Fic Post: Uncomfortable
Title: Uncomfortable
Author: vegawriters
Series: Imzadi
Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Pairing: Deanna Troi/Worf; Deanna Troi/Will Riker
Rating: Mature
Timeframe: Pre All Good Things
A/N: The novelization of Descent shows Lore threatening Deanna. And there is a fantastic fic Uncanny by Konstantya that also addresses some of these ideas.
Disclaimer: Per usual, I don't make any money from this, but if they're hiring ...
I think we should make out …
- Halestorm/Do Not Disturb
Summary: It wouldn’t be such an issue if she and Will weren’t in some strange, frustrating dance. Her rather valid excuses for not wanting to get back into a committed relationship with him following the situation with Alkar had only led to them circling each other, just out of arm’s reach.
Every punch she landed on the heavy bag was a release. One. Two. Three. Arms close to her body, core tight, the kinetic energy of the blow vibrating back into her tendons and muscles. Over and over, she lashed out, grunting with exertion, pushing aside the images that refused to leave her be.
Jev. Alkar. Lore.
She pushed through a twinge in her back, landing another blow, and another.
Every time her fist connected to the bag, she let go of the tension that still haunted her. How many times had her mind been taken over by some alien? How many more would it happen? How many more times would she wake from an hallucination only to find memories she couldn’t shake that had never actually happened?
Daniel Kwan’s memories. Data attacking her. Ian. Godsdamnit. Ian. Her mother. Kestra.
A scream ripped from her throat and she unleashed the last of her energy into the bag before collapsing against the weight of it. She shivered, sweat rolling down her body, before the bag grunted and shifted and she stepped back before falling forward. Worf came around the other side, a look of approval on his face.
“For an exercise that is not your usual forte, you managed that admirably.”
Deanna chuckled and walked back to the low bench at the edge of the training gymnasium that Worf usually reserved for his security trainings. She retrieved her towel and pressed it to her face, still catching her breath. “I’m not one to seek a violent outlet, but … sometimes, you just need to punch something. Even I can acknowledge that.”
She could feel Worf’s presence behind her, just out of reach, a presence she still wasn’t sure how to address. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice pitched low and soft.
Deanna looked at her sparring partner and nodded, flexing her sore fingers a few times. The truth was, she wasn’t all right. Despite the psionic work she was doing to rebuild her walls, and the extensive therapy she was receiving still from the doctors back on Betazed, she was frustrated. Her dreams were haunted by interchangeable images of Lore and Data and Jev and Alkar. She still had nightmares of Daniel Kwan’s experience and being trapped in her mother’s mind, hunting for Kestra.
When awake, her skin crawled whenever anyone came close to her and she was quick to tire and easily overstimulated. Logically, Deanna knew the signs of post-traumatic stress. She knew tricks and techniques to calm her nerves and work through the damage. But her brain was still healing itself and days like today, she found herself climbing the walls. “Thank you for holding the bag.”
Worf smiled, a tender smile he’d been giving her since his trip through the parallel universes. Only she knew what he’d left out of his report, the universes he’d jumped through, the times he’d found himself in a relationship with her, the times she’d been dead, the times she’d been married to Will. Only she knew of the intimate details of the kiss he’d shared with one of her alternates. She was torn now, able to acknowledge an attraction she’d always had to her friend, while still wondering if she wasn’t falling into the trap created because Worf had granted himself the permission to accept his feelings.
It wouldn’t be such an issue if she and Will weren’t in some strange, frustrating dance. Her rather valid excuses for not wanting to get back into a committed relationship with him following the situation with Alkar had only led to them circling each other, just out of arm’s reach. They went to dinner, stayed up all night talking, and more than they’d admit, fell asleep in each other’s arms, but nothing was happening with them and she sat perfectly still while he flirted his way through a growing number of science officers and engineers. She wasn’t jealous. Far from it. Her frustration had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her own inaction and paralysis.
It was a long road back to strength.
She sighed and rubbed her neck, looking back at Worf, who was busying himself with putting the gymnasium back in order. She appreciated his nervous energy and couldn’t help but share it.
Gods, this was the last thing her therapists and doctors would order: to sooth out her traumatized soul while finding herself in a love triangle that just didn’t make a damn bit of sense. If Will and Worf were any other men, she’d just enjoy herself. She’d be honest, letting them know she wasn’t planning on being exclusive, and go from there. But they were best friends and she didn’t want to create tension with either of them. Even if she was healthy it would be tricky and, right now, she wasn’t.
