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The room was inclined to spin at times or at least it seemed to to Marvok.
She would laugh, then Giggle, then Cry, then Laugh again, for no reason at
all. She tried to control herself but she couldn't. The room seemed to become
fuzzie then to bright then to dark and then the room would spin again. This
drug did more than surpress her control of emotions. However sometimes in
this madness Marvok found lucid moments and to her good fortune one of these
time happened to occur when Vomi decided to come
acourting. Vomi entered the brig finding Marvok lain out on the bunk in her
cell.
"How do you feel?" Vomi asked. He was hurt to see his Hannak go through such
pain, but in his twisted mind he felt that this was the only way. "Like I
have been riding the warp necells on a star ship that is heading at warp nine
through an asteroid field." Marvok said and smiled at him, "and you?" "My
Hannak always the conserned about other before herself." Vomi commented and a
grin fromed on his lips. Marvok felt like rolling her eyes but she referained
from doing so. She wanted Vomi confortable and
needed him to trust her. She knew that the wrong remark or even expression
wonder hinder her plans. "Vomi I have missed you. You have kept up with my
life please tell me what has happen in your's ?" Marvok asked trying to be as
convencing and loving as possible. "Nothing much has happen with me. When I
lost my "sun" life was nothing. What is Romeo with out his Juliet, Taher
without his Curen, Ganty with his Urma, or Sherdan without his Delean . You
were my light Hannak my life my soul. I was but an
empty shell. That is why I must die if you chose not to live," Vomi
expounded. "But why would I chose to die?" Marvok asked. "Hannak you have
chosen by surpressing your feeling for me. I'm forced to use the Tankan,
because I know in your heart it is what you truly want. I would . . ." Vomi
contued on to profess his love but Marvok intrupted; partly to reassure him
and partly to stop speach of love that was giving here a terriable headache.
"I'll do it." Marvok said one hand behind her back crossing her
fingers. "You will?" Vomi exclaimed. This took him by surprize. He did not
expect her to agree to it so soon or at all for that matter. Vomi was not a
fool. If anyone else had agreed so easily he wouyld have known it was a trap;
but were love is conserned most people are fools.
"I knew it." Vomi shouted, " I knew you would. I told Jandok it was possable.
Oh I can't wait to tell him the good news." "Is Jandok here? Oh I must see
him." Marvok said. This statement was close to the truth. If this plan did
not work she would have to appeal to Jandok. He was more logical and
understanding that Vomi and through him was a possable alley. "Will he is
busy now but I'll have him come to see you as some as I can," Vomi said. Vomi
was ready. If Marvok was going to carry out her plan it
would have to be now. "Vomi I can't stand it anymore. Kiss me. Kiss me now."
Marvok said as passionately as she could. " I don't know Hannak," Vomi said
with consern, saddiness, and desire. Vomi had wanted to kiss her ever since
he saw her at that party, but would she feel this way in eight hours when the
drug wore off. " Please Vomi I can stand us being serperated by this barrier
any longer. We are so close and yet so far. Please Vomi Kiss me. Drop this
barrier that holds us part and kiss me." Marvok
pleaded. Vomi couldn't stand it anymore. He quickly dropped the force field
and embraced Marvok.

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As he was about to kiss her she placed her hands on his neck and pressed her
trumps into to presure points at the base of his neck. Vomi fell to his
knees. He could not speak. He could not move. He could only look up at
Marvok. " I considered using our own Vulcan pinch, but I realized it was to
kind for you and you would be awake to soon for me to escape." Marvok
explained and smiled a evil fearful smile as she did so. Marvok face hid
nothing from Vomi now. " It's a pinch," Marvok continued, " I learn on
a diplomatic mission to the Serrians. It cut of the flow of blood to your
brain. You will be unconsius in 30 seconds and dead in one minute." Vomi felt
something drip on his upper lip as it felt into his mouth he knew what it was
blood from his nose. The room was beginning to fade and Vomi was terrified. "
Why is your nose bleeding your asking yourself. Oh that's just the excess
blood it has to go somewhere. Well I just want to say as you experence the
last moment of life that I do not love you, in fact
the feeling your Tankan has given me is nothing but hate for you. You a
butcher, a terriorist, a liar, and a thief and watch you die gives me great
pleasure. Good nit sweet prince and angel of mercy send thee to thy grace."
Marvok said and Vomi fell to the floor unconsius, but not dead, nor would she
let him died. As soon as he fell Marvok placed her thumps back on he neck and
released him from the pinch, allowing the blood flow to continue to his
brain.
"You will be fine." Marvok explained "Unless you suffered a heart attack."
She checked his pulse and his eyes. " Your fine. You will just get a nice 12
hour sleep with a nice big headache after . . . w . . .ward." Marvok said.
She nearly fell herself and became dizzy. Her lucid moment was waining fast
and the drug was once again hitting her with full force. She knew she had to
get out of there now or she would not get out of here at all. She grabbed the
Disrupter in his belt and ran to the door of the
brig and opening it and walk into a spin and luckly empty cordor. On the
wall She found a vent and pulled of the cover. She Climbed in and started to
cry. She pull the vent cover over the hole and began to clumb up the tube.
When the tube flattened out Marvok layed herself on the cold metal wall of
the vent and cryed herself to sleep.

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Joint log by Ens. R. Striker and CPO Madison Javaro

Striker slings a black bag over his shoulder and strides down to the TL. He
enters.

"Bridge..." He whistles softly as it ascends.

Madison glances at her chronometer, then her gaze wanders back to Tactical
readings. ~~Some shifts are more boring than others...~~ She readjusts some
scans and checks out readings, wondering who her relief is tonight.

Striker exits onto the Bridge, and strides over to Madison. She senses
Striker behind her, and greets him without turning around.

"Good evening, Ensign."

Striker smiles. "Hello, Madison."

"Hello, Striker." Madison begins to take off {Classified}.

Striker puts down his bag and looks up. "How are you doing this wonderful
night?"

Madison pulls off the {classified}. "Fine, thank you." She indicates the
readouts. "Pretty quiet out there this evening."

Striker draws up the bag with one hand and puts the other on Mads' shoulder.
"Madison?"

Madison glances down at his touch, and then looks up, eyebrow arching. "Yes?"

"I wanted to apologize for my prior actions, and I have something for you."
He draws out a small isolinear chip. Madison looks extremely surprised.

Striker looks back at her, locking his eyes on hers. "This is that picture I
took of you." He drops it on the ground, and raises his foot, twitching
slightly. He shakes it off, then smashes the chip.

Madison feels her cheeks redden as she watches him, remembering the game.
She eyes him. "I presume you have backups." Her voice is flat.

Striker looks down taking in a breath. "I can't expect you to believe me, but
I don't have any other copies.... If you check my datalogs, there are no
records of any copies."

Madison sighs. "Well, there are still copies floating around out there,
somewhere." She picks up her personal PADD and gets up.

"That was the only copy..." He glances down at the shards.

"The station is all yours.... sir."

"I have one more thing for you."

"Oh?"

Striker takes up the bag and hands it to Madison. She looks at it like it
would explode in her hands. "What's in it?" She doesn't move to take it.

"It's the other stuff I..." he looks away, "...took from you."

Madison looks at Striker in curiosity, then looks down at the bag. Finally,
she takes it, opens it and looks inside. In it is her clothing, from the time
she and Striker played strip poker -- and he won.

Striker looks back up.

Madison looks at him. "Did you hit your head or something?"

"I must have to ever get the idea to steal---" he motions to the bag--
"...something like that from a woman."

She closes bag and slings it over her shoulder. "No, I meant.... this isn't
like you." Madison takes an unconcious half step away from him.

Striker twitches again. "No, please, I am quite all right, but ever since the
Q incident, I've had an awakening."

Madison sees the twitch but ignores it. "An.... awakening? Striker.... you
were going to kill us." She takes another half step away.

"But I didn't. When I got to thinking about the whole thing, I realized what
I was about to throw away, and I thought possibly that you all might give me
a second chance. I can't ask you to forgive me for all of my prior actions,
but I want you to know that I am doing my.... that I am..." He bites his
lip and shakes his head, "...trying to change."

"Throw away? Second chance? Striker, from the day I first met you, you seemed
like you wanted to be anywhere but here." Madison shakes head and looks
away, then looks back. "I don't trust you, Striker. I don't trust you as far
as I could throw you. Which admittedly would probably not be very far. The
point being, I don't see any reason to trust you now. How do I know you're
not setting me up again?"

"I thought doing this might help... returning your things, and trying to fix
what I did to hurt you..."

(continued)

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Madison sees the twitch but ignores it. "An.... awakening? Striker.... you
were going to kill us." She takes another half step away.

"But I didn't. When I got to thinking about the whole thing, I realized what
I was about to throw away, and I thought possibly that you all might give me
a second chance. I can't ask you to forgive me for all of my prior actions,
but I want you to know that I am doing my.... that I am..." He bites his
lip and shakes his head, "...trying to change."

"Throw away? Second chance? Striker, from the day I first met you, you seemed
like you wanted to be anywhere but here." Madison shakes head and looks
away, then looks back. "I don't trust you, Striker. I don't trust you as far
as I could throw you. Which admittedly would probably not be very far. The
point being, I don't see any reason to trust you now. How do I know you're
not setting me up again?"

"I thought doing this might help... returning your things, and trying to fix
what I did to hurt you..."

Madison fixes him with an icy look. She is mad, but due to the time that she
had to report in to Hanson for fighting with Striker on the bridge, she
manages to keep her temper in check. "Thank you for returning my clothes. As
for...." she glances down at the shards on the floor, "That already is
done. If you say you have no other copies, I guess I have to believe you...
although I don't know why I should."

"Well, I regret that one other individual did view it, but he did not recieve
a copy. I did ask him if he copied it, but he denied it."

Madison's voice is dry. "He lied."

"Well, I apologize for that as well, I will speak to him about it."

Madison shakes her head again as she looks at Striker. "Enjoy your shift,
Striker." She turns on her heel to go.

"Night, Madison." He glances down. "Have a good night..."

