Chapter Text
The band was in high gear when Deanna and Worf entered Ten-Forward, her dainty hand clasped in his and making his heart patter at a most warrior-like pace. Jazz, for all its faults, had never sounded more triumphant than it did now, with light glittering off the brass instruments and Worf leading Deanna straight to a private table tucked in the corner by the bar. The loud, bold notes of Riker’s trombone solo drowned out any possibility of conversation, so Deanna just folded her hands beneath her chin and smiled at Worf, and he felt himself almost — almost! — smiling back.
“This is nice,” she said whenever the music dipped.
“Indeed,” Worf thundered. Deanna placed her hand over his, and at the bandstand, Riker’s hand slipped on the slide and a sour note blared out. Worf whipped his head around, affronted by the noise.
But the soft touch of Deanna’s hand against his arm drew him back.
“Tell me about Betazoid courting rituals,” he invited.
Deanna swallowed a mischievous smile. “Why? Would you like to court me, Betazoid-style?”
“I—”
Another sour note bleated out of the trombone.
“I may!” Worf said, practically roaring to be heard. “Tell me what it entails!”
“Well, first of all, there’s a ritual nudity involved, usually on the shores of—”
Riker went flat, then sharp, then flat again, totally out of step with the band. Worf half-stood, his fighting instincts ignited by the sheer terrible quality of the music, but he stopped when he saw Riker abandoning the bandstand entirely. Red-faced from embarrassment, Riker left his trombone and headed straight for the bar.
“Anything,” he said to Guinan, a little breathless. Worf settled back down in his seat. He made eye contact with Deanna, who cocked her head questioningly.
“You were saying…?” Worf prompted.
“Nudity,” said Deanna, eyes glittering. “The two lovers meet, sans clothing, in the moonlight on the shores of the Yelan River. It’s a particularly beautiful spot, so of course it’s actually overrun with tourists. Savvy young couples go to the Janaran Falls instead.”
“Oh?” Worf glanced over Deanna’s head at Riker. He was leaning on the bar now, his shoulders hunched and his ears still red from his shoddy performance. Was it just his imagination, or was Riker making a point not to look their way? Could he hear them talking about the Falls?
Part of Worf wanted to continue the conversation. A more honorable part won out. He shifted uneasily in his seat and blurted out the first topic that came to mind, his harsh tone making it sound like an order.
“Tell me of your most favored meats.”
Deanna blinked. “My … you mean, my favorite foods? Worf, why do you assume they’re meats?”
Was she a vegetarian? No, he would never be attracted to a vegetarian, he was sure of it. Worf made a tolerant hand gesture. “Or your most favored stews,” he allowed. Deanna laughed, a clear sound that cut through the air like the ringing of a bell, and at the bar, Riker hunched in on himself even further. Geordi sauntered in just at that moment and gave Riker a friendly wave.
“Commander! Care for a drink?”
“I’ve already had one,” Riker snapped, and everyone in earshot went silent. Deanna glanced over her shoulder in concern, but Riker was already stalking out of Ten-Forward, his sour mood trailing him like the scent of a prey animal’s fear. Worf’s nostrils flared; he fought to keep his face neutral when Deanna turned to look at him again.
“Your favorite meats?” he prompted.