Still, there was a part of her that was now curious about the explorations of her parallel selves and what it would mean to release her stress not into the weight of a heavy bag or in a calisthenics class but instead in bed with Worf.
Once, she’d balked at even being alone in a room with Will and what it might represent. Seven years later, she was weighing the consequences of a sexual relationship with Worf, son of Mogh. Gods of Betazed, who was she?
And now, the silence was awkward and heavy and she could feel the energy running through him and it wouldn’t take much to reach across the small distance between them and give in.
Deanna cleared her throat and stepped back. No. Not here. Not because she was crawling out of her skin. “I should go.”
“Deanna?” Worf reached out and took her hand, bringing her back to him. For all his size and fury, she was always surprised at how gentle he could be. “I need to know … when you said to me after the situation with Daniel Kwan …”
“That hell hath no fury?” A breath shuddered out of her. He nodded. “Worf, I don’t even know if we should talk about it. My subconscious took elements from my immediate life. You were literally standing next to me. If it had been Beverly, chances are my mind would have placed her in the moment instead of you.” He tensed then and Deanna took the break to step back, giving them both space. “But,” she let herself admit, “I can’t say I minded the fantasy.”
That was all it took. The wall of stress and frustration broke between them and she was up against the wall, her legs around his waist while his mouth made a damn meal of her neck. The part of her that needed to break, that needed to not be fawned over by someone who knew her as well as Will did, that part gave in and opened herself to Worf’s attention and when he ordered the computer to lock the door, she quaked with anticipation.
There was nothing gentle about the moment and she could feel his surprise that she matched his energy as he ripped her shirt open and lowered them both to the floor. There was little foreplay, little teasing, only her gasp as he pushed into her body and his roaring in her ear when her nails raked down his back.
Every part of her that knew not to let this happen was shoved down under the weight of trama-based bad decisions and when they lay gasping after leaving scratches and bite marks and bruises on each other, she found that for the first time in a long time, she just didn’t care. It wasn’t healthy, but gods above, she needed to make some unhealthy decisions for herself for once. Too often over the past few years, she hadn’t been in control of any of what had happened to her and despite the fact that Worf had clearly held back in order to not break her, this had been something she had decided on.
Now, she just had to hope that Worf wouldn’t fall into his usual patterns and try to make this moment into something drawn out and intimate and bonded. She had Will for that and right now, it was the last thing she wanted.
Before the afterglow could become awkward, Deanna sat up and reached for her bag. While unabashed in her nudity, she also didn’t want the walk back to her quarters to make others in the crew uncomfortable. Worf sat up on his elbows, watching her dress, and she took her own time to rake her eyes across his naked form, appreciating him truly for the first time. Oh, she wouldn’t mind a second round.
“Deanna …” his voice held the soft, tender note she didn’t need. Not right now. But she didn’t want to hurt him either. Then, she spied the quirked eyebrow and the smirk and let the relief flood through her. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, Worf. I’m fine.” She grinned and sat down on the bench, crossed one leg over the other, and watched him get up to don the clothes he’d pushed aside in the heat of the moment. The smell of sex and sweat hung in the air and Deanna wanted to pull him to her, to taste him, to take her time with his body. Instead she leaned back and watched him re-tie his hair. This was the moment for the “what came next” conversation and she just didn’t want to do that, to define anything. She needed to feel just a little bit out of control - just enough to handle it, not enough to hurt herself - but she knew Worf wasn’t one for casual relationships.
Why couldn’t this have happened with the new Bajoran science officer?
Finally, Worf turned back to her and stalked to the bench. He crouched before her, that same gentle smirk on his face. “This wasn’t what I had planned for a first time with you.”
“You had a plan?” Deanna raised an eyebrow. “Worf …”
“I too am allowed my fantasies, Deanna.”
She smiled at that and reached out to stroke his cheek. “Yes, you are.”
“My instinct tells me that you aren’t ready for what I would naturally want.”
Deanna winced at the hurt he buried. Although his tone was calm and gentle, she could sense his emotional state, the control he was crafting to give her the space she needed. This had been an encounter charged as much by her anger as the natural tension of the workout. He wanted a relationship, was geared toward monogamy, and she wasn’t ready.
God, Will. Did she tell him? She sensed he would know.
“Your instincts are right, Worf. And I’m sorry they are, to be honest. But I don’t want to even explore a relationship. Not right now.” She took a breath. “Still, I wouldn’t turn down the occasional dinner. Or … workout …”
Worf rose easily to his feet and she stood with him, giving grace to the kiss he sought. His teeth taunted her lips, his tongue invaded her mouth, and it was everything she could do to not climb him all over again. Instead, she pulled back, giving space, and letting them both breathe. “I should go,” she said quietly, before this went somewhere she just couldn’t go. “Computer, disengage door locks.” A hiss and pop signaled the door unlocking and Deanna pulled back, grabbed her bag, and headed to her quarters. She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that Worf hadn’t followed.
