NEW MIS You're Lucky I'm A Civilised Man 0/5 [R] 
(Sawalha, O'B, B, Ro Laren, Tom Riker)

Title: You're Lucky I'm A Civilised Man
Author: Paula Stiles (thesnowleopard@hotmail.com)
Webpage: 
http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/Andes/3071/arch.html
Series: MIS
Part: NEW 0/5
Rating: [R]
Codes: Sawalha, O'B, B, Ro Laren, Tom Riker


Summary: Everyone has a breaking point, and wars don't 
end when the last shot is fired.

Disclaimer: It ain't me, babe, but Paramount who owns the 
characters and the Trek
universe. I'm not making any money off of this story, but 
I am having fun.

Archive: Yep. If you ask, first.

Note: This occurs five years after the events of 
"Triage".


YOU'RE LUCKY I'M A CIVILISED MAN


     "I'm melllllltiiinnnnng," squealed the Vorta, as he 
sank into a pool of his own grey goo. I sat on a 
toadstool several feet away, stuffing chocolate bar after 
chocolate bar into my mouth as if I'd never fill myself 
up. Flying monkeys crowded around the Vorta, their wings 
flapping with glee, tossing bucket after bucket of water 
on him until he disappeared with a final shriek and 
gurgle.

     "Alex." T'Nar's voice cut through my dream. I woke, 
my heart beating in my ears. The dream splintered and 
dissolved, leaving a taste of metal in my mouth.

     "Ugh," I groaned, pulling a pillow over my head. "I 
hate that dream."

     "Ah," T'Nar said. "*That* dream?" I nodded. Just 
because I didn't remember most of the details didn't mean 
I couldn't recognise the type. I'd started dreaming about 
the Vorta only weeks after I got the assignment to teach 
at Starfleet Medical Academy the previous fall. Now it 
was spring and I was still having the same dream a few 
times per week. T'Nar didn't seem especially worried. Nor 
did the counsellor I'd seen. But it annoyed the hell out 
of me. I liked a bit more variety in my REM sleep.

     "You should get up," T'Nar said, ever the practical 
wife. "Your class is in two hours."

     "Ohhh." I got up on all fours on the bed and 
stretched. "That's late! Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

     "Because you needed the sleep." She ruffled my hair 
and went to the door. "I'll make  you some coffee," she 
said as went out the door.

     "Wonderful. Show me the coffee and I'll love you 
forever." I sat on the edge of the bed, yawning and tried 
to pull myself together. Slave to the coffee bean, that 
was me.

*********

     I didn't like my job.

     It was nothing personal. Okay. It was something 
personal. I didn't like the people I worked with, I 
couldn't stand where I lived and I didn't much like what 
I was doing every day. But when you sign on for 
Starfleet, it becomes a given that you won't always get 
what you want, and sometimes, you won't get what you 
need, either. I thought all of this as I sat in a chair 
next to the podium in the Captain Matthew Decker (poor 
sod) Memorial auditorium two hours later, drinking my 
second cup of coffee and watching former Maquis rebels Ro 
Laren and Tom Riker go at each other's throats in front 
of a class of first-year Starfleet Academy cadets. I 
didn't bother to prepare lessons anymore. I never got a 
chance to lecture.

     The debate had begun over a student's question: What 
had been the command structure of the Maquis before and 
during the Dominion War? Simple question, really. Not so 
simple an answer, unfortunately.

      Riker tried first. He had a tendency to jump into 
things feet-first, in more ways than one. "Well, Mr. 
Kevier, the Maquis initially began as a grassroots 
movement in the Cardassian Demilitarised Zone, so the 
command structure was pretty decentralised. Every group, 
at that point, was pretty much running its own show. 
Then, as more and more Starfleet officers began to come 
over, it developed a command structure--"

     "What is it with you and Starfleet?" Ro snapped, her 
Bajoran earring swinging as she shook her head. "That may 
have been true of the Federation side of the Zone, but it 
certainly wasn't true over on the Bajoran-Cardassian 
border."

     Riker rolled his eyes. "I am trying to give them an 
overview of the organisational structure before moving on 
to the regional exceptions."

     Ro drew herself up to her full, amazonian height, 
and folded her arms. "The Bajorans were *not* some 
'regional exception' of the Maquis. They *were* the 
Maquis."

     And off they went. I sat, sipping my coffee and 
reading notes from my PADD, waiting for the end of the 
hour. Experience told me that they wouldn't stop on their 
own. I had tried, once, to intervene. Then, that little 
voice that told me to duck whenever an enemy shot in my 
general direction in combat advised me to leave it. And 
leave it I did, which was just as well. If there was one 
thing that would unite those two, I do believe it would 
be outside intervention. After all, they were Maquis.

     Every few minutes, or so, as the argument heated up, 
I glanced up at the audience. The kids, mostly eighteen-
year-olds fresh off the farm, were watching the 
proceedings with the fascination one derives from 
watching a crippled shuttle smash into the side of a 
space station on thruster power alone. If it hadn't been 
for the informal tutorials I'd set up, these poor kids 
would never have learned a thing about Starfleet History 
this semester--aside from how divisive a subject it could 
be. Fortunately, though it was only week three and 123 of 
the 161 students signed up for the class had already 
signed onto the tutorial, as well. Most of these kids 
knew a waste of their time when they saw one.

     About fifteen minutes before the end of the hour, I 
glanced up to see a student raising his hand. "Yes?" I 
said, my voice cutting under the discussion raging next 
to me. Both Riker and Ro stopped talking and looked at 
me.

     "Sir?" a young man in the back row called. I thought 
he might be Betazoid; he had that rabbity look. "May I be 
excused, sir? I need to use the restroom, sir." Poor kid. 
He did look a little green. Maybe the hostility down this 
end was wearing on his mental shields. I don't have that 
problem, I'm happy to say; I'm totally psyblind, even for 
a Human. It's quite the irony, considering that I'm 
married to a Vulcan.

     Ro followed my gaze up to the back. Before I could 
open my mouth, she cut me off. "You need to learn some 
self-discipline, Mister. If you can't stay in your seat 
for an hour, how do you expect to survive a third shift 
under battle conditions?"

     Oh, for fuck's sake.... Trust Ro to turn a simple 
request for a bathroom break into the Kobayashi Maru 
test. "You're excused, Mr....?" I cut in, before she 
could make it worse.

     "Uh, Egil, Sir," the kid squeaked, looking pale. 
Yep. Definitely some fraying shielding there.

     "Make it quick, Mr. Egil," I said, as several more 
hands went up around the classroom and Ro glared 
disruptor beams at my head. "I have a feeling there's 
going to be a line."

**********

     Admiral Bilal, the man in charge at Starfleet 
Medical Academy in Paris, looked up with a professionally 
amiable expression as I came in. His face changed as soon 
as he saw me. He sighed, scratched at the bristles in his 
greying beard (bet I'd just added one) and looked back 
down at the pile of  PADDs on his desk. I thought I 
recognised two or three of them. "What do you want, 
Sawalha?"

     "I'd like to make a request for a transfer, sir," I 
intoned, handing over yet another PADD.

     Bilal rolled his eyes. "Request denied, Lt. 
Commander. Your assignment does not end until the 
semester does. You know that."

     "Sir," I said, forcing myself to ungrit my teeth 
before I spoke. "I must respectfully protest that my 
skills are not being appropriately employed at my current 
post. I'm a nurse, not a teacher--or a babysitter."

     "Tough titties, Alex. Starfleet has decided to 
reintegrate as many of the surviving Maquis as it can 
find back into service and you're on the front lines." He 
snickered. "You can thank Admiral Janeway and the SS 
Voyager for that idea. You did fine last fall on your 
own. You can hang in there until the end of this 
semester, too. Starfleet wants Lts. Ro and Riker to learn 
to teach that class without killing each other. I want 
our students to actually learn something about Starfleet 
History. With you there, both things happen and everybody 
goes home happy."

     I took a deep breath, on the off-chance that it just 
might lower my blood pressure. "Except for me."

     "Yep. Except for you, at least for now. Life doesn't 
always go the way we want it. Looks like you picked the 
black marble this time around. Think of it this way--
after you finish this assignment, you can transfer to any 
frontier you want. God knows, you've worked them all."

     I tilted my head back, closed my eyes and clenched 
my fists. It was either that or punch Admiral Bilal in 
the nose. "Please, Admiral. For the love of God and my 
sanity, either reassign them or reassign me. Please." I 
lowered my head and smiled at him hopefully. "If I got 
down on my hands and knees and kissed your feet, would it 
help?"

     He grinned, the evil bastard. "Nope. But you're 
welcome to try. Might be fun to watch you beg." He 
started stacking the PADDs on his desk. "Now, get lost. 
Amusing as our little daily interactions are, I've got 
work to do and you've got a class to teach."

     I narrowed my eyes, but Bilal was immune to the 
beady-eyed stare. I turned and said over my shoulder, 
"I'm not giving up, you know."