Madison strides across bridge to the TL. "Deck....." The doors hiss shut.

Striker heads to his post and sits, reaching to pick up the Tactical
equipment and put it on.

* * *

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"What's A Nice Kitty Like You Doing In A Place Like This?"
Personal Log, CPO Madison Javaro

SD9703.07 very late evening

Madison shut down her boxing holoprogram and wiped at her neck with her
towel. It had been a good workout, but it was pretty late. She had an early
shift in the morning and she should get some sleep.

She headed out of the holodeck, one of the lesser-used ones on the lower
levels, and walked towards the turbolift. A quick movement caught in the
corner of her eye made her turn her head. She saw what looked like a cat
scurrying nervously along the hallway.

Madison turned and called to it softly. "Here, kitty...." Having had to
leave her own cat back with her parents on Earth, she had a fondness for
cats. She wondered where this one had come from. A stowaway, perhaps?

The nervous black cat stopped, half-hidden behind a wall strut, peering out
at her with large golden/green eyes. He meowed, low and plaintive.

"Oh, come here, kitty, I won't hurt you..." Images of Tamara running around
in the hallways one day after a poor helpless chicken came to mind, and she
chuckled to herself. "C'mere, kitty, that's good...." As she spoke, low and
gentle, she casually eased herself closer to the feline. The cat looked up at
her, ducking down slightly as if he could keep out of sight that way.

Madison reached out and quickly scooped him up. He gave a quick meow of
protest, but didn't struggle in her arms. She stroked his head and rubbed at
his ears, saying, "Goooood kitty..." She turned and walked towards the
turbolift again.

As the turbolift rose towards her deck, she looked over the cat. He was still
shaking a little, but he seemed in pretty good health. His coat was thick and
shiny, his eyes and ears clear, his pawpads healthy. Madison scratched behind
his ears again and was rewarded with a low, grumbly purring.

She entered her quarters and called for lights, putting the cat down on her
couch. He immediately jumped off and ran around the room, sniffing
everything, and rubbing his head against furniture corners. Maddie smiled to
herself.

"Well, cat, looks like you found yourself a home."

She headed into her bathroom and enjoyed a long shower. Tucking a towel
around herself, she walked back into the living area. The cat had stretched
himself out on the couch, but he perked up when she walked in. He opened his
mouth and began to meow.

"Oh, are you hungry? I didn't even think of that." She walked over to the
replicator and ordered up a plate of tuna, then poured a bowl of water, and
placed both on the floor. The cat rubbed against her still-damp legs,
purring, and then headed to the food and began to eat.

Madison smiled, picked up a brush, and began to brush her hair in preparation
for bed. She'd missed having a cat around. She'd have to remember, of course,
to see if anybody had lost their cat. In the meantime, she enjoyed having a
little company.

* * *
SD9703.07 very late evening

Madison shut down her boxing holoprogram and wiped at her neck with her
towel. It had been a good workout, but it was pretty late. She had an early
shift in the morning and she should get some sleep.

She headed out of the holodeck, one of the lesser-used ones on the lower
levels, and walked towards the turbolift. A quick movement caught in the
corner of her eye made her turn her head. She saw what looked like a cat
scurrying nervously along the hallway.

Madison turned and called to it softly. "Here, kitty...." Having had to
leave her own cat back with her parents on Earth, she had a fondness for
cats. She wondered where this one had come from. A stowaway, perhaps?

The nervous black cat stopped, half-hidden behind a wall strut, peering out
at her with large golden/green eyes. He meowed, low and plaintive.

<cont'd>

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"Oh, come here, kitty, I won't hurt you..." Images of Tamara running around
in the hallways one day after a poor helpless chicken came to mind, and she
chuckled to herself. "C'mere, kitty, that's good...." As she spoke, low and
gentle, she casually eased herself closer to the feline. The cat looked up at
her, ducking down slightly as if he could keep out of sight that way.

Madison reached out and quickly scooped him up. He gave a quick meow of
protest, but didn't struggle in her arms. She stroked his head and rubbed at
his ears, saying, "Goooood kitty..." She turned and walked towards the
turbolift again.

As the turbolift rose towards her deck, she looked over the cat. He was still
shaking a little, but he seemed in pretty good health. His coat was thick and
shiny, his eyes and ears clear, his pawpads healthy. Madison scratched behind
his ears again and was rewarded with a low, grumbly purring.

She entered her quarters and called for lights, putting the cat down on her
couch. He immediately jumped off and ran around the room, sniffing
everything, and rubbing his head against furniture corners. Maddie smiled to
herself.

"Well, cat, looks like you found yourself a home."

She headed into her bathroom and enjoyed a long shower. Tucking a towel
around herself, she walked back into the living area. The cat had stretched
himself out on the couch, but he perked up when she walked in. He opened his
mouth and began to meow.

"Oh, are you hungry? I didn't even think of that." She walked over to the
replicator and ordered up a plate of tuna, then poured a bowl of water, and
placed both on the floor. The cat rubbed against her still-damp legs,
purring, and then headed to the food and began to eat.

Madison smiled, picked up a brush, and began to brush her hair in preparation
for bed. She'd missed having a cat around. She'd have to remember, of course,
to see if anybody had lost their cat. In the meantime, she enjoyed having a
little company.

* * *
SD9703.07 very late evening

Madison shut down her boxing holoprogram and wiped at her neck with her
towel. It had been a good workout, but it was pretty late. She had an early
shift in the morning and she should get some sleep.

She headed out of the holodeck, one of the lesser-used ones on the lower
levels, and walked towards the turbolift. A quick movement caught in the
corner of her eye made her turn her head. She saw what looked like a cat
scurrying nervously along the hallway.

Madison turned and called to it softly. "Here, kitty...." Having had to
leave her own cat back with her parents on Earth, she had a fondness for
cats. She wondered where this one had come from. A stowaway, perhaps?

The nervous black cat stopped, half-hidden behind a wall strut, peering out
at her with large golden/green eyes. He meowed, low and plaintive.

"Oh, come here, kitty, I won't hurt you..." Images of Tamara running around
in the hallways one day after a poor helpless chicken came to mind, and she
chuckled to herself. "C'mere, kitty, that's good...." As she spoke, low and
gentle, she casually eased herself closer to the feline. The cat looked up at
her, ducking down slightly as if he could keep out of sight that way.

Madison reached out and quickly scooped him up. He gave a quick meow of
protest, but didn't struggle in her arms. She stroked his head and rubbed at
his ears, saying, "Goooood kitty..." She turned and walked towards the
turbolift again.

As the turbolift rose towards her deck, she looked over the cat. He was still
shaking a little, but he seemed in pretty good health. His coat was thick and
shiny, his eyes and ears clear, his pawpads healthy. Madison scratched behind
his ears again and was rewarded with a low, grumbly purring.

She entered her quarters and called for lights, putting the cat down on her
couch. He immediately jumped off and ran around the room, sniffing
everything, and rubbing his head against furniture corners. Maddie smiled to
herself.

<cont'd>

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Personal Log
Madison A. Javaro
{SOG classified}

SD9703.05 early am

Madison entered her quaters after her shift, and tossed her personal PADD and
the bag from Striker on the table. The doors hissed shut behind her, and the
lights automatically came up to a low-level illumination, as she had
programmed them to. She walked into the bathroom and began running a bath. It
had been a very long night, and Striker had just made it longer. Of course,
she was happy to have her clothing back, but something nagged at her about
Striker.

"Computer, open personal log, voice authorization *****."

"Log open. Begin recording when ready."

"I swear there must be something in the water on board the {SOG classified}
or {SOG classified} that is affecting all the men! Striker was my relief on
the bridge tonight. The first thing he did was smash an isolinear chip, that
he said was the photo from the game that night, and then he gave me back all
my clothes -- which honestly, I never expected to see again. I couldn't
believe it! I stood there, trying to guage his sincerity.... but all that I
could read off him was good intent. This is not the
Randall Striker I know and uhm... well, not love, but am used to. That's
safe enough to say, I guess. At least with the normal Striker you know where
you stand. Any second now, I expect him to revert. I can't trust him like
this! Of course I can't exactly say I prefer to trust him the other way
either, but this is very disconcerting.

"And speaking of men, when I stopped by Xander's quarters the other day to
drop off the PADD he left down in the mess hall...." Madison pauses a
moment, her thoughts wandering as a smile crosses her face. She shakes her
head and resumes. "Well, he's been acting a little odd too lately. I do hope
he's okay. He has been working a lot, and Xan's another one walking around
with an odd look on his face. I do like Xander, though, so I'm a little more
worried about him that Striker."

Madison went to check her tub quickly, and shut the taps off, as the tub was
nearly full. "Well, I'm a Tactician, not a counselor. I guess these are
things for our Counselor to try to analyze. Close personal log, voice
authorization ****."

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Ensign Tamara ran a hand over her forehead, pushing wayward blonde strands
out of her eyes as she stood on tiptoe at the supply cabinet at the back of
sickbay. Her mouth moved slightly as she counted to herself while taking
inventory of the hyposprays on hand. Mentally tallying the count with the
amount listed, she grinned as she realized it was right on the money.
Striker made his way down the corridor to sickbay, gripping a long
silver box tightly. He whistled while he walked, pleasure and anticipation
emanating from him as he looked forward to Tamara's reaction to his gift. He
entered sickbay and looked around, spotting her as she was leaving the supply
cabinet.

"Doctor Baker?", he called out to get her attention as he didn't want to
startle her.

Tamara glanced toward the center of the room and stopped dead in her tracks.
"Striker? What are you doing here?"

Randall set down the box and smiled as he walked towards her. "Oh I was just
wondering if I could get a physical done?"

Tamara began walking towards him, a suspicious frown on her face. "Yeah,
sure, Striker. Now, what did you really come here for? I'm too busy to dodge
fists at the moment."

Striker smiled at her as if she had said something genuinely amusing. Then he
quickly retrieved his box and walked back toward her. "Well, that and one
other thing...Surprise!"