***
This. Wasn’t. Good.
Worf knew that his obsession over all things Honorable and Klingon was, at times, outdated and conservative. He knew that the Empire’s mythos of the Grand, Upstanding Warrior was more a story than a reality. But, it was who he was as a Klingon. Living in a human world, he’d had to learn to walk their lines, to not scare them, to uphold the vision of the genteel Klingon whose blood only raged for battle. The anti-warrior who would protect them while hurting none.
Yet, the Passion of Kahless guided his actions, bringing him peace in his darkest, most confusing times. He knew, truly, that mating with someone did not mean they had to be bonded for life. But he did not like sharing that part of himself with someone who didn’t want to be with him, to be serious. Sex for him was not casual, and despite his trying to take the whole moment lightly, he had forgotten that for a woman like Deanna, it could be. Since the parallel universes, since seeing that he could have a happy marriage with her, since seeing children and time together, and the idea that Commander Riker would grant his blessing for him to court her, he’d perhaps let his mind wander a bit too far into a fantasy that could not possibly come true.
Despite his lovesick heart, it didn’t take doctorate level degrees in psychology to understand that Deanna was suffering right now, and it would be dishonorable to pursue beyond her level of comfort. Also, he wasn’t sure how Deanna would react to him asking permission of Commander Riker to begin a relationship, especially when it was clear that she didn’t want a relationship.
“Gah!” He shouted to no one, angry at himself for letting his control slip. If he’d just walked away … instead, he was here, covered in her scent, and unable to shake away the feeling of her nails in his back and the way she’d quaked around him as she climaxed. If he’d controlled himself rather than throw her back against the wall, he wouldn’t know the tone of her voice as she came or how she quivered in afterglow. Now he knew, and he couldn’t go back, and even though she’d said she wouldn’t turn down dinner, this was different territory for him.
Or, was it?
After all, K’ehleyr had refused to take the oath. Twice. And she’d never told him about Alexander until it was almost too late. Maybe the human adage was true - that opposites attracted and he was forever destined to love women who couldn’t understand his desire for stability and commitment.
But questions plagued him. Did he love Deanna? Or was she safe? Comfortable? After all, Alexander adored her (and her mother). Maybe he was simply seeking out a mother for his son.
Again, he roared. This time, his fist connected with the heavy bag and while the punch was satisfying, it still smelled of Deanna and Worf knew he had to get out of the gymnasium before he broke something. He had to shower and prepare for shift and somehow stand on the bridge while Deanna sat below with Commander Riker.
Worf turned from his march to his quarters and ended up in front of holodeck one. Quickly, he keyed in the appropriate program, stepped inside, and kicked a shipload of demons into submission.
***
“Out with it,” Beverly said as she set a bottle of Bajoran Spring Wine between them.
“What?” Deanna jumped back into the conversation, ripping her eyes away from the view of the Keltix 3 moon outside. “Gods, I’m sorry.”
“That face is usually reserved for you and Will,” Beverly accused as she sank into her spot on the couch. “And let me tell you, Deanna, I’m kind of tired of watching the two of you circle each other.”
Deanna rolled her eyes at her best friend’s jab. “Same, actually.” Usually, she appreciated the gossip and girl chat. Beverly was a lot like Chandra, and Deanna liked the bond they shared. Still, tonight, she wasn’t in the mood to laugh about it. Slowly, she poured herself a glass of wine. “Can I turn the tables for a moment and promise you that I’m not deflecting?”
Her friend nodded, suddenly serious.
“The flirtation between you and the Captain. Is it something that could be real? Or is it just that, a flirtation, that has built into feelings because you serve together and after a while, comfort becomes romance?”
“You’re the psychologist.”
“Please?”
“What’s happened?”
Deanna shook her head. “Just. Please.”
Silence filled the room and Deanna let Beverly think. She sipped her wine and watched the red moon outside the viewport. Finally, Beverly’s soft voice broke through and she looked over. “No,” Beverly said. “Don’t get me wrong, I adore Jean-Luc, and a part of me truly wouldn’t mind if we took whatever is between us to a different level. And, my hesitation, it isn’t about ruining a friendship. I think we could survive as friends if a romance didn’t work out. But if we weren’t serving so closely, if we didn’t have the memory of Jack between us, I don’t know if we’d be anything other than a sad memory to each other.” There was a pause and the tone in her voice changed. “Is this about Will?”