      He laughed. "Do your worst. Watching a trauma nurse 
with over fifteen years of frontier combat experience 
under his belt try to squirm out of teaching Starfleet 
History 102 oughtta be downright entertaining. Go ahead. 
Knock yourself out."

      I half-turned back towards him. "With all due 
respect, Admiral, fuck you."

     Bilal laughed even harder. "Not even close, Alex. 
You can do better than that. Now, shoo. Go have a nice 
day on your own time."

*********

     I went running, since it was the only reasonable 
alternative to pacing around my quarters, cursing Bilal's 
name and contemplating drastic action, until T'Nar got 
in. Her ship was in drydock after suffering damage in an 
ion storm near the Klingon border. I had her to myself 
(at least at night) for the next three weeks. But she was 
still on her shift. I wouldn't see her for a couple of 
hours, at best. I took the path that followed the defense 
perimeter around the Academy. If we were ever attacked, I 
could touch the forcefield with my right hand as I ran. 
Hopefully, that wouldn't happen any time soon. I had been 
out in Klingon space during the Breen attack on Starfleet 
Headquarters in San Francisco, but I still thought about 
it. I suppose most Dominion War vets did.

     As I moved into one of my sprints, I spotted Miles 
O'Brien up ahead of me. He taught Engineering 385: 
Practical Maintenance and Repair of Shipboard Systems and 
Engineering 412: Space Station Systems Conversions. We 
had lunch together a few times a month. I was faster than 
he was and he was pacing himself, so I caught up to him 
easily.

     "Hey, Miles," I said, as I pulled even with him.

     He glanced at me, panting. "Hullo, Alex." We were 
approaching his quarters, so he must have been near the 
end of his run. 

     I slowed to match his pace, reconsidering my running 
plans. "You wanna go for a drink?" Miles didn't mind 
going for an impromptu pint, and he wasn't above making 
it a real pint, either.

     "Oh, ay, why not?" he said. "Keiko and the kids are 
on a field trip to Io. They won't be back until 
tomorrow." I matched his pace as he slowed to his cool-
down walk near his quarters. "You got something on your 
mind?"

     "Just that bloody class," I admitted, letting my 
breathing slow. "Bilal won't let me transfer out."

     Miles chuckled breathlessly. "Think you're stuck 
with that one, mate. Once you showed you could ride herd 
on Ro and Tom Riker, you were screwed."

     "Did Ro ever come see you?" Miles and Ro had served 
together on the Enterprise before she deserted to the 
Maquis.

     "Who, me? Oh, no." He shook his head, rubbing his 
sides. "Nonono. She'll not come to me. Back on the 
Enterprise, Ro was notorious for avoiding any 
confrontation she couldn't bluff her way out of." He 
smiled wryly. "What do you think she'd tell me, anyway? 
'Sorry I buggered off and joined the enemy and left you 
all holding the bag, Miles?' Never happen. Tom's stopped 
by two or three times, usually for a free drink. I reckon 
he's lonely. You could talk to him."

     "I thought about that. But if I approach Riker, Ro 
will think we're ganging up on her. If I approach Ro, 
Riker will think we're ganging up on *him*." I grimaced. 
"How the Hell did the Maquis last so long when none of 
them even liked each other?"

     "Well, some of them did, I think. Hell, I almost 
agreed with them myself, for a time, until they started 
seeing everyone who didn't agree with them as fair game 
for collateral damage. I've got no love for the Cardies, 
though I can at least pity them, now. Over one billion 
dead? That's a high price for collaboration. But you 
know, Ro spent the bulk of the War running from both 
Cardassian and the Dominion without even getting in a 
shot back half the time and Riker spent most of it in a 
Cardassian prison camp. It stands to reason that they're 
gonna have a bit of trouble reintegrating into Federation 
society, especially when they weren't doing it all that 
well *before* the War anyway."

     I gave Miles a disgusted look. "So what? So, they 
had a hard time. That doesn't mean they get to accept 
Starfleet's offer of amnesty and then spit in the faces 
of everyone stuck working with them. It's been four 
years. Time to get therapy and work out some things."

     Miles started his post-run stretch. "I dunno, Alex. 
I'm kind of surprised you're not more sympathetic. I 
mean, you got banged up for awhile as a suspected Maquis 
yourself."

     I started stretching, myself. "By a Maquis looking 
to shift blame for his sabotage on my head. Whatever 
idiot thought it would be a good idea to pair me up with 
a couple of  diehard Maquis didn't look too hard at my 
file. Christ, Miles, they're not even sorry for what they 
did. Hell, they probably would have set me up themselves 
if they'd been there instead of Bigman."

     Miles watched me thoughtfully as I put my feet up 
against a wall, one by one, and stretched my hamstrings. 
"Have you talked to someone about this?"

     I bent over my knee. "About what? The class? You 
mean, with a counsellor? Again? What for? I'm not the one 
having hair-pulling hissy fits about 'The Question of the 
Demilitarized Zone'. Why should I go?"

     "Because you're the one who's got the problem with 
it." Miles looked sad. "And because maybe you need to 
have another talk about those eight months you spent 
stranded on some unnumbered rock in the Badlands a few 
years back."

     "I already talked to someone about that after I got 
back," I said. "Several times."

     "Well, maybe you should do it some more." He pulled 
out a water bottle and handed it to me. I took a drink 
and handed it back. "Beats letting Tom and Ro drive you 
nuts." He sipped water. "Hey, that friend of mine I told 
you about from DS9, Julian Bashir, is due in town on 
Starfleet business. He went to Academy here. I thought 
you and I could take him out on the town, show him a good 
time in all the old, familiar places, you know?"

     "Sure." For some reason, the name sounded vaguely 
familiar. "No problem. When is he due in?"

     "In a week or two. He has to give a paper at some 
conference here in Paris, but he should have the weekend 
before that off."

     "Okay," I agreed. "Let me know when he gets in and 
we'll get together."

*********

     T'Nar was home when I got back. "Sorry," I said as I 
came into the tiny kitchen of my apartment. "I went out 
for a pint with Miles." I came up behind her and hugged 
her, giving her a kiss on the side of the neck. I 
lingered over it.

     "That is fine," she said. "I only arrived nine 
minutes ago." She turned in my arms. "Have you been out 
running?"

     "Yeah." I pulled away reluctantly. "I should take a 
shower; I'm all sweaty. I'll be right back."

     "You do not have to dress right away," she called 
after me. "I can give you a massage." Ooh. That sounded 
promising.

     "You don't have to," I called back as I turned on 
the shower. The apartment was so small, we could hear 
each other easily from all the rooms.

     "I would prefer it. Today was singularly 
unproductive."

     Which meant that she had been stuck in meetings all 
day and had plenty of excess energy of her own to work 
off. And the most efficient way to do that, of course, 
would be to give me a massage and...proceed from there. 
So much for a quiet night. T'Nar liked sex. A lot. When I 
told her once that she was very good at coming up with 
eminently logical reasons for our shagging each other's 
brains out, she thanked me for the compliment. The 
jealous bastard who first spread the urban myth that 
Vulcans were frigid must have been a Ferengi.

     I took a water shower. I'm not fond of sonic 
showers. They don't quite replace a nice, hot stream of 
water in my book. Besides, with most of the ships I've 
been on, Engineering throws a strop whenever you use 
water just to wash. While I was stuck on Earth, I was 
enjoying the luxury of a daily shower. Sometimes, T'Nar 
came in and helped me out with the soap, if you gather my 
meaning, but never after I'd come back from a run. After 
that kind of exercise, my head was still humming a bit 
with things and I needed the downtime alone. T'Nar didn't 
get that kind of buzz out of exercise, but if I walked 
into a dark house to find a lit candle and T'Nar sitting 
in the lotus position, I let her be. You can't be in each 
other's back pockets all the time, especially if you are 
both the maverick type.

     Except, of course, when the someone you are with 
wants to make the most of her one month out of the year 
with you. I heard the bathroom door open and turned. 
T'Nar came in, shrugging off her robe. She held out a bar 
of soap.

   I pushed the shower door open slightly. "In a hurry 
today, are you?" I asked her, amused despite the unusual 
interruption.

     She shrugged. "We are beginning late. I merely 
wanted to maximise the time we had left by helping you 
wash your...back." The small pause was deliberate and 
provocative. She tilted her head to one side. "And I have 
also found that you enjoy it when I am occasionally 
spontaneous."

     I chuckled, and opened the door wide. "Well, when 
you put it that way...."


*********

     "Sir?" Two of my students, a boy and a girl, were 
standing in front of my table, staring at me. They didn't 
seem to know whether to stand at attention or run. I 
would have run, but that's me. "Are you all right?" One 
asked, uncertainly.

