The BLTS Archive - Observations
by Unzadi (unzadi@aol.com)

---

Author's Note:  Despite all these deadlines, seeing a startling
resemblance between my employer and the pointy-haired boss from
Dilbert, and the shakeup with the AOL boards, the fact is that I miss
you varlets.  So, throwing all other things to the wayside for a
moment, here's this.

Paramount owns Star Trek, but not my imagination, nor yours, nor the
Shrine, nor the vast majority of sammiches in the world.  See you all
soon!

---

Deanna did not know Worf was watching her.  That was good, he decided,
forcing his breathing to slow.  She was concentrating on the sparring
match, on her opponent's strengths  and weaknesses, looking for the
proper opening to make her move.  She was not concerned with the
observations of her classmates, or her instructor, instead being
completely focused on the  competition at hand.  Worf gave a nod of
satisfaction.  When she had first begun attending his mok'bara
classes, he had considered requesting her to withdraw.  There were
other humans in the class, other females, but Deanna was small, and
to his way of thinking, too delicate to engage in the activity.

She, of course, had noticed Worf's reluctance, and had contested,
producing file after file proving that there was no medical reason a
Betazoid/human woman could expect more physical harm than normal.
More physical harm than normal.  As Deanna's arms curved gracefully
into the next movement, Worf's lips curled back from his teeth in an
expression of appreciation.

Rather than too small, he would now term her build compact.  Instead
of the soft, unused  muscle he had expected to find beneath her smooth
skin, there was a distinctly feminine strength.  Like K'Ehleyr, but
with Deanna's own signature to it.

The thought of his departed mate caused Worf to turn away from his
students, a scowl crossing his face.  He had come too late to
K'Ehleyr, able to say the words of the oath only as she lay dying
from an assassin's dagger.  Their son was already well on his way to
manhood before Worf had been able to know the boy.  This reunion, in
part, was due to Deanna's insistence that it was what both father and
son needed.  She had been right, her reasoning as true and sure as
the well-aimed kick that sent her opponent tumbling to the mat.

"Class has ended," Worf announced, at the sound of the two women
leaving the mat to step onto the bare floor.  Still not facing his
students, he listened as they milled about the room, collecting
towels and shoes, or requested water from the replicator on the far
wall by the door.  Deanna left with a small group of women, after she
had gotten two drinks of water.  He knew her  footsteps now, could
pick them out of a crowd if need be.  She walked with determination
but an equal measure of energy, which he admired.  Although Deanna
bore the burden of the often shifting emotions of the entire crew,
over one thousand in number, she did not appear to sag under it, as
he had once thought she might.  He admired that.

"Commander, I would request that you stay," Worf found himself saying
as Riker passed him, perspiration-drenched towel in hand.

Finding the towel completely useless, Riker swiped at his face with
the sleeve of his tunic as the last few students filed out.  "If this
is about the requisition I received this morning, the answer is still
no.  We just can't spare the power.  Not now.  I thought Geordi made
that clear."

Worf's dark eyes fixed Riker's blue ones, the human man stepping back
instinctively.  "I accept your decision.  I wished to talk about a
personal matter."

Riker's bright grin split the damp darkness of his beard.  "In that
case, I'm all ears."

Worf took a deep breath, then plunged straight ahead.  "Do you love
Deanna?"

"Do I love Deanna?  What kind of question is that?  You know I do."
He dropped the towel on the floor, next to the canvas bag he had
brought with him, and stripped off his tunic.

"Then I will not mate with her."  The statement was accompanied by a
deep sigh of reluctant resignation such as Riker had never heard
coming from a Klingon.

Bending over to fish a fresh tunic out of the bag, Riker felt Worf's
word like a blow to the back of his head.  "Mate with her?"

"I consider you a friend," Worf explained, clearly chagrined that he
needed to say anything further.  "And do not wish to take anything
that is yours.  If you desire Deanna as a mate, I will not pursue
her."

Riker took the time to shrug into the fresh tunic, but left it hanging
open.  "Mate?  You think I want Deanna for my mate?"

Worf only nodded, his eyes expressionless.

A moment of silence hung between the two men.  Then Riker laughed.
The sound caused Worf to step forward, his features taking on a
fierceness behind his control, smouldering as Riker had only seen in
battle, either real or in their advanced holodeck exercises.
"Clearly, I've said something wrong here."

"If you do not intend to take Deanna as a mate, but lead her to
believe that you do, I will challenge you on her behalf."

Riker could only stare at his friend, wide-eyed.  Normally, he would
have looked around to see Deanna, who would probably be doubled over
in laughter at what a masterful prank she was pulling.  Instead, he
knew the Klingon was deadly serious.

"You love her," Worf stated, a growl lacing his words. "So do I.  You
say you love her, yet you pursue other females in her presence, talk
to her about them."

Putting a comfortable distance of a meter or so between them, Riker
rifled through the  bag, needing the distraction.  "I do love Deanna,"
he explained, "but I'm not in love with her.  She's more like
a...a...sister," he finished, wadding up the damp towel and shoving it
into a corner of the bag.  "What we had was good, but it was a long
time ago, and it's over now.  If you're interested in Deanna, she's
the one you ought to be talking to."

