Lieutenant Worf was aware of the way the Federation treated synthetic lifeforms. And he knew about the comments that were made about his superior officer, and his brother—jokes about their strange, unnatural skin and their uncanny, yellow eyes. Remarks about the way they act and interact—Most of these were made behind Lieutenant Commander Data's back, but sometimes, they would target his brother.
Lore was but a civilian on the Enterprise. He was not protected by Starfleet protocol the way Data was, and it was taken advantage of.
Worf failed to understand their motivation. Humans, he found, were often confusing and irrational, in ways a Klingon could never hope to grasp—If they were among his people, Lieutenant Commander Data and his brother would be respected for their strength, and no one would dare to question their place among warriors.
But they were here, among Starfleet officers, and Worf could do nothing but watch them dishonor their fellow, synthetic men.
Today seemed to be one of these days.
It was a Saturday—On Saturdays, it had become somewhat of a tradition for Worf to go to Ten Forward after his shift ended, and meet with Lore. He found himself looking forward to it every single day, and if Worf read Lore correctly, so was he.
But today was different. He was late, because of an incident on the bridge. And as he scurried through the hallways, an odd feeling overcame him—a gut feeling that made his stomach turn.
And when the door to Ten Forward slid open, that joy he had built up for the past six days was swallowed in an instant.
Lore was sitting in their usual spot, hands neatly folded together—and two officers were hovering by the edge of the table, talking at the android. Worf couldn't tell what they were saying, but he had a pretty good guess.
They looked up at Worf as he approached. Internally, he was struggling to keep his composure; He had briefly glanced down at Lore, who was staring into nothingness, wide-eyed, like an Earth deer caught in headlights—Worf knew that expression well, and it made his blood boil.
"Ensigns," Worf greeted curtly. "Would you like to explain yourselves?"
The officers regarded him with a fading smile. "We were just joking around, sir," one of them said and mustered him in that patronising, human way.
Worf's lips drew back and revealed the edges of his pointed teeth. "That is not my impression."
Most people on the ship knew about his relationship with Lore—Worf was a very private person, but what they had was not a secret. He would never be ashamed of his par'Mach'kai, and had they been on a Klingon vessel, he would've put them in their place right there and then.
"I will report this incident to the captain," Worf continued. "If this happens again, I will personally see to it that you are properly disciplined."
The officers didn't take well to this, but they knew better than to anger the Klingon. They backed away with insincere apologies under their breath, and Worf didn't grace them with another look.
His usually stern face softened when he finally looked down at the android. Lore hadn't moved at all during their conversation, and from what Worf had observed, he didn't stand up for himself at all, either—and he knew why. There was a time when Lore had fought back, several months ago; Someone had made multiple demeaning comments about him to his face, and the android had taken it upon himself to punish the officer. Despite the latter's serious injuries, Picard had let Lore get away with a slap on the wrist—but Lore knew it would be different next time, and although he denied it, Worf suspected that he was afraid.
When Worf spoke again, it was in a low, soft tone. "Lore. Do not let them get to you. They have no honor."
However Lore didn't respond, and sat completely still, except for the corner of his mouth that involuntarily twitched in an unnatural way—he didn't even meet his eyes, and it stung. Worf knew that he deserved it. Had he not been late, maybe none of this would have happened. But he left Lore waiting, and because of it, Lore got hurt—
A loud thud stirred him from his moment of self-pity; Lore abruptly stood—sending the chair flying backwards—and strode past him.
Worf kicked himself internally. This was not the time to pity himself. He should be trying to help.
The door chimed once, then twice. And at its second call, they slid open at Worf's request—They had exchanged keycodes rather soon after they had started courting, and while a part of Worf disliked intruding on him, another part was happy Lore trusted him enough to grant him access to his quarters.
He stepped inside and looked around the dimly lit room—Lore had gotten into the habit of turning the artificial lighting down whenever he felt in any way distressed—and spotted the android sitting on his bed, legs crossed and hands clutching each other, almost like he was waiting for Worf to spare him comfort.
The lieutenant didn't say anything; He knew there was no point to it. Lore was, under normal circumstances, very talkative, but he became quiet and distant when he was upset—It made Worf's stomach turn every time.
He padded over to the bed and gently lowered himself onto it, right next to Lore. And he stayed like this, for a while, until he was certain that he wanted him here.
Everything was quiet for a long moment, so quiet that Worf could hear the engines of the starship hum quietly—Then, Lore broke the silence.
"You were late," he muttered. His voice was low, like he would break into pieces if he raised it any higher.
"I'm sorry," Worf breathed. He had no intention of trying to justify it to make himself feel better, because it didn't matter. "I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."
Another beat of silence hung between them, before he shifted and carefully reached out a hand to rest on top of Lore's. He allowed it, letting Worf take hold of one of his hands.
Lore's grip, Worf noted, was tight—It might have been painful to a human, but it was only a minor discomfort for a Klingon—like Worf would instantly vanish the moment he let go.
The lieutenant's own hand gave a gentle squeeze in return, and suddenly, Lore's head was resting on the small of his shoulder.
Worf looked down at him—He was a warrior, but the sight made his eyes sting. The android's usual bright, golden eyes seemed so shallow, and it saddened Worf that a lot of the vulnerability his par'Mach'kai showed him was limited to a dark room that suffocated under the weight of Lore's most miserable hours.
Lore must have noticed his gaze, because for the first time that day, he was looking at him, and Worf didn't know if there were enough words in the Federation's digital library to describe the way his expression made him feel.
In any other scenario, Lore would have snapped at him for showing anything remotely resembling sympathy, or pity—but he didn't do that today, and Worf could only hope that his small gesture of comfort meant something to him.
He would stay as long as Lore needed him to, and as he embraced the other—firm, yet gentle—he could've sworn he heard a quiet, broken sob.
A/N: I've had this draft for ages and never got around to cleaning it up and posting it, until now. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
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