Author's Note: Thank you for all of your ongoing support on this journey.
First off, let's talk a bit about Tasha's symptoms. Was the last chapter title a double entendre? Yes.
Data has no frame of reference beyond what he's read and observed. And Tasha is woefully, lovably ignorant about her own health.
We have seen time and again where she neglects the needs of her own body & its attempts to communicate with her because she's none too keen to be examined.
It's a trauma response and can be very difficult for people to overcome.
Remember 'swamp gut?'
Our girl isn't going to Sickbay unless she's bleeding out of her eyes or Data forcibly carries her there. She's going to suffer in silence with this mysterious change in her health for a while as it comes and goes.
This is one of those chapters that is meant to be a mix of comedy and heartfelt fun. It's one of the last 'fun' ones we'll have for a while. It also features a bit more Geordi/Sonya focus that we typically see.
We're really getting into some heavy stuff soon as this Romulan conspiracy heats up.
I am desperately trying to wrap this story up by the end of April so we can get on into The Crucible (S2) and The Course We Set (S3/S4).
We've got about thirty chapters left so it's nose to the grindstone here.
As always, thank you for your support!
Chapter-specific C/W: In this chapter a simple error leads to Geordi being mistakenly declared dead. As such, conversations regarding death follow as this sparks the crew thinking about their own lives.
Also, mentions of pregnancy symptoms (including minor bleeding/spotting).
Tasha sighed. She felt completely at ease.
Even Data had to admit there was a certain sense of freedom that came from being outdoors under real stars.
This was no holodeck programme.
Data and Tasha were part of a small away team that had been sent in for an emergency medical extraction on an uninhabited planet known as Atup III.
A small research team on an extended survey mission had encountered a medical emergency. One of the scientists relied on an artificial heart.
And his heart was failing.
Transporters couldn't penetrate the atmosphere, so the team had come down via shuttle.
Beverly had made quick work of stabilising her patient. He would require treatment in a proper Starfleet medical facility and surgery to correct the faulty part in his artificial heart.
But for the moment, he was stable – which was fortunate given a plasma storm prevented the shuttle's return.
While the Enterprise was in for a turbulent night, the away team was enjoying some long overdue fresh air.
Travel restrictions remained in place aboard the Enterprise in light of the Romulan threat. That meant all shore leave, holidays, and professional trips had been put on hold - including Data and Tasha's plan for a secret wedding.
The only reason they got to spend this one night off the Enterprise was because she was the closest ship equipped to deal with the emergency medical extraction.
Neural scans to check for any parasite or implant at the back of the neck had been required prior to their departure. And they would all have to go through it again upon their return.
Jean-Luc had initially been hesitant about bringing in Doctor Selar, Nurse Ogowa, and Lieutenant Adams. Yet in the end, he couldn't deny a certain wisdom in Beverly's decision.
Their knowledge of the threat helped to establish some natural barriers to prevent outside influence in the medical chain of command. By dividing the labour with trusted medical personnel, they could ensure there would be no falsified records.
So reluctantly, Jean-Luc had agreed to the plan.
The science team on Atup III had apologised profusely. They lived in a modest, cramped duck blind that provided just enough room for the four-person team.
They were a long-term survey team living on the planet in order to study a rare form of bee renowned for a honey with regenerative and healing properties.
The bees were now extinct on all neighbouring planets and the ecosystem of Atup III was fragile. Therefore, they tried to make as little impact as possible.
This was all fine with Data and Tasha who relished in the opportunity to kip down under the stars.
Technically, the team was all on duty so there would be no opportunity for Data and Tasha to get any alone time.
But they were more than satisfied to simply bunk across from one another on their camp cots.
Tasha rolled over onto her stomach and reached for Data's hands.
"This is what it will be like on Føroyar," Data whispered.
"You mean camp rations and Commander Riker snoring in my ear all night?" Tasha teased.
"No, I mean you and I and a blanket of stars," Data replied.
Tasha flashed him a brilliant smile.
"I want you to take me there," she said, her eyes full of wanderlust.
Data's brow furrowed.
"I have promised I will," he assured her.
Data didn't care how long they had to wait – he was going to take her there.
"You can sit under that yew tree and watch the ocean or the stars. Or both," Data went on. "For as long as you like."
Tasha was beaming.
"I think I could sit there forever," Tasha said.
Data kissed the back of her hand.
"I have never wanted anything more in my life, Data," Tasha confessed.
Tasha moved in a little closer. She glanced around to ensure the others were fast asleep before planting a slow, chaste kiss on Data's lips.
When she pulled away, Tasha rested her forehead against Data's.
"Lieutenant, may I remind you that we are on duty," Data said in a hushed voice.
Tasha feigned innocence.
Data gripped her bicep. His breath was hot against her ear.
"Lieutenant, you cannot give me that look when we are on duty," Data warned in a low voice.
The next morning, the team was disturbed to find the researcher with the faulty artificial heart had passed in the night.
He'd gone to bed and never woke again.
"Did Lieutenant La Torre have any family?" Beverly inquired.
"Yes," the lead officer responded. "I'll get you those files."
All of a sudden, there was a loud Klingon curse as Worf tried to disassemble one of the camp cots.
"Sorry," he barked.
He hadn't meant to disrupt the moment. But Worf's hand had been caught as the cot folded up and it was particularly painful.
"Here, let me see," Beverly said, rushing over.
After a quick treatment with a dermal regenerator, Worf was right as rain.
It was a little unsettling to know they had come so far only to lose their patient. However, there was nothing more they could have done.
At the request of the team, they shared that their fallen comrade had asked his remains be left on Atup III.
In accordance with his wishes, they would bury him there.
As soon as it was clear, the crew returned via shuttle with a small case of Lieutenant La Torre's personal effects to be returned to his family.
And after their neural scans to confirm they weren't returning with any parasites or implants, the team was cleared to return to duty.
All in all, it was a normal day aboard the Enterprise.
When their duty shift was over, Data headed for his quarters while Tasha went to the fitness centre with Worf.
Data was pleased to find he had an incoming message from Timothy waiting at his computer.
Timothy had sent several subspace communications sharing everything about his new family and the progress of his baseball team.
The Moran family had a dog and Timothy enjoyed caring for him.
Best of all, he'd settled into his new role as a big brother and was doing remarkably well.
Data still felt a pang of loss with the way things had ended – even if he knew it was all for the best. Yet Timothy's messages were helping to ease that sense of pain.
After clearing through a mountain of paperwork, Data pulled out his calabash pipe and settled in on the sofa with a copy of The Brothers Karamazov.
Data was rue to admit that there were certain parallels between the characters in the book and his family relationship – albeit (as far as Data knew) there were only two Soong brothers.
Tasha returned home at precisely 17:30 and was ready for a shower and dinner.
She scrunched up her nose as soon as she entered the room.
What is that horrid smell? Tasha thought.
It was familiar and yet unidentifiable.
Stepping closer, Tasha realised it was Data's pipe.
In the last year, she had grown to love his pipe in spite of her initial detest for the object. She had come to adore the deep, woody scent of his tobacco.
Now it was such a signature part of Data that Tasha couldn't bear to ask him to stop.
Yet for some reason, tonight it made her want to hurl.
"New tobacco?" she asked.
"No," Data answered honestly.
"Hmm," Tasha replied, absentmindedly.
She wasn't usually sensitive to odours. In her line of work, there was no telling what one would encounter.
But you did spend the last twenty-four hours outdoors. Tasha recalled.
Starships were a marvel. But one could tell a difference between the real atmosphere of a planet and the artificial environmental system of a starship.
Thinking back, many typical aromas had been more potent during her first few days aboard a vessel.
"What would you like to do tonight?" Data asked.
"I'm going to take a shower and then can we just stay in? I'm so tired," Tasha said.
She'd pushed herself hard at the fitness centre.
They were three months out from the Enterprise sparring tournament. Tasha was the reigning champion and had a strong desire to hold onto that title.
But her encounter with Wesley's nanocyte suit had very nearly done her in. The nanocytes had eaten away years of hard-earned muscle and Tasha was struggling to even gain weight back.
"Perhaps you are pushing yourself too hard?" Data suggested, concerned.
Tasha had a wicked grin on her face.
"Would you like a massage?" Data asked.
"That sounds lovely," Tasha replied.
Data motioned to the door with his head.
"Go. I will set everything up," Data said.