Tamara looked at the package dubiously and made no move to take it from
him. Seeing the questioning look in his eyes, she extended her hands and took
it gingerly from him. She put her ear to the box. No ticking. She shook it
slightly to gauge the weight and shape of its contents.

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Striker crossed his arms and said, "Awww, come on Tamara. Open her up."

Tamara thought about scanning it, then glanced at his face, a hurt expression
starting across it. Doubt came into her mind and she shrugged. "Well,
everyone's gotta die sometime.."

Striker laughed as she set the box on a nearby biobed and ripped off the
ribbon. Taking the cover off the box, she stared in amazement at the
contents. Striker smiled widely, watching her expression. Striker broke the
silence with an eager "You like?"

Tamara dragged her gaze from one thing in the world she wanted and the last
thing she had expected to get from this man. "But..this is the rifle. The one
I wanted. How did you know?", she asked in puzzlement, wide-eyed as she
looked into into his grinning face.

Striker nodded, satisfied. "I thought so, seeing as I really didn't need it
anymore and you were so interested in it, I figured you'd love to have it."

Tamara looked away from him and carefully, almost tenderly took the state of
the art rifle out of the box and hefted it in her hands. She wrapped the
strap around her and hefted the firearm into position, looking around sickbay
through the eyepiece. Strangely, she was not tempted to see Striker's face in
eye of the rifle at this time, when normally she would have swerved to get
him in her sights immediately.

Striker walked behind her, reaching over her shoulder to draw her attention
to the handle. "That's not all. Look, I had the trigger inscribed with your
initials."

Tamara glanced at the trigger, touched and a bit confused by the gesture. "I
don't know what to say."

Striker smiled again. "Say thank you."

Ensign Baker grinned, at ease now that she came to the conclusion that he
must certainly want something. "Ok, I know you want something. This rifle is
worth a lot to me. Name it."

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Striker scratched his chin, staring into space. "Hmmm..I guess I'll take a
physical."

Tamara laughed in genuine amusement. "Yeah sure. You gave me this gift so
that I would give you a physical." She unstrapped the rifle and put it back
into the box, replacing the lid carefully.

Striker walked over to the nearest biobed, tugging at his shirt. "Yep."

Tamara turned to say, "Ok, ya got me.." and stood still as she watched the
vision of Striker beginning to undress. "Wait a minute! What are you doing?"

Striker hopped up, drawing off his shirt. "I'm getting ready for my physical.
Isn't this standard protocal for them?"

Tamara stood with mouth agape. "You want a physical? I don't get it. You have
to be threatened with a courtmartial every time you have to come in here.."
Feeling confused and not liking it at all, she glared at him. "And now you
expect me to believe you just felt like having one??"

Striker raised an eyebrow mockingly. "So you're willing to pass this
opportunity up then?"

Tamara made up her mind quickly and waved her hand toward the biobed. "Not a
chance, Striker. Have a seat. I'm going to enjoy this!"

Striker twitched slightly when she turned away from him, then looked back at
her, recovering a smile. Tamara grabbed her medical tricorder from the desk
while he finished undressing. She quietly picked up the largest needle she
could find, just to see his reaction. Striker waited patiently on the biobed.
She turned to him with the huge spinal needle, an antique kept for
sentimental reasons, in one hand, and the tricorder in the other. Striker's
eyes widened slightly at the size of the needle, then he
relaxed in perfect trust. She set the needle down next to him so he could
get a good, long look at it. She then leaned close to him to get the scan,
trying to look at him as just another member of the crew and not the bullying
sadistic (bleep) she has always known him to be. She was becoming more
confused by his friendly behavior by the minute and striving not to show it.

Striker nodded his head toward the long, silver, hollow spike. "So, what do
you need that big needle for?", he asked, trying to act nonchalant.

Tamara hid a smile and answered offhandedly, "Oh, just need to do a spinal
tap. Standard procedure. I can give you something for the pain. Afterwards."

Striker looked confused for a second, then smiled at her. "Allrighty then. I
have complete confidence in you, always have."

She glanced at him in surprise, feeling a bit ashamed of herself in lieu of
his friendliness and the thoughtful gift. For the first time she wondered if
maybe he really had changed. She tested him one more time. "Allright? I
mean...you don't mind? Most patients get a little..um..nervous over this
procedure."

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Striker smiled at her innocently, almost as if he were reassuring her. "No,
if the physical requires the usage of it, then I'm all for it."

Tamara finally backed down. "Well, actually, I think we can skip the spinal
tap. I'll just need to take a blood sample. " She held a subcutanious sample
extraction unit to his inner elbow and painlessly took what she needed.
Tamara glanced at her tricorder for the results. "You seem to be in excellent
shape.I'll just run some tests on the blood samples and let you know if
there's any problems that didn't show up on the scan. That's usually just a
formality, however."

Striker smiled widely as he hopped down and pulled off his shirt. "Great.
Glad to hear it."

Tamara turned away to allow him to finish dressing in private and called over
her shoulder, "Well, you're good for another 3000 kilometers."

Striker started to walk toward the door. "Thanks, Doctor, I appreciate this.
It's been bothering me that I haven't had a physical in so long."

Doctor Baker hurried to catch up with him, then put her hand on his arm for a
moment. "Um, Striker?",she asked a bit hesitantly.

He turned to face her, the pleasant expression still on his face. "Yes?"

She looked away from him for a moment and motioned towards the box with her
hand. "I just wanted to say thanks. For the rifle...I've wanted it for a long
time."

He smiled and ruffled her hair as he turned to go. "Don't mention it."

Tamara kept her hand on his arm and looked closely into his face. "Strike,
what happened to you?"

Striker continued, "...Besides I'd probably just throw it away if I kept it.
What do you mean? I feel great! And you didn't detect anything, so that
should be a good sign."

Tamara shook her head. "No, I mean...you know what I mean. You're pleasant,
friendly.. I could almost grow to like you."

Striker shrugged off the comment. "I just had a change of heart, that's all."

Tamara glanced over his shoulder into space as she continued thoughtfully,
"You've changed since that mission with the Q."

At that moment Striker twitched, a motion so slight that she almost missed
it. Striker eyed the door as he started backing away. "Yeah, well it was
quite traumatic.."

She watched him closely now with a clinical eye, but the twitch didn't
repeat. Only slightly concerned, but wanting to be thorough, she narrowed her
eyes slightly. "Strike, sit down a moment."

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Striker saw the look in her eye and backed away a little faster, keeping up a
running dialogue. "I learned a lot about myself, and realized I was leading
my life in the wrong direction." He glanced at his chronometer and snapped
his fingers, grinning in good humored distraction. "Sorry Tam, I gotta get
going...I promised the dockmaster I'd shine the shuttles today."

She grabbed her tricorder as he dashed off towards the door. He called as he
left, "Oh and thanks again, enjoy the rifle." And then he was gone. She
watched the doors to sickbay close behind him in bemusement, thinking she
must have just imagined the twitch. After all, his physical showed a clean
bill of health. She shook her head and returned to her inventory.

-JL SOG Tamara & EnRStriker

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Baker hummed as she worked. The rifle was in various pieces on the
floor of her cabin and she lovingly gave each part equal care. She had
practiced with gun every chance she got since Striker had given it to her. As
she picked up the barrel, she stroked it idly with the thumb of her left hand
as she polished it slowly with her right. The weapon gleamed black and oily
in the dim-lit quarters. When she finished the barrel, she expertly
re-assembled the weapon and gazed at it with pleasure. It was
truly the finest piece she'd ever seen. As she replaced it gently in it's
velvet case, she made a decision. A gift like this demanded to be
reciprocated in kind. Now, she just needed to discover what Striker longed
for...

TBC

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Madison finished her get-ready-for-bed routine and walked out of the
bathroom. The lights automatically shut off behind her.

.... "You know a dream is like a river, ever changin' as it flows, and a
dreamer's just a vessel that must follow where it goes, trying to learn from
what's behind you and never knowing what's in store..." ....

"Story of my career," Madison murmured to herself as she pulled back the
quilts on her bed. She liked her room cool at night, so that she could
snuggle down under a set of quilts.

"Computer, lights, night illumination." The room's lights dimmed so that all
the lights were off except for a few illumination bars that glowed a soft
pink. "Computer, end music program, and begin playing Albinoni, level 1, and
continue with random classical selections." The strains of Adagio for
Strings in G minor drifted through the room, and Mads climbed into bed,
pulling up the covers.

~~Such a long week,~~ she thought as she cozied herself into the bed. ~~It
has seemed to go on forever.~~

She lay back and was fast asleep in minutes.

She awoke with a start during the night. Groggily, she looked over at her
bedside chronometer. 0445. Way too early to make an effort to crawl out of
bed just yet.

"Mreow?" Orochi jumped up on the bed, and sauntering over to her, rubbed his
furry head against her chin. Madison smiled as she scratched the cat behind
the ears. He rewarded her with his loud, rumbly purr.

"Yeah, I've found out your secret, you little sneak," she said. "I found
that loose panel behind the couch that goes into that jeffries tube conduit."

Orochi purred a little more. He smelled.... very catty tonight. But in a
pleasant way. She scratched at his head with her nails, and he rubbed his
head against her hand, purring louder. He flopped down on her pillow, and
Mads gave him a last pat.

"Well, at least I have you for company," she said to the black cat. Orochi
regarded her calmly with his big eyes. "What do you do, 'Chi, when you keep
feeling like an idiot in front of the person you like, huh?"

The cat stretched out, then decided the pillow wasn't quite comfy enough. He
climbed across Madison and settled down behind her knees in a manner that
suggested he was was going nowhere fast.

