"The Wake" by R.Schultz (cousindream@MSN.com )
Parts: 1/1
Series: TNG
Code: C, T, W, La, D (all/Y)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set in a period immediately after the official Memorial service for Natasha Yar in
"Skin Of Evil", in ST: The Next Generation.
Disclaimer: All things Star Trek belong to Paramount, and I'll put them all back in a moment.
Shouldn't sue because no money is involved here. This story belongs to me under common-law
copyright. Originally written in Oct., 2000, re-written in Nov., for the Femme_Fuh-q_Fest story
group. Sexual relations between adult (fictional) consenting females is mentioned, as well as the
other kind. If the thought bothers you, do not read. We're all supposed to accept the reality of
such relationships, are adult ourselves, and are writing for adults only. No graphic sex.
Will be posted to ASCEM. May be archived. I hope for some notification of the fact.
Comments please to: cousindream@MSN.com
THE WAKE
by R.Schultz
I was turning off the holo when the door chimed. On the other side stood Bev, Doctor Crusher.
Gray man's shirt, tapered black pants, still jittery but under control.
I stepped to meet her, embracing, holding, comforting. Controlling my own pains. I must be....
No, I must appear calm. For Bev and whoever else might appear tonight.
"Is that new, Deanna?" Meaning my yellow and red raiment.
"It's modeled on a Hind dress, called a Sari. Only this one has a tenth of the fabric, and simply
uses bind's to keep it together. Very comfortable, actually." A pause. "It seemed appropriate to
wear something gay and colorful tonight."
Beverly made a motion, and I stopped her. "Your choice is appropriate to you, Beverly. Friend.
Come, sit down, here, sit, let me play hostess. Please."
When I came back with the bucket and dark bottle and two glasses, Bev made to stand. I pushed
her down and poured a quarter glass for her, then me.
Cloudy, young, not yet aged. A Beaujolais, so red as to be black. Bev asked a question with a
look when she saw the label.
"It's from the estate of Jean-Luc's first cousin. It also is a Picard. I bought it to begin my lover's
education in wines. A pleasant sort of a schooling, yes?" I didn't need to say names. We raised
a silent toast as I sat down alongside my Doctor friend. I downed my wine in three smooth
draws. Bev stared at my now empty glass, then did the same.
The holo came on as I refilled our glasses. "Vivaldi?"
"Mozart. 'The Magic Flute' sung in German. It was a small gift. Waiting against my door one
night. She must have run to get there before me, she'd just been on the bridge."
The comedy began to unfold before us, the costumes glittering and tawdry, the singing superb. It
was the Martian State Company.
Bev's hand was shaking, forcing her to set the glass beside her on the deck. "She had this game,"
Beverly began. "She'd strip us both nude, you know how she was ...." A statement, not an
admission. A Starship was such a small village. We all knew who was seeing who. As in
Beverly and Natasha, and as in myself, Ship's Counselor, and Natasha.
Will, my Imzadi, had once mentioned the rumor of my affair with Tasha to me. That was all.
Just a mention, nothing more. He was jealous, I knew that, but isn't the essence of civilization
the ability to surmount our basest desires and turn them into civility?
"I know," I replied. "She would make love to me while the holo played behind her. Her eyes on
me, mine on the opera."
Bev added: "A few times she somehow presented me .... The opera, when it reached a
crescendo ..."
I gave a soft chuckle. "She knew her favorite operas well, and she timed them .... She knew
when the dramatic moments arrived. She did it for me too, only I called her on it." We held
hands, watching, not crying. Eventually we leaned together, leaned into each other, depended on
the other. The tears came then.
Tears only come readily when we are in the company of people we believe may sympathize with
us. Solitary tears are the worst because we will never receive closure from someone else. They
are our own gangrene. These were cleansing.
Bev had wisely worn no makeup, nor had I. Besides which, friends didn't count as someone we
had to be pretty for. Eventually we straightened up, the holo totally ignored.
"We may have other ... crew members, friends ... we might have other of her lovers here
tonight." I knew of three others. Bev looked oddly at me, knowing I was following another
chain of logic. There was something else I needed to say. To ask.