“Indirectly.” Deanna sighed and took another sip of wine. “I think, right now, I’m just angry we …” she stopped and suddenly, another piece of what was wrong clicked in her gut. Standing, she walked as close to the viewport as she could. “I think, right now, I’m irrationally angry that we didn’t get married when we could have. Which, is silly. There’s nothing to say that some of what I’ve gone through over the past few years wouldn’t have happened even if we were married, and there’s all kinds of evidence to show I’d push him away like I’m doing right now.”
“At least you’re admitting it,” Beverly said with a dry chuckle. “I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything. I still have scars from the last time I tried to play psychologist.”
Deanna laughed and shook her head. “I know. And I’d probably take your head off all over again.”
“Okay, but, as a friend, what’s going on?”
Turning from the viewport, Deanna moved back to the couch and sank down, setting the wine on the glass table. Her eyes fixated on one of Beverly’s orchids as it spilled out - Worf, the flirtation, the parallel universes, the other day in the gym that she could still feel deep in her inner thighs. Beverly sat, unblinking, until Deanna finished.
“And?” She finally said.
Deanna bristled. “What do you mean?”
“You told Worf you didn’t want anything serious and that’s his issue to deal with, not yours. If he doesn’t want to go another six rounds in the gym because he wants to take some blood oath or another, then that’s on him. And at the risk of playing therapist, Deanna, you are still healing from an attempted murder. You might be pushing Will away, but he’s pushing you away, too. He almost lost you and if I’ve learned anything about the two of you, it’s that the worst thing that could happen would be … well … that. So now, he needs to know what it feels like to be someone who …” she shrugged, “who doesn’t need you.”
The realization stung, but Deanna knew Beverly was right.
“You need to feel a bit out of control, which, to be fair, could be good for you.” Beverly refilled her glass. “It isn’t easy being … you know.”
“A daughter of the High Houses of Betazed who is also a Starfleet Officer?” Deanna rolled her eyes. “It’s going on my crypt marker.” They both laughed. But, Beverly had a point. “Honestly, it’s something I think I appreciate about Worf,” Deanna said, surprising them both.
“What?”
“He knows what it’s like to walk two worlds and how much of a headache it can cause.”
“And,” Beverly challenged, “if you weren’t serving together, he would be just another officer who, when you walked by him at a space station, you looked twice at. But, Deanna, you are serving with him and as long as you think you can maintain a friendship with him when it all falls apart - which it will - then maybe, letting yourself be a little bit out of control and have some fun isn’t a bad thing.”
Deanna could sense her friend’s own frustration and tilted her head, hoping to change the tide of the conversation. “Beverly, are you okay?”
The redhead shrugged and smiled. “You’ve got me thinking is all. About Jean-Luc. About Odan. About Jack.” She sighed. “You know, old Earth history teaches us that women were always defined by the men in our lives and not what we did. But, honestly, my lovers are a part of who I am.” She sighed. “I still feel weird about Odan, you know.”
“You shouldn’t. I encouraged you.”
“Deanna, you and Will were back together and don’t tell me that my situation with Odan didn’t drive you apart again.”
“It made me rethink things is all.”
“You’re so scared of being hurt, Deanna. Maybe, sometimes, you should take some of your own therapeutic advice.”
Deanna was quiet for a long time before meeting Beverly’s eyes. “But here’s the thing, Beverly … what if Will and me? What if we …” tears clouded her vision. “What if the reason these feelings are still there is only because we’re serving together? What if really, it all ended on the day he left me back on Betazed and we’re just torturing each other?”
Beverly reached out, topped off both of their wine glasses, and then waited until the silence was uncomfortable to respond. “You’re an idiot, Deanna Troi. And you know it. That’s why you’re asking me the question. The real issue is not you and Will or if having sex with Worf was a good idea - and it probably wasn’t. But the fact is, for the first time since before Alkar, you just let yourself do something. You didn’t overthink it. I think that’s something to celebrate. Have dinner and more sex with Worf or don’t, it doesn’t matter. I think you’re finally starting to feel like yourself again, for the first time in a very long time, and that’s actually was terrifying to you.” She quirked a smile. “Congratulations, Counselor. You’re healing.”
Deanna laughed. Full and real and fresh, she laughed. “Yeah, you have a point.”
“I know.” Beverly chuckled.
Deanna finished her wine and stood up. “I … have a stop to make before I get to bed.”
Beverly’s eyes twinkled and her "have fun!" followed Deanna out the door. She paused in the hallway, took a breath, and made her way down the corridor.