True to his word, Data did arrange everything. And after a soothing rub down on her tired muscles, they enjoyed a quiet dinner before settling in on the sofa for the latest chapter of Moonbase of the Damned.
And when Tasha's eyes grew too heavy to continue, Data carried her into bed.
"Goodnight, my love," Data whispered, brushing a soft kiss to her forehead.
Data's rest programme had been active for exactly four hours and seventeen minutes when a loud alarm roused him from his sleep.
Data's face contorted as he tried to determine if this was a part of his dream or outside stimulation.
The sound chimed again.
Data sat up and looked around the room to get his bearings.
There was a third blare.
Data immediately recognised the sound. It was an emergency frequency – and Data wasn't the only one receiving the hail.
Tasha sat up and fumbled for her combadge in the dark.
"Data to Bridge," Data said, answering the hail.
"Sir, we have an urgent incoming call from Captain Silva La Forge of the USS Hera," Lieutenant Hawk reported. "The Hera is near the Argolias Cluster, sir. We're having some trouble maintaining the link."
"Transfer the call to my workstation, Lieutenant," Data ordered as he made a beeline for his computer.
Data knew there had to be a good reason why Geordi's mother would contact him at this hour.
"Yar to Bridge, what's going on?" Tasha asked, answering her own urgent hail.
"Lieutenant, I have an urgent call for you from Earth Station Bobruisk," Hawk explained.
Bobruisk? Tasha thought.
A call from Earth was no small feat given their position. It was possible – but only for absolute emergencies.
"Erm, can you patch it through to the computer terminal in Commander Data's quarters?" Tasha requested.
She knew there would be no end to the teasing for that in the morning.
Tasha rolled out of bed and threw on her dressing gown. She shielded her eyes from the bright overhead lights of the main room as she entered.
Their two calls could not have been more different.
Silva La Forge had barely managed to get out a few words before their call was disconnected.
"How?" she had asked, her voice seeded with sombre disbelief. "Why?"
Data was on his combadge, going back and forth with the Bridge as they attempted to re-establish the connection.
Meanwhile, Tasha was squinting as she tried to find the buttons to activate the call.
It was far too early and far too bright.
"Natasha," a familiar, gravelly voice said.
Worf's parents.
A panicked Sergey and Helena Rozhenko came onscreen.
"We are so sorry to wake you. I did not consider the time difference when-" Helena began to apologise.
"Enough!" Sergey said, pushing his way on screen. "What happened?"
Tasha blinked in confusion.
This had to be a dream. It was all so bizarre.
Helena swatted her husband out of the way as she pushed herself back in place.
"We are calling about Worf," Helena explained. "We cannot rest. We, we need to know-"
She stopped to dab her eyes with a handkerchief.
"What happened?" Sergey demanded again.
He hadn't sat down once since receiving the news.
"Today," Helena explained. "How was he?"
"Uh.. normal?" Tasha answered, her voice trailing up.
Helena was doing her best to remain composed while Sergey was frantically pacing in the background and muttering to himself.
"I suppose in your line of work it must be considered normal. But we… we don't know what happened and we've been told we cannot come see him," Helena said.
"Is he awake?" Sergey asked, panicked.
"Probably not right now," Tasha said, rubbing the crust from her own eyes.
She trailed off as she was overcome with a massive yawn.
"I'm sorry, what is going on?" Tasha asked.
Sergey was practically apoplectic.
"Worf!" he roared. "My son!"
He huffed before launching into a slew of curses Tasha had never heard.
"How did it happen? His injuries? Will he survive?" Helena asked.
Injuries?
Suddenly, it clicked.
Tasha shook her head and waved her hand.
"Whoa, who, whoa. Injuries?" she asked.
"Yes," Helena answered. "We were told Worf was gravely injured on an emergency away mission. There was little information though they mentioned your Engineer, La Forge, that he was killed."
"Yes. I mean, no," Tasha stammered.
She reached up and rubbed her temples, trying to make sense of it all.
"Worf was injured. He cut his hand. That's all. He's fine. Completely fine," Tasha informed them.
Sergey stopped pacing. Helena's anxiety came down – but only just a little. They were still worried about their son.
"He cut his hand? Is he alright?" Sergey inquired.
"Yeah. It was just a routine injury on the job. He was stitched up in no time. We spent the afternoon at the fitness centre. I promise you that Worf is safe," Tasha assured them.
His form had been a bit off on his Arnold press, but he was otherwise fine.
"I'm sure we can reroute your call to him," Tasha offered.
Tasha could only imagine how horrifying the news had been for them given their close relationship.
"We have already tried, but he did not answer," Helena explained.
"Look, I'll find Worf and have him get in touch with you," Tasha promised.
Sergey poked his head in onscreen.
"The sooner the better. I will wait," Sergey offered.
He was desperate to speak with his son. He didn't care how long it took.
"The thing is I don't exactly know where he is at the moment and it might take some time to-"
Tasha stopped as her stomach did a somersault. She froze and clutched her abdomen, choking back the urge to vomit.
Helena's expression shifted, eyeing Tasha with concern.
"Natasha, you are ill," she observed, concerned.
"I'm fine," Tasha said.
"No, no, no," Helena said, clucking her tongue. "Please do not take this the wrong way, but you look terrible."
Tasha chuckled.
"And you are skinny," Helena went on in a disapproving tone. "I send you my recipe for Chornaja Poliwka. You may have trouble sourcing the pork blood, but I am sure-"
Tasha was no stranger to this type of cooking. Black sausages and broths were common on Turkana (albeit sourced from different animals).
That experience was enough to make Tasha eschew all forms of meat. In fact, Tasha had grown up so concerned about the questionable sources of meat on Turkana that she couldn't even stomach the texture or feel of replicated meat dishes.
'Pork blood' was all she needed to hear to toss her cookies.
"Excuse me," Tasha said.
From his workstation, Data watched in horror as Tasha clapped her hand over her mouth and rushed off screen to reach the loo in time.
Data tapped his combadge to advise the Bridge that they should continue trying to contact the Hera. Meanwhile, he needed to tend to a second call.
Tasha returned a moment later, apologising profusely to the Rozhenko's.
"Perhaps we should get you to Sickbay?" Data suggested. "You are hardly-"
"I'm fine," Tasha insisted.
She loathed visiting Sickbay. It wasn't anything against Beverly – Tasha just didn't care for being poked and prodded like some sort of science experiment.
"Are you eating enough?" Sergey demanded, poking his head on screen again.
"You need ginger tea," Helena advised. "Add a bit of honey and some-"
She paused, snapping her fingers as she tried to recall the translation.
"Varenie," she said.
"Raspberry," Sergey interjected.
Helena's face lit up as she nodded slowly.
"Ah! Yes. Raspberry jam," Helena said.
Tasha adored Worf's parents – but they had a tendency to be overbearing. Here they were, calling for information over a mix-up involving Worf's injury and now they were concerned about Tasha's health.
It was like someone had combined the worst parts of Data's drive for a family with Beverly's incessant need to keep everyone in perfect health.
"We'll find Worf and have him call you," Tasha said.
"We are happy to wait," Sergey repeated for a third time.
Tasha desperately wanted to get off the call as soon as possible so she could lay down again.
She turned to Data, silently pleading with him to fetch Worf.
"Computer, what is the location of Lieutenant Worf Rozhenko?" Data inquired.
"Lieutenant Worf is currently on deck 4, room 1052," the computer responded.
Data quickly accessed his informational databank to cross reference against the ship's schematics. He had memorised the entire layout of the Enterprise – including all personnel assignments.
"Ah! Lieutenant Jae's quarters," Data said.
Sergey let out a deep belly laugh as he elbowed his wife.
"I told you he was moving on," Sergey said out of the corner of his mouth. "Rozhenko men have always been tigers-"
"It is none of our business," Helena declared, cutting her husband off.
She turned back to Data and Tasha and smiled.
"When he wakes up," Helena said with a knowing wink.
When they disconnected the call, Data was thoroughly confused.
Tasha didn't bother going to the bed – she simply flopped down on the sofa and curled up into a ball.
"Computer lower ambient temperature five degrees," Tasha ordered.
She was hoping the cool air would help alleviate her nausea.
"Data, I can hear your mind churning," Tasha said.
She didn't need to open her eyes to know he was lost in thought.
"Tasha, you have been increasingly nauseous in the last few days. There was no turbulent shuttle and you have not taken your vitamin this morning," Data said, pointing out that her previous excuses were not applicable.
