afraid of anything. Always the life of the party."

Geordi paused.

"She's perfect," Geordi concluded with a hint of sadness.

"Awwww, do I sense a hint of sibling jealousy?" Sonya teased. "It's perfectly natural."

Geordi shook his head.

"It's not that," Geordi assured her.

He sat forward and rested his head in his hands.

"Growing up, Ariana was always stepping on my toes and it's like she doesn't even have to try," Geordi shared. "When I was eight, I spent weeks constructing this model ship for a competition. She decided to throw in at the last minute and won the contest!"

Geordi muttered something under his breath about 'historical accuracy.'

"She just slapped something together," he threw his hands out in exasperation. "When I joined Starfleet Junior Explorers, she joined up because she thought the camping trip sounded fun."

It was a programme for children where they learned all sorts of useful skills including basic survival, sportsmanship, and teamwork.

"She earned sixteen commendations her first month and got to join the Shooting Stars," Geordi recounted. "And I got left in the bloody Little Nebulas because I was afraid of the campfire."

Geordi flopped back against the sofa and groaned.

"She was always more popular with my friends. They flaked on our weekly game night so they could go with Ariana to a concert," Geordi said. "Stuff like that was always happening."

"Well that's not very nice," Sonya said.

"That's the thing – she doesn't mean for it to happen. She's just that cool," Geordi commented.

It wasn't Ariana's fault. She never meant any harm. She was just naturally talented and personable. She was interesting, confident – everything Geordi felt he lacked.

"We'll that's not going to happen here. I'm sure when she meets all your friends and sees the Enterprise, she'll be just as impressed by you," Sonya said, hoping to cheer Geordi up.

Her statement did not have the desired effect.

Geordi sat upright, gripped by fear.

"No, no, no," he muttered.

He stood up and began to pace.

"She can't meet anybody," Geordi said.

Mum says you're seeing someone and expects a full report on the matter.

"Especially not you!" Geordi exclaimed.

He stopped and scratched the back of his neck like he did whenever he felt nervous. The pressure that was riding on this visit wasn't just the sibling rivalry Geordi had carried for years.

"Well, I promise not to run off with your sister," Sonya joked.

Geordi dropped down on the floor next to Sonya and found her hand.

"Sonya, I didn't mean," he paused. "I'm sorry. What I said… look, it came out wrong."

Smooth, La Forge. Real smooth. He chided himself.

Geordi took a deep breath to settle his nerves.

"I really like you," Geordi said. "And there is nothing wrong with you. Or our relationship. Or us. And I want to be very clear – I'm not embarrassed about our relationship."

Sonya braced herself for a 'but.'

"Geordi, please. The suspense is killing me," Sonya said.

"My family is going to eat you alive," Geordi confessed.

He sat back on the floor and slumped back against the sofa. Their relationship was so new that Geordi didn't want his family to frighten Sonya off.

Sonya slipped off the sofa so that she could sit next to Geordi on the floor.

"I'll be fine," she assured him.

"You don't understand," Geordi said. "Do you remember me telling you about my other sister, Maleah? The one that married the semi-professional polo player that also happens to be a cultural attaché for the Federation?"

"Yeah," Sonya replied slowly.

"Well my father still calls him routinely to make sure he's watering the plants properly and if his shoes are shined before state dinners," Geordi explained. "They've got three kids and dad still tells him just how he's supposed to hold the baby."

Silva and Edward La Forge had always had high expectations for their children – and it made things more than intimidating for Geordi.

"They live in the most gorgeous house you've ever seen. Right on the coast in Lisbon," Geordi shared.

He chortled.

"And mum keeps asking when they'll move into a 'proper' house," Geordi scoffed.

Sonya took hold of Geordi's hand, twisting her fingers in through his.

"Well, maybe you can rig up something on the holodeck," Sonya said with a smile.

Geordi knew she was only trying to make him feel better.

"She's going to be here in a week, and I don't know what I'll do," Geordi confessed.

He'd been in a self-spiral panic ever since the communique had arrived. If Ariana were to report back to their mother about his relationship with Sonya, it would only put Sonya in an awkward position.

"They're all so accomplished. Leaders. That's what Command is all about after all," Geordi said. "You should see them when we get together. It's like I'm back at the Academy taking the Kobayashi Maru."

Roaring debates about philosophy and an analysis of each command structure were the norm.

"Me? I'm the guy that keeps the lights running," Geordi lamented. "That's all I've ever been in their eyes."

But Sonya wasn't having it.