     "Uh, fine," I said. "Just thinking." I picked up my 
coffee cup and took a sip. I indicated the chairs across 
from me. "Have a seat, you two. Can I help you with 
something?" I was damned if I was going to admit to 
enjoying the afterglow of an all-night romp, Vulcan-
style, with my wife. One of the joys of being married is 
that you get to say, "That's private," with no 
explanation about most things between you and your 
partner, and anyone with half a brain will let it be.

     These kids were smart enough to leave it. Or maybe, 
like most Academy cadets, they were so wrapped up in 
their own lives that they were only fleetingly intrigued 
by mine. I didn't exactly go around admitting to being a 
War vet, so that probably made me even less intriguing. 
At any rate, they sat down. I offered them one of my 
pieces of toast. They both declined.

     "You want something to eat, first, or is this a very 
quick question?" I asked, as I tucked into my eggs. It 
had been a long and tiring night and tonight promised to 
be even more longer. I was hungry.

     "It's all right, sir," the girl said. "We ate a few 
hours ago."

     "Ah. I see. Well, I always was a night owl. Mornings 
aren't really my thing." I had some more coffee. "Hence 
my love affair with caffeine. What's up?"

     They glanced at each other. I could see this one 
coming. I can always tell when I've been chosen for a 
black op of some sort. "Uh, sir, would it be possible for 
you to speak to Lt. Ro about, um, her expectations for 
the class?" the girl asked. "We are both a little 
confused by what she and Lt. Riker want us to do."

     "They fight all the time," the boy blurted out. "If 
it weren't for your tutorials, we'd never learn anything. 
Frankly, I would prefer to just go to the latter,but 
these classes are mandatory."

     I leaned back, groaning to myself. I should have 
seen this coming. In fact, I had seen it coming, but was 
hoping the kids would hit me with it later in the 
semester. Wrong. There is a sense of entitlement in 
first-year cadets. They are in a panic, frightened to 
death that they will fail, so they latch onto any 
sensible person within reach with the deathgrip of a 
drowning man. I was the unfortunate rescuer and these two 
sweet, dear children were drowning right in front of me.

     "Look, kids," I said, as gently as I could. "I don't 
decide who teaches these classes and who doesn't. 
Starfleet wants Lts. Ro and Riker to learn the ropes of 
Academy teaching and they're doing it in your class. You 
are just going to have to deal with it." I smiled sunnily 
at them. From their sullen expressions, I could see that 
they were not buying it one bit. "Better yet, consider it 
your first big lesson in interpersonal relations."

     The silence deepened as the two cadets digested 
this, but not well. "But, sir," the boy blurted out. "Lt. 
Ro is--she's *mean*."

     "Yeah," the girl agreed. "I'm Bajoran, too, and she 
makes fun of me. Makes fun of the Prophets. Says those of 
us who still believe are a bunch of pacifistic victims." 
She clutched her enormous PADD to her chest. "My family 
was in the Resistance. They wanted me to be something 
different, to come here. But Ro.... She doesn't even wear 
her earring on the correct side!"

     Shit. Okay, the whine about the earring was just a 
bit self-centered and totally ridiculous, but these two 
were on the edge of tears. I needed to take care of this.

     "All right," I said. "Give me one concrete thing 
that you want from this class, right now, and I will get 
it for you by the end of the week."

     They both started at me blankly. I could hear the 
crickets chirping from across the table. "You know. 
Something like a syllabus?" I ventured.

     The boy and the girl looked at each other, then back 
at me, and started nodding. "Oh, yes," the girl said. 
"That would be so nice. Could you get us that? You gave 
one out at the beginning of the semester, but we don't 
seem to be following it."

     "And some idea of what we should be studying for on 
the exams at the end of term," the boy added. It was a  
legitimate question, as the tests were administered from 
outside the class. Since we wouldn't be grading them, Ro 
and Riker's lack of teaching style could sink the entire 
class.

     I nodded back at them. "All right. A syllabus, with 
all the subjects that you will need to know by the end of 
term? Is that sufficient?"

     "Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you!" the girl cried. 
Then, they both tried to hug me across the table, which 
was heart-warming, but had a disastrous effect on my 
eggs.


*********


     As it turned out, I didn't have to collar Ro the 
next day; she found me first. I saw her waiting for me as 
I came into the lecture hall ten minutes ahead of time, 
for once, and it didn't look good. She was tapping her 
PADD repeatedly on the podium, face grim. When I entered, 
she looked me up and down and nodded to the small room 
where the audioholograpic programming was stored.

     "Commander Sawalha, may I have a word?" she asked.

     "Of course," I said, ignoring her insubordinate 
tone. I followed her into the closet. She pulled the door 
half-to. How romantic.

     "Commander, I would appreciate it if you did not try 
to undermine my authority with the students in class," 
she said, kicking it right off.

     I folded my arms and leaned against a blank part of 
wall. "When did I do that, Lieutenant?"

     "When you cut me off to allow that student to leave 
on Tuesday," she said. She stayed in a relaxed parade 
rest, hands clasped behind her back. Bet her knuckles 
were turning white.

     I sighed (I seemed to be doing that a lot, lately). 
Might as well cut to the chase. "Lieutenant, much as I 
appreciate Mr. Riker's and your input, I am, at least 
nominally, in charge of this class."

     "But that doesn't mean that you're allowed to 
humiliate m--us in front of the class," she snapped back. 
Oooer.

     I took a deep breath and blew it out very slowly. 
"First of all, Lieutenant, Lt. Riker is fully capable of 
defending himself. So, let's keep any further assertions 
on a you-me level, okay?" Her face twitched, but she 
nodded. "Second, as the superior officer in this 
situation, I am not only responsible for making certain 
that these students have been given the instruction 
necessary for them to pass their exams in this area at 
the end of the semester, but also in making certain of 
their welfare in this class. The first objective has been 
made nearly impossible by you and Mr. Riker these past 
three weeks and yesterday, you yourself were bullying 
students." Her eyes widened--in outrage, I assumed. "I 
don't allow bullying of students."

     "I'm not bullying them," she started to protest--but 
I raised a hand to forestall her. To her credit, she did 
shut up, though she huffed.

     "I don't care what you think that you were or were 
not doing, Mr. Ro," I said, dropping the easy-going act. 
"As the one in actual charge of this class, and the one 
who has actually taught it before, I get to make the 
final decision as to what is appropriate and 
inappropriate behaviour--for you *and* for the students. 
Am I making myself clear?"

     She rocked on her heels, looking as though she had 
just bitten into a lemon. "Perfectly, sir."

     I straightened up. "Good. Now, the first thing is 
that I have received a complaint that we are not 
following our syllabus. Let's rectify that first, 
please."

     She nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir. What about Lt. 
Riker?"

     "I'll discuss my concerns with *his* performance 
when he comes in." I pushed open the door and stepped to 
one side to let her go out ahead of me. "Shall we?" She 
went out into the room, rigidly at attention. Clearly, 
she was very unhappy with me. Too bad. No way was I going 
to turn my back on her when she was in this kind of mood. 
I hadn't reached the venerable age of forty by being 
stupid.

     But she did behave herself. I had to give her that. 
Within the first ten minutes, we had got back on track 
with the syllabus, to the visible relief of the class. It 
was a victory of sorts, but it was marred by the fact 
that Riker never showed. Obviously, this class just 
wasn't going to get any better, no matter how hard I 
tried.


*********


     "He didn't show up?!" O'Brien stared at me 
incredulously over his pint. "Bloody Hell."

     "No lie there," I agreed. We were in a pub in 
London. I'd just finished my tutorial when Miles called 
me to go for a pint. I agreed. T'Nar had got stuck with a 
late shift again (so much for that romantic evening we 
had planned) and Keiko and the kids were still on Io. 
Miles had suggested the change of scenery.

     "That's not at all the Will Riker I remember," Miles 
was musing. "Though I suppose he hasn't been Will Riker 
for a long time. Have you reported him yet?" I shook my 
head. "Fuck me, Alex. Why not? He's technically AWOL."

     I sipped my pint, licking the foam off my upper lip. 
"I don't want to, not yet. I want to give him a bit more 
rope, see what he does with it."

     "Are you sure that's wise? Won't Admiral Bilal kick 
your ass if he finds out?"

     I snorted. "I doubt it. If I went to him now, he'd 
probably just boot it back into my court, anyway. Might 
as well deal with it on my own and leave Bilal out of the 
loop until I have something more concrete."

     Miles grimaced and sipped his pint. "I suppose you 
know best. At least Ro cleaned up her act. That's a 
surprise."

     "For the moment," I said, more sourly than I'd 
intended. "Who knows what she'll come up with next week?"

     "Yeah." Miles laughed. "That sounds familiar." He 
eyed me. "Hey, um...can I ask you something?" He looked 
embarrassed.

     "Sure, buddy." I leaned forward, happy to change the 
subject. "What pearls of wisdom would you like me to 
impart today?"

     Miles snickered. "Get over yourself, boyo." He 
looked pensive. "Uh...how are things between you and 
T'Nar?"