Tasha groaned.
"It was just the mention of that-" Tasha began to say.
She paused, looking greener than before, and took a breath before proceeding.
"Meat," she settled on.
Tasha could clean a fish faster than anyone on the Enterprise – but the concept of meat was more than enough to make her stomach turn.
Data did not answer.
"Data?" Tasha prompted, sensing there was more he wished to say.
"Forgive me, but I am at a loss for how Mr Rozhenko can count Panthera tigris among his lineage," Data confessed.
Tasha laughed softly.
"He means in the bedroom," Tasha explained.
Data sat down on the edge of the sofa next to her. He frowned.
"Tasha, is not such a thing frowned upon? And in my expert opinion as a exobiologist there is no possible way copulation-"
In spite of feeling like shite, Tasha devolved into a fit of giggles.
"It's an expression," she clarified. "It means he's libidinous."
"Oh," Data realised.
Tasha smirked.
"Tiger," she teased, poking Data with her foot.
"Dead?" Geordi exclaimed.
He was at a loss for words.
Following the late-night call from Captain Silva La Forge and the Rozhenko's, Data had rushed out to the Bridge to try and sort it all out.
From what they had gathered, subspace interference had left their official report to Starfleet scrambled with a series of other outgoing urgent communications from the sector.
In an attempt to rebuild the messages, the nearest Starfleet subspace communications station had tried to digitally rebuild them – with a few errors.
There was a mix-up between the late Lieutenant La Torre and the very-much alive Lieutenant La Forge.
Furthermore, Worf's minor injury was recorded in Beverly's report was confused with a grievous wound sustained by an away team member from the USS Elkhorn.
To make matters worse, Geordi's mother was on an important mission in the middle of the Argolias Cluster. Communication was difficult. Data had been up since before 03:00 in an attempt to try and boost their signal.
Geordi was beside himself.
He had managed to get word to his father & two sisters that he was, in fact, very much alive.
But his remained out of contact.
Geordi put his head in his hands and let out a long, slow whine.
"She doesn't need this. Not while she's in command," Geordi said.
"We will continue to try and make contact. May I suggest you record a written statement that we can try to relay in the interim?" Data offered.
Geordi bristled.
"Written message?" Geordi asked in disbelief. "This is hardly the kind of thing for which a written message would suffice. No Data, this needs to be a call. She needs to hear me say I'm alright."
Deanna could sense Geordi was grappling with a mix of emotion and decided to step in.
"Geordi, right now your mother is probably trying to process her grief," Deanna explained.
Part of that process would include denial. It was only natural. And based on Data's limited conversation with Captain Silva La Forge, it seemed that was where she was at.
"She will likely be relieved to receive any word regarding you," Deanna explained.
Geordi was experiencing some denial of his own.
"But how could this happen? I'm fine! I wasn't even injured!" Geordi cried. "I'm alive. I mean you can see me, right?"
"We'll get this sorted," Beverly said, offering him a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder.
All of sudden, Geordi was hit by a flying wad of paper as Miles chucked one across the table in the Observation Lounge.
"What the-"
"Just checking," Miles replied with his usual nonchalance.
He was hoping to make Geordi laugh. Unfortunately, Geordi was far too wrapped up in this crisis to crack a smile.
"Put it out of your mind," Beverly said. "Captain Picard was already filed the paperwork to get this cleared up. Should be sorted in a day. Two tops."
Down in the Security Office, Worf and Tasha were just starting their day. She had found him shortly after 07:00 and filled him in on the details.
Worf had already submitted a call to his parents, and they were greatly relieved to see he was alright.
When he arrived at the office, Worf set a tall mug down on Tasha's desk.
Tasha sniffed the contents and realised it wasn't her usual Raktajino. Worf and Tasha were both Raktajino fiends – often indulging in far more than Beverly advised was safe.
But this smelled different. It was almost like a mix of spicy fruit and mint.
"What's this?" Tasha asked.
"Ginger tea with peppermint, honey, and raspberry jam," Worf mumbled.
Tasha bit back a smirk.
"I promised my mother," Worf added in a low voice.
For Worf there was no higher authority than one Helena Rozhenko.
"Thank you for speaking with my parents this morning," Worf said as he slipped into the seat at his workstation.
Tasha waved her hand.
"They're lovely. Happy to do it," she replied.
Worf raised one sceptical eyebrow – knowing his parents, Worf was certain they were anything but a delight at 03:00 in the morning.
"Really," Tasha replied in earnest. "They're wonderful people and they care about you. It's sweet."
"You do not need to lie," Worf said.
"It's fine," Tasha insisted. "In any case – you were occupied."
Worf scowled.
He was already feeling embarrassed enough that Tasha had learned of his liaison with Lieutenant Jae. They were keeping things casual and private – as was their preference.
Tasha was thrilled for Worf. She didn't know all the details about his relationship with the beautiful and mysterious K'Ehleyr – Worf was far too tight-lipped on that one.
But Tasha knew enough to piece together that she'd broken Worf's heart and he was still trying to pick up the pieces years later.
"Lieutenant," Worf said in a low, warning tone.
They were alone in the Security office, and it afforded them the opportunity to speak more freely than on the Bridge.
"Jae's a beautiful woman, Worf. I think it's great," Tasha said.
Worf muttered under his breath.
"In any case, Rozhenko men have always been tigers," Tasha remarked, doing her best to imitate his father.
Worf blanched.
"I've never dated a dead guy before," Sonya said.
Geordi stopped.
"I am NOT dead!" he insisted.
His shoulders slumped. His head fell back as a heavy sigh escaped his lips.
"I'm sorry," Geordi apologised, taking hold of Sonya's hands. "I know you were just trying to cheer me up. But this whole thing has me on edge."
Geordi had only been legally dead for half a day, and he was already starting to feel overwhelmed.
His hands began to tremble. His face felt hot.
"I just, my m-m-mum," he said, starting to sob.
Knowing his mother was out there somewhere on her own already dealing with the stress and pressure of command, now having to face the news of her son's death – it was all too much.
Every fibre of Geordi's being was filled with guilt.
"This wasn't your fault," Sonya assured him.
She cupped his face, gently thumbing away his tears.
"I can't imagine what she's going through out there," Geordi shared. "I just wish I could talk to her. Tell her everything's okay."
"Mr Data and the Chief are doing everything they can," Sonya said. "I'm sure they'll have something worked out in no time."
Lunch was a subdued affair.
Normally the team ate together in the canteen.
But Geordi wasn't feeling much like joining the rest of the gang, so he opted to dine alone in his quarters.
Data dropped by, forgoing his own lunch, in an effort to try and be there for Geordi.
"Acting Ensign Crusher and Lieutenant Barclay are working to remodulate one of the portable communications arrays. We theorise if we launch it in a class-one probe that we can use that to boost our outgoing comms signal," Data explained.
"Hmm," Geordi replied absentmindedly as he picked at his plate.
"We estimate we should be up and running for a test in eight hours," Data added.
Geordi only responded with a murmur.
Data's brow furrowed.
He wasn't sure what to say. He had never before encountered this situation. His informational databanks on human behaviour did not include contingencies for an accidental death misunderstanding.
Sorry didn't seem to be enough.
And condolences weren't really appropriate given Geordi was alive and well.
"Geordi? May I ask you something?" Data inquired.
"Sure," Geordi replied without looking up.
"What would you like me to do?" Data asked plainly.
Geordi was only half paying attention. His thoughts were still with his mother.
"I'm sure your test is a great idea. Go for it," Geordi replied.
"I am not referring to our communications plan. I mean as your friend," Data clarified.
Geordi was always upbeat. He was the team cheerleader – often the first to offer a friendly word or reassurance whenever things go tough.
Whenever his mood shifted, it meant things were bad.
"This is clearly weighing on you and I am at a loss for how I can help," Data said. "Would you like to spend some time on the holodeck? Or play a game?"
Geordi set his fork down and shifted in his seat. He sighed and looked over at the wall.
"It's just weird, Data," Geordi shared.
Data blinked in confusion.
"Geordi, death is perhaps the one experience that all humanoids share," Data pointed out.
Geordi detached his VISOR and set it on the table so he could massage his temples. All the stress was starting to give him a headache.
"I mean thinking about my own death, Data," Geordi said.
It wasn't just the inability to contact his mother that had Geordi worried. Thinking about his own death had left Geordi spooked.
