Authors Note:
So I've been away a little while. Honestly, when I set out to get this whole thing published I just wasn't expecting for it to become something I would slack at. I love writing, I need it just so I can get all my words out, but I've been so busy these past few months with work that I haven't had any words to get out, and this has kind of fallen to the sidelines.
Not to fear however, 'tis the weekend, it's an ungodly hour over this side of the pond, I've only had one cup of tea today, and freshers week is close enough to taste.
Without further ado then, I present to you my words in all their fashionable lateness. Please drop me your thoughts after reading, constructive criticism is totally welcomed. I've been seeing the reviews come in and it's really keeping me from physically harming my walking trope of a boss. You guys are great!
Will is drumming his fingers against the tabletop, whistling, and across from him there is a Klingon whose irritation is rising fast. Worf's eyes follow the pattern of his fingers, narrowing slightly at the point where he pauses, trying desperately to hold back the urge to crush all of those fingers in his fist.
For the minute, he is successful.
Picard seems not to mind so much, or maybe he just isn't paying much attention; his gaze is fixed on the briefing room doors, waiting for their last member to arrive.
Laforge is speaking with Data, both men seated beside the Security Chief, turned into each other and chattering in what might as well be a foreign language about the new systems, about optimising something.
There is a vacant seat beside Will, and next to that is Beverly, her eyebrows dipping her concern, but she says nothing to voice it, instead she is watching the same spot as the Captain, who is swinging the back of the seat on Will's other side, with an idle hand.
He misses a note of his tune, huffs a little, then goes to start the whole pattern over again - it takes only one sound of his starting again to rattle Worf into speaking.
"Commander,"
His voice is deep, and if he weren't being only slightly jestful then one might confuse his word as an order, even when Will can only respond with mirth, in an annoyingly good mood.
"My apologies Mr Worf,"
And then, finally, the whole room is silent, even Geordie's chattering stopped by the anticipation slowly descending over them all. Still, the door is unmoving, and Picard wonders if maybe she was sleeping when he called for the meeting, or if she's being held up by a patient, an ensign in hysterics over their confusing human lover; he takes a brief glance down at the top of Will's head, an unwarranted wave of disgust temporarily grips him.
He tries to imagine the feel of horsehair and old paper, tries to put himself back in his ready room with the thought of her, where he was only a few hours ago, before eventually turning in for the night.
Maybe she overslept her alarm, maybe she is unwell; he tries to catch Beverly's eyes.
She too is fixated on the doors so much that she cannot feel his attention on her, so he looks back to them as well, everybody else with eyes only for the smooth metal tabletop.
A noise, and all eyes turn to Data, who has tried to clasp his hands in the way that Picard does against the surface, only too heavily and with little thought to their weight. His expression emulates apology, but suddenly it does not seem to matter.
Deanna is standing in the doorway, a blur in a cream dress, long sleeved and cinched slightly at the waist before flowing out into a skirt that trails the floor behind her a little. She moves very slowly, her hair falling about her shoulders in curls that obscure where she has pinned her comm badge against her chest; she does not appear to be glowing, in fact she is rather more pale than usual, bags beneath her eyes.
Offering no explanation, she just smiles tightly at Picard then sweeps over to Data, who is beaming at her like a child, before taking up the seat at his side with great care. Will tries not to grumble, the place he had left for her now completely useless, not that he really believed she would sit there anyway - of course.
"Good Morning, Counselor,"
Picard greets her warmly, finally taking his own seat on Will's right, and fixing her with a concerned smile; she dips her head silently in response.
He turns in his chair to address the whole staff.
"Now, we've received new orders from Starfleet: in light of recent tensions between the Klingons and the Romulans, the Enterprises presence has been requested along the Neutral Zone."
Worf grunts slightly in response, already having gotten word from Qo'nos about proposed battle action, but he is the only one to really seem pleased with the news. Beverly, who has been staring at Deanna up until hearing this, turns to look up the table and frown, mirroring the same motion as Geordie.
"A course has already been set for the border, we should arrive in the next few days, as long as there are no serious concerns from the senior staff?"
He tries to catch everyone's attention, but at the bottom of the table is Deanna, eyes on the wall and hands over her middle, appearing to not even be in the room at all.
"Is battle action anticipated Sir?"
Worf asks eagerly, reflecting all the fire of a Klingon, and the good care of a Starfleet officer.
"I won't be able to get any more power to the shields than we have already, Engineering is only at 50% capacity after the refits,"
Laforge chips in before he can respond, and so Picard raises a hand against the speculation.
"Gentlemen slow down, this may be a little dangerous but it's not a war we're walking into, the Enterprise is being used to remind both sides of the power of the Federation, we are simply making a statement."
There is a little distaste in his diplomacy, but it's largely imperceptible.
"Captain, doesn't that seem a bit aggressive, are we sure it's the right move?"
"It might be in bad taste Commander, but the higher ups tell me it's getting to that point,"
Picard says to Will as though it is just the two of them on the bridge, and in much the same way, Data pipes up across from them.
"This may be true, Sir, reports from the neutral zone suggest that tensions are running high, a recent confrontation between a Klingon Cruiser and a Romulan Warbird led to serious casualties aboard the USS Tiberius after their attempted intervention."
"Correct Mr Data, we are to rendezvous with them first to offer assistance to their wounded."
Beverly turns in her chair,
"Wounded?"