     I narrowed my eyes. "Define 'things'."

     "You know." He waved a hand. "Like...um, sex. I 
mean, her being a Vulcan and all."

     I eyed him quizzically. "Miles O'Brien, are you 
having sexual problems with your wife? I will confess, 
I'm very surprised, considering that you have managed to 
have two children so far."

     "You know how it is. Keiko is Human, like me, but we 
still come from different backgrounds and sometimes...." 
He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Well, things get 
stale. There are things that each of you can't agree on, 
or just can't handle."

     "Oh, yeah," I agreed, sharing a negative nostalgia 
moment. "I know."

     He watched me curiously. "What?"

     "I'm psyblind. Very psyblind." 

     He looked puzzled. "Come on, Alex. No living 
creature is totally psyblind. I've known enough telepaths 
to be pretty damned sure about that." He grinned 
ruefully. "I've met Ambassador Lwaxana Troi."

     I snorted in reluctant sympathy. I'd met her, too. 
"I know, but I am about as close as you can get." I 
sucked down a good gulp of my pint. "Let me put it this 
way: use a mind-sifter on me and all you'll get is a boot 
in the balls from one very pissed-off Welshman with a 
migraine. And a mind-meld? Forget it. You'd have to be 
Vulcan, married to me and someone who was in Pon Farr the 
first time we had sex to get through to me. And you'd 
have to be damned subtle in your approach. Fortunately 
for T'Nar, she's all of the above. But it's still 
difficult as hell."

     He raised an eyebrow, Vulcan-like. "How difficult?"

     "She has to give me a massage for at least half an 
hour before she has a prayer of catching me relaxed 
enough to let her in. Trust me, I am deaf as a post and 
I've got natural blocks like metaphasic shielding."

     "Okaaay. So, why do it in the first place? Sounds 
like a whole lot of trouble for not much."

     "Because every Vulcan is linked to his or her mate 
telepathically. The traditional ones--you know, like 
Ambassador Spock--do it in childhood. But a lot of 
Vulcans just wait until they reach adulthood and meet the 
One, or whomever they've decided is the One."

     "So, despite the fact that you can't do this, T'Nar 
has somehow decided that you're the One and wants 
to...what, mindmeld with you?"

     "Exactly." I moved my pint and traced the ring on 
the coaster it had made. "Only, there's another wrinkle. 
I'm not T'Nar's first husband. I'm her second."

     Miles' eyes widened in surprise. "She married 
another Human and outlived him? I didn't think she was 
that old."

     I grinned. "She's not. He's Vulcan, alive and--
allowing for the bile in his personality--well enough. 
She divorced him. Seems she made a mistake in her first 
choice for the One. He's a ship's captain named Solok."

     Miles' reaction surprised the hell out of me. First, 
his mouth dropped open, and then he threw back his head 
and laughed hysterically for a few minutes. "What?" I 
said, bewildered, when he'd got enough control again to 
pay attention.

     "Your wife's ex-husband is Captain *Solok*? No 
wonder the git's so bitter about Humans!"

     I narrowed my eyes. "You know him?"

     He shook his head, wiping his eyes and chuckling. 
"Not exactly, but we've definitely met." At my obvious 
confusion, he took pity on me and explained. "I told you 
about Captain Sisko, my old commanding officer on DS9, 
right?"

     "Ye-es," I admitted. "What does he have to do with 
my wife's ex-husband?"

     "The Cap'n and Solok had this rivalry going on since 
Academy. Solok used to get a whole lot of pleasure out of 
humiliating Captain Sisko and using him to 'prove' his 
pet theories about the inferiority of Humans."

     Light dawned. "Ah. I see this going somewhere very 
ugly."

     "At first, yeah. Captain Sisko really loved 
baseball. It was some sort of life metaphor for him." 
Miles peered at me. "You like baseball?"

     I shook my head. "Never 'got' it, I'm afraid. It's 
some ancient American thing. I'm a football man, myself."

     "Me, too. Anyway, Solok found out about this, 
somehow, and one day, a few years  back, he showed up on 
the station, having trained his crew how to learn 
baseball, and challenged Captain Sisko to a game."

     I winced. Oh, yes. This was going somewhere very 
ugly, if I knew Solok. "Did any of you play at all 
beforehand, aside from Captain Sisko?"

     "Nope." Miles shook his head. "Just Sisko and his 
son Jake. We didn't have a clue. But, he gave it the old 
university try, got all the senior staff together and a 
couple of others and put us through training for two 
weeks."

     I leaned closer. "So. Did you win?"

     He shook his head and smiled. "Nope. Solok and his 
team kicked our bums all over the field. But we laughed 
him out of Quark's, anyway, afterwards."

     "Quark's being the station's bar, I take it," I 
said.

     "Yup." At my amused look, he shrugged. "It was our 
bar, after all."

     I laughed. "Oh, yeah. One thing about Solok. The man 
never did learn that when it comes to winning with 
people, sometimes you win just because they like you 
better."

     Miles snickered. "And T'Nar liked you better."

     I giggled. "Oh, yeah. You bet. Nothing he could do 
about that."

     He leaned back in his chair, staring thoughtfully at 
his pint. "And that makes it worth staying with her, 
going through all that frustration of being a complete 
idiot, telepathically and emotionally-speaking?"

     I nodded. "Oh, yes. That, and the fact that whenever 
we do succeed at linking, the sex is absolutely mind-
blowing."

     He looked skeptical. "Really?"

      "Totally." I batted my eyes at him and he laughed. 
"Why do you think they call it a 'mindmeld'?"


*********


     T'Nar got stuck on night shifts all weekend while I 
had my clinic duty during the day. We didn't really get a 
chance to see each other again until Monday night. By 
that time, T'Nar was looking to make up for lost time. 
She greeted me at the door, dressed in a loose, thin 
robe, the soft and clinging kind, when I came back from 
my run. She moved up against me, ignoring the sweat from 
my run, pulled my t-shirt out of my pants and ran her 
hands up my sides. I felt myself respond right away and 
bit down a groan. Hurriedly, I closed the door behind us. 

     "Do you wish to try a meld tonight?" she asked, 
pressing me up against the door. It was an honest 
question, even if she could surely feel that I was 
already hard enough to take her right there in the 
doorway. If that was my choice, she'd participate with 
efficient enthusiasm. But I knew what she preferred and 
tonight, I agreed with her.

     "Yes," I said, then pushed myself away before I 
could embarrass myself. "Give me a few minutes, though, 
okay? I need a shower." She nodded in cool amusement.

     I took my shower, toweled off, threw on a t-shirt 
and shorts and came out to the bedroom. T'Nar had turned 
down the lights. She was lying face-up on the bed, eyes 
closed, just breathing. She had unbound her hair from its 
usual braid so that it framed her face. She only did that 
in front of me. I lay down next to her, stretching out 
slowly. I ran a hand down the fabric of her robe, even 
though I was supposed to be letting her concentrate, 
lightly touching her body underneath. She took my hand in 
hers and pressed it over her belly. I increased the 
pressure as I passed my hand down between her thighs. She 
spread them slightly to let me in. When she opened her 
eyes, they were already dilated, but her respirations 
were still even. I smiled at her innocently, but I could 
see from the ironic tilt of one eyebrow that she knew 
what I was doing. I wasn't the only one holding back. She 
liked to say that I was good at testing her meditation 
technique because I was so skilled at distraction.

     "You are ready?" she said, though I'm sure she 
already knew the answer. I nodded. "Good. Turn over." I 
lay face down and she went to work, starting on my neck 
and shoulders, rubbing out all the inevitable, post-work-
out kinks. She massaged my scalp, passing several times 
over my temples, then moved down, pushing up my shirt, 
stroking down my ribs. Her touch was gentle, but 
impersonal--at first. I almost fell asleep as she did my 
arms and fingers, one by one, then moved back to the 
centre and worked down past my hips, leaving the shorts 
for now, taking it slowly. I just concentrated on 
breathing slowly and evenly, and sinking into the 
mattress. I growled to myself when she reached my feet. I 
liked it when she did my feet, and she knew it. That's 
why she'd linger, resting each foot against her belly as 
she did it. She humphed in amusement when I gave in to 
the urge to curl my toes around one soft breast, but she 
didn't move away. *Down boy,* I told myself. *Not yet. 
Breathe. Control.*

      When she moved back up my body, brushing against 
me, her touch was, needless to say, no longer impersonal. 
It was all I could do to keep breathing slowly. She 
worked my t-shirt off over my head, her touch leaving 
trails of warmth. Then, she settled on top of me, 
brushing her fingers through my hair in circles as she 
massaged the pressure points on my temples and jaw.