Madison sighed quietly, thumping her pillow briefly before returning to the
effort of resuming sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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Elizabeth stood in her Ready Room and looked at her newest guest. In one
hand she held a T-Cell and in the other a leather whip. With a flick of her
wrist the whip hissed through the air and snapped against the back of her
guest.
Elizabeth smiled slightly as a tortured scream filled the air. "Tsk Tsk. For
a Vulcan you have almost no control over your emotions. Are you sure there
isn't something you wanted to tell me?
"You'll never get away with this! You're Federation. There are laws against
this! This means war you Terran Bitch."
The whip hissed through the air again and connected to the mans chest. "There
may be laws but you should know that the SOG doesn't operate by the same code
of conduct. No matter. I'll get my information. One way or another." That
said she laid the whip aside and looked at the T-Cell.
"Do you know how this works? Or more importantly do you know what this thing
does or even better, how it feels? Probably not yet but you will."
So saying Elizabeth used the device with a show of expertise. "I actually do
know how this feels. I know that right now you feel as if your whole body is
going to explode. Now, is there something you'd like to tell me?"
The man said nothing as drool slipped from his mouth. Elizabeth shook her
head again and laid the device against his forehead. "Tis a pity. I get so
much enjoyment out of this. The longer you resist the more fun I have." The
device buzzed against the mans head. His body twitched and lay limp in the
chair. "Are you ready now or shall we try this again?"
The man practically cried, "No...I'll talk. I'm a Romulan Tal-Shair agent.
I've been working with those scientist for years now. Trying to figure out
what they were doing. I notified my superior just before you came. I was
hoping that they'd come before you. They came to late. Please...let me go."
Elizabeth laughed as she picked up a book of matches. "Very nice story. Of
course it's nothing that I don't already know T'Ston. Tell me the rest. Like
what that ship off my port bow is capable of doing. Who your superior is. And
are there any more of your kind in that batch of scientist?"
"I don't know anything else. I was never in direct contact with my superior.
There shouldn't be any other Tal-shair on your ship. Please...let me go.."

Elizabeth watched in utmost facination as she lit the match and watched the
flame brighten. "Do you like to play with fire T'Ston? Obviously you do
because I know you're lieing to me. Now tell me the truth."

T'Ston watched the flame too and then the woman holding it. "You're crazy
aren't you? I'm not lieing. It's the truth...."

Taking a red bottle from her desk Elizabeth started putting little spots all
over T'Ston's body. "Crazy yes...the truth...no...You can spare yourself all
this pain if you'd only tell me the truth...." She stepped back and lit
another match, watching it intently.

"You can't do this....The Federation will court martial..." His tirade was
cut short as a scream of total horror filled the room. He watched in
amazement as a small flame started slowly up his leg. Eating at the tiny
hairs. "you can't do this...someone will hear you...someone..." Another
scream..."stop you! HELP! This time his screaming did not stop. It continued
as the flames slowly licked their way up his legs.

"Controlled fire is wonderful isn't? You won't die immediately. You can sit
there and feel the heat of the flames, feel your skin be burned off, smell
the acrid stench of burning flesh....As for someone helping you...I don't
think so...My officers have long since learned I have a temper and not to
interrupt me when I'm in my Ready Room. Actually, it's the running joke
around here that my Ready Room is actually a Torture room. You'd never guess
when you first came in, could you?"

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"The ship is a regular Romulan....warbird....nothing special except it
has....more weapons.....and....and....has a weak spot on it's aft hull...My
superior is....M'Advt. No others on your ship....please....put the
fire....out..please..." Another scream erupted into the air.....

"Of course I'll put the fire out for you." As T'Ston closed his eyes she
picked up her phaser. Checking the setting for maximum kill she fired it
directly at T'Ston's chest. His body jolted into the air and then landed on
the chair with a thump. With a deadly smile Elizabeth holstered the weapon
and looked about. "That was fun....Now for our little meeting in conference
room one."

She exited the Ready Room and looked about the Bridge. Looking at the
Tactical and Security officer on duty she pointed behind her. "T'Ston had a
really big accident in there....You need to take care of it....Oh, and when
housekeeping comes to clean it make sure they leave it smelling just like it
is..." As she enters the turbo life she says almost to herself. "There's
something about the smell of burnt flesh that really invigorates you...."

End Log

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Captain Elizabeth Hanson
Commanding Officer
USF SOG

Elizabeth strides into her Ready Room. Pausing at the door she sniffs the
air. The acrid stench of burnt flesh still permeates the air. With a wicked
smile she moves to the replicator. "Gagh, live. Iced Tea, three sugars."
After the food and drink arrives she takes them and moves to her desk.
Sitting at he desk she begins to devour the food in hopes that she can beat
the next coming interruption. Interruptions had become so common place in her
life she wasn't surprised by them anymore. Merely annoyed.
As she finished the food she pushed her plate away and gulped down the Iced
Tea.
Setting both items aside she picks up a PADD and activates it. Glaring at the
screen she scans the intellegence reports that had arrived just before the
temporal rift deposited them 2000 years in the past. Her eyes moved quickly
over the information looking for anything useful. Seeing a familiar name she
stops and growls. "Why the hell didn't they tell me *HE* would be there at
these stupid peace talks?" She set the PADD aside and remembered the orders
that had come in during Aegis and Jacks' wedding.
The orders that had interrupted her and prevented her from officiating the
wedding.

"We already have a diplomat who will lead the talks but we feel your
expertise in Intellegence and the information you have will be valuable to
the talks. Given your reputation for impatience you are advised to learn a
little diplomacy yourself before the meetings."

Shaking her head she tossed the PADD aside. "I can see these talks are going
to turn into a bloodbath but it won't be who they are expecting to fight."
With a sigh and a laugh she hears her comm come to life. "Captain Hanson, you
are needed on the bridge sir."

=/\=On my way Bridge. Hanson out.

<End Log>

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£

United Federation Of Planets Headquarters
Paris, Earth; Sector 001, Sol System; March 3, 2373
Briefing Session and Resource Request
Starfleet Intelligence / President of the UFP
0750 Hours

THE GOLDEN LIGHT PIERCED through the iron frame of the Eiffel Tower and
shone brightly through the windows in the office of the President of the
United Federation of Planets. The bearded man placed the mug of coffee on
his large, curved desk and turned toward the transparent wall behind him,
silently gazing out over the city, the tower, the Arc de Triumphe in the
distance, and the soft, grassy fields that ran up and down the banks of the
Seine.
Is this paradise? He wasn't sure anymore. With the Borg recently
defeated for the time being, the wavering peace with the Klingon Empire, the
new Dominion alliance with Cardassia, the continued Maquis problem, and the
ever-present threat of the Romulans, it was all unstable. Nothing was
certain anymore- not even the Klingons, or the Vulcans for that matter.
There had been some new scientific advancements in the Vulcan culture that
the Starfleet men had kept vague, as they always did. The
president knew they were careful not to reveal too much at any one time.
And these new Vulcan achievements were no exception. Some new discovery,
some new advancement, some new ground-breaking achievement was always
occurring; it was only a question of whether or not the president knew about
it.
But now was not the time for such scantily clad suspicions of the
military. It was time to approve the devotion of resources to more Starfleet
listening posts along the Neutral Zone. After all, that was what the
Starfleet men were here about. The president swiveled noiselessly in his
chair, placing the sights and hushed sounds of Paris to his back. He looked
at the officers in red skeptically, trying to read their faces, their voices,
their bodies. Bureaucrats and Soldiers never did make a good
team, he mused as he exhaled softly, looking down at the old-fashioned pen
and paper waiting for him to decide. The pen was encrusted with a gold
United Federation of Planets logo, made of titanium; it was the same pen the
very first United Federation of Planets president had used to sign the peace
treaty with the Vulcans. And it suddenly seemed old. Fragile.
And lethal.

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"Mr. President?" One of the Starfleet Admirals spoke up, obviously
wondering about the future of the Neutral Zone listening outposts. The
president looked up, startled, as if he had been daydreaming. In reality, he
was assessing the sincerity of the officers. Two admirals and an aide.
Strange, he thought, to bring such a low ranking aide along on business such
as this.
But it was Starfleet's prerogative. Section 26, Subsection 12,
Paragraph 6, Line 2: Any and all negotiations between the Federation and
Starfleet on all matters non-inclusive to the immediate and direct welfare of
the Federation shall be conducted by chosen representatives on each side,
respectively, as each branch will be reserved the right to have its own
choice of its own counsel and representation. The president sighed as he
recalled the information.
There was just so much to think about. So much to consider. And
nothing the Romulans ever did was certain. They were unpredictable always.
Who could foresee how they would react to the newformed, but shaky
Federation/Klingon alliance? Who could know what their reaction would be to
the new alliance between the Dominion and the Cardassians? Would new Neutral
Zone posts incite an incursion- or worse yet- a war? Would the Federation be
strong enough to withstand such a thing on not only a
military level, but on political and social levels as well? Too many
questions.
He pushed the pen and paper away from him slowly. The nearest admiral
banged his fist on the desk and spun away in anger. The other admiral, who
was still seated in a pseudo-leather couch looked down, wringing his hands in
frustration. The aide stared coldly at the president, who felt the tiny
hairs on the nape of his neck curl when the glare settled firmly on him.
Jesus. He did his best to stare back at the young man whose eyes were
focused so intently on his own. His best, evidently, was not
good enough, and the president was forced to look back down at his desk to
escape the freezing scrutiny of the aide's eyes. He gathered the file and
attached papers in an attempt to look casual, not affected by the stare. But
all his bureaucratic, diplomatic, and political acting could not help him
here. He had seen it in the aide's eyes a minute ago. They were pure
granite.
What the hell was it about him that was so damn intimidating? That fact
was bothering the president, who had been elected not on the grounds of
political and bureacratic wisdom, but on the grounds of his intimidating
negotiating style. It was what the people believed the Federation needed.
Now why was he being beaten by some little bastard Starfleet officer who
probably didn't even hold the rank of Ensign? He turned back to the window
in disgust- with everything. Hell, he wasn't even the same
man he was when he was elected. Everyone knew that. Graying hair,
wrinkling skin, Aeromatic Syndrome, mental degeneration. He'd be surprised
if he could actually represent the Federation in a peace talk anymore. But
no one had to know about the mental degeneration part except his personal
physician. And the president was certain the info wouldn't leak.
As certain as one could be on a fine spring day in the middle of Eden
hours before the serpent slithered into things. . . .
He could hear muffled whispers between the two admirals behind his back
while he watched the Seine, its waters flowing smoothly through the city. It
was windy today, and the water consummated in small white peaks that followed
the pattern downstream, past the numerous small bridges and old buildings.
He didn't like that aide one bit.

