lex-crow · 9 months ago
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Eret(completely enamored): I would kill and die for you.
Hiccup(who has had this conversation way to many times): please don’t do either of those things.
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halfwayinlight · 4 years ago
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Series: Precious Commodities Chapter: 3 The Impasse Fandom: Star Trek TNG Pairing: Will Riker/Deanna Troi Rating: PG Notes: continuation of my fic for @nothingeverlost, all cross posted to AO3
Dexterity was a precious commodity, and Deanna only wished she could enjoy this display of Will’s intelligence more thoroughly. Distractions and schemes are touchy things. Some distractions are subtle and catch others by surprise. And some are an accumulation of sheer bluster and personality. She excels at the first type. She has used her calm and deep study of psychology to distract and play her own strategies when needed.
Will can do this, too. He’s cagey, smooth, and charming. Between poker, chess, war games, and any number of missions and incidents, she’s had a front row in his masterclass.
But he’s also large and hard to miss. He can leverage this, too, to his favor. Noise, demands, and a lean or a glare can get him very far. He’s using both with their captor and these long rounds of chess. She knows he could have won in fifteen moves or less.
He won the first round, stretched it into a long play. Passed up any number of opportunities to end it swiftly and ruthlessly. It gave her a chance to nap for a bit. And set up legitimacy for his own complaint of standing too long as he teased out a second game. Feigned disinterest. Maybe that wasn’t true. He wasn’t particularly interested in chess. At least not in this particular game.
Deanna can sense the strategies that go far beyond the chess board. His angles have given him a partial view of the brig layout. He’s had time to sneak several overviews of the panels and realized their potential. And he’s still trying to figure out when to make his final sequence. Not to end the chess game, but to begin to put action to the plans and contingencies he’s forming.
He complains that it’s hard to see the board. And Deanna almost laughs at this. She’s known Will to play blindfolded before, moves called out in sequence. His mind can hold the entire board, visualize the moves, keep track of which piece is where, and still win handily.
She does her best to be quiet, to quiet her mind. Food and the short nap helped. But she is still cold enough that she can’t relax. It’s unlike her not to be able to sit still. She does it for long stretches of time during counseling sessions, going especially still and quiet when a patient is on the cusp of epiphany. She’s trying not to distract her mother, either, but her thoughts search out Lwaxana’s as often as she had called for her parents as a small child with a very over-active imagination when she should have been sleeping.
Deanna catches herself right as her mind is turning to her mother again, pulling herself back as she remembers the last time she reached out. Her stomach turns at the thought of her mother and DaiMon Tog. Her mother’s revulsion at the reception is all too real in Deanna’s memory, and she is not okay with Lwaxana doing that, even if it’s an attempt to keep Deanna and Will safe. Betazoids are free with many things, but they also are repulsed by forced or non-consensual situations.
She can’t stand to sit still, so she’s pacing the cell and in motion. Her arm isn’t as sore as it was, but she welcomes the dull ache that distracts her. It’s not a great coping mechanism, but she’s aware there are far worse ones. It’s certainly going to be an interesting conversation with her counselor on subspace, well, whenever they get out here. That poor, amazing woman had helped Deanna through so much already. Her counselor could write entire volumes on the psychological effects of space exploration and its impact on the psyche. More than once her counselor has said that for someone facing as much uncertainty, Deanna was generally handling it well. More than once, Deanna had felt like a complete wreck. She had learned to deeply appreciate one of the few conversations where she could simply exist, without having to be the calming presence in the room. For someone who spends eighty percent or more of the conversation listening, it’s still hard to talk about herself for that long.
Deanna expected it would be easier when Will was outside of the cell. She tried not to hover at the opening. Tried to act casual as she took Will’s abandoned seat. Tried her hardest to focus on a breathing exercise. But she couldn’t settle on which one to use. She felt like a liability to both her mother and Will—she couldn’t do anything to help either one right now, nor to help them find a way off the ship. And while she didn’t want her mother here alone, a thousand “what-ifs” were playing through her mind, all while she watched the chess game intently.
Will shifted on the padded stool, his shoulders stiffening. He gave a slight shake of his head in irritation, as though trying to clear his thoughts and refocus. On some level, she was distracting him.
She took a slow breath in, held in for a four count, and then released it even more slowly. Beneath her, she could feel the lingering warmth on the padded bench from where Will had been sitting for some time before leaving the cell. And another small gust of cool air from the intake made her shiver slightly. This time she welcomed the distraction.
When he finally made his move, Deanna both saw and felt his surprise flare of pain in Will’s hand. She wasn’t familiar with much about Ferengi anatomy, but the skull seemed particularly dense. Hopefully he hadn’t broken anything. At any rate, it felt like a victory to be helped out of the cell. She felt a little safer on the same side of the force field as Will. Even if it was an illusion and re-capture was only meters away.
Deanna was relieved to have at least a small something to do. She’s the connection to her mother, and it was utter relief to see that her mother has once again used her own eclectic blend of charm and firmness to keep things… appropriate.
You’re so prudish, Little One, her mother chided. Those humans have influenced you too much.
A day or two ago, Deanna would have chafed and argued. Protested. For now, she was simply glad that her mother is distracting their captor. And thankful that Will has such a wider understanding of ship systems than she could ever hope to have. Her position and degree from the university and time at Starfleet have put her in the rank of Lieutenant Commander. But the only time she really feels like she’s acting in that position is when she’s acting as Diplomatic Officer. She knows her skills and services in that role have more than earned her right to have the rank.