"In the near future, the very near future, could I. Come. To you for ... counseling?"
A stricken look blossomed on Bev's face. "Of course," she whispered. "Who does the Ship's
Counselor see when the Counselor needs help herself? I may not be very good at it, but I'd love
to have you visit me. Maybe I can learn from you. Good enough?"
She revealed why she had worn pants when she fished a small box from a pocket. Inside lay two
earrings. She gave them to me. "Please. Take them. Tasha would never let me return them.
She gave them to me that night I had the Birthday and told everyone I had a woman for a lover.
She put one through one of my ears, judging the result. I looked closely at the other. Both had a
heart of darkness behind transparent plas. I wondered what that jagged darkness was.
"It's steel, ordinary iron." Bev looked ready to cry again. "Tash was in the Legion, a mercenary
band. The local war was officially over, but no one told the explosive someone stepped on.
"Tash died then. Was revived, and for years afterward underwent operations to remove the
many fragments of shell-case still in her body. These were the very last. She carried them in her
heart for all that time, actually within her heart. When the Medico's of Starfleet finally retrieved
these last two souvenirs, Tasha kept them.
"She had them cut and polished and turned into plas-imbedded earrings. For me. Straight from
her heart to me. They were from her heart, Deanna, and I think you should have them rather
than me. You were her last lover, Deanna."
I was the one crying this time. When I leaned back, Bev carefully threaded the other one into my
other earlobe.
The door chimed. "Data," Bev said. She was wrong. Worf stood there in full uniform, still in
Fleet red.
Once I would have been surprised, now it seemed appropriate.
Worf carefully settled into a chair by the couch, tense, not knowing if he should leave. I came
back with a large blood wine for him, and told him to sit, to stay. After all, he belonged in this
special wake for Tasha's lovers.
We all here knew now that he, too, had been one of her special friends, her lovers.
"You and Lieutenant Yar enjoyed many holodeck exercises together, didn't you?" I dropped
inquiring words into this pool of silence.
"Yes," he returned, "Yellow Hair was learning the Bat'leth from me, and she was teaching me to
throw her Toothpick."
Bev appeared confused.
"It is a large knife, or short sword. With perfect balance and the ability turn over in the air in
three times it's length. When thrown correctly." I must see whether Worf would want that knife
as a personal memento.
"Is that when the two of you first were lovers?" I dug.
Bev goggled a touch, quickly taking another drink of wine. To Worf it was almost a
commendation. I had approved his meetings with Yar by bringing them into the open.
"It was ..." Stumbling for words. "Something I am proud of. Her taking me for a lover, a mate.
The first time ..." I believed our Klingon was blushing. "It was after she and you (indicating
Bev) were no longer mated. Yellow Hair. She ... It was a true Klingon mating, full of snarls
and yells and growling before she purred into my face and drew my blood. She had a Klingon
heart, Lieutenant Yar. She tore much flesh from my shoulders and arms and crest, gave me
much honor."
"Oh my..." Doctor Crusher murmured. "The times... I'd thought you were running the holodeck
with impaired safeties again. Battling demons that could draw blood. It was in a report to
Jean-Luc twice. Did he ever say anything to you?"
Bev was finally beginning to believe her own past lover had stepped from her bed into one with
a male in it. With a Klingon. REALLY rough sex. Ogawa probably fixed up Natasha's breaks
and lacerations without making it official.
I brought a large bowl of food, snacks, to lay on the table, the holovid off for now. Worf took a
few, staring at them.
"It's popcorn. Human food. Salted and exploded corn grains."
Bev dipped in with relish, almost stuffing her mouth. Most ungraceful. Almost. Worf tried
some, took more and larger samplings. His light twitching around the mouth I took for a smile.
The next one through the door was Geordi. He took a cold Rajah beer from the replicator, and
kissed both Bev and I before sitting down. Realizing Worf was here for the same reason as
himself. As were the two of us women.
"Academy?" I questioned. He had the grace to blush.