An uncomfortable sense of dread had settled in the pit of his stomach.
Geordi was proud of his career in Starfleet. It was a helluva an accomplishment serving as the Chief Engineer of the Flagship.
Yet the mix up left Geordi thinking about all the things he wanted to do and kept putting off.
"What if I really had died, huh? I mean I've been taking things so slow with Sonya because I don't want to scare her off – but she's obviously interested. We've been together seven months and we haven't even-"
Geordi trailed off and groaned.
"I mean sex isn't everything. That's not why I'm interested in her," Geordi said before quickly putting his hand up. "I mean I am. I think she's gorgeous. I just mean that's not the only thing I want from our relationship."
Geordi was rambling, but he was having trouble focusing his thoughts.
"How long before you and T… you know?" Geordi asked, gesturing vaguely with his hands.
Data paused as he considered how to answer that question.
"If you are referring to sexual intimacy I am not sure-"
Geordi waved him off.
"Right, private," Geordi finished for him.
"I was going to say we are perhaps not the best model for your own relationship," Data acknowledged. "The beginning of our relationship could hardly be considered typical."
"Data, just because you're an android doesn't mean your relationship is any different than the human experience," Geordi started to say, fully prepared to launch into his usual speech on the subject.
"Geordi, that is not what I meant," Data said. "Rather, it is more a case of installing the wire bridge before disconnecting the power circuit."
It took a moment for it to click.
For the first time all day, Geordi cracked a smile.
"Data, you dog," Geordi said.
Then his face fell.
"I was thinking about asking Sonya about this weekend. I thought we could talk about it and see where we want to go," Geordi explained. "Now I can't bring myself to do that."
"Why not?" Data asked. "It is not as if you actually died."
Geordi made a face.
"I don't want her to think I'm just doing this because of the incident. I can't put Sonya in that position," Geordi said.
"Geordi, it seems that is a decision she should make for herself," Data pointed out.
Geordi snapped his fingers.
"You're completely right. See? I'm not even thinking clearly," Geordi said.
He'd been on edge ever since first receiving the news of his own fake demise.
"All I can think about is my mum. When it's not her, it's all the things I want to do with my life that I've been putting off," Geordi said. "And these stupid travel restrictions."
Even if Geordi made a vow to take some time off and see and do his bucket list – he couldn't.
There was simply no way, not with the Romulans breathing down their necks.
"I just don't want to waste my life. When I start thinking about that, then I start on wondering how I want to go, how I don't want to go," Geordi said with a shudder.
They both new the statistics. Data didn't need to cite them.
Life in Starfleet was no cakewalk. On average, thirty-eight percent of Starfleet personnel died on the job either through accident, injury, attack, or illness sustained in the line of duty.
That number was even higher for personnel stationed on a starship like the Enterprise that had a mix of scientific, diplomatic, and defensive assignments.
Geordi could think of more than a few nasty ways to go.
"I probably spent thirty minutes this morning debating with myself whether a warp core breach or radiation leak would be better," Geordi confessed. "Do I want to go short and sweet with no time to think about it? Or not?"
He shook his head.
"I can't decide which is worse. Having the time or having the time to agonise," Geordi lamented. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to throw all of this at you."
Now he was feeling doubly guilty for dumping his troubles on Data.
"I do not mind," Data answered in earnest. "In fact, I have spent considerable time contemplating death myself."
Geordi was stunned.
"Really?" Geordi asked. "But you can't, I mean.."
"We do not know that for sure. At some point my systems will inevitably fail," Data acknowledged. "And while that could take aeons, death will remain a constant in my life as well given that I will likely outlive everyone I will ever know."
Geordi's heart sank.
"I didn't think about that," Geordi admitted.
"It is quite alright," Data assured him. "Though I will admit I find it interesting as most humans seem to live as if their time is infinite."
Geordi chuckled.
"Isn't that the truth," Geordi replied.
Across the ship, Worf and Tasha were having a similar conversation.
"You ever think about how you want it to happen?" Tasha asked.
Worf looked up from his computer terminal.
"Death," Tasha clarified.
"It is the hope of every Klingon to die in battle. An honourable death is required to enter Sto-vo-kor," Worf answered.
Ever since his childhood, Worf had dreamed of one day entering the halls of Sto-vo-kor where he would join his ancestors.
"I await that day with heavy anticipation and I wake each morning, preparing myself for the possibility that I may meet death that day," Worf went on.
It was a part of his morning routine.
Worf only hoped that he would one day be reunited with his Klingon parents.
"I recognise the Klingon way is different. Our open acceptance of death as a moment of celebration is often shocking to humans," Worf acknowledged.
"Doesn't bother me," Tasha replied.
She wasn't merely saying that for Worf's benefit.
"Elaborate," Worf requested.
Tasha hesitated.
She kept her own Turkanan customs heavily guarded for fear of ridicule. Most of the other senior officers were Terran. Even Deanna's Betazoid customs were so widely accepted among the Federation that they largely paled in comparison to Worf's own Klingon traditions.
But Tasha knew Worf probably understood her own trepidation better than most.
In fact, next to Data, Worf was probably the one person that knew what it felt like to be such an outsider.
"Well, you know Turkana isn't exactly renowned for being a nice place to settle," Tasha quipped.
Worf shot her a look and Tasha chuckled.
"If the factions or mercenaries don't get you there's always the caiman and the jaguars. The storms. Floods. Insects that bring disease. You can't trust the water," Tasha went on.
She shrugged.
"Death is relief. A gift. Freedom," Tasha said. "An end to a horrible existence. We call it an sngonel caolhdach – the great rest."
"Poetic," Worf said.
Tasha laughed and shook her head.
"I think it's probably more likely my ancestors were looking to find a way to make themselves feel better by thinking there was something waiting for them after. Hope is a powerful thing," Tasha said.
Worf's eyes lit up.
"Then your people share a belief in a great afterlife? A Sto-vo-kor or Valhalla," Worf asked.
"No," Tasha replied with a smile. "Just sleep."
She sighed wistfully.
"It's actually quite sad and beautiful," she said. "My people believe that when we die, our souls join the light in the sky – the stars. And that the youngest, those that die early in life are protected by a lunar deity known as Azura. They shine the brightest, safe in the light of our moon."
Worf was fascinated. He was always moved by grand, romantic stories.
"It's why we don't bury our dead," Tasha shared.
Her expression shifted, a dark look fell upon her face.
"At least, it's considered the worst kind of crime to bury the dead. Sometimes the clans will do it – but only to their greatest of enemies," Tasha explained. "To deny one the afterlife-"
Tasha paused and shuddered.
It was a fate worse than death.
In fact, one of the reasons Tasha loathed the factions like the Coalition and the Alliance was that they frequently buried their victims. It was all part of their efforts to stamp out all religious influence on Turkana.
Tasha may not have bought into all the mythology of her ancestors, but she was infuriated by the factions' disrespect for the old ways.
In Tasha's mind, it was an unnecessary cruelty.
"It's all just fairy tales," Tasha concluded.
By 19:00 hours, Geordi was ready for bed .
Their test had proved to be a bust.
The signal was boosted as strong as they could possibly produce – but they were still unable to make a connection with the Hera.
After lengthy debate, the team decided the issue had to be on the Hera's end.
They would continue trying to raise the Hera with Captain Picard ordering hourly attempts to continue until a channel was established.
But there was nothing more the team could do.
Commander Riker had dropped in and offered to host a wake. Riker thought it might go a long way in cheering Geordi up by showing him just how loved he was.
Geordi thought it sounded macabre.
"Do me a favour, Commander? If you ever want to throw me a wake, make good and sure I'm really dead first," Geordi had said.
Now all he wanted to do was drown his sorrows in a plate of carbs.
"Computer, pasta al Fiorella and a glass of real Château Magnaout Cab – actually make it a bottle," Geordi ordered. "Authorisation La Forge theta - two – nine – nine – seven."
While the replicators were able to produce alcohol with all the deleterious side effects, 'real' alcohol required an age appropriate command authorisation code.
To Geordi's dismay, the computer responded with an error noise.
"Command authorisation not accepted," the computer responded.
Geordi let his head fall against the replicator with a loud thump.
He'd been dealing with that all over the ship the whole afternoon. At noon his command authorisation codes had been deactivated courtesy of Starfleet Command.
It was standard procedure for any deceased officer.
Unfortunately, those codes were controlled by Starfleet HQ and not even Captain Picard had the ability to reinstate them without the proper paperwork.