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"That will be all, Gentlemen," dictated the president to the three men
whose reflections he could see in the window. The men turned to leave, the
aide the last one exiting. When they were gone, he turned to look at the
sanctity of his office, the furniture, the large briefing table in the rear,
the replicator, and the large fish tank on the northwest wall. He looked
down at the file he had been given, including the names of the officers,
their ranks and positions.
"Jonathan Miller," he whispered quietly aloud; for an instant afraid he
had been heard. He closed his mouth abruptly and settled into the chair,
watching the wild colored fish swim endlessly to and fro across the tank. A
feeble existence, the president thought to himself. A feeble existence
indeed.

* * *

The three officers in red walked solemnly out of the inner office of the
President of the United Federation of Planets, Jonathan Miller trailing the
two admirals. The hallway ahead was bustling with diplomats, secretaries,
security guards, and assistants in business attire, all racing to their next
trite duty of copying a file, preparing a report, or fetching coffee. Miller
peered as far down the hallway as possible as the trio made their way to the
elevator platforms.
Jonathan had been brought along simply as a tool. A tool of persuasion,
or rather, intimidation. He had been with Intelligence for nearly three
years, and hadn't yet been able to find a niche. Hell, he hadn't even been
able to find a small hole to crawl into for comfort now and then. He sighed,
thinking of his recent performance on a mission into the Neutral Zone to aid
in the setup of several listening posts. Of course Intelligence already had
posts there. It was logical. However, what was
not logical was the establishment of these posts before the bureaucratic red
tape had been cut. No matter, Miller thought to himself. Intelligence was
quite well hidden; it was pretty much always out of the woods. And the
paper, or rather, file trail never pointed to anyone of importance.

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As he spotted a petite young brunette bending over elegantly to replace
a computer component in one of the interface panels, he shrugged off all the
thoughts of the Intelligence business for now. He was too important to them
to be denied a little harmless fun. He looked over in the admirals'
direction; they were chatting quietly to themselves, seemingly waiting for
Miller. He had some time. Maybe enough for a quick invite to dinner
tonight, if she was interested.
He walked over smoothly, using his well-trained eyes to size her up
slowly and efficiently as he approached her supple, young body. She turned
slowly, looked up at him, straightened her skirt, and smiled broadly. Her
eyes met his, and he smiled down at her as she leaned seductively against the
console.
"Looking for something, Mister?" She raised her eyebrows and shyly
gazed up at him, wide-eyed. Her eyes were deep brown, and reminded Miller of
a basset hound's. Jonathan gazed at the length of her form, from her soft,
pouty lips to her wonderfully curvacious thighs.
"Actually, it seems that I don't have company for dinner this
evening...." Jonathan pretended to frown, disappointed at his lack of a
non-existant date. The brunette frowned too, tossing her thick, long hair
back behind her shoulder. She brushed a few stray strands away from her face
and set them gently behind her ear. She prompted him with her eyes.
She blinked twice, still looking seductively up at him. "Oh really? I
find that hard to believe..."

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Starfleet Headquarters
San Francisco, Earth; Sector 001, Sol System; March 3, 2373
Personal Quarters: Spc. Jonathan Miller
2300 Hours

HIS HANDS TRACED THE LUSCIOUS CURVES of her legs, slowly sliding up her
side, arriving finally at her firm, flat stomach. She lay back, pressing her
shoulders into the pillows on his bed, pushing her pelvis up towards him as
her hands ran through the dark hair on his chest. She moaned gently into his
mouth as their lips met in a passionate kiss whose intensity surprised both
lovers. . . . .

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United Federation Of Planets Headquarters
Paris, Earth; Sector 001, Sol System; March 4, 2373
Inner Office of the President
0800 Hours

"My Daughter?!" The president picked up his chair and slammed it down
against the floor with horrendous, violent force. His head burned.
Everything burned. His eyes. His nose. His brain. His ears. His body.
His daughter? Surely it couldn't have been. No. She was not a Caitian.
She was no Orion Slave Girl, either. She was the daughter of the President
of the United Federation of Planets, for Christ's sake! No. Not his little
girl.
He didn't like that aide one bit. He had seen the evil in his eyes
yesterday; he had seen the pure satanic, devilish, pupils and the demonic
corneas staring at him, raising the hairs on his neck. That goddamned
Miller. He whipped around again to face the bearer of the crushing news. It
was one of the admirals who had come with Miller and the other admiral about
the listening post resources yesterday. Only this time the admiral had come
in secret.
He had found out the name of this admiral: Stanton. He was tall and
composed, aged, and seasoned. He was surely wise, mused the president. Or
maybe he just seemed wise. At this point, the president couldn't tell;
moreover, he couldn't care any less.
My baby was screwing that evil bastard. He cursed again, disgusted with
both himself and his daughter. He touched the interface on his desk. The
doors on all sides of the room bolted themselves shut, sealing the two men
inside. "Computer, cease all visual and audio recordings as of this time and
date, and shut down any and all surveilance mechanisms, Authorization Eagle
Sierra 2431." He tried to breathe; he wheezed in and out, his temples
twitching with the movement of his grinding teeth. In
the end, he could only growl. He sat down, tapping his fingers on the
surface of his desk. He attempted to relax; he tried to stay calm. He
failed miserably, and all the pent up emotion flew through his body with the
force of a Falcon diving off a cliff at a speed of over 100 meters per
second. The extravagant pen collection went flying off the edge of the desk,
soaring into the air with the coffee cup and saucer. Both came to the ground
seconds later with a phenomenal crash.
"Sir," Stanton soothed, "the damage is done. But we can send him
someplace where he can never bother you or his Federation again." Stanton
thought a minute on the subject. Now, he thought, it was only a matter of
good acting.
Starfleet couldn't afford to lose an officer like Miller. He was too
damn good. Any mission he was given was completed with perfection; more
often than not Starfleet Intelligence dared not to ask "How?" Miller's
piloting skills were simply near perfection. His military tactics and
operations management skills were almost flawless, and his knowledge of
phaser operations and covert military operations was superb. He was, in
essense, the perfect covert military operative. The only trouble was,
Miller knew it, and Starfleet Intelligence simply couldn't afford him. Such
an organization could never be affiliated--even remotely--with the sort of
tactics Miller implemented to complete his missions. Intelligence was not a
strike force team. And until Starfleet Intelligence became such an
organization, it simply could not risk keeping Miller. Period.

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But there was one place he would fit in, Stanton was sure. Put him and
his methods to good use. And if he remembered correctly, Special Operations
was still the most classified organization in the fleet; only a select few
knew of its existence- and the president was not one of those select few.
But this was still an opportunity to move Miller safely from Intelligence to
Special OPS. And very rarely did such an opportunity come along. Well, not
so rarely, with Miller, with him and his little sex
kittens--it was only a matter of time before he screwed the wrong girl. But
it was rare enough for Starfleet Intelligence to notice, and leap on it. Not
only could they move Miller out of their precious organization, but they
could forever disavow him with the signature of the President, thus
preserving the safety and unity of Starfleet Intelligence.
It was a good deal.
"What must I do?" The president was cold. These military types weren't
proving to be all bad, after all. If not for that bastard Miller and his
wretched influence, his daughter would still be his. Miller no longer
existed as part of the military; he existed, for the president, as a seperate
entity. An entity with which not to be bargained. An entity with which not
to be compromised. But an entity to be banished. And suddenly the
president's worlds were closer than ever. Bureaucratic and
Militaristic as one. Or, at the very least, subtle allies. And it felt
good to have that different kind of power.
Stanton tossed a PADD onto the president's desk, and stayed silent. The
tension in the room was mounting.
They both knew the drill well. Stanton inhaled softly, nodding slowly
as the president pressed his thumb to the PADD, authorizing knowingly the
removal of Satan from his daughter's grasp, and unknowingly, Jonathan
Miller's disavowment from any known Starfleet organization--namely,
Intelligence. Stanton grinned as the president pushed the PADD back across
the desk, where the admiral drew it up into his left hand, and looked soberly
down at his president.
As Stanton left the office of the president of the United Federation of
Planets, he sighed audibly, noticing the small, simplistic fish swimming
incessantly around their aquatic prison. The slight rippling of the fish's
fins served to calm him a bit. But only momentarily.

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How he yearned for structure like that. In a world where he was, more
often than not, above the law, he yearned for the slightest bit of
uniformity. But he was never allowed that minute bit of structure. There
were too many choices. There was so much to potentially go wrong. He
secretly wished he could "un-see" some of the disturbing scenes he'd been
witness to in his travels with Starfleet Intelligence. Was he above the
law--truly? It seemed that way. And for an instant he wished he wasn't.

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Starfleet Intelligence Headquarters
San Diego, Earth; Sector 001, Sol System; March 5, 2373
Office of Vice Admiral J.P. Stanton
Assistant Director Starfleet Intelligence
1230 Hours

HE PRESSED THE SMOOTH BLACK SURFACE of his desk with the index finger of
his right hand; he stroked his short-cropped graying beard with the fingers
of his left. A large, thin, square monitor rose out of the desk at his
touch, and swiveled to face the Admiral. The screen blinked to life, a
steady Starfleet Intelligence logo displayed on the surface. James Porter
Stanton stared blankly at the silver and gold emblem on the screen. A
million thoughts pranced through his mind in that fraction of a
second; few were coherent. And all the recognizible ones spewed forth a
hundred others. And all raised questions.
Questions about Miller.
Intelligence couldn't afford him; that was certain. Miller would
probably perform better with Special OPS. That was almost as certain. So
why did Stanton feel so guilty?
Because Miller never did a goddamn thing to hurt this organization
intentionally, and he's probably the best operative we've ever had.
Stanton pressed the desk's surface again, bringing up a list of files.
On the screen, the computer prompted him to offer the first of his
authorization codes. He did so without thinking. He had been stating codes,
inputting secret numbers, and offering authorization his entire career. It
was only second nature after 67 years at Starfleet Intelligence. He
maneuvered his way through the maze of communication link files languidly,
unhurried.
Another prompt.