"Geordi, you are a great leader," Sonya countered. "You bring out the best in people – especially your team."

"But not like they do," Geordi sighed.

Sonya wasn't ready to give up, but she could sense that Geordi needed time.

"If you don't want me to meet your sister, I understand," she said.

"I just know they're going to be hard on you. And with difference in our ranks and ages," Geordi trailed off and shook his head.

"It's alright, you don't explain," Sonya said.

Truly, she wasn't hurt. Their situation was delicate.

"It's just that if my parents found out I was seeing someone so much younger than me, someone that's in my direct chain of command… well, it wouldn't be pretty for either of us," Geordi concluded.

"Then I'll just make myself scarce, but not so scarce that you can't find me," Sonya teased.


When Tasha reached her quarters, she found Data toiling away at a package on the table. He had all sorts of goodies spread out as he tried to find the best way to condense them all for transport.

"How's it coming?" Tasha asked.

Data had been at it for the better part of an hour.

"I believe if I rearrange the oil paints I can fit an additional package of chewing gum," Data said.

He'd stacked, packed, pulled out, and reassembled his care package seventeen different times in an effort to get it all in.

Tasha came up behind Data. She snaked her arms around his waist as she buried her head between his shoulder blades.

"Hi," Tasha said.

"The manner in which you are holding me would suggest you have an ulterior motive," Data said, chiding her.

"Pause the Tetris," Tasha requested.

Data set down his work. Tasha gripped his hands and guided him over to the nearest chair. Once he was seated, she climbed on his lap and nuzzled her nose against Data's face.

"I want to ask you something," Tasha said. "A change of plans."

Data's artificial cooling system skipped a beat as his eyebrows shot up.

"A change of plans?" he asked in a low voice.

"Oh!" Tasha said.

She sat back suddenly and bit her lip as realisation dawned on her.

"I didn't mean to imply that I was asking," she paused and blinked a few times. "Well actually, I did."

She turned her attention to the wall and then chuckled to herself before whipping her head back to Data.

"I am afraid that I do not understand," Data confessed.

Tasha smirked as she walked her fingers up Data's chest.

"I need to ask you to cover Geordi's class Thursday evening," Tasha said.

"Alright," Data agreed.

He assumed Tasha had a good reason for making such a request.

"Just like that, alright?" Tasha clarified.

Data nodded.

"I trust you," Data replied.

He reached up to stroke her hair.

"And I trust it is important," Data said simply. "Given that you would postpone our usual Thursday evening endeavour, I presume it must be quite important."

A relationship between officers was already a complicated affair. But with their respective responsibilities – including Data's shifts on Night Watch – it was a miracle Data and Tasha got as much time together as they did.

Thursday nights meant dinner together in Data's quarters and was usually accompanied with a bubble bath and an evening in bed.

"I know. There's no bubble bath here and we'll have to settle for the replicator, but I do have a cosy bed," Tasha smirked.

"I am listening," Data replied.

Tasha leaned in close and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"Thank you. This is really important. It's for Lieutenant Barclay," Tasha said.

Data didn't quite follow. But he was keen to assist if it meant doing something for Mr Barclay.

"Something special. For his birthday," Tasha explained.

Data frowned.

"You are joining Mr Barclay on Thursday for a bubble bath?" Data teased.

Tasha made a face.

"No, don't be cheeky," Tasha said. "It's so Geordi will be free Thursday."

"Geordi is joining Mr Barclay for a bubble bath?" Data asked dryly.

Tasha giggled.

"You're lucky you're cute, Commander because you're not terribly funny," Tasha teased.

To her surprise, Data did not feign offence.

Instead, he scooped her up and started toward the bedroom.

"I'm sorry, I was only teasing," Tasha apologised.

Data stopped and glanced down at the woman in his arms.

"You, my dear, are lucky you are cute. For you are not terribly funny," Data quipped.


"Computer, resume recording," Deanna ordered.

She kicked off her boots and unclipped the comb from her hair. Running her fingers back through it, Deanna massaged the sore spot at the crown of her head where the clip had sat all day.

"I'm sorry it's been a few days, mother. Things have just been rather busy here as we prepare for Mr Barclay's surprise party," Deanna said aloud.

The last few days had been difficult. Keeping the matter a secret had only added to the tension.

There had been a number of near slip-ups. Fortunately, it seemed Reg Barclay remained unaware of his little surprise party.

"We have less than twenty-four hours and I can only hope that Beverly's had luck with the invitations," Deanna said. "She said earlier there were just a few final last-minute follow ups to check on."


