Authors Notes: So another apology for a late upload, with it being the holidays and all it's really slowed down at the office so I've been able to get the editing down on a couple of chapters. I'll spread them out for a bit of holiday suspense, just to chew down to the quick really before I disappear over the new year.

You guys know the drill, usual rules apply - all your reviews are super encouraging in my dreary little life so please do drop me a line if you like the chapter, heck even if you hate it I'm not really biased. Has that come off as desperate? Yes, yes it has, but I have no shame to speak of, so without further ado:


The capsule cracks open in a huff of sealant and steam, a build up of body heat released out into the transporter bay. She is leaning down over the lid, caskett like, but Worf is there at her back, a phaser in his hand and his other clasped over one of her shoulders to pull her back.

A jolt of fear strikes her, the fear of a young child who can know no better, regardless of race; she closes a fist around the weapon and points it at the floor.

From within the capsule, there is a sniffle, a very high pitched whine that follows, guttural yet terribly unpracticed. The boy springs up, in a motion that is not smooth, and the ridges of his forehead have clustered together in an expression of warning, a warrior in miniature.

Deanna watches how, in one instant, the boys face melts, and arms that had been in front of him in claws, soften into open palms shaking upwards at her and Worf.

"Mother, father!"

His voice is an ungainly shriek, and Worf turns to her as though to translate what the boy had said, but already she is moving towards the boy, too close for him to pull her away.

The infant clambers out and onto two short and unstable legs, barrelling that slim distance to throw his arms around her legs, hugging on to her tightly, head rested against the top of one of her thighs. Over her shoulder, Worf is grumbling lowly, his phaser holstered once again at his hip, feeling only a little uneasy at this display.

"He's half human,"

The mans says finally, the sound of the child's voice not sitting solidly at the pit of his stomach, and looking down upon the side of his face, it is possible to see another clutch of soft ridges against the bridge of his nose.

"Bajoran,"

Deanna clarifies, and pushes the boy by his shoulders to stand a little in front of her, and his small brown eyes dart between the two officers, a confident realisation dawning in him.

"Father sent you?"

He chirps hopefully, and over her shoulder she can feel the way Worf is watching her movements, tracing each of her words in the way that one who has never attempted to soothe a child does - hoping to learn something from her.

"We are going to help him find you, yes,"

She tells him softly, the words feeling less harsh on her tongue than she remembers how they used to, hiding from her mother with the Klingon ambassador's daughter, speaking in tongues hoping not to be discovered. They were young, and she is so out of practice that it's fortunate the boy is only 4, but better he hear her voice than the clinical sound of the computers.

"Does that make us friends?"

His face has become confused again, but there is a charming innocence to him, so un-Klingon that he is terribly cute, stood in a tiny set of armour that seems on him to be only a dress-up game.

"It does,"

A slight gasp of air huffs from her as she tries to crouch down and onto her knees in front of the boy, using her hands on his shoulders still to try to anchor her centre of gravity; Worf almost moves to her aid.

"My name is Deanna, and this is Worf,"

She points first to her own chest, then behind her where there is still a shadow man in silence, her hands now taken away from the boys shoulders, the other open palmed against the scenery.

"This is the Enterprise, our ship,"

The boy blinks his feelings of awe, but somehow his eyes have yet to leave her own face, and she can feel there is some recognition within him that is displaced, but not yet removed, and he has found in her something he draws comfort from.

"I'm Ridoll,"

He says tentatively, craning a little to look up at where Worf stands over them both - looming.

"I don't remember our house,"

Ridoll adds with apology, but quickly enough, there is a peculiar smile rising on the man's face, and in a strange show of confidence, he is kneeling beside the Counselor to look him in the eye.

"I am sure it is an honourable one,"

He tells him, in a voice that she has seldom heard him use, maybe even only once for the memory of Tasha, and it stirs that feeling she has inside her heart that warned her to become closed, to retreat, the darkness she cannot name.

Fear still reeks of the boy, but it has decreased so dramatically from the moment he exited the capsule, until Worf's words of encouragement, that she wonders who it is raising this boy to be so different, to be a beautiful dichotomy of trust and shrewdness.

"Why don't I take you to get something to eat, and you can tell me all about how you ended up in there,"

Deanna suggests, motioning to the escape pod still half open on the transporter pad; she feels a sense of panic rising in him and pushes a breeze of comfort into his mind, subtle and calm enough for a tired smile to come upon his face.

Ridoll nods for her, and Worf stands as though he is their chaperon still, helping when he sees how the Counselor struggles around her stomach to get to her feet. The mans hands are strangely soft, but they are gone just as soon as they had grasped her own with support, and instead a much smaller set of fingers are trying to wind their way through her own.

She looks down at the boys hand in hers, now that she is standing again on somewhat steady feet, and then back up at Worf, her words coming more easily to her when she does not have to think.