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"Authorization Stanton 29834507 Sierra Vigilance 01 Alpha." A new set
of files appeared on the screen. He selected the communications link to
Starbase 460 and opened a secured channel with a quick touch of his finger to
the desk surface. He moaned softly as the realization hit him; he would have
to work this out with Hanson. She didn't exactly have the reputation of
being the most cooperative commanding officer with those outside of her
organization. And it wasn't as if Stanton could order her
to take Miller. Things didn't work that way up on the top tenth of the
totem pole. They never had. And especially not now. Not with the
sovereignty of Starfleet Intelligence hanging in the balance, and an
unofficial, and probably illegal, transfer order signed by a deteriorating
president who thought he was putting away the bastard who screwed his kid.
Not with an order signed by a president who didn't know the half of it. No.
This would have to go smoothly-- without any discrepancies. His ass
was on the line here. Now more than ever. But perhaps most disturbing of
all, this had to be accomplished using purely unofficial channels.
He did have a card. A card from her past.
All he had to do was play it right.

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Starfleet Special Operations Headquarters
Starbase 460; Sector 2801, Delta Aurigulon System, March 5, 2373
Office of Commanding Officer Captain E. Hanson
1235 Hours

"JAMES PORTER STANTON." Elizabeth Hanson leaned back in her chair, and
glared coldly at the screen, firmly steadfast in the belief that she was
about to hear more Intelligence bull shit. She had not yet gotten over the
nerve this . . . admiral had to contact her here. After all this time.
Intelligence liked to think it was something, Hanson reasoned, when, in
fact, most of the information Special OPS received was from Special OPS scout
teams, listeners, and observers. At times she wondered exactly what
Intelligence's agenda really was. If Special Operations and Intelligence had
any relation at all, it was certainly not two organizations within the same
military working together to achieve a common goal. The closest analogy
would be, Elizabeth mused, two covert factions of Ancient
Chinese warlords struggling for dominance in a displaced universe of
intergalactic espionage.
Legally, which was the worser of two evils?
The admiral in red smiled ruefully at Elizabeth from San Diego, Earth.
"Hello, Elizabeth. . ." His voice trailed off, as if he was unsure about how
to advance the conversation. For an instant Hanson secretly wished his life,
everything that he was, had capsized in a cold, arctic ocean. But she sighed
as she realized that the wish could never be granted.
The commanding officer of Special Operations gazed intently at the
screen, her face a decent facsimile of stone. Stanton could tell she was
growing bored, impatient. He was in for a hell of a ride. He spoke in a
soft tone, seemingly prodding her with his gentle, constant barrage of words.
"I've bounced this signal off three communications relays, four starbase
subspace antennae, and a few secure Intelligence posts. That out of the way,
we can discuss business."
"What sort of business?"
"Important business."

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Elizabeth stayed silent, waiting, her face still cold, inanimate. She
watched the screen, studying the admiral's face, tone, and words carefully.
"We have an operative at Intelligence that we think might be of interest
to you." Maybe he could make Miller seem appealing, and not have to play his
card after all. Maybe he wouldn't even have to do that. He knew Special OPS
needed an operative. Why not Miller? He would have shrugged at the prospect
if he was allowed the freedom of physical movement without affecting this
conversation. Who knew what went on in the mind of Elizabeth Hanson?
"Are you talking about a transfer?"
The admiral nodded slowly. "He goes by the name of Miller. Jonathan
Miller."
"I've never heard of him," Elizabeth stated skeptically, still looking
for any sign of deception. She hadn't gotten this far by being slow in
reading people. Quite the contrary; she considered herself an expert in
judging deception, duplicity, and deceit.
"Of course you haven't," Stanton said. "He doesn't exist. The only
records, save one copy, of him having worked for us have been destroyed.
That one copy is already on route to Atlantis." If he could, maybe, neglect
to mention the president's signature on the fairly illicit transfer order, he
might just be able to pull this off, while keeping Hanson hanging on a fairly
need-to-know basis. The president wanted Miller gone.
But how would he react when he found out that "gone" meant the SOG-- the
only covert Starfleet organization that the president was aware of, and,
essentially, ran? Stanton wasn't sure if that was "gone" enough. . . . What
if he found out that what Stanton referred to as "away" was really Delta
Aurigulon? The admiral didn't want to find out; he wanted to evade the
subject as long as possible, if not indefinitely.
"Do you know what I think, James?" Elizabeth snapped. Stanton narrowed
his eyes and looked at her silently. "I think this Miller of yours is a
little unorthodox- even for your boys' standards over there at Intelligence.
And I think he's a bit too much of a risk to your reputation; he's dangerous,
overconfident, and unstable in his methods. And now you want to push him on
me."
She shifted in her seat, but kept her eyes focused clearly on the
screen. "I also think that all of this hasn't been authorized properly, and
from the look on your face, it doesn't exactly seem legal to me."

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Stanton could only look blankly at the screen. How could she know all
that?! He sighed. Could she have read all that in his eyes? On his face?
He looked away, stunned and wounded by her words. Was he really that old?
Eighty-four was only stretching middle age. But somehow he seemed older to
himself. Maybe he had made a promise to himself that when he was older he'd
get the hell out of this business.
And just maybe he'd tried to convince himself he was bordering on
ancient. The illusion of freedom appealed to him. He was getting too old
for this. Too old. He couldn't even tell a simple lie straight anymore.
Either that or this Hanson was the most perceptive person in Starfleet. And
right now, he would rather die than admit the latter, which was, as he saw
it, most probably the truth.
Elizabeth moved her hand out of the view angle of the screen, and slowly
slid a gray PADD to the edge of her desk. She smiled inwardly at the
efficiency of the Special Operations information gathering operatives. They
had gotten her the info on Miller ahead of schedule, and as it turned out, it
was coming in quite handy. She mocked the organization manifested in the
form of Stanton on her viewscreen. Intelligence. Ha! She patted the PADD
three times out of Stanton's line of view.
That was intelligence. Strike one up for Special OPS. She would have
smiled if not for the incredibly tense situation which confronted her at the
moment.
Stanton decided it would serve no purpose to argue with her. He had
been caught. Pure and simple. She had called the bluff this time. But he
reminded himself of the card. . . . And how it wasn't beneath him to play
it.
"Since when has this business ever been completely legitimate, Hanson?
You know it as well as I that every raid, every incursion, every time we fire
our phasers, it's not properly or completely authorized by the Federation, or
Starfleet as a protectorate thereof." He grinned like a Ferengi and
continued: "Don't tell me what's legal and what's not, Hanson. We both know
about the incident on Miranda Prime. Your team's little accident? And your
very creative and imaginative report on the
situation. . . ."
The Ace sliced through the air, spinning on its journey downward toward
the felt; it hit the table silently, but with such a deafening smack Stanton
could almost hear it resonate inside his head.

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"Don't try and threaten me, Stanton. I've watched presidents die."
He should have known better. He silently cursed himself for ever
thinking he could bargain with such a woman. Maybe he'd just have to level
with her. But how could he keep the president from knowing that the guy who
screwed his kid was serving within his very own strike force?
"Look, Elizabeth. . . ." Stanton begun. "Miller's the best we have.
And I happen to know for a fact that Special OPS needs an operative."
Hanson sighed. Strike one up for Intelligence. She muttered a curse
under her breath.
"Yes, Hanson, we know all about it." Stanton leaned closer to the
monitor, a voluntary reflex to hide his next words, even though there was no
one in the room, and the link was as secure as it could have been. He
lowered his voice and continued. "You need him. I need him gone--"
"I know that, Stanton," she countered. "But how do you propose to hide
the fact that he's serving, indirectly, under the same president who wanted
him gone?"
Ah, Stanton thought. She had done a little research of her own. He
decided not to play any more games. "We'll make him a class one permanent
ghost. New identity, new files, new life. He's done class two and three at
least a dozen times. Class one shouldn't be a problem. He's the best; it
will be a totally seamless integration. If I can guarantee anything, it's
that Miller will cease to exist." With pride, he added: "You, of all people,
should know we're the best in the business of making
people disappear. . . ."

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Hanson glared back at him, her claws unsheathed under the table. She
took a minute to calm down, and then spoke softly. "I know you can do it.
That's not the problem."
"Then what is?"
Hanson stayed silent. She did need a good operative. She glared coldly
into Stanton's eyes. "You screw me on this, I'll kill you." She spat. She
scraped her claws against the surface of the desk for impact. "If anyone but
you, me, and Miller knows about any of this, you'll wake up dead within a
week."
Stanton chuckled at her last line, and then straightened his lips into a
frown, glaring back at Hanson. "I neither have the time nor the inclination
to screw you on this, Hanson." Of course he wouldn't screw her over. His
commission was on the line here. He'd have his best operatives on every
computer in Starfleet "updating" records.
Hanson nodded, fully understanding Stanton's predicament. What she
didn't show was her happiness for his tense situation. If she didn't need
this one she wouldv'e wished Stanton did slip. But she needed Miller. "When
will I receive Miller's file?"
"En route."
"And his altered files?"
"Give me two days, and he'll arrive on the Corona. I'll ship him out
tomorrow."
"He better be a ghost within 24 hours, James."
"East Complex, Row F, Plot 16."

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Arlington National Cemetery
Arlington, Earth; Sector 001, Sol System; March 6, 2373
East Complex
1050 Hours

IT WAS COLD AND RAINING on the day of Jonathan Miller's funeral, and the
new, budding leaves of the majestic elm trees rustled softly as the
congregation gathered around plot 16 in Row F of the East Complex. The sky
rumbled in anger as James Porter Stanton stood next to his elongated limosine
transport apart from the service which was about to come to an end. Stanton
looked up into the gray sky and leaned against the duranium shell of the
transport, listening to the hushed sounds of soft female
cries of mourning in the wind. He chuckled softly, and silently as he
realized just how many women had arrived for the services. He imagined the
misunderstandings that would ensue afterwards as each attempted to explain
her relation to Miller; he could no longer keep his laugh silent, and allowed
a few small burst to escape his mouth. Miller must be the luckiest guy on
Earth; not many people are allowed easy ways out of their female problems.
He wouldn't have to answer to any of them. Stanton was
almost jealous.
He tightened his overcoat with a pull of the waistbelt and looked up at
the swaying trees. The wind nipped at his ears as he turned and opened the
hydrolic door of the transport. The black tinted viewports served to somehow
calm him as he lifted the door up. He had always been fond of things that
don't let people see inside. . . .
He sat down in the transport, and loosened his coat. "Congratulations,
Jonathan. You're dead."