"Yes Doctor, Sickbay will need to prepare a few away teams to aid aboard the Tiberius, fortunately there were no fatalities, but much of the medical staff themselves were injured in an explosion on deck."
She shakes her head at the mindlessness of it all, but quickly begins nodding her concesion regardless.
"I can have 3 teams ready to beam when you need them."
"Thank you Doctor, I'm sorry to have to ask the same of you Lieutenant Laforge, but their warp drive is currently offline, they're asking for a few extra hands getting everything up and running again."
Geordie huffs, but does not try to fight, everybody somehow making concessions for a war they are not even supposed to be fighting.
"I guess I can spare a few good guys from maintenance, but I'll want them back as soon as possible."
"Of course,"
The captain says smoothly, more than understanding how he is asking maybe too much of them for this, but it is an order after all, and though it may be a show of strength as opposed to a diplomatic solution, they are the flagship, and they have no choice.
"In the meantime,"
He stands from his seat, attempts to shift the mood,
"Lieutenants Hoang and Vashishtha are holding a naming ceremony this evening in Holodeck 3 for their baby daughter, and I believe Mr Riker here is being honoured as GodParent?"
Will sits up a little straighter in his seat, smiling his pride.
"That I am Sir, Hoang and I are old Academy buddies, I set him up with Priti a few years back and ever since he's owed me big time,"
He chuckles to himself,
"Besides, I'm great with babies!"
There is a hush across the table, deep and accidental, and a blush creeps up his cheeks as he realises that everybody but Data has turned to see Deanna's reaction, seeing something has gone on between them, but she seems to register nothing but that same neutral stare.
"I'm sure you'll do a great job,"
Picard rallies against the sudden silence.
"Doctor, how are the crew doing?"
Beverly shakes her head of the worry, and turns bright eyes on him.
"All good in general, Captain, but I have received reports of insomnia and recurrent headaches amongst almost 30% of the crew, a few people have reported odd nightmares, but there's nothing there that's too unusual to treat."
"It could be a response to leaving dock again, so many people were able to take shore leave after all,"
He reasons, turning to face the other woman at the table.
"Any thoughts Counselor?"
All eyes once again are on her, expectantly, and beneath the table there is a movement of Data's prompting hand against her thigh. Her gaze jolts away from the wall, up at Data, then the Captain, a sharp breath escaping her.
"My-"
A beat.
"My staff have observed similar symptoms, yes,"
Deanna manages to say, her attention clearly divided, but her composure returning to her in timely fashion.
"Any particular insight into its cause?"
Picard prompts, hoping to be offered one of her deeply meditative and empathically led observations, but instead, she simply shakes her head slowly.
"It could be stress, I'm not sure,"
And she truly does sound so unsure that the others around the table turn to her sceptically - the thought that maybe she has nothing more to offer just a little bit more terrifying than the neutral zone.
"Well,"
He falters.
"Be sure to keep an eye out for any developments."
Beverly nods, but Deanna has turned to stare down at the table, and so he simply moves on.
She cannot hear very much more of what is said at all, can't even feel how the staff reacts to him, or who is speaking at any given time. Instead, she is fixated on this heartbeat that is drumming anew in her mind, frantically and so quietly that she really has to focus to know it is there. She remembers her mother speaking fondly of this, as though it was something mystical and enjoyed only by the most powerful Betazoid women, but something is telling her this is a curse, not a gift.
Her head feels very heavy, very tense, and the tea never did work, she has barely slept at all. And this might just be because her thoughts rage out of control when she is tired, or because the child is growing too fast for her body and everything aches like moving teeth. Her back cannot support the weight, her skin cannot stretch without stinging a terrible rash, her stomach has shrunk, her ribs moved aside slightly. She is not even as big as she will be, but she has popped, so Beverly tells her, and instead of something sloping and easy to conceal, she has been left with a distinct bump, unmistakeable no matter what she wears.
The tension in her head builds, and she's sure there's somebody speaking to her.
"Counselor?"
Data is touching her left arm gently, and with his voice comes the curious gazes of the senior staff, distracted from their conversation on plasma conservation.
There a few drops of blood on the tabletop where her eyes are downcast, and suddenly she is dizzy, looking up at him where he calls to her again.
"Counselor, your nose is bleeding,"
Data tells her, and so she reaches towards her face and finds that it is slick with blood already, hot and slippery and deeply crimson, like wine, a stronger purple tone than a humans, but terribly red nonetheless.
Beverly does not react too dramatically, and it is Data that directs her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, offering her a tissue from god knows where.
"You shouldn't worry, this is perfectly normal for women during pregnancy,"
He tells her, and she tries to nod without focusing too heavily on the tension still behind her eyes, or the pressure that still rests on her hips.
"Perhaps you should go to your quarters, Deanna,"
Picards suggests, concerned, but taking his cue from Beverly who seems to be more inclined to allow Data to calm the girl, seeing as it is quite a phenomenon indeed, and she seems rather oddly at ease with him holding onto her. Beneath the table though, it is possible to see that the doctor is scanning with her tricorder, never anywhere without it.
Deanna moves to stand, nodding, and the android moves much faster than her to offer his hands for her to grasp onto, and so she does, much to the surprise of Will, that she has swallowed her pride, that it is not just him she is this comfortable with.
Data has a hand around one of hers, clasped and held out in front of him, and with a bewildered expression on his face, he leads her out of the briefing room.