"I did not wish to take away anything that is yours."

Riker shook his head, sending droplets of sweat flying.  "Worf,
sometimes I think the High Council could take honour lessons from you.
Look, I don't want to meet you with pistols at dawn or anything like
that.  Last time I checked, Deanna didn't belong to anybody.  She's
her own person.  She can make her own choices.  Somewhere, there's an
extremely lucky man she belongs with, and if that's you, I'll be the
first one to start celebrating.  I think it's up to her, though."

Crossing his arms against his chest, Worf glanced toward the door.  "I
only wanted," he restated, "to be certain there was no
misunderstanding between us."

"There's not," Riker declared, closing the bag and stretching the
cramp out of his spine.  "Unless you're asking all these questions
because you're interested in me.  In that case, I'm flattered, but
I'm just not that kind of guy."  Riker could have sworn he saw the
purple flood into Worf's face, but the Klingon smiled.

"We understand each other, then."  Worf nodded as Riker headed for the
door.  Before he could activate the panel to open it, the door slid
open of its own accord, framing a tired but clean Deanna Troi.

"Are you two still here?" she chided, onyx eyes scanning the room.
"Can you believe I got all the way to Beverly's quarters before I
realised I'd forgotten my water bottle?"  She shrugged her shoulders,
the one nearest Worf exposing itself as the pale blue fabric of her
blouse slid down just a notch.  A long black curl brushed against
Worf's sleeve as she squeezed between the two men, headed for the
corner where the pink and purple bottle rested on a white towel
throne.

Worf's nostrils flared at the scent of musk carried by Deanna's hair,
his eyes captivated by the sight of her long, shapely legs encased in
soft white trousers.  The sway of her hips matched the pounding of his
heart as he watched her cross the empty floor and bend to snatch up
her bottle.

"I'll just leave you two to whatever it is you've been talking about
all this time.  You can just brief me at tomorrow's meeting," she
added, sauntering past them both on her way to the  door.  "Beverly
will kill me if I'm late for rehearsal," she admitted, giving the
water bottle a dangle before she pressed a hand to the door panel.
She hesitated for a moment, a slow, sly smile coming over her subtly
painted lips.  "Carry on, gentlemen."  With that, she stepped back out
into the corridor.

Riker gave his face another swipe with his sleeve, and grinned at
Worf.  "Did any of that answer your question?"

"Answer?"  Worf's features cramped into a mask of confusion.  "I do
not understand."

"My friend, that is the understatement of the century."  Riker draped
a companionable arm about Worf's shoulder, removing it as the Klingon
stiffened.  "Don't tell me you missed the  signals.  No," he amended,
shaking his head.  "You wouldn't have caught them.  Human women
haven't been your forte."

Worf took up a padd he'd stashed beside a pile of mats, and began
going through his post-class checklist.  "I do not understand you.
Counsellor Troi merely wished to retrieve her bottle.  There is no
mystery in that."

"Now that," Riker corrected him, "is where you're wrong.  The language
of woman is extremely complex, but didn't it strike you as a little
strange that Deanna brought a water bottle?"

Worf continued to go through his list, counting mats and comparing
them to the inventory on the padd.  "It is important to keep the body
hydrated when exercising."

"I know," Riker said, walking to the far wall.  "Water," he requested,
and took up the glass the replicator immediately provided him with.
"That's what we have these for.  If a lady wants water, she can get a
whole ocean right from the wall.   Any kind she wants.  If she brings
a bottle with her, she's got something other than hydration in mind."
He took a long drink of the water, draining the glass in one swallow.
Placing it back in the replicator, and instructing it to recycle.

Halfway through his double-check of the attendance, Worf paused.
"Deanna claimed to have just reached Beverly's quarters, yet she had
changed clothing."

Riker nodded.  "If I have to explain anything more, you don't deserve
her.  Why don't you let me do you a favour," he began, taking the padd
from Worf.  "I think you'd much rather be somewhere else right now."

"I have not yet finished my evaluations," Worf protested, holding out
a hand for the padd that was now firmly in Riker's grip.

"Nope," Riker contended, his head bent over the padd.  "I think you'd
really rather watch the theatre group rehearse.  Or does she have to
come in here again before you get the hint?"

Worf's generous brows knitted as he stared hard at the door, as though
willing Deanna back. "She wishes me to follow her?  She did not say
that."

Riker looked up, the broadest of smiles crossing his face.  "Loud and
clear."

The Klingon took a step forward, than paused.  "If you are wrong..."

"I'm not.  Trust me."  He turned his attention back to the padd for a
moment, listening to Worf's ragged breathing.  "And if you're not on
your way to that rehearsal in sixty seconds, I'll reconsider that
challenge."

Worf grumbled, but took another step.  "I do not see what purpose my
presence will serve."

"You'll be there," Riker told him, gesturing toward the door, padd
still in hand.  "That's all she wants.  The two of you can work it out
from there."

There was a silent moment as Worf busied himself with the sash of his
tunic.  "I should change into fresh clothing.  I do not wish to
offend."  With that, he nodded his goodbye to Riker, his steps picking
up speed and purpose as he made his progress.  Surely, Deanna's
changing clothes herself had been another signal for him to follow.

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The End