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Miller breathed slowly, and lit a cigarette, a custom that had died with
the invention of Nicotine substitutes and improving medical technology.
Nevertheless, Miller had insisted on his allowance to light up every now and
then. A behavior Stanton had learned to tolerate. He sucked gently on the
rolled tobacco, and the firey tip followed the air through the cigarette,
burning closer to Miller's lips as the smell of smoke began to permeate the
cabin of the transport.
Withdrawing the cigarette from his mouth, Miller used the burning end to
point out the window toward the service, where a group of officers were
readying some old projectile weapons. Droplets of rainwater slid down the
window slowly as the seven officers aimed their weapons and fired once into
the air, the blast muffled by the rain pounding on the roof of the transport,
and by the thickness of the walls and viewports.
Miller tapped the window with a knuckle of the hand holding the burning
cigarette and peered at the weapons raised into the air, prepped to fire
again. "Nice touch, James." Stanton grunted uneasily, and reached into a
small compartment to his left, withdrawing a small, gray PADD. Miller
reached for it, and sighed as he took the PADD into his hands, leaning back
to read it. Another muffled blast sounded as the transport lifted languidly
into the air, and swooped out of the cemetery, brushing
softly against the end of a low-swaying elm branch. "So who am I this
time?"

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Of course it was a rhetorical question, and Miller looked down at the
PADD in his hand, reading. Dozens of times he had held the same PADD,
studying who he was to become. But this time was different.
There was no turning back. The file on the PADD was him now. There
was no going back to who he was.
He read the PADD silently, skimming the dossier and history of the man
he was to become. Every detail scrutinized, every small fact looked over
meticulously. Minutes passed as the shuttle flew through the air on its way
to Intelligence Headquarters. Cigarettes were lit and extinguished, smoke
filling the cabinet each time, then the air distribution systems extracting
the gray smoke and distributing more air.
When Miller was finished reading everything he would be, he spoke
softly. "This is it?"
"What did you expect?" Stanton questioned.
"Oh, something a little less. . . ." Miller sighed. "A little less
like me."
J.P. chuckled softly. "Anything less and you wouldn't be in Special
OPS, Jonathan." Stanton knew Miller was speaking of the Starfleet record,
which was nearly identical to his own. The rest was complete fluff, of
course, but the Starfleet training of the man on the PADD was nearly
identical to that of Miller. He guessed Stanton didn't much feel like lying
to Hanson about something as important as training.
Miller sighed, lighting another cigarette. He glared humorously and
blankly at Stanton. "You named me after a state."
"Do you want to go over the real stuff, Specialist?" Miller grumbled a
bit at this, aquiescing humbly as he took a drag of the tobacco.
"Resurrection, Washington? Where the hell did you pull that one from?"

Stanton rolled his eyes. Miller was never much for formality, and he
always had a little annoying remark poised on the tip of his tongue. "You
better not try this stuff with Hanson, Jonathan."

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"Yeah, yeah. Ok, old man." Miller smiled, as did Stanton. "I like the
McKinley bit. And my 'sister's' death- that's decent. Corruption is always
believable. Especially with the level of classification you slapped on it."
Miller pulled on his cigarette again, and continued: "So who's receiving my
true files?"
"You're dead. The only ones who know otherwise are you, me, Hanson, and
the Erasers." Miller laughed softly at the mention of the "Erasers," yet
another code-word he would be free from with his leaving. He had done a
little work with them in the past; he enjoyed "cleaning" better. Nothing
better than to revel in Intelligence SNAFUs, fix it, and then gloat.
"What about the rest of the group?"
"What about them?"
Jonathan nodded in understanding. No one else needed to know. He
didn't have a problem with that. The man on the PADD was close enough; he
wouldn't have a problem acting. "So everything's in order?"
Stanton nodded. "According to every personnel database in Starfleet,
you are him." He pointed to the PADD.
"Sounds like you've done fine work, as always, Admiral." Jonathan took
another drag and sat with Stanton in silence for a few more minutes.
In the end, the admiral broke that silence. "Jonathan, I really hate to
do this, but we just can't--"
"James, there's no need to explain. I understand." He didn't have to
say that it was a ruthless business, if a business at all. He didn't have to
say anything about betrayal. He didn't need to mention the rules-- or the
lack thereof. And he certainly didn't need to talk about blackmail,
extortion, or hearts as cold as arctic seas.
It was all understood. By two men.
Two comrades.
Two former allies. £

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It didn't take long either. The proximity control light began to blink
crazily. The computer shrilled loudly, "Unidentified vessel 200 kms off the
port bow."
Eliz blinked and sat up straighter, looking at all her consoles. One hand
went immediately to weapons the other to the comm channel to send out an
emergency message if nessecary. Then the other vessel decloaked and she
visibly relaxed. Her comm light blinked dizzily at her and she pressed the
button.
Lucifer appeared on the screen smiling. "You know you can be quite
paranoid at times Ms. Hanson. That must be why I love you. Are you ready?
No second thoughts?
With a laugh Eliz nods happily. Her cheeks flush with happiness and her
eyes take on the soft glow of new leaves in the spring. "I love you Lucifer;
I have no second thoughts."
Nodding his own happiness he continues, "Good. Lower your shields and
I'll beam you aboard."
"Understood. Stand by." Elizabeth touched several of the buttons on the
console. She activated the auto pilot and entered in the coordinates back to
base. She also programmed in a message so that Maeve would not become
worried about her when the shuttle returned without her. Finally, she wiped
the sensor and communication logs so to keep anyone knowing her plans. Moving
to the transporter padd she keyed in her authorization. With a shimmer she
appeared on Lucifer's runabout.
Lucifer moves to her and embraces her. "It feels as if it's been an
eternity. I can't wait until you are my wife, my love."
With an impish grin she gives him a quick kiss. "Well that's not going to
happen with us standing around here. We're likely to get sidetracked."
Your right about that. Let's go. I've picked out the perfect spot."
They both move to the front of the runabout. Elizabeth activates the
remote she brought along from her shuttle. She watches as it cloaks and the
remote shows it warping safely towards the base. Lucifer takes over the
controls for his shuttle and in less than a minute they are warping in the
opposite direction.
"Not much longer and we'll be husband and wife, Elizabeth. Think you can
handle being married to Lucifer?"
Elizabeth chuckles, laying a clawed hand on his thigh, "Darling, I can
handle anything! He lays his hand on top of hers and squeezes it gently. "I
must be the luckiest man in this galaxy Eliz." Twining her fingers with his
she squeezes back. "And I the luckiest woman."

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Eliz snuggled into the plush seats for the journey to their destination
point. She talked and joked with Lucifer about almost everything imaginable.
He was always so easy to talk with, so patient, and understanding. Usually
not pushy or demanding and arrogant like many men she knew. She marveled at
the fact that he took her as she was. He didn't try to change her. He loved
her because of who she was; not who he wanted her to be.
At warp four it took them little over four hours to reach their
destination. Lucifer smiles as he enters the planets atmosphere and verifies
his landing location. With a nod of approval he sets it down lightly and
turns to Eliz. "Well darling, we are here. Ready?"
With a nod Eliz stretches and smiles at him. "Ready. Willing. and Able.
Let's go my dear."
Lucifer stands and grabs their bags. He gives Eliz a quick passionate kiss
and exits the runabout. Moving unexpectedly fast he is soon several feet
ahead of her and almost to the doors of the church.
With a shake of her tousled flame red curls she steps out of the runabout
and views the lush landscape. The planet was beautiful. A perfect place for
a wedding. With a smile she follows Lucifer into a small building. It
appears to be an eighteenth century church; complete with steeple and bell.
Trailing inside Eliz stops in her tracks as an elderly woman approaches her.
Lucifer is nowhere to be seen. The woman bustles up to her and takes her
hand, "Come along young lady. I know how you young girls
can be quite scared on their wedding day. I'll make it as easy for you as I
can." She begins to pull Eliz forward and towards a small room to the side of
the church.
"Hey, wait. Where's my fiancee?" Eliz glances quickly around, once again
taking in her surroundings and digging in her heels. She looked at the woman
suspiciously and tried to yank her hand away.
"Oh, he's talking to my husband. The minister. He said to expect you to
resist a little. Now come along. We've got a lot to do little girl." Eliz
blinks at the kindly old woman as she is pulled into the small room with
amazing strength from a woman so small and elderly. The room is decorated in
soft pastels with several chairs, a table with assorted beauty items adorning
it and a large full length mirror in the corner. Eliz spots her bags near
the mirror and smiles.
Moving further into the room she walks towards her bags. She places a
hand to her stomach as the butterflies dance merrily around; causing her
heart to beat faster. As she reaches her bags the old woman turns to her and
begins undressing her.
"HEY! I know how to undress myself!" Eliz begins pushing the woman away,
slightly flustered.
The woman barely registers her outburst as she continues peeling the
clothes off her body. Again displaying unusual strength and agility."Stop
fussing girlie. I've seen many a naked body before. Why I've been married
for almost 50 years now. Your young man said you were a might spirited. I
hope I don't have to force you down the isle with my weapon. I had hoped this
would not be a shot gun wedding. I must say now I know why he was so anxious
to marry you. You have the figure of a goddess. With
that hair, those eyes, your breasts, and all those muscles rippling across
your body..." She shakes her head. "Where ever did he find you child?"
Shaking her head slightly she continues her ministrations.
As Eliz stands naked in the room she shakes her head at the woman. Her
mind completely misses the compliment about her body and latches onto her
shot gun wedding comment. "You'll have to do no such thing. I love him. I'd
marry him any day and anywhere. I'm just not used to having someone else do
for me what I've been doing all my life."