"I will be fine here Mr Worf, he's only four, I'm sure you will be much more useful on the bridge trying to find his father than you will be babysitting,"

Worf frowns, apprehensive, eyes narrowing slightly at Ridoll.

"He does appear harmless enough,"

In another strike of the unexpected, the large Klingon man is regarding the child with a look of humble subordination.

"Will you take care of Deanna for me so that I can take us to your father?"

He asks as though he means it, terribly serious, one of his eyebrows quirked upwards ceremoniously. Ridoll nods his head enthusiastically, the wavy black hair that erupts from his crown already long enough to fly into the air with the movement.

"Please do not allow him to tire you out, Counselor, you look very pale,"

Worf returns very quickly to his serious self, regarding her with a softening look and a tip of his head, seeming almost to care.

Her heart squeezes tightly in her chest.

"I will take him to Beverly before we eat, just in case, I am sure she will issue me the same advice,"

He nods tightly, approvingly, then again to Ridoll at her side, before leaving the transporter room for the bridge, his frame disappearing fast behind the doors.

In the silence left behind, she looks down to meet Ridolls gaze, squeezing her hand a little around his before beginning a slow walk, enough that he follows along placidly, curiosity now starting to succeed in quashing his fear of being alone.

"Well,"

She starts, leading them to turn left at the open door.

"How would you like to meet my friend Beverly?"


"Why doesn't he speak?"

Dr Crusher is regarding the boy with confusion, suspicion even, a tricorder in her hand scanning him up and down. He looks confused himself, a little sceptical of the technology directed towards him, and it may be that he has never been aboard a Starfleet vessel before.

"He speaks, you are just scaring him,"

Deanna admonishes, and for a moment she is not really herself at all, she's a new kind of protective when she has charge for a child. There is an ungainly weight of responsibility for the boy resting over her, in anticipation of his Klingon father.

"Are you scared of the noise it makes?"

She turns to ask Ridoll, whose legs are swinging over the edge of the biobed he is sat on, chewing on his bottom lip and avoiding eye contact with the doctor.

"She's human,"

He responds plainly, and a realisation dawns over Deanna.

"Is ensign Plath on duty today?"

A hand rests atop the boys leg reassuringly.

"Sloan?"

Beverly asks with confusion, shutting over the lip of the tricorder to silence it at last.

"Yes, she's in the fracture clinic for the day, why?"

"Could you-"

The counselor faces away from the boy for a second, lowering her voice ever so slightly, knowing even that he cannot understand without a translator on him.

"Do you think you could call her through,"

At Beverly's quizzical look, she turns back to Ridoll and clarifies.

"He's scared of humans,"

"Oh,"

A beat.

"Yes, of course,"

Beverly leaves the room briefly and out into main sickbay, and so the boy looks up towards her face with thanks, a smile gracing her for his comfort.

"Don't worry,"

She tells him, thinking of a dozen faces she'd least want to see in his position - Will's stuck right in the middle.

"Humans scare me too,"

And it's a terribly true statement, something which she first noticed in her youth, having grown up on a world of Betazoids, the only human she ever loved was her father, and beyond that, the turbulence of untamed humans had always frightened her. Her mother had taught him how to shield himself from the telepaths, and in doing so, he was the most gentle human she knew, every other that she came into contact with always seemed so brutal in their emotion.

Ridoll meets her eyes, and she can tell that he is scared for a different reason, the son of a Klingon and a Bajoran, two races who had warred with Humans, and been abandoned by them all the same.

She tries not to think of how a relationship like that would work, having come from incompatibility herself.

A woman enters the room ahead of Beverly, her nose softened in the ridges of a Bajoran, but not so strong as to have been raised on the wartorn world. Deanna knows only that she is the daughter of a Human woman and a Bajoran man, who met at the beginning of the occupation of Bajor, having counseled her briefly following her Mother's death. She had felt lost, never having really known her father and at a disconnect with her halfling identity, knowing only the customs of a human world.

Deanna thinks this might be a problem, but at least she has the face.

At least she speaks the language.

Beverly must have said something to her, because there is nothing of fear to the woman at all, and she walks towards them with confidence, her mouth already working around words that are quickly translated for them.

"I hear somebody in here needs a checkup?"

Sloan asks sweetly, and Ridolls face all of a sudden lights up at the joy of hearing Bajoran, the tongue of his mother - Deanna can feel it within him.

And maybe if Worf had not been there, they would have been speaking Bajoran all along.

"Do you know my mama?"

He asks, his voice a little softer when he speaks than before, and she has to concentrate hard on listening, having had very little exposure to Bajoran politics growing up, but understanding enough through her love of their art and literature.

The nurse looks over at her, a silent question in her expression.

Deanna nods slightly.

"Yeah, yeah I do,"

Ensign Plath approaches the boy with a tricorder of her own, keeping it closed at her side and holding out one hand towards him in an old-world greeting she can barely recall. His own hand mirrors hers, smaller and less precise, but filled with a kind of joy.