Author: vegawriters
Series: Imzadi
Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Pairing: Deanna Troi/Worf; Deanna Troi/Will Riker
Rating: Mature
Timeframe: Pre All Good Things
A/N: The novelization of Descent shows Lore threatening Deanna. And there is a fantastic fic Uncanny by Konstantya that also addresses some of these ideas.
Disclaimer: Per usual, I don't make any money from this, but if they're hiring ...
I think we should make out …
- Halestorm/Do Not Disturb
Summary: It wouldn’t be such an issue if she and Will weren’t in some strange, frustrating dance. Her rather valid excuses for not wanting to get back into a committed relationship with him following the situation with Alkar had only led to them circling each other, just out of arm’s reach.
Every punch she landed on the heavy bag was a release. One. Two. Three. Arms close to her body, core tight, the kinetic energy of the blow vibrating back into her tendons and muscles. Over and over, she lashed out, grunting with exertion, pushing aside the images that refused to leave her be.
Jev. Alkar. Lore.
She pushed through a twinge in her back, landing another blow, and another.
Every time her fist connected to the bag, she let go of the tension that still haunted her. How many times had her mind been taken over by some alien? How many more would it happen? How many more times would she wake from an hallucination only to find memories she couldn’t shake that had never actually happened?
Daniel Kwan’s memories. Data attacking her. Ian. Godsdamnit. Ian. Her mother. Kestra.
A scream ripped from her throat and she unleashed the last of her energy into the bag before collapsing against the weight of it. She shivered, sweat rolling down her body, before the bag grunted and shifted and she stepped back before falling forward. Worf came around the other side, a look of approval on his face.
“For an exercise that is not your usual forte, you managed that admirably.”
Deanna chuckled and walked back to the low bench at the edge of the training gymnasium that Worf usually reserved for his security trainings. She retrieved her towel and pressed it to her face, still catching her breath. “I’m not one to seek a violent outlet, but … sometimes, you just need to punch something. Even I can acknowledge that.”
She could feel Worf’s presence behind her, just out of reach, a presence she still wasn’t sure how to address. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice pitched low and soft.
Deanna looked at her sparring partner and nodded, flexing her sore fingers a few times. The truth was, she wasn’t all right. Despite the psionic work she was doing to rebuild her walls, and the extensive therapy she was receiving still from the doctors back on Betazed, she was frustrated. Her dreams were haunted by interchangeable images of Lore and Data and Jev and Alkar. She still had nightmares of Daniel Kwan’s experience and being trapped in her mother’s mind, hunting for Kestra.
When awake, her skin crawled whenever anyone came close to her and she was quick to tire and easily overstimulated. Logically, Deanna knew the signs of post-traumatic stress. She knew tricks and techniques to calm her nerves and work through the damage. But her brain was still healing itself and days like today, she found herself climbing the walls. “Thank you for holding the bag.”
Worf smiled, a tender smile he’d been giving her since his trip through the parallel universes. Only she knew what he’d left out of his report, the universes he’d jumped through, the times he’d found himself in a relationship with her, the times she’d been dead, the times she’d been married to Will. Only she knew of the intimate details of the kiss he’d shared with one of her alternates. She was torn now, able to acknowledge an attraction she’d always had to her friend, while still wondering if she wasn’t falling into the trap created because Worf had granted himself the permission to accept his feelings.
It wouldn’t be such an issue if she and Will weren’t in some strange, frustrating dance. Her rather valid excuses for not wanting to get back into a committed relationship with him following the situation with Alkar had only led to them circling each other, just out of arm’s reach. They went to dinner, stayed up all night talking, and more than they’d admit, fell asleep in each other’s arms, but nothing was happening with them and she sat perfectly still while he flirted his way through a growing number of science officers and engineers. She wasn’t jealous. Far from it. Her frustration had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her own inaction and paralysis.
It was a long road back to strength.
She sighed and rubbed her neck, looking back at Worf, who was busying himself with putting the gymnasium back in order. She appreciated his nervous energy and couldn’t help but share it.
Gods, this was the last thing her therapists and doctors would order: to sooth out her traumatized soul while finding herself in a love triangle that just didn’t make a damn bit of sense. If Will and Worf were any other men, she’d just enjoy herself. She’d be honest, letting them know she wasn’t planning on being exclusive, and go from there. But they were best friends and she didn’t want to create tension with either of them. Even if she was healthy it would be tricky and, right now, she wasn’t.
Still, there was a part of her that was now curious about the explorations of her parallel selves and what it would mean to release her stress not into the weight of a heavy bag or in a calisthenics class but instead in bed with Worf.