It would take at least a day for Geordi's code to be reactivated.
And until it was back in the system, Geordi had been struggling to do much of anything. As Chief Engineer, Geordi had to input his code so often it was second nature.
Now he couldn't even get on the main computer in Engineering without one of the other team members giving him access.
Even getting in and out of his quarters had been a challenge after Starfleet deactivated his code.
So Geordi stood there, banging his head against the replicator as he tried to work out some of the frustration that came with feeling trapped.
A hand on Geordi's arm was enough to get him to stop.
"Hey."
Geordi knew it was Sonya before she had even opened her mouth to speak. He recognised her perfume.
Normally her presence would have been enough to make Geordi smile. But under the current circumstances, Geordi was humiliated at being caught at such a low point.
Sonya could sense he was embarrassed.
"Look I-" Geordi began to say.
"You don't have to explain," Sonya said as she leaned in close. "What you're going through is unimaginable."
Most people only saw the side of Sonya that was excitable. That's just how she was on the job. But when she felt comfortable enough to open up, she had a remarkably calming presence.
"What would you like? I'll order it," Sonya offered.
Somehow this made Geordi feel even worse.
"I'm sure you just came in for your break," Geordi said. "Don't waste your time. It's not that important – I'll just head back to my quarters."
He had a nice bottle of wine there.
Sonya worked the overnight shift and Geordi didn't want her to be late getting back.
"I switched with Lieutenant Barclay. I'm not going in tonight," Sonya informed him.
After she'd heard about Geordi's problem with his command codes, Sonya knew he would need someone on hand – even if it was just for moral support.
"My roommate is on duty tonight. We could have dinner in my quarters," Sonya offered.
Geordi laughed – he couldn't help it.
"I'm sorry," he apologised.
"It's fine," Sonya replied. "I know it's hardly what you're used to."
As an Ensign, Sonya shared a small sleeping quarters with another crew member. It featured bunk beds, a single desk, a small closet, and a tiny loo.
There was just enough space for a folding table they could set in the middle to share meals. When not in use, the table fit under the bed.
It wasn't much. But it was a big step up from the lower decks.
"I have a better idea," Geordi said.
He slipped his fingers through Sonya's hand.
"Why don't we go back to my quarters and have dinner?" Geordi suggested.
Data had worked straight through the afternoon. He devoted all of his time in an effort to find a solution for Geordi's dilemma.
The Hera was near the Argolias Cluster. It was a section of space nearly impassable for ships due to the gravimetric shear. In addition, the neutronic storms that plagued the area made communication near the Cluster difficult.
It was hard to establish a channel and even more of a challenge to maintain it.
Data was at a complete loss for how to help and that made him feel terrible. Data knew better than anyone just how close Geordi was to his parents – particularly his mother.
Resolved there was nothing more he could do, Data decided to call it a day.
He had dropped by to check on Geordi once more – only to find Geordi was sharing dinner in his quarters with Ensign Gomez.
Data had no desire to interrupt. In fact, he was over the moon to see Geordi relaxed for a change.
Data was surprised to find Tasha in his quarters. It wasn't her presence that was so much a shock, but rather the hour.
Tasha curled up on the sofa. Her hair was wet, fresh from the bath. And Tasha was lounging under a cosy blanket, sipping Raktajino and skimming through shinty scores.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey," Data replied, slipping out of his boots.
He stepped over to the sofa and sat down on the edge.
"Are you ill?" Data asked, his voice full of worry.
It was Tuesday night and Tasha had previously advised she would be back late. She had plans to tackle a rather challenging deep-water free climb.
Data didn't quite see the appeal of a sport like Psicobloc. But he understood Worf and Tasha lived for the experience.
"I'm fine," Tasha said.
Data frowned.
"You are back early. Was there a problem?" Data asked.
"No," Tasha replied.
She glanced up from her tablet.
"I was just tired is all. A few leg cramps. I'm just out of practice," Tasha said with a heavy sigh.
Tasha wasn't just physically exhausted – she was also feeling emotionally fatigued. The muscle mass lost during their experience with the nanocyte suit prototypes had been a huge blow to Tasha's psyche.
Worf's too.
It was hard to accept the new reality of the limits on their physical performance.
Data took Tasha's tablet and set it down on the coffee table. Then he reached for her hands.
"You mentioned this climb was particularly difficult. It is only reasonable that it would take several attempts to complete," Data advised.
A slow grin spread across Tasha's face.
"You're sweet," she said. "But I'm not upset because I didn't complete it. I knew it would be hard."
Tasha had never anticipated to finish.
Data had to admit she did look fatigued. There was a mild swelling under the orbit of her eyes. He could tell she was fighting to stay awake. Tasha had nearly been glazed over when she was mindlessly scrolling on her tablet.
And while she drank far too much Raktajino, she never drank it this late.
"I'm frustrated because I was completely knackered before we even started. We barely got into it before I had to dip out into the water," Tasha went on. "I have never felt so weak in my life."
"You have never been weak," Data said.
Tasha replied with a soft, hazy laugh as she buried her head against Data.
"What time is it?" she asked with a heavy yawn.
"19:21 hours," Data replied.
Tasha groaned.
Why does it feel so late? Tasha thought.
She could have sworn it was nearly midnight.
"Have you eaten?" Data inquired.
It took Tasha a moment to respond. She had to think back – and that was a tall order at the moment when her brain felt like it was lost in a fog. She could barely keep her eyes open.
"I um, I was going to eat earlier but nothing sounded very appealing," Tasha recalled.
"Would you like me to prepare an evening meal? I could go to Ten Forward and pick something up or make you something here?" Data suggested. "It is sushi night."
Tasha shook her head.
"No. Thanks but… I'm not really feeling it," Tasha shared.
Data sat back, cupping Tasha's face and forcing her to meet his eyes. For a moment, he studied her face as he used the sensors in his bioplast to read her body temperature.
"I'm fine," Tasha said, anticipating his question.
"Perhaps I should take you to Sickbay? You have never turned down sushi," Data remarked.
"I'm just tired," Tasha insisted. "I was up early."
That much was true. They had been up since before 03:00 courtesy of the mix-up and subsequent call from Captain La Forge and the Rozhenko's.
Data couldn't begrudge her feeling tired after that.
Yet he couldn't overlook Tasha's other symptoms.
"A quick trip to Sickbay would rule out any possible infection. The nausea and vomiting has me concerned and even you must admit your basal body temperature is slightly elevated," Data said.
"Of course I'm warm. I just got out of the bath," Tasha objected.
"Sickbay," Data said simply.
Tasha made a noise of protest.
"I'm too tired," she declared, flopping down against Data.
It was a good thing Data was infinitely patient because Tasha was, in many ways, the most stubborn person he had ever encountered.
"I will carry you," Data offered.
Tasha looked up and grinned.
"Just carry me to bed," she said, teasing Data as she fluttered her eyelashes.
"This is really good," Sonya said.
"Pasta al Fiorella," Geordi responded.
It was one of his favourite meals. There was nothing like the perfect orecchiette pasta with a light sauce and a few perfectly cooked fresh vegetables.
The parmesan cheese was aged just right to give a complex, nutty flavour to the top off the dish.
Rounding out their feast was crusty bread and a dry red wine.
All in all, Geordi considered it one helluva dinner.
"You know my dad learned to make this when my parents were stationed in Apulia on the Adriatic coast. It was years before they had us kids," Geordi said. "It was my mum's favourite. My dad always wanted to take a little part of that time in their lives with them wherever they went."
"That's very romantic," Sonya said.
Geordi shrugged.
"I can see where you get it from," Sonya said.
Geordi froze. His face flushed.
"I, um.. well," he stammered, struggling to find the right words.
"I'm sorry. Was that too forward?" Sonya asked.
Geordi laughed nervously.
"No, no," he said quickly, trying to play it off.
There was a sharp intake of breath as Sonya reached across the table for his hand.
"I just meant that you're very thoughtful, Geordi. And sweet. And, well, I think it's lovely," Sonya said.
There was a lump in Geordi's throat.
"Don't ever change," Sonya added in a soft voice.
Suddenly it was all too close for comfort. Geordi found his mind wandering to places he would sooner visit but didn't feel right confessing to Sonya yet.
He was still hung up on the fear of scaring her off by moving too fast.
"Well, uh, it's been a long day and I should probably be getting to bed," Geordi said quickly.