"She wants me to just make sure you're okay after your -"

Her voice is filled with trepidation, finally reaching his side and crouching in front of him.

"Well, after you've been away for a little while,"

Ridoll nods, saying nothing at all, but his acceptance of this statement is evident in the bouncing of his head, more enthusiastic than before.

Deanna spots her chance to step away, and finally to drop the Klingon, that no matter how her accent may alter it's pronunciation, it is still so difficult to sound as though you care when each vowel is replaced by deep, guttural sounds.

Bajoran is so like Betazoid after all.

"I'll be right over here if you need me,"

She tells him, patting his shoulder, and his face takes a moment to register his wonder at how she has switched between two people. There is that recognition within him again as she walks away.

"I had no idea you were such a linguist,"

Beverly says as they meet in the doorway, impressed, her eyebrows raised.

"Not a linguist,"

She responds modestly.

"There were just a lot of children coming in and out of the embassy when I was growing up,"

Beverly raises an eyebrow.

"You had a Klingon friend - on Betazed?"

Deanna shakes her head at the woman, smiling good-humouredly.

"Never underestimate my Mother's reach,"

A hush descends in the humour, and they both turn slightly to watch the interaction between Ridoll and Sloan, tentative and fledgling, but something sweet about how simple language alone can become a symbol of trust.

"You never explained why he's out here?"

The doctor asks, taking her elbow and walking the two of them across and into her office.

"We do not really know that yet, Worf returned to the bridge to help in locating the ship he came from,"

She moves to stand behind one of the chairs, resting her hands on the back and leaning down slightly; she frowns sadly.

"Or any traces of weapons fire and debris,"

Beverly nods, sharing in the sentiment, perching on the edge of the desk in front of her, so that they are only a few feet apart.

"And he hasn't any idea what happened?"

"I'm not sure,"

The counselor looks over her shoulder again to the boy.

"I think it is within him, but whether he chooses to tell me is another point,"

"He seems to have taken a liking to you though, but not to me?"

She is pretending to be hurt, but Deanna can see through to the confusion that is underlying, the curiosity that maybe is displaced.

"I think I remind him of his mother,"

She says finally, turning back to look Beverly in the eyes; she has started to sway her hips gently where she stands.

"But you're not Bajoran?"

"I know,"

Deanna takes a deep, steadying breath.

"I cannot explain it,"

Her face turns contemplative for a second, and one hand leaves the top of the chair to press the small of her back, without really thinking too hard about the motion.

Beverly, however, scrutinises every movement.

"Hey, are you feeling okay?"

"Mm?"

Troi looks up from her feet against the floor, concentrated on the rhythm of her swaying.

"You look a little pale,"

It's terribly clear that the Doctors concerns are always present, and she does not attempt to mask them even a little.

Deanna has to take a moment to think about what she's doing, unsure really herself of the purpose - there is a brief spasm in the muscles at her back, and finally she understands.

"My hips,"

"Oh?"

Beverly moves to reach for her tricorder, something of urgency unfounded in her.

"I'm fine, really,"

She is still rocking.

"It is just a little uncomfortable,"

She narrows her gaze at Beverly until the woman final relaxes against her equipment, learning at last that she cannot always control every situation.

Before she can say anything more, there is call from beyond the doorway.

"Counselor Troi?"

Beverly is only slightly perturbed that she wasn't called herself - in her own sickbay, after all.

Deanna moves immediately, and finds Ridoll standing beside where he was previously sat, a sweet smile sitting on his face contentedly.

"He's perfectly fine, he couldn't have been in that capsule for very long because he's showing no signs of malnourishment or dehydration,"

Ensign Plath explains, smiling down at the young boy.

"I'd say the only medicine he needs is lunch,"

From behind them, Beverly pipes up an argument.

"I can have one of my staff take him off your hands Deanna, if you're feeling tired?"

Sloan cringes slightly, bows an apology and then makes a quick escape before she gets in the way of their conversation, making that same hand signal to Ridoll as she leaves.

"Beverly,"

Deanna chides.

"How many times do I need to tell you - the boy is four,"

"I'm just worried, what if he wants to play a game?"

From her waist, the young boy tugs on her sleeve, and speaks something up at Deanna, whose face slowly registers mild shock.

"I'll be good, I'm tired too!"

He is somehow eager not to see her go anywhere, and with some slight understanding of Federation Standard, Beverly is making him nervous.

"Should we get something to eat while we wait for your father to collect you?"

Deanna asks him, holding on to his small hand, and he nods quickly back up at her.

"We will be in my office if you need anything Beverly, I will be able to look after him just fine until we locate his ship,"

Doctor Crusher is so close to protesting her decision, but there is some kind of expression on the little boys face that is daring her to try it, protective, almost, of the woman he has attached himself to without explanation.

So she simply concedes the point, nodding tiredly with that same look of exasperation she has for any number of patients who refuse to listen to their treatment program.

It is worse with Therapists - the worst with Deanna.