Chapter Text
The Enterprise had other missions to see to. In time, they left the war-torn planet behind, and the blonde girl with the Ferengi tattoo, too. Riker explained himself, in private, to Picard. To Troi. But not to Donovan. He could guess how they might know each other; he could imagine the drugs in their systems, the handlers who forced them together for paying customers to watch but he didn’t need to know.
And Riker did his job perfectly, so Donovan felt no need to ask. He oversaw their next mission to Vandor VI without fault. He led the rescue of the cruiser Koranak with no casualties. He handled an entire week of transporter malfunctions with aplomb, keeping his good cheer and easing everyone else’s stress in the process.
When they went to the Onias Sector, near Romulan territory, Riker sat relaxed in his chair on the bridge, a twinkle in his eye. He was joking with Troi when an outside communication came in. There were no ships in the area – or so it appeared – but a Romulan warbird fizzled into existence just as the viewscreen static dissolved.
A Romulan woman stared down at them. Her brown eyes swept the bridge. She wore the military uniform of a commander, and her gaze skipped over Donovan, past Picard, to land squarely on Riker.
Her lips quirked into a smile.
“My name is Commander Arbat,” she said, almost sweetly, but her eyes were flat. “You’re in possession of stolen property, Captain Picard.”
Riker rose, his jaw tight. He approached the viewscreen. He met her eyes standing tall, and when she smiled at him, he didn’t flinch.
“There you are,” she said. “T’su. They’ve got you wearing a uniform now.”
“You like it?” Riker asked, his smile hard.
Arbat hummed. She reached for something off-screen. “Not really,” she demurred. “You do look good in it. But I like you better in your old clothes.”
Picard stood, his eyes flashing; Troi clutched her temple, a spike of shame and terror curling her into a ball. Donovan, only Donovan, turned to Worf, ready to order him to raise the shields. A sixth sense made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. But by then it was too late. Riker was laughing, low and flirty, murmuring something none of them could hear, like Arbat was already in the room with him–
And with a shimmer of molecular dust, Arbat’s ship got a lock on him, and Commander Riker disappeared.