Yet, she has struggled far more with imposter syndrome as an officer than she ever did as a graduate and doctoral psychology student. She was not a fan of the older uniforms when she first began to serve on Starfleet ships. Her reasons for preferring more casual versions of the standard uniform, however, go far beyond the way the top piece often rides up and requires adjusting. And beyond the fact that it’s difficult for people to relax and open up about personal or professional challenges when she’s wearing the uniform of their authority.  But this echo of imposter syndrome has made her consider, once or twice in passing, taking the bridge officer’s test. To prove she can handle command. To prove it to herself. But there are portions, like the engineering section, that continue to make her inclined to reconsider an attempt.
Uniform or not, Will has brought his singular focus to the console. She wonders idly how much Ferengi or glyphs he can read and how much is instinct. It does seem naïve not to have anticipated the need for access codes. She should have predicted that, knowing how the Ferengi are so insular, how they prefer to keep everything to themselves. In a civilization that thirsts for money and power, of course the risks would be too great to a DaiMon to leave even internal systems without security features—lest some lower ranking crew try to usurp power.
It’s a surprise to both of them when their attempt is denied. And she could sense the wariness in Will, his resolve grinding down by the moment. They’re both drained. He has dark circles under his eyes, his usually tidy beard is attempting to grow full-out, and his hair is mussed in the way she only sees in the rarest of occasions. Mentally, she can sense he is scrambling for a Plan B.
Reaching out to her mother was easy, but the wait time for answers stretched out.
Beside her, Will tried several other combinations to probe the restrictions of the console. By the third attempt, he pressed his head against the console and gave a huff of frustration. “I’m afraid if I keep trying, I’m going to trigger some kind of alert. We’re no good to her or ourselves if we get locked back in there. Especially if someone comes to investigate and finds our friend. I don’t know what their shift changes look like.”
“I know,” she sighed, moving closer and giving his upper arm a squeeze.  When he didn’t turn, her arms wrapped around him from behind, and she hugged him tightly. Her eyes closed, and Deanna pressed a warm kiss against the fabric over his shoulder. Her cheek came to rest against him, and she gave over more of her weight. “Will, you’ve done so much for all of us. We will figure out a way to get off this ship.”
“Deanna, I don’t know what else—”
She sighed and tightened her grip around him. “Breathe with me for a minute,” she encouraged, a small smile crossing her lips when he found one of her hands and gave a gentle squeeze before obeying. “You’re exhausted. We both are.  But we will figure this out. And get back to Enterprise. And have real food—or at least replicated food—again.”
“And a hot shower,” he mumbled with a sigh. “And clean clothes. Clothes that are appropriate to space,” he added. His hand caught hers, drawing them back slightly so he could turn to face her. “C’mere.” Gently, he eased up the ruffle over her left upper arm. “How is this?”
It was nice to have this half moment, even if she can feel a shimmer of upset from her mother, the first signal fire that things aren’t going smoothly with command codes. “A little achy still, but better.” Her fingers covered the spot and rubbed lightly.
He pulled her against him, arms going around her for long moments to offer warmth. “Deanna… if it comes down to it, if we can’t all—”
Her head shook before he could even finish. “No, we need to do this together. All three of us.”
“If it comes down to it, you and your mother should—”
“No!” she protested, pulling back slightly. “I’m not having this conversation with you. There are too many things in our favor on this. If we can’t draw the Enterprise to us now, we can wait it out. We’re both officers. There has to be some trail that someone will trace back to Tog—between Data or the Captain or someone on the ship… Mother is an ambassador. They might be willing to gamble on any number of things, but even Tog and Farek will have to admit that they don’t dare incur the wrath of Starfleet. Or the other DaiMons if Starfleet pressures them.”
He pressed a warm kiss to her forehead. “You have a point,” he sighed, and she could sense he was irritated that he was too tired to have come to the conclusion sooner.
“You were busy getting me out of the cell and trying to signal Enterprise,” she reminded affectionately. “And I’m sorry, but I might have to delay those plans on the holodeck.”
“You’re breaking our date?” he teased wryly, and she was glad to hear the lightness in his voice, even if he was still tired. It meant that he was ready to do whatever they needed to do next.
Her head shook slightly, and she offered a small smile. “A raincheck. No offense, but I really want a bath and to sleep first.”
“Your creature comforts,” Will teased. “With all of your bath salts and oils? What was it, sandalwood and…”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Sandalwood is entirely your fault, you know. I’d never smelled or heard of it until you gave it to me all those years ago.”
His hand slid to her shoulder, thumb lightly tracing her collarbone. “Creature comforts,” he repeated, dropping a kiss to her cheek. After taking a slow breath, he chaffed her shoulder lightly. “And thank you, I’m better now.”
“I think we’re both going to be due a counseling session once this is over, but so long as only one of us is frustrated at once, we’re alright.” She gave his wrist a squeeze and took a breath to refocus, but before she could make any suggestions, dread flooded her and she froze.
“Deanna?”
Her eyes were wide when they lifted to meet his. “It didn’t work… Farek… He interrupted. Will, he’s going to run experiments on her.”
“Experiments?” Will pressed, already moving back toward the console and scanning over the consoles again as if he might see something he missed before.
“Neural scans,” she grimaced, her own fear spiking in harmony with her mother’s. Try to delay. We’re doing everything we can! Deanna swallowed hard and stepped out of Will’s way as he reached across the far side to bring up the strange grid and layout. “Farek thinks he can replicate mother’s telepathic abilities with enough probing and experimentation.”
Under his breath he let out a Klingnon curse that would’ve made Worf speechless. “Like hell they are,” he grunted, “Grab that phaser in case this doesn’t work.” He jabbed a series of commands and smacked the wall beside the work station when those failed like the ones before.
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