Deanna's Day (TNG, R\T, [G], 1\1)
From: firstname.lastname@example.org (Xmas Frog)
Title: Deanna and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day"
Series: TNG, R\T
Copyrights: To Paramount, etc., also to author and book "Alexander and
the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day"
It began normally enough.
Deanna was startled out of her slumber by the harsh wailing-
grating noise of her alarm. She winced, as she did every morning, and
made a mental note to change the sound to something more soothing, as
she also did every morning.
In fifteen minutes, she was fully awake and functioning. She took
a brisk shower, donned a clean uniform, and combed her tangled mane
into something managable. Half an hour later she had put on her
makeup, eaten a quick breakfast, and was on her way to the bridge for
the 0300 shift.
It had started normally enough.
Deanna had just stepped onto the turbolift and requested the
bridge when her ride came to an abrupt halt. She stepped toward the
doors, but alas, they did not open. It was only then that Deanna
noticed Lieutenant Hasmin, perhaps her most unfavorite person onboard,
standing across from her and looking annoyed. As if unaware that
Deanna had just attempted the exact same thing, the thin man strode
toward the turbolift doors and was nearly knocked down when they
didn't open. His expression became even more sour, if possible, and he
cast a look of disdain in the Counselor's direction. Deanna shrugged
casually, thought about making a semi-humorous\ice-breaker comment,
and decided against it.
She contacted the bridge, but only Data and one other person were
on duty at the time, so she was transferred to engineering. After
trying to explain that yes, she knew turbolifts weren't supposed to
stop, and no, this was not a prank, she finally was patched through to
the head engineer on duty who promised to send a team up immediately.
Immediately was obviously defined differently in the head engineer's
language because it was another hour before Troi and Hasmin exited the
turbolift and made it to their prospective destinations. Deanna
thought if Hasmin had been in the turbolift any longer he would have
turned into overcooked cabbage. She also half-jokingly thought she
might consider moving to Australia.
Upon entering the bridge, Deanna realized that Data had, indeed,
found a replacement for her. It was a young Ensign, eager to impress
his superiors and more than willing to stay on for the rest of
Deanna's shift. "You may return to bed," Data attempted to joke,
without quite succeeding. The Counselor grinned wryly and said she'd
try. She seriously thought about using the Jeffries' Tubes to get back
to her quarters. She decided upon risking the turbolift instead.
Twenty minutes later, Deanna had returned to her nightgown and
the comfort of her bed in an attempt to catch an extra bit of sleep.
Thirty minutes later, she was still not asleep. Forty minutes later,
she had run out of sheep and was still not asleep. Fifty minutes
later, she got back up and decided to continue on with her routine.
In attempting to put on her uniform, Deanna tripped and fell into
her bureau, in the process bruising her shin, spraining her pride,
further rumpling her already rumpled mood, and tearing her uniform
pant leg. This was her last clean uniform, and, of course, her
replicator chose that moment to go offline for a deck-wide diagnostic.
She entered Will's quarters without so much as a knock, too late
realizing that he was, in fact on the same deck as her. Although still
half-asleep, the first officer seemed more than a little amused at the
pajama-clad Betazoid storming through his room and out into the
hallway. Deanna decided to travel down a deck to her office to use the
replicator. The only other person in the turbolift was Lieutenant
Unaware-- or perhaps all too aware-- of the sight she presented
to the dozen or so passersby on deck eight, Deanna made it to her
office and finally got a uniform. She was just about to order a cup of
hot chocolate when the replicator went offline.
Her appointments didn't start for another two hours, so Deanna
passed the time by making a mental list of the many ways she could
create a hole in the opposite wall. When her first patient did arrive,
he left within twenty minutes. The rest of her morning appointments
cancelled. Word apparently travelled quickly. Several people in the
corridor ducked when they so her approaching.
After a few moments of reflection and centering, Deanna decided
that it wasn't worth it to get upset. After all, she really didn't
have anything valid to be upset about. She would head to Ten-Forward
for breakfast\lunch\whatever meal people had at this time of the day,
and have a large chocolate something or other. Then, she would return
to her office and continue with her day, making sure to be extra
compassionate and understanding. She greeted someone she knew, and
even started humming a strain of an old Betazoid song. Her prospects
were looking brighter after all.
At breakfast\lunch\brunch, Deanna's sandwich was burnt. Her tea
was too hot. Her soup was too cold. She thought she would skip
everything else and have a chocolate sundae instead, but wouldn't you
know it, the replicator had just gone offline. The bartender asked her
if he could send something to her quarters. She told him to send it to
Deanna saved her patients the trouble by cancelling their
appointments for them. She stewed awhile, wishing she had requested
the bartender send her up a chocolate sundae. She slid over to a
terminal and called up her communiqués, having nothing better to do.
Seven were from her mother. . . . Deanna opened the most recent one
and discovered her mother was due onboard in 3 hours. The other was
from Will, cancelling their dinner-date that night. Wonderful.
In need of fast relief, the Counselor decided what she needed was
bath. A nice, hot, soothing bath, and a nice, cool, sparkling bottle
of champagne. She whipped up a vintage bottle of the bubbly and filled
the tub, adding some of the special muskrose bath oil she used on
special occasions. Only upon stepping into the water did she realize
she had forgotton to specify celsius and not farenheit degrees. She
quickly drained the ice-cold bath, exchanged the bottle of champagne
for a bottle of hard liquor, and crashed in an old t-shirt on her
When she woke up, her mouth tasted like something had crawled and
died in it, she had a splitting headache, and the empty bottle of
liquor lay dejectedly on the floor beside her. Her door chimed. Deanna
sprang up, remembering too late that her mother had probably already
arrived. She threw the bottle into the recycler and dashed into the
bathroom. The door chimed again. She hurriedly ripped off the t-shirt
and put on a bath robe, racing madly back to the living room. She
yelped out a gruff "come in" and made an attempt to look as though she
were straightening things up.
It was not her mother.
It was Will, his hair ruffled, his uniform covered in what look
like the remains of a chocolate sundae. He threw up his hands in an
apologetic manner. "I know I cancelled, but I could really use that
dinner date. . . . you wouldn't believe the day I had."
Deanna ushered him in and smiled, for the first time that day, in
a matronly manner. "I think I would," she said, sitting him down on
the sofa. "Everyone has a bad day once in a while."
Will looked skeptical. "Everyone?" he questioned doubtfully. "Yes
everyone," Deanna replied, "even in Australia."