Once, she’d balked at even being alone in a room with Will and what it might represent. Seven years later, she was weighing the consequences of a sexual relationship with Worf, son of Mogh. Gods of Betazed, who was she?
And now, the silence was awkward and heavy and she could feel the energy running through him and it wouldn’t take much to reach across the small distance between them and give in.
Deanna cleared her throat and stepped back. No. Not here. Not because she was crawling out of her skin. “I should go.”
“Deanna?” Worf reached out and took her hand, bringing her back to him. For all his size and fury, she was always surprised at how gentle he could be. “I need to know … when you said to me after the situation with Daniel Kwan …”
“That hell hath no fury?” A breath shuddered out of her. He nodded. “Worf, I don’t even know if we should talk about it. My subconscious took elements from my immediate life. You were literally standing next to me. If it had been Beverly, chances are my mind would have placed her in the moment instead of you.” He tensed then and Deanna took the break to step back, giving them both space. “But,” she let herself admit, “I can’t say I minded the fantasy.”
That was all it took. The wall of stress and frustration broke between them and she was up against the wall, her legs around his waist while his mouth made a damn meal of her neck. The part of her that needed to break, that needed to not be fawned over by someone who knew her as well as Will did, that part gave in and opened herself to Worf’s attention and when he ordered the computer to lock the door, she quaked with anticipation.
There was nothing gentle about the moment and she could feel his surprise that she matched his energy as he ripped her shirt open and lowered them both to the floor. There was little foreplay, little teasing, only her gasp as he pushed into her body and his roaring in her ear when her nails raked down his back.
Every part of her that knew not to let this happen was shoved down under the weight of trama-based bad decisions and when they lay gasping after leaving scratches and bite marks and bruises on each other, she found that for the first time in a long time, she just didn’t care. It wasn’t healthy, but gods above, she needed to make some unhealthy decisions for herself for once. Too often over the past few years, she hadn’t been in control of any of what had happened to her and despite the fact that Worf had clearly held back in order to not break her, this had been something she had decided on.
Now, she just had to hope that Worf wouldn’t fall into his usual patterns and try to make this moment into something drawn out and intimate and bonded. She had Will for that and right now, it was the last thing she wanted.
Before the afterglow could become awkward, Deanna sat up and reached for her bag. While unabashed in her nudity, she also didn’t want the walk back to her quarters to make others in the crew uncomfortable. Worf sat up on his elbows, watching her dress, and she took her own time to rake her eyes across his naked form, appreciating him truly for the first time. Oh, she wouldn’t mind a second round.
“Deanna …” his voice held the soft, tender note she didn’t need. Not right now. But she didn’t want to hurt him either. Then, she spied the quirked eyebrow and the smirk and let the relief flood through her. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, Worf. I’m fine.” She grinned and sat down on the bench, crossed one leg over the other, and watched him get up to don the clothes he’d pushed aside in the heat of the moment. The smell of sex and sweat hung in the air and Deanna wanted to pull him to her, to taste him, to take her time with his body. Instead she leaned back and watched him re-tie his hair. This was the moment for the “what came next” conversation and she just didn’t want to do that, to define anything. She needed to feel just a little bit out of control - just enough to handle it, not enough to hurt herself - but she knew Worf wasn’t one for casual relationships.
Why couldn’t this have happened with the new Bajoran science officer?
Finally, Worf turned back to her and stalked to the bench. He crouched before her, that same gentle smirk on his face. “This wasn’t what I had planned for a first time with you.”
“You had a plan?” Deanna raised an eyebrow. “Worf …”
“I too am allowed my fantasies, Deanna.”
She smiled at that and reached out to stroke his cheek. “Yes, you are.”
“My instinct tells me that you aren’t ready for what I would naturally want.”
Deanna winced at the hurt he buried. Although his tone was calm and gentle, she could sense his emotional state, the control he was crafting to give her the space she needed. This had been an encounter charged as much by her anger as the natural tension of the workout. He wanted a relationship, was geared toward monogamy, and she wasn’t ready.
God, Will. Did she tell him? She sensed he would know.
“Your instincts are right, Worf. And I’m sorry they are, to be honest. But I don’t want to even explore a relationship. Not right now.” She took a breath. “Still, I wouldn’t turn down the occasional dinner. Or … workout …”
Worf rose easily to his feet and she stood with him, giving grace to the kiss he sought. His teeth taunted her lips, his tongue invaded her mouth, and it was everything she could do to not climb him all over again. Instead, she pulled back, giving space, and letting them both breathe. “I should go,” she said quietly, before this went somewhere she just couldn’t go. “Computer, disengage door locks.” A hiss and pop signaled the door unlocking and Deanna pulled back, grabbed her bag, and headed to her quarters. She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that Worf hadn’t followed.