     The first mental contact was tentative, as it always 
was. I moved under her feverishly, almost without will, 
as the room suddenly grew hot. I became more aware of the 
smells in the room--my sweat, her musk, the fragrance in 
the mattress, even the paint on the walls. Next, I became 
acutely aware of my own skin, only I wasn't sure whose 
skin it was anymore. I groaned and T'Nar echoed it in my 
ear. She rubbed her breasts against my bare back, her 
nipples hard through her robe, arousing me further with 
the lightest touch. I could feel myself under her thighs 
as she straddled my waist, sense the excitement under 
that Vulcan calm as it became mine. My own breathing was 
ragged. She began to work off my shorts. I turned over 
underneath her before she could finish, because it would 
have really hurt otherwise. I kicked off the shorts and 
pulled her back up, going to work on that damned robe. 
Neither one of us wanted it on her anymore. 

     I pushed the robe up to her breasts, stroking her 
skin in circles underneath the fabric, feeling as if I 
were touching myself at the same time. Arching up off me, 
she groaned, then slid down onto my hips and took me 
inside her. We both gasped from the echo of her inside 
me, me inside her. She rocked back and forth on top of 
me, head tilted back, eyes closed. God, she was beautiful 
like this, like a wild animal. In the darkness, the 
light-green tinge to her skin and her dark, unbound hair 
made her look almost like an Orion slave girl, mad and 
exotic.

     When I rolled her over, the perspective change was 
dizzying. I no longer knew whether I was staring down at 
her or up at the ceiling. I worked the robe up slowly 
over her breasts, brushing the fabric over her nipples 
until she grabbed the brass bars above her head to keep 
from grabbing me and intensifying the meld, arching her 
body underneath me. For a moment, I was blinded as I 
worked the robe up over her head and off.

     I had to slip out of her and toss the robe onto the 
floor to keep from coming too early. We didn't want to 
finish before we were fully melded and if T'Nar completed 
the connection now, it would be too quick for both of us. 
I knelt over her until I felt somewhat inside my own 
head, not hers, then kissed her, first each delicately 
pointed ear, then her closed eyelids, her nose and her 
mouth. She responded with efficient enthusiasm, lifting 
her head to meet me, but careful to keep her hands away 
from my head. Vulcans didn't do kissing among their own, 
but T'Nar was not averse to a little cultural 
experimentation. I moved lower, down her throat and over 
her breasts. She moaned and I echoed it, already slipping 
back into the meld. The double feel of my tongue on her 
skin and her own sensations as I passed over her belly 
sorely tested my own control, but I continued as she 
lifted her hips to meet me. 

     When I slipped back up between her thighs, she 
spread them wider to let me in. She wrapped her legs 
around my back, pulling her deeply into me and, finally 
losing all control, slid her fingers over scalp and began 
to massage the pressure points on my skull, entering my 
mind as silkily as I had entered her body. I threw my 
head back, eyes closed, surrendering all my will, all my 
hard-won individuality to the meld. It no longer mattered 
where I ended and she began. My body under her hands or 
inside her body, who was on top or bottom, it no longer 
made any difference.  

      *T'Hyla.* The rhythm was a mutual thing, awkward at 
first, like fighting storm waves. I could no longer tell 
the difference between my thrusts and her answering 
movements.  But practice makes perfect and we had nearly 
a decade of it. The eddies faded as we found a common 
desire to make it harder and faster until we fell, 
screaming, over the edge.

     "What are we doing on the floor?" I said, when I 
could think again. We were lying on the rug, tangled in 
the bedding.

     "I believe that we must have rolled off the bed," 
T'Nar noted, pushing herself up on one elbow. The 
connection was still strong enough that I could hear her 
laughing in my mind, but I now knew whose body my mind 
was in. "If we had the bed on the floor, as we would on 
Vulcan, it would solve the problem," she pointed out, as 
she usually did. "Is there a specific reason why you 
insist on sleeping on a raised platform with bedding?"

     "Just chalk it up to one of those instinctual, Human 
fear-of-snakes things, love," I said. The way the twisted 
sheets only half-covered one breast and shaded down her 
belly was already making me think about a rematch. Guess 
she wasn't the only one with excess energy to work off.     

     She read my mind, of course. "Do you wish to try 
again immediately or eat dinner first?" She ran her foot 
up my leg, making clear which option she preferred, even 
if she hadn't just projected a flashback of the last time 
she had gone through Pon Farr into my head.

     It had been a few weeks since we had tried a meld 
and my usual duties weren't what I'd call 'strenuous', so 
I was more enthusiastic than I might have been another 
night. "I think we can handle another round before 
dinner," I growled, pushing her back onto the rug. "But 
this time, I get to do all the work."

*********

     The meld hadn't yet worn off by the time class came 
round the next morning. We usually had to be apart a few 
hours before it faded below the line of usual perception. 
The sex had a way of amping things up longer than I could 
have maintained, otherwise. Not that we couldn't have sex 
without a meld; we usually did. But T'Nar liked to renew 
the connection as much as we could handle, even as low-
level as it usually was on a day-to-day basis.

      It could be very interesting following along with 
the hum of my wife's daily thoughts. She didn't come 
across as cold or arrogant in her daily interactions, 
mostly because she saw insulting non-Vulcans as 
illogical. I remember her dissecting a fellow Vulcan once 
for his failure to grasp the concept of compliments. 
Positive feedback, she told him, was one of the simplest 
methods of increasing efficiency in humanoids, so why 
wasn't he using it? Did he prefer to be inefficient? You 
wouldn't ever catch her smiling, though, and she would 
never laugh at a joke, but that didn't mean she couldn't 
tell one. Damn, could she ever. That's the first time I 
remember noticing her as anything but my supervisor, when 
she told me a joke one night on third shift in Sickbay. 
It wasn't the joke itself, something rude and forgettable 
about two Ferengi and a Tholian in a bar, but the way she 
told it. Or maybe it was the way she looked at me after 
she delivered the punchline (which was quite funny). As 
if she knew she'd caught my attention, and that was 
exactly what she had intended.

     Right now, she was going over the overhaul and 
upgrade of Sickbay with a couple of Engineering 
technicians. One of them was talking down to her a bit; I 
could hear it in the cool way she dissected him in her 
mind. At one point, she projected at me an image of him 
in Orion Syndicate get-up with the inquiry, "Leather?"

     I burst out laughing. "Oh, stop it. Give the poor 
guy a break. He's just trying to fix your Sickbay."

     "Commander?" I jumped. God dammit, that was the 
second time in less than a week that someone had 
surprised me at breakfast. I'd go off my feed at this 
point.

     I blinked over at the person sitting down across 
from me. It was Tom Riker. The guy was a few years older 
than me, about my height but bulkier, with just a hint of 
a spare tire. He was also clean-shaven--probably because 
his more successful twin, Will, wore a beard. Tom and 
Will were the same person until a transporter accident 
had created two Rikers, stranding this one on a planet 
alone for eight years. Ever since he'd been rescued, Tom 
had been taking his misfortune out on whomever was in 
reach, it seemed. Then, he went and stole a starship for 
the Maquis and ended up in a Cardassian labor camp for it 
until he was released at the end of the War. 

     Now, here he was, back in Starfleet and a Lieutenant 
again at age 44--my problem child. "Mr. Riker, how nice 
to see you. I was beginning to wonder about your presence 
on our team. We don't talk anymore, and you haven't been 
returning my calls. It makes me so sad."

     He grinned. "Okay, I guess I deserved that. I've 
been busy. Sorry." Great. His very first move was to try 
to snow me. This did not bode well. "Do you normally talk 
to yourself at breakfast?"

      "Yes, I am afraid I do." Might as well admit it and 
move on to less private concerns. "It's called 'premature 
senility', or so I'm told. Can I help you with something 
today, Lieutenant, or are just planning to give me some 
excuse to get me off your back?"

      "Come on. So, I skipped a class. It's not a hanging 
offense."

     "No, not quite. But it is desertion of duty. You are 
officially AWOL."

     Riker looked taken aback. Good. Maybe the 
seriousness of the situation was seeping through. "All I 
did was skip a class! It's not that big a deal!"

     I sipped my coffee and regarded him over the cup. 
"It is when you are the teacher and that is your 
assignment."

     Riker sighed and slouched in his chair, folding his 
arms. "Look, Alex--"

     "I'd prefer that you call me either 'Commander' or 
'Sir'," I told him.

     He rolled his eyes. "'Sir', then. I'm just not cut 
out for this teaching thing."

     "Neither am I, but I don't get to skip a class 
whenever I get bored." I wasn't sure quite what irritated 
me so much about the man, aside from the obvious lack of 
interest in any kind of responsibility. "If you dislike 
the assignment that much, apply for a transfer like the 
rest of us. Until then, you show up and you do your job, 
just like the rest of us. Understood?"

     He muttered something and started to get up.

     "Lieutenant!" I snapped, making him freeze. "I did 
not dismiss you yet. I asked you if you understood what I 
said?"

    He looked at me as if I'd sprouted three heads 
instead of a backbone. "What is up with you?"