Across the ship, Beverly was feeling quite satisfied. She'd spent the afternoon helping Guinan prepare the food for the following evening.

Reg was a regular at Ten Forward and Guinan knew exactly what he liked.

She'd made a few suggestions that Beverly was happy to put to good use.

"Thank you," Beverly said as Captain Picard poured the tea.

Jean-Luc poured himself a fresh cup and then returned the teapot to its place in the centre of the table. They were enjoying their usual weekly dinner with one another.

"Do you remember that party we went to? Our final year at the Academy. Jack and Corey Zweller hosted it at their dorm," Beverly said.

Jean-Luc picked up his saucer and chuckled at the memory.

"All too well," Jean-Luc said with a fond sigh. "Fancy dress if I recall."

"Mmm," Beverly nodded as she took a sip.

"You went as Little Bo Peep," Picard said.

Though he was reluctant to admit it, that was a memory he'd never forgotten – he offered to go as her sheep, but the role had already been filled.

"What was it that you went as again? Some sort of Centurion?" Beverly asked.

"Mark Antony," Picard said, correcting her.

He'd been quite proud of that costume.

Captain Picard set his saucer down and rested his chin on his fist.

"You know I do believe that was the last fancy dress party I ever attended," Jean-Luc confessed.

All of sudden, a board grin broke out on his face as he recalled a particularly pleasant memory from that night.

"What?" Beverly prompted.

"Do you recall Walker Keel kept drinking out of that hat all night?" Jean-Luc asked. "Right up until he nearly went over that balcony."

"If I recall correctly, you both nearly went over that balcony," Beverly added with a knowing look.

The folly of youth. Jean-Luc mused.

"I haven't had that much fun in ages," Picard said.

Beverly smirked.

"Then you're just in luck," she said.


At 11:30 hours, Reg Barclay stepped into the canteen on deck 13 for his usual lunch.

He ordered a bologna sandwich and his usual glass of milk. Since it was birthday, Reg decided to treat himself to a bowl of chocolate mousse.

Happy birthday to me! Reg thought.

He wasn't bitter about it.

Reg was accustomed to spending his birthdays alone. Even when he was a child, Reg had largely been alone. His classmates had ignored his invitations. He had no siblings.

Most of his fondest birthday memories had been spent alone with just his mother. She'd always made the day special.

Reg took his tray over to a table in the corner where he could sit and watch the stars as they passed by.

He had just begun to nibble on his lunch when Miles O'Brien slipped into the seat across from him.

"Lieutenant," Miles said with a nod.

A second later, Geordi La Forge joined them. He was followed by Data and Wesley Crusher.

"Hi Mr Barclay," Wesley said brightly.

Reg stopped and surveyed the table with suspicion.

Have I done something wrong? Reg thought.

Panic gripped his mind as he ran through a list of tasks he'd accomplished that day as part of his regular duty shift. He'd been on time for his shift that day. Reg had completed the diagnostic on a malfunctioning tricorder and sent in his report in a timely fashion.

"Sirs," Reg said. "I f-finished my report on the tricorder."

Geordi nodded as he scooped up a forkful of pasta.

"Yeah, good work catching that faulty processor," Geordi said.

Reg was utterly perplexed.

"Th-thank you, sir," Reg stammered. "I promise I'll finish the rest of my workload after lunch."

"No worries," Geordi shrugged.

Reg frowned.

"Is everything alright, Reg?" Miles asked.

"Well, why are you all here?" Reg inquired.

He typically ate alone.

"Happy Birthday, Mr Barclay," Data said.

"Yeah! Happy birthday, Reg," Geordi said, flashing him a broad smile.

"Happy Birthday! I hope you have a great day!" Wesley chimed in.

"We thought you might like to get a pint after your shift? Say 17:00 hours?" Miles offered.

Reg was stunned.

"Y-you guys want to get a drink with me?" Reg asked in disbelief.

A round of nods and general agreement went around the table.

"Why?" Reg asked as his eyes narrowed.

In his experience, people were generally only nice to him for two reasons – they either needed something or it was to soften the blow of bad news.

Bad news! Reg realised.

Reg sat up straight and squared his shoulders. If the last few weeks had taught him anything – it was that he could assert himself.

"If I'm to be transferred as part of the crew rotation, I'd rather you just come out and tell me straight away," Reg declared.

Geordi and Data exchanged a glance.

"Transferred? Reg, you're the best diagnostic engineer on the ship!" Geordi said.