Then he grimaced.
"I'm sorry – I didn't even think," Geordi apologised. "I promised you dessert."
He scrambled up from his seat and over to the replicator where two plates of Tiramisu were waiting under a temperature controlled stasis field.
Geordi was about to pick them up when he stopped, overcome by a fresh wave of emotion in thinking about his mother.
He sniffled.
A moment later, he sensed Sonya next to him.
"Hey," she said softly.
Geordi relaxed as Sonya rested her head against his shoulder.
"You aren't alone. And you don't have to be," Sonya said.
"I-I-I'm sorry. It's just I can't stop thinking about my mum. She's out there and she doesn't know," Geordi sobbed. "I mean I'm fine for a while and then it all comes flooding back."
He reached up to brush away the hot tears that were spilling down his face.
"This is so embarrassing," Geordi confessed.
"Why?" Sonya asked.
Geordi fell silent.
"Look, we're in a relationship Geordi. I don't want you to ever feel like you can't be open with me," Sonya explained.
She was tired of him tiptoeing around her feelings as if she were a child in need of protection.
"Geordi, I'm here. I want to be here for you," Sonya said.
Geordi was stunned as Sonya turned his face toward her and pressed her lips to his in a slow, sweet kiss.
"Okay," Geordi squeaked.
Tasha did not want to open her eyes. She did not want to climb out of bed or move from her spot snuggled safe next to Data.
"You are awake," Data observed.
He could detect the change in her breathing.
Tasha sighed.
"Sorry," she apologised.
It was nearly impossible to fool Data's rest programme. The slightest movement or change in her breathing.
"Did you have a nightmare?" Data asked.
She did from time to time. But in this instance, it wasn't bad dreams forcing her from rest.
It was shortly after midnight and Tasha had already woken up twice to go to the loo.
Unfortunately, her bladder was not willing to cooperate.
"I'll be back," she said, throwing off the covers.
Data sat up and frowned. He was fully prepared to follow her and offer any and all support needed.
"Ah!" Tasha said, putting out a hand to stop him.
Tasha loathed being coddled.
"I'm just going to spend a slip of latinum," she said.
Data was worried. It wasn't like her to get up so frequently.
"Do you require assistance?" Data asked.
"Not since I was two," Tasha said, slipping into the lavvy.
When she slipped back into bed, Tasha could feel Data's neural net was starting to spiral.
"I drank a lot of Raktajino today," Tasha said.
Data couldn't deny the logic in that.
"My bladder is just punishing me for that," Tasha added with a small laugh.
Data was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.
"Tasha, may I offer an observation?" Data asked.
"Hmm?" Tasha asked as she rolled onto her side toward him.
Data turned so they could face each other. He paused before speaking to trace the line of her jaw with his fingers.
"You often remark about your anatomy or the universe punishing you for certain choices and actions. I have noticed that such a theme is constant in the Turkanan religion," Data explained. "It almost seems to have a pathological guilt associated with the smallest of moral decisions."
It was such a deep part of Tasha's personality that Data was trying to broach the subject with tact.
"You act as if you have a divine moral imperative to live perfectly or-"
Tasha scoffed.
"Hardly, Data," she countered. "I'm no saint."
Data's brow furrowed.
"That is what I mean," Data clarified. "You seem to constantly denigrate yourself for normal human behaviour. You are so accepting of the faults of others, yet you cannot find kindness for yourself."
Tasha shifted uncomfortably.
"It's not that I can't find it within myself. I just accept that's the way of life. Existence is flawed," Tasha said, picking at her fingernails. "You just try to do the best you can in the time you have."
She paused.
"My grandmother called it caomair," Tasha shared. "She believed that life was supposed to be hard and cruel, that it made you a better person. Because to find pleasure meant that you were doing something you shouldn't be – something that probably involved hurting others."
It was the custom on Turkana and it wasn't just reserved for interactions between people. The concept of caomair influenced everything they did from the way Turkanans interacted with each other to their homes and their land.
Taking too much or exploiting a resource for gain would inevitably harm the people, the wildlife, and the planet.
"Cosgais sgonnael a buaid," Data recalled aloud.
It was a Turkanan phrase that meant all happiness or personal victory came at a high price. The greater the pleasure, the more one had to pay.
And that cost was a piece of one's soul.
Tasha was taken aback.
"You remember," Tasha said.
"I remember every word you have ever spoken," Data reminded her.
Tasha's face was warm.
"Right," Tasha said quickly. "Well, it's all just fairy tales. Mythology."
It was obvious from his expression that Data wasn't buying it for a moment.
"Tasha," he said, gripping her chin. "You know that I would never judge you for believing in the religious customs of your people."
Tasha bit her lip.
"I have no culture of my own. I have spent twenty-seven years studying the religious traditions, spiritual customs, and folk traditions from thousands of cultures across tens of thousands of years of civilisations," Data said.
Philosophy, history, and human tradition had always intrigued Data.
"And I have found your own customs to be fascinating," Data confessed. "They are beautiful. And certainly nothing to be ashamed of."
Data's comments were from the heart. He was truly captivated by Turkanan history and what little Tasha had shared of what she called 'the old religion.'
It was the way of her grandmother's people.
And according to Tasha, it remained strong in the northern marshes of Turkana where she was born.
The two major factions, the Alliance and the Coalition had done everything they could to stamp it out in an effort to modernise Turkana.
They didn't want people to find hope anywhere but in the factions.
"I would love to learn everything about your culture. And I want you to feel free to practise it. Always," Data encouraged.
"Data, I don't even know if I believe in it all," Tasha admitted.
It felt good to finally get that off her chest.
"I mean we have seen so much beyond what the people who created that religion even knew existed," Tasha explained.
The rational side of Tasha couldn't bring herself to buy into religious mumbo-jumbo.
"Yet?" Data prompted.
Tasha snuggled in close next to Data, nuzzling against his chest.
"But every once in a while something happens that makes me think – no, believe – that maybe there is some truth in it," Tasha shared.
Data reached for Tasha's hand, intertwining his fingers with her own.
"I love you. All of you – including the secret parts of yourself that you are not yet ready to share," Data said.
Data had a way of creating a place that was safe to be open free of judgement or the fear of retribution. He had no ulterior motives. He would never use that information to hurt her.
He simply loved her more than he could express with words.
"I will admit this situation with Geordi has resurfaced my fascination with humanoid spiritual customs," Data said.
Grief was difficult to process. It took time for Data to adjust to the absence that followed.
Data had lost comrades before during his years of activation – including one of the first people to ever show him kindness, Captain Mindy Long.
Somehow, the lack of service for Captain Long made the loss even harder to comprehend.
In Geordi's case, Data was grateful he had not really died on the away mission. Nonetheless, it was a difficult situation to navigate, and Data still wasn't entirely sure how to help – especially when his own thoughts were swirling with a mix of research and first-hand observation on various religious customs.
Worf believed in an afterlife that would lead him to the halls of Sto-vo-kor where he would be reunited with his ancestors.
His belief was as glorious and poetic as the Klingon philosophy itself.
Commander Riker spoke of death often, usually in a jovial way. He believed that after one died they would spend eternity living in the happiest time of their life as if time had stopped then and there.
Vulcans did not believe in mourning death unless a life was wasted, and Commander Riker felt there was a great deal of wisdom in that.
While Data could see the logic, it did little to ease the sense of emptiness that accompanied a loss.
"Tasha?" Data prompted.
"Hmm?" she replied.
"When we were on Minos and I went over the cliff with the drone, there were many thoughts that passed through my mind before hitting the water," Data said. "But the final thought I had was one of great sadness."
Tasha opened her mouth to speak, but Data silenced her with his finger on her lips.
"For I knew that I would likely wind up in the bottom of that lake and my existence would end without being under the stars," Data went on.
Data's expression softened.
"And that in accordance with your tradition, I would need to cease my functioning under the stars should I wish to join them," Data said.
Data wrapped his arms around Tasha and pulled her close.
"I do not know if your grandmother's religion is real. But I would like to think that if there is any chance you and I will meet again someday after this life, then it is something I want to believe in," Data confessed.
He brushed a soft kiss on Tasha's forehead.
"And I know that many, many years from now that thought will sustain me when I am alone," Data concluded.
Tasha clutched the back of Data's undershirt, wordlessly conveying how much it meant to hear those words.
They both knew the outcome. In all likelihood, Data would far outlive Tasha. Her human lifespan was simply no comparison to his android nature.