     "Aside from expecting you to fulfill your own 
responsibilities, absolutely nothing," I said, not moving 
or raising my voice. "Don't throw this back on me, Mr. 
Riker. It is your problem and you will not make it mine."

     He sat back down. "Look, I just spent half of my 
adult life in prison or stranded somewhere in complete 
isolation. Give me a break, okay?"

     I kept my expression neutral. "It seems to me, Mr. 
Riker, that your record is one long string of people 
giving you "breaks". I am here to interrupt that cycle, 
not because I have any particular feelings about you one 
way or the other, but simply because my job is to teach 
this class this semester while showing you and Lt. Ro how 
to teach it next year in my absence. I did not place you 
on this assignment, and I am not the person to consult if 
you are unhappy with it. Nor do I have any intention of 
carrying your ball if you drop it. You get one strike. 
Skip this class again and I'll report you. If you choose 
to do it anyway, that is fine. I'm just serving you 
notice on what will happen if you do; got it?" He nodded. 
"Good. Now, you can order some breakfast or go away. 
Either way, I intend to finish my meal."

     Riker stood up. "I'm sorry you feel that way, 
Commander. I think I'd better look into that transfer."

     "Your call. Just let me know when you get it. You 
can go now." I set my coffee mug back down and went back 
to eating my now cold breakfast. I didn't look up as he 
walked away.

*********

     The rest of the week was fairly uneventful. Riker 
showed up for both classes, but showed little preparation 
or enthusiasm. Ro, to my bemusement, stuck scrupulously 
to the syllabus and visibly (sometimes, too visibly) kept 
a rein on her temper. Maybe she'd work out after all.

     Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays I worked in a small 
clinic on the western coast of Morocco, to keep my hand 
in. Most of my work involved small injuries and 
children's immunizations, though we got the occasional 
serious injury brought in from the desert by buggy or 
short-range shuttle. In the evening, at the end of my 
shift, I liked to take a walk out on the beach for an 
hour or so. I brought an old communicator with me, in 
case of emergencies (mine and the clinic's) but rarely 
needed it. I was surprised when it beeped on Friday 
night. I pulled it out and flipped it open.

      "Sawalha," I said. "What's up?"

     "I'm getting an incoming transmission from your 
wife." Mustafa was stuck monitoring communications 
tonight and wow, did he sound bored.

     "Is she still in orbit?" I said, puzzled. T'Nar had 
got stuck doing night shifts all weekend again--not 
something either of us was happy about, but nothing we 
could change, either.

     "She is still on the Cervantes, if that's what you 
mean. Do you want me to put her through?"

     I sighed. "Yeah, you'd better. She wouldn't call 
just to chat, not when we were both on duty." I waited 
while Mustafa switched us over. The meld had faded enough 
that I couldn't tell what she wanted, or even when she 
was likely to connect.

     "Alex? Are you still in Morocco?" T'Nar came through 
so suddenly that I jumped.

     "Yeah, I just took a walk to watch the sunset. 
What's up?" I knew she'd cut to the chase and she didn't 
disappoint me.

     "Do you recall my asking for you to be transferred 
to the Cervantes four months ago?"

     I sat down in the sand and watched the sea. God, I 
missed her. Hearing her voice just made it worse. "Yep. 
As I recall, someone else got the job."

     "Yes. However, that person asked me for a transfer 
to his homeworld two days ago. I wanted to confirm the 
possibility of your taking the position with Captain 
Garum and Admiral Bilal before I mentioned it to you. The 
position is yours, if you can find a replacement for your 
class."

     I stood up, shocked. "Honey, that's great! It's 
been, what, eight years since we've been stationed 
together. That would be wonderful!" Then, I remembered 
the catch. "Ah, bollocks. I can't do it."

      "What? The Admiral tells me that you can take the 
position as long as someone can replace you in the class, 
and Lts. Riker and Ro can replace you."

     "Not right now! I just got Ro to decide on a working 
syllabus this week and Riker doesn't even show up half 
the time. Bilal won't let me go if those two stay as 
unreliable as they are now. With my luck, they'll both 
take off midsemester and leave me holding the bag."

     "The Admiral seemed keen about the idea when I told 
him. I do not see him allowing the Lieutenants to take 
advantage of you in this matter."

     I dropped my head and rubbed my neck. "Yeah, maybe."

     "Alex, please stop worrying." T'Nar's voice was as 
cool as ever, but I could hear the undertone of concern. 
"Go see the Admiral on Monday and discuss it with him. I 
feel certain that we can work this out." I grunted 
noncommittally, though I knew she was likely right. "Are 
you not meeting with Mr. O'Brien tonight?"

     "Yeah." I lifted my head. The sun was sliding below 
the ocean. I'd have to go inside soon, to avoid the 
snakes and scorpions. "Twenty hundred hours. I'm supposed 
to meet his friend from DS9."

     "Good. Go have a pleasant evening with them in 
Paris. Enjoy yourself and do not worry about this. It 
will be fine." I heard a noise off to one side, as if 
someone were coming into Sickbay. "Ah. I have a patient."

     "I understand," I said. "I'll see you on Monday...I 
love you."

     "I love you, too," she said, then ended the 
connection. The delivery was not much more expressive 
than that of a computer, but the fact that she said it at 
all meant enough. Vulcans rarely say that sort of thing, 
and when they do, they don't lie about it.

     
*********

     I threaded my way down the streets near the river, 
heading towards the Eiffel Tower, until I found the bar. 
It was a small cabaret-type place. I'd never been, but 
Miles said it catered to the offworld crowd and was 
comfortable. We had discussed finding someplace more 
local in nature, but Miles thought his buddy would find 
too Terran a place intimidating. Apparently, Bashir came 
home to Earth as little as possible. I had a hard time 
blaming him, there. Earth was lovely, as long as you 
didn't think too much about what kind of denial it took 
to see the planet as the centre of the universe. As I 
walked in, I noticed a distinctly Andorian cast to the 
decor. Everything was some sort shade of blue, with an 
ocean theme to the low-based furniture.

     "Alex!" I looked around and spotted Miles standing 
over at the bar with a tall, thin, dark Human. They were 
both wearing loose, dark civilian clothes, like me. It 
had been the fashion last year, which might be why every 
Starfleet officer who didn't normally live on Earth was 
wearing something like it. I strolled over to the bar to 
meet and greet. As I drew near, Miles' friend 
straightened up and gave me the strangest look.

     "Hey, Miles. You boys eaten yet?" I said, eyeing the 
friend back. This must be Bashir.

     "Nope. We were waiting for you." Miles put his hand 
on his friend's shoulder. "Alex, this is Julian Bashir. 
He's the CMO out at Deep Space Nine. Julian, this is--"


     "Alex Sawalha," Bashir said, looking stunned. "Oh, 
my God. They told me you were dead."

     Needless to say, I was taken aback. Miles looked 
surprised as well. It was hardly what you would expect in 
your usual introduction. "I'm sorry," I said politely, 
holding out my hand. "Uh, have we met?"

     "Oh, yes." Bashir nodded. "On the Veracruz. You 
saved my life."

     Shit. Ah, bollocks. I hated when this happened, 
though I should have been relieved it didn't happen more 
often. "Oh. Well, I'm sure it wasn't as bad as all that," 
I said uneasily, still trying to slot him into my memory. 
He looked familiar, but that was as far as I was getting 
on the old memory train. I made it a habit to forget the 
pertinent biographical details of patients as soon as 
they left my care, so that I wouldn't spread any 
embarrassing information while telling war stories on the 
nightshift in Sickbay. I tended to remember, in fact, not 
names and faces but signs and symptoms.

     Bashir smiled ruefully. Well, he was a fellow medic. 
He might guess what was going through my head. "It was 
right before your ship disappeared. You stopped off at 
AR-558. We were defending a major sensor array. I 
had...." He lifted his hand, stared at it, then brushed 
absently at his chest. "....severe burns to the head and 
chest from a close-range disruptor shot. I nearly died, 
of course, but you seemed to make it your personal 
mission to drag me back from the brink of death." He 
grinned nervously. "Believe me, I am most grateful for 
that."

     Light dawned at supernova levels. "The Dormouse," I 
said, pointing at him. "Oh, yeah. I remember you, now. 
You had a dormouse sitting on your pillow, banging on 
your head with a spoon, and you yelled about it for two 
solid days." We grinned at each other in mutual relief, 
having finally made the connection. "You were a complete 
pain in the ass." I winced inside, wondering if that had 
been a wise thing to blurt out. To be honest, I'd always 
felt rather proud of his case; talk about a fighter!

     "Oh, I'm sure that's true," Bashir replied, unfazed, 
to my relief. Miles was looking back and forth between 
us, obviously confused. "I was delirious for a couple of 
days and I had Alice in Wonderland stuck in my head," 
Bashir explained to him. "It caused some concern with the 
staff as I kept hallucinating about it."