Data nodded in agreement.

"Your performance has dramatically improved," Data added.

Reg sat back in seat. It was evident he didn't understand.

"Reg, we want to get a drink with you because it's your birthday and you're our friend," Miles explained.


"I'm just about to duck off to the holodeck for Mr Barclay's Birthday, mother," Deanna said. "I've got your care package and I'll be sure he gets it."

Deanna stopped to check the mirror once more. She applied another coat of lippy, adjusted her neckerchief, and then smiled.

Deanna slipped on her Stetson hat and titled the angle.

Perfect. She thought.

"So I'll have to say goodnight now, mother," Deanna dictated. "I'll check back in after the party. By the way, I'm going as Durango. I think if father could see his little cowpoke now, he'd be pleased."

Deanna chuckled.

Her mother had always gotten a kick out of her daughter's obsession with Westerns. Ian Andrew Troi had been a diehard fan of the genre, introducing his daughter to the infamous fictional gunslinger, Durango, and her trusty horse, Amaretto (a part usually played by her father).

Some of her fondest memories had been riding around on her father's back, spurring him to go faster as she fought off the fictional bad guys.

"Computer, pause letter," Deanna ordered.

It was just in time.

The door chimed and Deanna called for whoever it was to enter.

Tasha, Guinan, and Beverly stepped inside. Spying them in the mirror, Deanna laughed.

"You all look wonder-" she began to say as she turned around.

Deanna froze, her expression shifted as she eyed the group. For a few seconds, she blinked silently, unsure of what to say.

"Is there something in my teeth?" Guinan prompted.

"No," Deanna replied.

"You don't like the appetisers?" Beverly asked.

She glanced down at the tray below. They weren't the most beautiful things she'd ever produced, but they were tasty.

"They're fine. I'm certain of it," Deanna replied.

She needed an excuse, and she needed one fast.

"Why don't you take those down to the holodeck and I'll be along shortly. I just have to grab a package my mother sent," Deanna said.

She motioned behind her to a box on the table.

"Tasha, could you help me with it? It's rather heavy," Deanna lied.

"Sure," Tasha shrugged.

"You do look lovely," Deanna said as Beverly and Guinan left with the food for the party.

Guinan had reworked one of her long, dark robes into a nun's habit. Meanwhile, Beverly had opted to don an antique style polka dot dress and white apron. She'd curled her, pulling it atop her head in a signature look.

Though the concept of television had fallen out of favour in the 2040s, famous pop culture icons like Lucy had retained their staying power well into the Twenty-Fourth Century.

As soon as the door closed, Deanna turned to find Tasha standing next to the table with her arms crossed.

"This probably weighs four pounds," Tasha said as she gestured to the package with her head.

Deanna knew she'd been caught.

"Troi, just tell me what I've got wrong so I can fix it. Please," Tasha said.

She wasn't angry. Deanna could sense Tasha's request was genuine. Costumes weren't really Tasha's thing, so she had relied on Data's help.

After he'd advised against her first three suggestions (Undead Gorn, Mutant Zombie Commander, and the Beast from the Black Moon), Tasha had figured it was probably best for Data to choose on her behalf.

"Your costume is brilliant," Deanna assured her.

"But?" Tasha prompted.

"You can't wear that," Deanna said honestly.

Tasha opened her mouth to speak, but Deanna anticipated her question.

"And no, I can't tell you why," Deanna warned.

Ever since she had spied Tasha's getup, Deanna new it would be a problem. Sure, she was the perfect image of Tinkerbell and Data had nailed the theme with his choice.

But it hit a little too close to home for Deanna's liking.

Ever since Mr Barclay's incident involving his holodeck addiction, Deanna had been seeing him regularly for therapy. Real therapy.

They'd explored a few of Barclay's holodeck programmes in an effort to better understand the man and help him sort through what was and wasn't appropriate.

One of his favourite programmes had been a holonovel Peter Pan casting Barclay himself in the titular role. Deanna had been flattered that Mr Barclay had considered her one the lovely mermaids in the Lagoon.

No one else knew about the programme and Tasha certainly didn't know that there was a nine-inch version of herself out there that communicated only through chimes.

Seeing one of his holographic characters come to life could throw Barclay right back into his addiction. It could set him back for months and that was just too great a risk.

"I'm sorry, you really can't wear this," Deanna insisted.

Tasha put her hand up.

"Say no more," Tasha said in understanding. "I'll be along in a bit."

"Thank you," Deanna called after her as Tasha stalked off down the corridor – her fairy wings flopping gently as the bells on her shoes chimed with each step.


