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Deanna Troi sat curled on her couch, just beginning to melt away into the world of the most recent novel she’d downloaded on her personal PADD. It was exactly the kind of sweeping romance she’d been longing for lately. A welcome reprieve from the insanity that was quickly becoming routine at her new posting on the Enterprise.
Deanna’s immersion in the book, however, was soon interrupted by the muffled voice of Lieutenant Natasha Yar.
“Counselor Troi? May I come in?”
Deanna set aside her PADD and went to greet Tasha herself. She might’ve been irritated by the interruption if she didn't sense such uncertainty in the usually confident woman. It concerned her, but as Deanna reached the door to her quarters, she didn’t show it. If Tasha had sought her out, she would most likely tell Deanna what was wrong.
“Of course, Tasha. Would you like to sit down?” Deanna gestured to her couch. Tasha nodded and took her seat beside Deanna, but remained stiffly perched on the cushion. The woman suddenly gained a determined set to her face, and began to speak.
“I just wanted to start out by apologizing for what I did the other day- when I was infected. Barging into your room, trying on your clothes…” Tasha trailed off, looking embarrassed.
Sensing that the other woman didn’t quite know where to go from there, Deanna took the chance to reassure her friend.
“Thank you, but an apology isn’t needed. I can assure you that you caused me no harm. We all did things last week that we now regret.”
Deanna took a moment to weigh whether she should say what she was thinking. She decided that Tasha wasn’t the type to judge- and it was rather funny.
“I practically threw myself at Commander Riker, for example,” she said with a smirk.
That shocked a quick laugh out of Tasha, whose posture relaxed into the couch a bit more.
“From what I understand, there was plenty of that going around. La Forge told me... well, let’s just say that the Captain and Dr. Crusher were having a hard time concentrating on the cure.”
Deanna let out an undignified snort, but quickly composed herself when she saw resolve appear once again on Tasha’s face. It was the same laser-focused look she got when aiming her phaser.
“I didn’t come here just to apologize, Deanna. I actually have sort of… a request. When coming in here and looking at all your clothes was the first thing I thought to do after the infection took my judgement, I realized that I probably actually want that, somewhere in my subconscious. To try to look more like how I want to look. Does that make any sense?”
Tasha still looked embarrassed, but Deanna did understand. That infection had revealed what they all wanted most- especially what they didn't let themselves pursue in their day-to-day life. As ship’s counselor, Deanna had seen her fair share of similar reactions to the events of the previous week. Confusion, introspection, embarrassment. Not to mention that she’d had personal experience with those effects. She’d been ignoring her lingering feelings for Will ever since they’d been assigned to the Enterprise together. Then, in a state not quite herself, she’d acted on them. It made her question just how “lingering” those emotions actually were.
Tasha’s unique situation was also understandable to Deanna, if much less relatable. While Deanna had spent her formative years being encouraged to present herself however she may wish, Tasha had not had that basic right. To Tasha, presenting in certain ways- primarily feminine ones- had been dangerous and might still feel dangerous. She was proud that Tasha was willing to address, however vaguely, the effects that had had on her.
“Yes, Tasha. I think I do understand. What was your request?”
Tasha made eye contact for the first time since entering the counselor’s rooms.
“Well, Deanna, you’re the first woman I’ve been friends with. And you do have such pretty clothes. I was wondering if you’d go shopping with me. Just down in the ship's stores?”
“Of course. I’d already been planning on buying something new, for the royal summit Captain Picard and I are attending on Galga III. They insisted we wear clothes in our home planet’s style, instead of dress uniforms. They seem inauthentic to the Galgans. I find that I am glad- dress uniforms were certainly not designed for comfort.”
Tasha, who Deanna sensed was relieved (most likely because this request didn’t seem to be a very big deal), chuckled and said:
“Can you imagine the Captain in a tux?”
“It is difficult, I admit. What will not be difficult, I’m sure, is finding you a few dresses. Do you have a free hour or two?”
“Yes.”
After Deanna grabbed several large woven bags to collect their shopping in, the two women strolled to the turbolift, continuing to theorize about Captain Picard’s fashion sense as they went.
“Computer,” Tasha began, smiling a bit.
“Ship’s Stores, please.”