     "Oh, you have no idea what I did to try to get 
through to you. I was trying everything I could think of 
to make you shut up about that goddamned dormouse." Now 
that the ice was broken, I was remembering more and more 
about Bashir. What a tough bastard. "You should have 
died, you know."

     Bashir nodded. "I know. You saved my life."

     "Oh, no. Nonono." I shook my head. "You made it back 
in spite of the odds on your own. Hell, I can't believe I 
asked you about changing your medication. I should have 
just kept you doped up and hoped for the best. My 
supervisor nearly had my ass for that little mistake." 
Having the Veracruz shot out from under us a week later 
had saved me a major reprimand on that score. "What can I 
say? I was working eighteen hour shifts for a month solid 
and I fucked up. I'm sorry. I am glad you made in spite 
of it all, though."

     Uh, oh. Bashir was looking mulish. "No, you saved my 
life. You kept me focused on what was happening around 
me. I would have slipped away, otherwise."

     "Uh...yeah, okay." There is a time where you have to 
drop the figleaf of modesty and just accept the praise 
gracefully, whether you feel you deserve it or not. "So, 
what brings you here? Shore leave?"

     Bashir laughed. "God, no. I wouldn't be taking that 
alone."

     O'Brien smiled wryly. "And you probably wouldn't 
take it anywhere near Earth, either."

     Bashir gave him a hurt look. "Of course I would. I 
visit you, don't I?"

     "Yeah, true." But Miles didn't look as if he 
believed it. "And you're right, you would have come with 
Ezri." That must be Ezri Dax, the Trill girlfriend Miles 
had mentioned.

     "Say, what ever happened to that Ferengi kid?" I 
said. "Um...can't remember his name. Lost his leg. Did he 
get a new one after all?"

     "Nog?" Miles said. "Oh, yeah. He was back on DS9 six 
weeks after AR-558."

     "He had some readjustment issues but he should be 
fine, now," Bashir added. "Damn, I should call him and 
tell him you're all right. When we heard about the 
Veracruz, we thought...."

     "You and the rest of the Fleet," I said. "But we 
still got back in the end." I grinned, cringing inside. I 
hoped I could change the subject quickly. I didn't like 
dwelling on this.

     "Hey, why didn't you and Nog mention Alex if he was 
so important to you?" Miles complained. "I could have 
told you where he was a year ago."

     Bashir shrugged. "I dunno. I suppose, after we heard 
about the Veracruz going missing while we were in 
hospital, we just...didn't want to discuss it with 
anyone. It would have made it more real." He looked at 
me. "What *did* happen to the Veracruz?"

     I decided to order a drink. I was going to need one 
if this discussion went much further. "We crashed. 
Fortunately, most of us survived and we ended up stuck on 
some barren rock for over a year."

     "How did they find you?" Miles asked.

     "The Dominion decided to build a POW camp there." I 
got the drink, a gin and tonic, and sucked it down.

     "You mean you were a POW?" Bashir asked gently. God, 
I hated that tone of voice.

     "Nope. A group of us, thirty-four from the ship, 
managed to stay free. We were on the run for close to a 
year, stealing from the Dominion, working one tired, old 
replicator to death for rations, slowly freezing and 
starving to death."

     "I'm surprised the Jem'Hadar didn't come after you," 
Miles said.

     "Oh, they did, eventually, when their cause was 
hopeless and they wanted to wipe everyone out instead of 
surrendering."

     "How did you survive?" Bashir asked.

     "Uh, we poisoned the Jem'Hadar, actually, before 
they could close in. Came back down into the camp after 
they were all dead, liberated it and used the Dominion 
communications to call Starfleet." I ordered another 
drink, the memory of how the prisoners had burned the 
Vorta commandant floating too close to the surface. Damn 
that dream.

     "How many people did you lose?" Bashir asked. Ah, 
these practical questions.

     "After the initial losses of the crash? None. 
Everyone who escaped to the hills came home. Not all of 
the prisoners made it, though. That was a good reason for 
staying in the hills." I nodded to myself, tapping on the 
bar impatiently waiting for the second drink. "Starfleet 
was so happy to see us, they didn't ask too many 
questions. Just threw a bunch of medals at us and sent us 
home on leave for a few months. I was pretty damned happy 
to see my wife, let me tell you."

     "Did you tell them about how you took out the 
Jem'Hadar?" Bashir asked. He and Miles exchanged a dark 
look, remembering something, I think, that had nothing to 
do with my own story.

    "Oh, yes. It's a war crime, what we did. I know that. 
But they didn't want to know. As far as they were 
concerned, it was war, it was combat, it was self-
defence. All perfectly above board." I snorted. "I mean, 
who's gonna complain about a few squads of dead 
Jem'Hadar? The Founders? I don't think so."

     "True," Bashir mused. "They'll only cook up another 
batch. And by not surrendering, the Jem'Hadar were 
disobeying orders, anyway, so they get brushed under the 
rug and forgotten. Very neat." He got a faraway look in 
his eye. "I wonder who the ruthless son of a bitch was 
who came up with the idea of poisoning them?"

     "Ah." The second drink came. I grabbed it with 
gratitude and sucked it down, too. "I'm afraid that 
ruthless son of a bitch would be me."

     Miles and Bashir exchanged that dark look again. 
Miles looked guilty. Before they could say anything or I 
could ask what them what *their* deep , dark secret was, 
a drunk Klingon behind Bashir started kicking up a fuss. 
It's just amazing how many Klingons are alcoholics. What 
a stupid way to use and abuse redundant organs. It takes 
a lot of bloodwine to drink a Klingon under the table. 
This one looked like he'd just crawled out from under the 
table for another go. He was covered with scars, probably 
from the War. He clung to the bar and yelled at the 
bartender, a very tall and broad-shouldered Andorian, who 
regarded him with disgust. I was just about to warn 
Bashir when he paled and came over beside me, glancing 
over his shoulder. Miles followed him.

     "Oh, not *again*," Bashir muttered.

     "Hey, at least you don't know the Klingon this 
time," Miles jibed.

     "That's reassuring," Bashir snapped back.

     "Is there something you guys aren't telling me, 
here?" I asked. They each gave me a dirty look. At that 
point, disaster struck; the Klingon noticed us.

     "What're you looking at?" he snarled, the words so 
mangled that his universal translator seemed to have 
trouble keeping up with his speech. I've always wondered 
if drunks have some sort of substance abuser's 
phrasebook--they all say the same things.

     "Nothing," Miles said, raising his hands in a 
conciliatory manner. Where the hell was that bartender? 
Calling city security? "We were just passing through." He 
glanced at me and Bashir. "I think another venue is in 
order, boys."

     "Oh, absolutely," I agreed, backing up behind the 
two of them. Bashir just nodded, his face tight. Hadn't 
Miles said that Dax's ex-husband was a Klingon? "I think 
I saw a place up the street, near the transporter pad? 
That should work."

     "You *insult* me?!" The Klingon yanked out one of 
those nasty, three-pronged Klingon knives. "Thieving, 
cowardly Ferengi! Come and fight!" He charged. Swinging.

     I would have been fine if the Klingon had been as 
drunk as he looked. Unfortunately, not only could he 
stand, but he could run (though stopping proved harder). 
I still would have been fine since I was still behind 
Bashir, who was right in the Klingon's line of charge--
and then the son of a bitch ducked. That's gratitude for 
you.

*********

     Bashir, of course, felt just terrible about it 
afterwards. Don't they all. "God, I'm so sorry, Alex," he 
said in the Academy infirmary as he worked the dermal 
regenerator while Miles helped me hold my face together. 
"It happened so fast; I just reacted. It didn't occur to 
me you wouldn't have the time to get out of the way."

     "That bastard from Hell could have cut my throat! He 
came a centimeter away from taking out an eye--and you're 
sorry?" I yelped, though it was hard to talk around the 
blood bubbling into my mouth from my cheek.

     "Come on, Alex, calm down," Miles said. "It was an 
accident. You know that."

     "Oh, yeah. That Klingon didn't really *mean* to 
slice us up!"

    "Alex, stop it or I'll have to sedate you," Bashir 
snapped, his doctor's training coming to the fore. "I 
have no intention of sending you back to your wife 
looking like Emperor Martok. Shut up and let me work. You 
can shout at me later."

     I subsided, but I was still seething. Only two 
months in and this whole fucking year was already a total 
wash. The left side of my face was numb from Bashir's 
analgesic. I was sitting in an infirmary on a Friday 
night with two guys I scarcely knew helping me glue my 
face back together. My wife couldn't get time off to see 
me even when we were on the same bloody planet. I was 
stuck in a job that I hated, with coworkers whom I 
loathed. I had a chance to get a transfer that could 
solve all that and I'd probably get cheated out of it 
because said coworkers were completely unreliable and 
could get away with bloody murder. At this point, a new 
war would be an improvement. I may have been miserable on 
that nasty little rock in the Badlands, but at least my 
life had been simple. I'd known who my friends and 
enemies were. 