Reg practically fainted when stepped onto the holodeck. He had found it odd that Geordi had asked him to meet there.

The room was packed.

Most of the guests were from the Engineering department and some of the Medical staff. Barclay frequently assisted with diagnosing the medical equipment and was a familiar face.

All of the senior officers were present including Captain Picard (who had come at Beverly's insistence) dressed as the fictional Detective Dixon Hill.

Beverly was tearing it up on the dance floor with a shark that looked suspiciously like Lieutenant Thompson from Stellar Cartography.

Geordi was having the time of his life. The fancy dress party had finally afforded him the opportunity to wear his Age of Sail costume somewhere – even if the powdered wig and tights were starting to get hot.

Up on a small stage, there was a small jazz quartet providing music for the guests. They were all dressed as rag and bone skeletons complete with full-face makeup and matching gloves.

"I'm Bone Daddy Riker and we're the Rolling Bones," Riker announced.

There was some gentle ribbing from the crowd.

"Please, I'll be here all night," Riker said, tipping his top hat to the crowd.

"Welcome, Mr Barclay," Data said.

"Thanks," Reg said as Data handed him a pint of stout.

Deanna approached the pair with her mother's care package in hand.

"Howdy, stranger," Deanna said, tipping her hat to the pair.

"Counsellor Troi," Barclay said.

"Durango," Deanna insisted.

Reg's eyes lit up.

"Durango! You read the Adventures of Durango and Amaretto too?" Reg asked in astonishment.

"All one hundred and eighteen," Deanna replied.

"Come," Data said.

He pulled Reg over to a table in the corner of the room where they'd procured a costume for him. They couldn't very well let Reg himself go without enjoying the benefits of the party in his honour.

"This is for me?" Reg asked.

Data nodded.

"I selected it myself," Data said. "Given your proclivity for fictional adventure, I thought you would appreciate this."

Reg grinned as he slipped into the white suit jacket.

"You will be needing this, 007," Data said.

He handed Reg a martini.

"Thank you," Reg said.


Tasha snuck into the party just in time to catch the toast to Barclay. Geordi had delivered a fine speech – both praising Reg for his recent work with the prototype incident and for his commitment to the team.

Guinan had whipped up a special batch of chocolate mousse for the occasion. She knew it was one of Reg's favourite dishes and figured a familiar food would help ease the shock of the party.

Tasha's late arrival went completely unnoticed save for one perceptive android.

"You are late," Data whispered. "And you look different."

He was concerned there was a problem with his selection.

"I apologise if I made you uncomfortable," Data said.

"No," Tasha assured him.

She slipped her fingers through Data's and rested her head against his shoulder.

"I don't know exactly why but Deanna suggested it would be best if I were to change," Tasha said.

Data's eyes went wide. Tasha felt his posture stiffen.

"Is there something I should know about?" Tasha inquired.

Data had been unusually tight-lipped about his experience on the holodeck with Mr Barclay several months back. Out of respect for Reg, the team that had been present had made a promise never to share what they discovered.

Data raised his eyebrows and shrugged, feigning innocence.

Tasha didn't quite believe him, but she didn't press the issue.

"I'm sorry, I know you put a lot into that Tinkerbell costume," Tasha apologised.

"This is better," Data replied.

Tasha was shocked.

She couldn't tell if Data really believed so or was simply trying to lift her spirits. She was hopeless when it came to costumes. Her love for cheesy science fiction and paperback horror novels didn't translate well to the fictional costume department – certainly not for an event that was supposed to be a 'nice' party.

Pressed for time, Tasha had thrown on the first thing that had popped into her mind. With the help of the replicator and a bit of eye pencil, Tasha had completed the look.

But her black jumpsuit and replicated ears were nothing compared to the elaborate costumes the Geordi, Data, Commander Riker and the rest were wearing.

"Really?" Tasha asked.

"Yes," Data replied with a small smile.

To anyone else, such a gesture would have appeared as nothing meaningful. But Tasha understood just how genuinely it conveyed Data's feelings.

Mindful of her makeup, Data pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of her painted nose.

"Well then," she said.

Picking her tail up in one hand, she strolled off twirling it. Tasha stopped a few metres away and glanced back over her shoulder. Data was standing there - completely transfixed, his eyes alight with wonder, lips slightly parted.

Tasha smirked. She was bursting with pride.


Deanna slipped off her cowboy hat and hung it on a hook in the closet. She untied her neckerchief and then kicked off her boots.