***
This. Wasn’t. Good.
Worf knew that his obsession over all things Honorable and Klingon was, at times, outdated and conservative. He knew that the Empire’s mythos of the Grand, Upstanding Warrior was more a story than a reality. But, it was who he was as a Klingon. Living in a human world, he’d had to learn to walk their lines, to not scare them, to uphold the vision of the genteel Klingon whose blood only raged for battle. The anti-warrior who would protect them while hurting none.
Yet, the Passion of Kahless guided his actions, bringing him peace in his darkest, most confusing times. He knew, truly, that mating with someone did not mean they had to be bonded for life. But he did not like sharing that part of himself with someone who didn’t want to be with him, to be serious. Sex for him was not casual, and despite his trying to take the whole moment lightly, he had forgotten that for a woman like Deanna, it could be. Since the parallel universes, since seeing that he could have a happy marriage with her, since seeing children and time together, and the idea that Commander Riker would grant his blessing for him to court her, he’d perhaps let his mind wander a bit too far into a fantasy that could not possibly come true.
Despite his lovesick heart, it didn’t take doctorate level degrees in psychology to understand that Deanna was suffering right now, and it would be dishonorable to pursue beyond her level of comfort. Also, he wasn’t sure how Deanna would react to him asking permission of Commander Riker to begin a relationship, especially when it was clear that she didn’t want a relationship.
“Gah!” He shouted to no one, angry at himself for letting his control slip. If he’d just walked away … instead, he was here, covered in her scent, and unable to shake away the feeling of her nails in his back and the way she’d quaked around him as she climaxed. If he’d controlled himself rather than throw her back against the wall, he wouldn’t know the tone of her voice as she came or how she quivered in afterglow. Now he knew, and he couldn’t go back, and even though she’d said she wouldn’t turn down dinner, this was different territory for him.
Or, was it?
After all, K’ehleyr had refused to take the oath. Twice. And she’d never told him about Alexander until it was almost too late. Maybe the human adage was true - that opposites attracted and he was forever destined to love women who couldn’t understand his desire for stability and commitment.
But questions plagued him. Did he love Deanna? Or was she safe? Comfortable? After all, Alexander adored her (and her mother). Maybe he was simply seeking out a mother for his son.
Again, he roared. This time, his fist connected with the heavy bag and while the punch was satisfying, it still smelled of Deanna and Worf knew he had to get out of the gymnasium before he broke something. He had to shower and prepare for shift and somehow stand on the bridge while Deanna sat below with Commander Riker.
Worf turned from his march to his quarters and ended up in front of holodeck one. Quickly, he keyed in the appropriate program, stepped inside, and kicked a shipload of demons into submission.
***
“Out with it,” Beverly said as she set a bottle of Bajoran Spring Wine between them.
“What?” Deanna jumped back into the conversation, ripping her eyes away from the view of the Keltix 3 moon outside. “Gods, I’m sorry.”
“That face is usually reserved for you and Will,” Beverly accused as she sank into her spot on the couch. “And let me tell you, Deanna, I’m kind of tired of watching the two of you circle each other.”
Deanna rolled her eyes at her best friend’s jab. “Same, actually.” Usually, she appreciated the gossip and girl chat. Beverly was a lot like Chandra, and Deanna liked the bond they shared. Still, tonight, she wasn’t in the mood to laugh about it. Slowly, she poured herself a glass of wine. “Can I turn the tables for a moment and promise you that I’m not deflecting?”
Her friend nodded, suddenly serious.
“The flirtation between you and the Captain. Is it something that could be real? Or is it just that, a flirtation, that has built into feelings because you serve together and after a while, comfort becomes romance?”
“You’re the psychologist.”
“Please?”
“What’s happened?”
Deanna shook her head. “Just. Please.”
Silence filled the room and Deanna let Beverly think. She sipped her wine and watched the red moon outside the viewport. Finally, Beverly’s soft voice broke through and she looked over. “No,” Beverly said. “Don’t get me wrong, I adore Jean-Luc, and a part of me truly wouldn’t mind if we took whatever is between us to a different level. And, my hesitation, it isn’t about ruining a friendship. I think we could survive as friends if a romance didn’t work out. But if we weren’t serving so closely, if we didn’t have the memory of Jack between us, I don’t know if we’d be anything other than a sad memory to each other.” There was a pause and the tone in her voice changed. “Is this about Will?”