     Bashir gave me a heavy-duty painkiller and he and 
Miles saw me home. I got the usual stern lecture about 
sticking to liquids for the next forty-eight hours and 
staying in bed. That Klingon had ripped my cheek right in 
half; It had been a nasty, complicated job, stitching it 
up without a scar. He was in the local lockup but there 
was some question as to whether he'd stay there. Seemed 
he was some sort of war hero. Well, weren't we all? 
Frankly, with what Bashir had given me, I no longer gave 
a damn.

     And to top it all off, T'Nar was stuck on her ship 
as she'd seen no point in coming down here while I was 
working in Morocco. Might as well just sleep it off.

     The insistent wheedling of the apartment comm woke 
me up around noon the next day. Since it wouldn't stop, I 
got up and stumbled out to the kitchen to answer it. When 
I clicked on the transmission, Admiral Bilal's face came 
up.

     "You're sleeping in today? Big night, huh?" Bilal's 
jaw dropped open. "What the--what happened to you?!"

     "I had a slight difference of opinion with a Klingon 
dagger last night," I said, my voice sounding blurred to 
my own ears.

     "Damn. Alex, you look terrible."

     "Cheers. I feel terrible."

     "I'm not surprised." Bilal's expression changed. I 
was still having a hard time seeing out of my left eye, 
but I thought he looked guilty. "Look, um, Alex, 
something's come up with your class."

     "You talked to my wife?" I said hopefully, even 
though I could see from the look on his face that this 
wasn't good news.

     Bilal nodded. "I did, and it was a great idea, 
really. I'd have signed you over in a heartbeat, Alex. 
Unfortunately...did you and Tom Riker discuss something 
about him taking a transfer a few days back?"

     Oh, no. "I said he could teach the class or 
transfer."

     "Damn." Bilal sighed. "Seems that Riker knew a few 
strings to pull that you and I didn't know about. He went 
to Admiral Janeway looking to see if she could help him 
out. She worked with Maquis for seven years coming home 
from the Delta Quadrant. They still see her as a soft 
touch. And in this case, they were right."

     I groaned. I knew they'd do this to me. I just knew. 
"Lemme guess. She got Riker a transfer."

     Bilal grimaced. "Worse. She offered one to Ro, too. 
I haven't heard yet whether Ro accepted or not, but with 
her track record...."

     "Yeah. I know." Christ, it was only February.

     "I'll keep trying, Alex, but this late in the 
semester--maybe your wife's ship can hold off long enough 
on the other guy's transfer to let you in after the 
semester ends."

     "Maybe." But since they hadn't done that last time, 
it seemed unlikely. "Thank you for trying, anyway, 
Admiral." The comm cut on his look of sympathy. I took a 
pain pill and went back to bed. I couldn't think of 
anything more sensible at that point.

*********

     Bashir woke me around eight in the evening. "How do 
you feel?" he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and 
running a tricorder over my face.

    "Like shit," I mumbled. "So, Doc, will I ever play 
the violin?"

     "Nice to see your sense of humour is still intact. I 
took over your clinic duties for the weekend, by the 
way."

     "Oh." I sat up, taking my time. "You didn't have to 
do that."

     "It was nothing, really." He was fumbling with the 
pill bottle he had given me. "You should be back on your 
feet by Monday, though your head with probably ache for 
the next week. Umm...Alex, how many of these have you 
taken?"

     "Four...no, maybe six," I admitted.

     He raised his eyebrows. "Why? I'd have thought you 
wouldn't have needed more than two."

     "I wanted to sleep," I said. If I'd been less 
groggy, I might have beaten around the bush more. As it 
was, I was just too tired.

     He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Would this have 
something to do with your class?"

     I rubbed my belly. I couldn't remember the last time 
I'd eaten. That falafel last night, maybe? "I got offered 
a transfer to my wife's ship. Only, my 'colleagues' 
transferred out first."

     "Shit. Ro and Riker?" I nodded. "I'm sorry, Alex. 
That is low. I don't have much respect for the Maquis 
myself, but--that is low even for them. Can you talk to 
anyone?"
I shook my head. "Can *we* talk to anyone? Miles, maybe? 
He knows them both." 

     I shook my head again. "I think he's tried already."

     His face fell. "I'd like to help, Alex, if I could."

     I looked at him. He meant it. Had I really saved 
this man's life? Had I really saved all those others who 
had passed under my care? It still seemed too heavy a 
thing to carry.

     One thing was for certain, though, I had no such 
leverage with either Riker or Ro. "Thanks, Bashir. 
Really. But there are only two people who could help me 
at this point and I'm afraid you aren't one of them."

     I saw him out and started to go back to bed. As I 
passed the comm center, I paused--well, why not? It was 
worth a shot. I sat down and keyed in Ro Laren's 
apartment number. I was too foggy to tell whether I was 
more relieved or disappointed when it said she was out 
and asked me to leave a message. I stared at the blank 
screen for an equally blank time before I just started to 
talk:

     "Ro, hi. It's me, Sawalha. Um, I've heard that you 
have received a transfer out of the class from Admiral 
Janeway. I just found out from Admiral Bilal that I could 
transfer to my wife's ship, but I would have to leave 
with them when they ship out in two weeks, or I can't go. 
I know we don't...like each other very much, or know each 
other and that you hate this class, but I would really, 
really appreciate it if you held off transferring long 
enough to finish the class. Because otherwise, I am 
royally fucked and I don't know when I will see my wife 
again. I haven't served with her for over eight years. I 
only get to see her a few weeks out of the year. Please--
"  I waved my hands aimlessly over the comm, feeling like 
a complete fool. "Please, just consider it.... Thank 
you." I cut the connection. My eyes ached and I felt 
worse than ever, so I took another pill and went to bed.

     I must have slept like a dead man until the next 
morning; when I got up, the comm was blinking with an 
incoming message. I clicked it on. Ro Laren's face 
appeared. Her expression was as impassive as a Vulcan's.

     "Commander. Admiral Janeway did offer me a transfer 
offplanet, but after due consideration I have turned it 
down. I will finish out this semester with your class. I 
have informed Admiral Bilal of my decision. He has agreed 
to your transfer as long as you continue teaching the 
class with me until your ship leaves. See you on Tuesday 
morning." The comm clicked off.

     I sat for several minutes, staring at the ubiquitous 
Starfleet logo on the comm. Then, I got up and made 
myself some coffee. Halfway through the first cup, I was 
able to laugh, which I considered to be a good sign. And 
then, I called my wife.

*********

     I spent Monday up on the Cervantes with T'Nar, 
learning the ropes of her Sickbay. Tuesday morning found 
me back down on Earth, coming back, ten minutes early, 
through the doorway of the Captain Matthew Decker 
Memorial Auditorium. I hoped that no one would ever name 
an auditorium after me for poisoning 347 Jem'Hadar on a 
nameless rock in the Badlands, but it probably wouldn't 
be up to me when the time came.

    Ro came in as I was setting up the audioholographic 
equipment for the 2-D movie I wanted to show the class 
this week. She looked embarrassed when she saw me. I felt 
the same way. We worked in an awkward silence for a few 
minutes, while I fiddled with the remote control for the 
movie.

     "You'll be all right with the rest of the class 
after I leave?" I asked finally, trying to break the 
silence. She nodded. "I, um...I do appreciate this, 
Lieutenant."

     "Laren. My personal name is Laren." She smiled 
ruefully. 

     I smiled ruefully back. "Laren. Thank you."

     She glanced around the room. Cadets were entering 
the room in ones and twos. "You're welcome."

     I came near, speaking quietly so that the cadets 
couldn't hear. "But I don't really understand why." I 
knew I was pushing it, but I needed to know.

     She shrugged, fiddling with her class PADD. "I guess 
I just felt it was time to finally take a stand, small as 
it might seem to everybody else. Time to stop running 
away and leaving somebody else holding the bag." She 
looked up at me. "In this case, you."

     "I see." The silence stretched. To be honest, I was 
glad that she had done it for herself in the end. Maybe 
she'd turn out to be a good officer someday, and well 
worth the salvage. I wondered where Riker had got himself 
transferred to. Maybe he'd redeem himself there. "Well, 
anyway, thank you."

     "No problem." She looked out at the cadets again. 
The class was now about two-thirds full. "It's not such a 
bad job, for someone like me. I could get used to being 
an authority figure." I snorted at that, in spite of 
myself. She looked back at me. "So, according to the 
syllabus, we're watching a movie today?"

     I nodded. "Yep. 'The Caine Mutiny'. You ever hear of 
it?" I hoped she wouldn't be insulted once we got to 
watching it.

     She shook her head. "What's it about?"

     All of the students were in now. Might as well make 
the announcement and get started. I raised the remote for 
the screen and clicked it on. "Well, Lieutenant, it's 
about faith...."

END