"Please do not cry," Data said.
Data guided them both, so they were sitting up. He pulled Tasha against him as he rubbed her back.
"I'm s-s-sorry. I can't s-s-seem to s-stop," she sobbed.
Tasha was in a right state as she wept on his shoulder. Data couldn't recall Tasha ever breaking down like that before.
She cried, sure.
But not like this.
However, Data recognised that the subject of conversation was heavy. Coupled with her fatigue, the situation with Geordi, and the recent loss of Timothy, Tasha may very well have reached her emotional breaking point.
Tasha was confused and furious with herself for breaking down in such a manner. She couldn't understand why her feelings, well, felt so strong.
She was touched by Data's declaration. At the same time, it made her heart break to think of him alone.
"I'm s-sorry," she repeated.
"You have no reason to be sorry. I apologise for causing such a strong emotional-"
"I'm just tired," Tasha interjected. "I'm so tired."
Data guided them back down onto the bed, pulling Tasha across his chest as her tears began to slow.
"To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex," Data said as he began to recite A Scandal In Bohemia.
"Y-you don't have to read to me if you're tired," Tasha sniffled. "I know you had a busy day."
"My dear, I will always read to you," Data replied. "It is one of the great privileges of my life to be able to read to you."
In spite of her tears, Tasha laughed.
"Please go to sleep, Tasha," Data whispered.
Across the ship, there was another couple lying in bed and desperate for sleep.
Geordi was lying in bed trying to catch his breath.
"Um, Geordi?" Sonya prompted.
He'd been silent ever since they broke apart.
Moments earlier, they had been wrapped in each other's arms in the throes of passion.
It was hardly the way Geordi had planned it – but that didn't change what had occurred.
"Geordi? Are you alright?" Sonya asked.
Geordi was suddenly consciously aware of the fact her body was next to his own. He clutched the bedsheet, pulling it right up under his chin.
"I'm okay," Geordi replied in a small voice.
Sonya was immediately on guard.
"Geordi? What's wrong?" Sonya pressed.
Geordi closed his eyes and took a shaky breath.
"I'm sorry," he apologised.
Sonya's brow furrowed.
"You were so kind. You came for dinner and one thing led to another. I never should have put you in this position or-"
Geordi gasped as he felt Sonya's foot caress his leg.
"I enjoyed it," Sonya said in a low voice against his ear. "I enjoy you. And the time we spend together."
She snuggled in against him, resting her hand on his chest.
"And if you only spent half as much time worrying about us, then you might actually start to enjoy it yourself," Sonya teased.
Eighteen hours later, Geordi's access codes were restored allowing him to access everything on the ship just as before – including the wine.
And two days after that, Geordi was in the midst of enjoying a cosy dinner with Sonya when an urgent hail from the Bridge rang through.
"Sorry to interrupt in your quarters, sir," Ensign Jeffords said.
What emergency is it now? Geordi thought.
"Go ahead, Bridge," Geordi replied.
"We've established contact with the Hera," Jeffords advised.
Geordi dropped his fork. He reached up to clutch his hands together in an effort to stop them from shaking.
On instinct, Geordi went to straighten his uniform.
He reached for his VISOR and reattached it. Normally he didn't wear the VISOR when he was off duty in his quarters.
Prolonged use had a tendency to give him migraines – especially staring at screens all day.
But he wanted to see his mother.
Geordi made to get up from his seat and froze.
"Geordi?" Sonya asked, sensing his uncertainty.
"I don't know what to say," Geordi said in dismay. "Where do I start?"
He sat back down and scratched the back of his neck, nervous about where to begin. He felt there was nothing he could say to adequately express how sorry he felt for putting his mother through all the stress of the last few days.
"I would guess you probably don't have to say anything, Geordi. She's just going to be happy you're alright," Sonya said.
"Right," Geordi said.
He jumped up and stepped in front of the viewscreen built into the wall. He wiped away the perspiration on his brow and ran his hand back over his hair on instinct.
After straightening his posture, Geordi tapped his combadge.
"Bridge, please reroute the call to my quarters," Geordi instructed.
His palms were already sweaty and his mother wasn't even on the screen yet.
The screen blinked to life and Geordi was greeted with the sight of his mother, renowned Captain Silva La Forge, sitting behind the desk in her Ready Room.
To the casual observer, she looked completely composed.
Silva La Forge was naturally a commanding woman that held the attention of any room she graced with her presence.
But Geordi could sense she was shaken. He knew her well enough to detect the slightest change in her posture and breathing.
She gasped audibly and clutched her desk, relieved and stunned at the sight of her beloved son.
"Geordi," she breathed.
Geordi's mouth went dry.
Sonya was still sitting at the table and she could see that Geordi was struggling.
"Psst! Say something," she whispered, waving at the screen.
She flashed Geordi a brilliant smile and a thumbs up for encouragement.
"Hi mum," Geordi began with a nervous grin.
He was fidgeting with his hands just below the screen as he shifted his weight from one foot to the next.
"It's uh.. it's really good to hear your voice," Geordi confessed.
His eyes started to well up with tears.
"Oh Geordi, if I could be there with you right now I would give you the longest hug," Silva said in a soothing voice.
From her place at the table, Sonya was relieved to see Geordi relax. Now that he was on his way, she made to sneak out, tip-toeing across the carpet.
"No wait!" Geordi called out.
"I'm not going anywhere," Silva assured him with a smile. "We're free of the Aroglias Cluster and I've blocked out my whole evening. I'm yours and I'm happy to talk all night, son."
Geordi glanced from his mother on the screen to where Sonya had stopped just shy of the door.
Sonya silently motioned to the corridor, signalling she was going to leave. She knew how important it was to Geordi to reveal their relationship to his parents in his own time.
To her astonishment, Geordi waved her over.
Sonya blinked, confused.
"Please?" Geordi requested, beckoning Sonya to his position.
Sonya was equally as stunned as Geordi took hold of her hand and pulled her onscreen.
"Mother, I'd like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Ensign Sonya Gomez," Geordi said.
Geordi had resolved that life was too short to dance around hiding his relationship from his family any longer. He was close with his mother and Sonya was incredibly important to him.
"Sonya, this is my mother, Captain Silva La Forge," Geordi said, beaming with pride.
The next morning, Tasha drug herself out of bed and into the lavvy. She was grateful Data had been called away earlier to deal with a minor issue over scheduling in the environmental lab.
That meant he wasn't there to see her get sick.
Again.
After she'd finally stopped retching, Tasha leaned against the wall and let her head fall back.
She closed her eyes and focused on the feel of the cool tile on the floor and the wall. It provided little relief for her churning stomach.
Tasha clutched her abdomen.
It wasn't just nausea – there were cramps too. Funny ones that felt different than riding the crimson wave.
She had leg cramps. Headaches. Fatigue. Tasha felt as if she were fighting a cold. She was off food. Even the smell of Data's pipe was unbearable.
The mood swings.
A dark thought settled in the back of Tasha's mind.
It was a thought Tasha had never considered because it was as impossible as it was ridiculous.
She couldn't be pregnant.
Data said it himself – it wasn't possible for his system to release the DNA contained in his cold storage. His biofluid was free of little swimmers. Geordi, Data, and Doctor Crusher had run extensive tests.
At least, he wasn't supposed to be shooting loaded photon torpedoes.
Just like how he couldn't taste, eh? A little voice said in the back of Tasha's mind.
Or feel emotion?
Tasha's breathing became laboured as her mind began to spiral. She had to remind herself that the assumptions about Data's ability to taste and feel were based on the work of the disgraced Bruce Maddox whereas Data's reproductive ability (or lack thereof) was determined by his own research.
That was an important distinction in Tasha's book.
And yet.
Tasha hissed as she cupped her own tender breasts.
Fear gripped her heart.
Tasha recognised the signs. And if there was one thing to make Tasha Yar quake in her boots it was pregnancy.
She had watched her own mother (and a lot of other women) die in childbirth on Turkana. Tasha had spent most of her life desperately trying to avoid any prospect of pregnancy out of fear.
On Turkana, it was a matter of survival.
She had been down this road once before in another life.
Tasha hadn't been ready then and she certainly wasn't now.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of any other possible explanation – as well as any other way to confirm her fear.
Tasha would like to avoid Sickbay if possible, at least until she knew for certain.
Tasha checked left, right, and then left again.
With agility that came from years of covert operations training, Tasha slipped around the corner and into the medical storage locker.