"The party was a smashing success, mother," Deanna said.

She grabbed her hairbrush from the vanity and began her evening routine.

"Mr Barclay enjoyed the sour plum candies and the gummy uttaberries were quite a hit," Deanna said.

Deanna sat down at her vanity as she combed out her long, dark hair. Grabbing a tie, she began to braid it as she did every night before bed.

"You'd have loved it mother. There was dancing and games. Nearly sixty people from the crew turned out," Deanna went on. "The whole evening was splendid. And I think Reg had the time of his life."

She paused and sighed.

"You'd be really proud of him, mother," Deanna concluded. "I need to go to bed now and I'm sure you're aching for this letter."

Deanna had held off on sending it so that she could include an update from the party.

"I hope the conference is going well. Goodnight mother," Deanna concluded. "All my love, Deanna. Computer, end recording and transmit immediately to Lwaxana Troi."

Deanna understood that she'd best send it straight away lest she be bombarded with a fresh series of transmissions in the morning.


Up several decks, Deanna wasn't the only person grateful to be out of her costume. Data enjoyed dressing up in his Inverness cloak and stalking cap. And he relished in the opportunity to puff away at his pipe all night while looking astute.

It made him feel almost human to slip into a role for the evening.

Like Holmes, Data had the ability to see everything at once – what people were doing and saying to one another, where they went, what they did with their hands.

He was far too observant.

Over the years, Data had learned to try and subconsciously block out some of the extra stimuli in a crowded room. And he'd written a programme into his own neural net that helped him to avoid staring.

But when he was dressed up as Holmes, Data didn't feel so much like an outsider. He could pretend that this ability was simply part of his personality – a skill to be treasured rather than another reason why he was different.

After hanging his cloak on the hook on the wall, Data stepped into the bedroom to find Tasha stripping off her own costume.

She took of her ears and set them on the top of the drawers. After tossing her black jumpsuit into the garment reprocessor, Tasha slipped into the dressing gown Data kept in the closet for her.

She stepped into the lavvy. Data heard the tap at the sink come on as Tasha began to scrub away the makeup on her face.

"It was a nice party," Tasha said.

"Indeed. I believe Mr Barclay was sufficiently surprised," Data said.

He stood in the doorway, watching as she scrubbed away the eye pencil used to create a nose and whiskers.

While Tasha brushed her teeth, Data stripped off the layers of his Victorian-style suit. While he enjoyed the sensation of wearing such a garment, it was rather impractical with all its buttons and suspenders.

It didn't take him long given his speed.

By the time Tasha had finished polishing her pearly whites, Data was ready and waiting at the doorway again.

Only this time he wasn't in his costume.

In fact, he wasn't in anything save for his standard-issue black shorts.

Tasha stopped.

Data's neural net surged as she eyed him up and down.

"Well, detective. It would seem there is very little mystery surrounding your intentions," Tasha teased.

Data took hold of her hand and pulled her close. His hand settled on the small of her back. For a moment, he said nothing.

"What?" Tasha asked.

He had that look in his eye that signalled he'd been struck by an idea. With the way Data's mind operated, it was entirely possible this could be an idea about the two of them or that he might have just solved an equation for a warp bubble reconfiguration.

"Into bed with you," Data said.

Tasha just shook her head and laughed as she pulled back the sheets and climbed into bed. Before she could turn over, Data snagged a particular item off the nightstand.

Tasha sat up and turned to Data, intent to ask him just what his intentions for the evening entailed.

"Please close your eyes," Data whispered.

There was a soft gasp as Tasha felt something behind her ears. Data slipped the headband that housed her kitten ears back into her hair.

Tasha opened her eyes and glanced upward. She couldn't actually see them atop her own head, but it was a natural reaction. Data moved in close and nuzzled Tasha's neck.

"These stay on," Data growled against her ear.


Home from his party, Reg loosened his bowtie. He paused for a moment in the doorway and sighed, utterly content.

Even though he was exhausted, Reg still felt jittery. The thrill of having his very own birthday party – a surprise party no less – was going to be a high that lasted for days.

Giddy with excitement, Reg sat down at his desk.

"Computer, open a new recording for a subspace communication," Reg ordered.

There was a small beep as the computer accessed the appropriate programme.

"Dear mum, I'm sorry I did not respond to your letter sooner. I was out celebrating my birthday," Reg said. "W-with-"

Reg paused. Really, it wouldn't be right to call them colleagues or coworkers anymore.

"With my friends," Reg declared.