“Indirectly.” Deanna sighed and took another sip of wine. “I think, right now, I’m just angry we …” she stopped and suddenly, another piece of what was wrong clicked in her gut. Standing, she walked as close to the viewport as she could. “I think, right now, I’m irrationally angry that we didn’t get married when we could have. Which, is silly. There’s nothing to say that some of what I’ve gone through over the past few years wouldn’t have happened even if we were married, and there’s all kinds of evidence to show I’d push him away like I’m doing right now.”
“At least you’re admitting it,” Beverly said with a dry chuckle. “I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything. I still have scars from the last time I tried to play psychologist.”
Deanna laughed and shook her head. “I know. And I’d probably take your head off all over again.”
“Okay, but, as a friend, what’s going on?”
Turning from the viewport, Deanna moved back to the couch and sank down, setting the wine on the glass table. Her eyes fixated on one of Beverly’s orchids as it spilled out - Worf, the flirtation, the parallel universes, the other day in the gym that she could still feel deep in her inner thighs. Beverly sat, unblinking, until Deanna finished.
“And?” She finally said.
Deanna bristled. “What do you mean?”
“You told Worf you didn’t want anything serious and that’s his issue to deal with, not yours. If he doesn’t want to go another six rounds in the gym because he wants to take some blood oath or another, then that’s on him. And at the risk of playing therapist, Deanna, you are still healing from an attempted murder. You might be pushing Will away, but he’s pushing you away, too. He almost lost you and if I’ve learned anything about the two of you, it’s that the worst thing that could happen would be … well … that. So now, he needs to know what it feels like to be someone who …” she shrugged, “who doesn’t need you.”
The realization stung, but Deanna knew Beverly was right.
“You need to feel a bit out of control, which, to be fair, could be good for you.” Beverly refilled her glass. “It isn’t easy being … you know.”
“A daughter of the High Houses of Betazed who is also a Starfleet Officer?” Deanna rolled her eyes. “It’s going on my crypt marker.” They both laughed. But, Beverly had a point. “Honestly, it’s something I think I appreciate about Worf,” Deanna said, surprising them both.
“What?”
“He knows what it’s like to walk two worlds and how much of a headache it can cause.”
“And,” Beverly challenged, “if you weren’t serving together, he would be just another officer who, when you walked by him at a space station, you looked twice at. But, Deanna, you are serving with him and as long as you think you can maintain a friendship with him when it all falls apart - which it will - then maybe, letting yourself be a little bit out of control and have some fun isn’t a bad thing.”
Deanna could sense her friend’s own frustration and tilted her head, hoping to change the tide of the conversation. “Beverly, are you okay?”
The redhead shrugged and smiled. “You’ve got me thinking is all. About Jean-Luc. About Odan. About Jack.” She sighed. “You know, old Earth history teaches us that women were always defined by the men in our lives and not what we did. But, honestly, my lovers are a part of who I am.” She sighed. “I still feel weird about Odan, you know.”
“You shouldn’t. I encouraged you.”
“Deanna, you and Will were back together and don’t tell me that my situation with Odan didn’t drive you apart again.”
“It made me rethink things is all.”
“You’re so scared of being hurt, Deanna. Maybe, sometimes, you should take some of your own therapeutic advice.”
Deanna was quiet for a long time before meeting Beverly’s eyes. “But here’s the thing, Beverly … what if Will and me? What if we …” tears clouded her vision. “What if the reason these feelings are still there is only because we’re serving together? What if really, it all ended on the day he left me back on Betazed and we’re just torturing each other?”
Beverly reached out, topped off both of their wine glasses, and then waited until the silence was uncomfortable to respond. “You’re an idiot, Deanna Troi. And you know it. That’s why you’re asking me the question. The real issue is not you and Will or if having sex with Worf was a good idea - and it probably wasn’t. But the fact is, for the first time since before Alkar, you just let yourself do something. You didn’t overthink it. I think that’s something to celebrate. Have dinner and more sex with Worf or don’t, it doesn’t matter. I think you’re finally starting to feel like yourself again, for the first time in a very long time, and that’s actually was terrifying to you.” She quirked a smile. “Congratulations, Counselor. You’re healing.”
Deanna laughed. Full and real and fresh, she laughed. “Yeah, you have a point.”
“I know.” Beverly chuckled.
Deanna finished her wine and stood up. “I … have a stop to make before I get to bed.”
Beverly’s eyes twinkled and her "have fun!" followed Deanna out the door. She paused in the hallway, took a breath, and made her way down the corridor.