Following the inventory pattern, she skimmed past the specimen containers, analgesic creams, and allergy treatments until she found what she had come for.
"Something I can help you with?"
Tasha whipped around to find Beverly leaning against the shelf. Her arms were crossed, and she was wearing a smug look of satisfaction.
"Whatcha got?" Beverly asked.
Tasha shrugged, feigning innocence.
"I uh, I just came to," Tasha fumbled for an excuse.
"What are you hiding behind your back?" Beverly inquired, eyeing Tasha's pathetic attempt to hide the object.
"Oh! This," Tasha said.
Beverly blinked. She glanced up at Tasha and then back to the pregnancy test she was holding in her hand.
"It's obviously not for me," Tasha lied.
"Well I know that much," Beverly replied.
Tasha could hardly believe Beverly was sold on her excuse.
"What's going on?" Beverly pressed.
"It's for someone that came to my office," Tasha said.
She felt terrible for lying to Beverly, but Tasha simply couldn't face going to Sickbay – not until she'd had time to process this on her own.
Tasha leaned in close and dropped her voice.
"Someone that would rather not go to Sickbay just yet for personal reasons," Tasha whispered.
"Say no more," Beverly replied, patting her hand.
There were nearly a hundred people that worked in or adjacent to Sickbay. The Medical staff was one of the largest divisions on the ship. Beverly could sympathise with someone looking for a bit of privacy for a matter so personal.
"Promise me that you will delicately encourage them to come see me? They can even drop by my quarters," Beverly offered.
"Right," Tasha nodded.
She simply wanted to exit as quickly as possible.
But on Tasha's way out the door, Beverly caught her arm.
"And speaking of avoiding Sickbay, you're about three months overdue for your physical," Beverly said.
"Mmm hmm," Tasha nodded before racing out the door.
Tasha's hands were shaking so badly by the time she reached her quarters that she could barely unwrap the test.
Beverly's comment about Tasha's overdue physical was also a horrifying reminder that she was also overdue for her contraceptives.
It had been months since her last dose.
Tasha gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself.
No point in putting it off.
Resolved it would be best to just get it over with, Tasha ripped open the test and stripped off her uniform – grumbling the entire time about the design of her jumpsuit.
They were incredibly useful while on the job but not terribly easy to get in or out of. Tasha kicked away her uniform.
She was about to start when something caught her eye – a small glint in her standard issue shorts.
Curious, Tasha reached between her thighs. When she withdrew her hand she was surprised to find blood.
Tasha laughed out loud.
Of course.
All the signs and symptoms she couldn't blame on vitamins and early mornings – her fatigue, her mood swings, even her swollen breasts – it could all be explained away thanks to her menstrual cycle.
Tasha sat down against the wall and sighed with relief.
Should have known. She mused.
Tasha's cycle had never been regular. Between stress and her physical training, Tasha had struggled with irregular periods ever since her time at the Academy.
It had been over a decade since Tasha had experienced any sort of 'regularity' when it came to her cycle.
Tasha was relieved. It was like a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Even the fatigue seemed to melt away in light of realising all her stress had simply been due to her period.
She was going to celebrate with an extra large Raktajino.
Tasha was about to get up when she stopped, a lump forming in her throat.
She couldn't understand the wave of emotions that flooded her mind. If she was so glad, why did Tasha have to force herself to think about it?
I'm happy.
Tasha repeated the phrase in her mind over and over – right before she started to sob.
Tasha wanted to be happy. More than anything, she longed to relish in the relief of not being pregnant. It was too soon.
But there was a little part of Tasha that was sorry she wasn't.
Because for a brief moment there had been a little flutter of hope that she might really be starting that family with Data.
After composing herself, Tasha emerged from the lavvy. She surmised it was best she'd kept her suspicion from Data for fear of letting him down.
Won't need that. Tasha thought as she tossed the unused pregnancy test into the waste disposal unit.
Two days later, Data returned home from an evening on the holodeck with Geordi & Miles. Geordi was in an unusually good mood – so much so that Miles joked he was 'back from the dead.'
This time it was the court of Henry VIII and the naval Battle of Solent complete with their doublets, hose, and ruffs.
Tasha was on the floor stretching when Data stepped inside.
She glanced from a deep hamstring stretch and burst out laughing at the sight of him. His grandiose feathered cap and his elaborately embroidered doublet were all too much.
Tasha leapt up and circled Data, studying his costume up and down.
"This was quite fashionable in ancient times," Data pointed out.
Tasha tossed aside his absurd ruffled collar.
"That's better," she said.
She grinned. Data was really quite dashing in his getup. His breath hitched as she pawed at his hose.
"Tasha?" Data prompted.
"Relax, sailor. I just want to admire your codpiece," she teased.
Data's neural net surged.
"You are feeling quite amorous," Data remarked, noting the increase in Tasha's heart rate and her heavy breathing.
Amorous was an understatement.
"How about bed first and dinner after?" Tasha suggested.
She pressed herself against Data, nibbling at his ear.
"I've been thinking about you all day," she shared in a low voice.
Data's bioplast prickled with excitement.
"Then let us step into the shower," he said.
"No, no. I'd rather undress you myself in the bedroom," Tasha said as she ran her hands over his broad shoulders.
Data cocked his head to the side in surprise.
He had no qualms about sex while Tasha was on her period. Data considered it only natural. He recognised her menstrual cycle was highly irregular – though Data had enjoyed the increased libido that accompanied that time of the month (on the rare occasions it came).
Throughout the duration of their relationship, Tasha had only experienced a handful of cycles.
And she usually insisted on sex in the shower to save her sheets.
Data opened his mouth to ask, but Tasha anticipated his question.
"It's done," she declared.
Data's brow wrinkled as he ran the calculations.
"In two days?" he asked in disbelief. "That seems fast."
Tasha shrugged.
"It was light," she explained. "I've never been regular."
Data scooped her up and they retired to the bedroom for the evening.
Two weeks later, Data and Tasha were snuggled on the sofa enjoying dinner from Ten Forward.
"Are you going to finish-"
"Take it," Data said, shoving the takeaway box toward her.
He was overjoyed Tasha's appetite had returned.
"Thanks," she said.
Tasha reached into the box with her chopsticks before stuffing another steamed bun into her mouth – followed by the bean curd rolls, the nosh bean tempura, and the radish cakes.
She even polished off a second box of lo mein.
"I am pleased to see you eating again," Data said.
He smiled and leaned in close to kiss her cheek.
Tasha shrugged.
"Training," she responded through a mouthful of grilled pineapple.
For the first time in nearly three months, Tasha felt like her training was finally starting to pay off.
"You are in a good mood," Data observed.
Tasha was beaming.
"Yeah. Worf's none too happy," she explained as she picked through the takeaway boxes.
Tasha was rummaging through them, foraging for any leftovers that had yet to be claimed.
"I'm up another three pounds this week plus the four and half from last week," Tasha explained.
Her gains had exceeded her wildest dreams – just over half a stone in the last two weeks. Worf was jealous. He had tried everything.
"At this rate, I'll be back in fighting shape for the sparring tournament in no time," Tasha remarked.
"If you are happy, I am happy," Data said.
Tasha flopped back against the sofa and sighed.
"I would be happy if we had more sweet and sticky tofu," Tasha lamented.
Data did not hesitate. He immediately rose from the sofa, fully prepared to make a second run to Ten Forward.
Tasha caught the hem of his shirt and pulled Data back down to the sofa.
"No, I didn't mean to send you running," Tasha explained.
Data gripped Tasha's chin, turning her face toward him.
"You know you had best eat up now as we will not be able to get takeaway on Føroyar," Data advised.
"I think I'll be rather occupied with other things," Tasha replied with a knowing grin.
"The cat?" Data suggested.
Tasha chuckled.
Data's face fell.
"Forgive me, I thought our discussion about the cat was serious," Data said.
"Awww. It was. We'll get one. After," Tasha promised, kissing the tip of his nose.
She nuzzled against his face and pulled Data's hands into her lap.
"But we're not taking anybody else with us to Føroyar," Tasha said. "Just you-"
She pressed a kiss to his jawline.
"Me," she went on nibbling at his neck. "And gentleness-"
Data closed his eyes as her lips ghosted along his skin.
"And joy."
Data's coolant system skipped a beat.
"Mmm, and love," Tasha said, capturing the spot just below his ear with her mouth.