"Years ago, I was two years ahead of her at the Academy. She was a nice older woman for me,
two years older. We were both outsiders there," he laughed. His blush remained. "We had a
year and a half. We depended on each other for a great deal, during that time. She got me
through Tactics and summer maneuvers, I got her through Exobiology and Subatomic Theory."
Looking down at his drink. "I hoped once that we might stay together, but it didn't work out that
way. Even when we were assigned to the ENTERPRISE together. What was past was past. She
always assumed we'd stay friends, and you know how she could be when she had her mind set in
stasis. I guess that's what we were, on this ship. Friends.
"You remember with Q ... I had normal sight and I saw her, really saw her, for the first and only
time on the Bridge. She was all I wanted to look at."
Geordi didn't object when I signaled him to come into the kitchen nook with me. The lights
were dimmed and the sound was repressed. In our private semi-darkness he proved to me even
his blank eyes could cry. He had someone he could cry for, with, against, on. It was good.
Data appearing next was almost an anti-climax. He sat next to me on the couch, quiet. Until he
said suddenly: "I shall miss her. She was something very special to me." We all knew how.
Part of it. Their one-night love affair had to be one of the most widely known pairings in recent
Starfleet history.
He looked around, noting our silence. The first and last and only meeting of the Lover's Wake
for our Tasha.
The door-chime broke the silence. The door opened to reveal a short-haired white-blonde
maned human female. She was an Elec-Mag Tech from Com & Repairs. She was the last. She
didn't stay long, uncomfortable with us Upper Decks. So young she was. Samantha was her name.
She made an appointment for later, when I was alone. She had her own tears to shed.
In the lengthening silence Geordi finally said we should...play poker. We stared at him, willing
him to explain. "If she were here, she'd enjoy playing Poker. With us. Loving the way we'd try
to interact, trying not to growl at each other because we were all her lovers."
Never asking once if Tasha was lez or straight or bi. Natasha was Natasha. End of story.
"If not now, certainly we could schedule a game later. For Natasha. Sometimes we might think
of Tasha. Eventually we might be able to let her go.
"That's how it works, doesn't it? You let it go, over time, rather than holding it as tight to you as
you can?"
"Will..." My Imzadi. "He would like to join the poker games, if we have more than one. He's the
one who taught me Poker. He loves games, all types of games. I'll invite him, if it's acceptable
with everyone else?"
"The Natasha Yar Memorial Card Playing And Bullshitting Friday Night Poker Club?" Geordi
supplied. Our chief engineer was developing interesting bulges to his character.
"I'll invite Jean-Luc, the, ah, our Captain. It would do him good to be able to shed that damned
tight command facade once a week," Bev added.
"What about the Below-Decks, the girl that was just here?"
"Samantha?" Data supplied. "She is leaving the ENTERPRISE the middle of next month. With
more Life-Sciences training, she'll be advanced in rank, then sent to one of the Deep Space
stations. Maybe she'll stay at 24. That is large for a station. She will be able to learn many
skills there.
"Eventually assigned to one of the newer ships they're going to be building at Planarium. That is
what she is hoping for. Her request is for VOYAGER when it is built."
"Let's invite her anyway," I coaxed. "Give her a nice memory to take off the ship. Yes?" They
agreed.
"It will be two years before they even launch the keel of the first of the new class," Data
continued. "They're calling it the INTREPID class at the moment, but they may alter the class
title later. I hope they will retain the title for one of the ships themselves. It is very fitting.
"We are in agreement then? Poker Friday Nights?" We were all in agreement. "Shall we have
our first game now? I don't know if I'll want future meetings here, in my rooms. But we can
appropriate someplace later. I've a few decks of cards... Yes, Worf?" I asked.
"Will you show me how to play the game? I am unfamiliar with this human pastime, but I
should be a fast learn."
Bev stared at him for a moment. "Worf, if I find out later you're already acquainted with the
game.....!"
"Would I lie to you, fire-hair?" he replied.
Klingon notions of Honor might not apply in this special case of game-playing. And that almost
looked like the beginnings of a smile, there, on his face.
THE END
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