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"Well for today your going to be pampered Miss. Now stop your balking and
come sit down." She pushes Eliz into a chair in front of the mirror where
she begins to apply a fine layer of makeup onto her face. "You have such
pretty skin. I dare not cover it up. Your own natural beauty is enough. And
just so you will stop looking at me so funny my name is Patricia Ann Moogle."
The woman begins brushing out Eliz's hair. "You have such fine hair girlie.
All red and wild. Almost looks like the flames at
sunset. It must drive your man nearly wild to touch it. Of course your
saving yourself for marriage no doubt." The woman begins sweeping her hair on
top of her head in a beautiful arrangement that causes several wisps of flame
red hair to fall gently around her face and shoulders. A light flush crosses
Eliz's skin at the woman words. Saving myself indeed! If she only knew what
Lucifer and I have been doing she'd be the one blushing. As it is I'm looking
like a school girl becoming all flustered at the
thought of her wedding night. Get a grip Elizabeth!
The woman takes the blush as if she had indeed been correct and pulls
Eliz up to her feet. Pushing her in front of the mirror she begins dressing
her. All the while she chatters away. "You don't have anything to worry
about of course. Your man looks like he knows what he's doing. I'll warn you
though, it'll hurt at first but that moment passes. You'll never know the
bounds of passion after that. It's a little scary af first but you just relax
and let your man take care of you. You'll be fine dear."
Eliz almost bursts out laughing at the woman's little talk but she forces
herself to concentrate instead on what the woman was dressing her in. First,
sheer lace panties with a matching bra. Then lacy garters and the thigh high
stockings. All the materials were a soft off white. Layer upon layer
caressing her skin. She smiles as Patricia holds up the dress and motions for
her to step into it. She does so once again berating the butterflies dancing
in her stomach. As Patricia buttoned the twenty
little pearl buttons Eliz gazed assessingly at herself in the mirror.
The dress was slightly low cut revealing the smooth skin of her shoulders
and collar bone. The tops of her soft creamy breasts peeked out allowing just
a small glimpse of more defined curves covered by the lacy white fabric. The
fabric stretched taut across her chest and flared out over her small hips.
The fabric landed at her feet with a whisper of lace just barely sweeping the
floor. The train sweeps across the floor behind shorter than most standard
trains. The dress was decorated with flowered
sequins and lace. It allowed glimpses of a lithe figure but still held it's
secrets within its lacy folds.
Tears came swiftly to her eyes as she remembered the picture of her mother
in this dress. She could almost swear she looked like that now. Patricia
came around and caught the tears, quickly grabbing up a tissue and dabbing at
the moisture. "Now, now Elizabeth. Don't cry. Everything will be all right.
You've got a fine young man out there waiting for you." Eliz nods and looks
into the mirror. A smile comes to her lips at Patricia's motherly tone.
"Thank you Patricia." As she extends an arm
towards her she is distracted by the soft whirr of a transporter beam. Her
instinct kicks in and she spins around just in time to see several items
materialize on the table. With narrowed eyes she sighs in dismay as she
realizes she has wrapped the train around her legs. Patricia hurries forward
and begins to help fix her train. "Oh now Miss. Stop that fussing. Hold
still. I swear you are just so jumpy!" She finishes and the two walk
towards the table. "Now what an odd assortment of belongings.
Never quite seen anything like those before."

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Eliz smiles and picks up the note and reads:
Dear beloved,
These are some items I picked out for you in keeping with
the tradition of the old style of marriage. I noticed that you
still had Mim around your neck so she will be the "borrowed."
I will see you soon my love.
Lucifer

Eliz's smile grows bigger at his thoughtfullness. She picks up a
necklace that appears to be thousands of years old. The note reads, "your
beauty surpasses all time. It is forever. As is my love." Eliz once again
gets teary eyed as Patricia takes the necklace from her and places it about
her throat. The golden heart shaped locket falling to just below her collar
bone.
Next Eliz picks up a sharp dagger encased in a jeweled sheath. A laugh
bubbles from her as she reads the note. "Your wit is sharper than this dagger
could ever be. May you think of me fondly every time you have to use it."
Eliz lifts up the dress and straps it onto her thigh. This will be the best
addition to my collection.
She picks up the last item and grins even more as she reads the note. "I'm
looking forward to taking this off tonight dear." Eliz once again lifts her
dress and slips the blue garter onto her thigh. Patricia once again fusses at
her as she smooths the dress out. She looks up into Eliz's hair and frowns.
"Well, I'll be. I didn't put those pearls there. It's beautiful though. I'll
let it stay." Eliz turns and looks in the mirror. Mim had twined herself
through her hair and had made herself look as if
she were a string of pearls. Fitting that Mim should be here to witness my
wedding. I would have loved to have them here but it just didn't seem
appropriate to up spur Brisies' and Jacks' wedding. It is better this way.
Much more intimate and private. Exactly how it should be. Eliz turns towards
the door as a soft knock sounds on it. "I guess it's time, right?
Patricia nods quietly and takes Eliz by the hand. "don't worry girl. You
look as if your an angel from heaven. Your beautiful. Come along. Your new
life awaits." With that Patricia leads Eliz out the door and down a
corridor. They finally come to two large wooden doors that lead into the main
church. Patricia smiles at her as she bustles off. "Don't worry girlie.
It'll be over soon enough and you'll be finding out first hand what those hot
steamy looks are all about."
Eliz chuckles and smooths a hand down her dress. She bows her head for
a moment wishing briefly she had her family here to see her. Lifting her
head she dismisses the thought completely. No one would dare disobey Daddy.
Just then a soft whistle sounds behind her as a warm hand is placed on
her shoulder. Before she knows it she is enveloped in a bear hug by her
youngest brother, Stephen. Hugging him back she holds onto him. "Stephen?
Stephen is that really you? Oh God. I didn't think..why are you here. Daddy
will disown you too!"
With a shrug of his wide shoulders Stephen steps back. "I don't care
Elizabeth. Your my baby sister. I couldn't miss your wedding for the world.
That Lucifer guy sure is something else. He'll treat you right." He holds
Eliz at arm's length and smiles widely. "That man is one Lucky Devil! I'm
glad he invited me. Mom and Dad will regret what they have done Elizabeth.
You'll see."
Elizabeth smiles and chuckles. "Thank you Stephen. This means so much to
me. Lucifer has been so thoughtful today. Making sure everything is
perfect." She hugs him quickly and holds onto him tightly. "I've never been
so happy. Now escort me down that isle before these butterflies start dancing
again. Turning back to the doors she hears the faint strains of the wedding
march filter through. Stephen takes her hand and places it on his elbow.
"Well Sis, it would be my pleasure. Time to follow your
heart."

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The doors open and the two step through. The sounds of the wedding march
echo throughout the church. The empty pews shine softly in the glimmering
light. Eliz lifts her head and her gaze finds Lucifers. Their eyes lock for a
moment and they both share a private smile. Stephen and her begin the long
walk down the isle. Each second seeming like a year to Elizabeth's mind.
Eliz's attention is momentarily drawn to the man to the side of Lucifer.
His back is still towards Eliz but she vaguely finds his form familiar.
Stephen and her finally reach the end of the long isle and the man turns to
her. Eliz gasps in surprise. "Alexio!" He smiles and nods, holding up a
finger to his lips. "Shhh, Did you really think I'd miss this?" With a wink
he turns to the minister as he steps forward.
Stephen takes Eliz's hand from his arm and places it on Lucifers elbow.
He smiles down at her and kisses her cheek. "I'm proud of you Elizabeth."
Turning to Lucifer he grins boyishly at him, "Take care of her or I'll kill
you."
Then the minister clears his throat, "Who gives this woman to wed?"
Stephen grins and winks at them. "I do." The minister acknowledges Stephen
who steps to the side and watches the ceremony with pride.
Eliz turns and faces Lucifer and squeezes his hand. Her attention is
barely drawn to the minister as he begins speaking. Her attention is totally
captivated by the man holding her hand. The black tuxedo caressed his body as
if it were a second skin. His broad shoulders and muscular chest almost
bulged from the seams. His tux was immaculate; which came as no surprise to
her. His face was clean shaven and a slight musky scent wafted towards her
nostrils. There's not a man in the world that could
make me any happier than I am at this moment.
Lucifer smiled down at Eliz dressed in a swirl of white lace and sequins.
Her face glowed happily and her eyes fairly danced with joy; and a sparkle of
tears. What did I ever do to deserve someone so lovely as this woman? I hope
I can make her as happy as she deserves. She's so strong and stubborn, wild
and passionate, and willful and demanding. I suppose if there was any man
that had a hope of making her happy; it would be me. His wicked smile lighted
his face as he briefly looked at the minister.
"We are gathered here today to join Elizabeth Joyce Hanson and
Christopher Bauer in holy matrimony. Marriage is a very serious matter and
should not be entered into lightly." He turns to Eliz. Eliz briefly looks at
him before her gaze is drawn back to Lucifer. "Do you Elizabeth take this man
to be your lawfully wedded husband? For richer or poorer? To have and to
hold? Forsaking all others? In Sickness and Health? For as long as you both
shall live?"
Eliz nods as tears glimmer in her eyes. "I do."
The minister turns to Lucifer. "Do you Christopher Bauer take this woman
to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, forsaking all others?
In Sickness and in Health? For as long as you both shall live?"
His answer was immediate, "I do."
"Do you have rings?" With their nods he turns once more to Eliz. "Eliz
take the ring and place it on his left hand and repeat after me." Taking his
l left hand with her right one and continues to stare into his eyes. Emotion
swirls in her eyes as she sees the promise of joy for the future in Lucifer's
dark eyes.
"I, state your name, take you Christopher as my husband."
"I Elizabeth Joyce Hanson take you Christopher as my husband." She
slips the ring onto his finger.
The minister turns to Lucifer. "Repeat after me and place your ring on
her left hand. Lucifer takes Eliz's hand in his and squeezes it tightly.