Here's another in my series of stories dealing with the unusual relationship between our favorite Sicilian and the extraordinary woman who's become progressively more important to him as the years have passed. Chronologically, it's set right around the conclusion of 13^th Fleet—just a day or so after "The Cotillion," as a matter of fact. It gives an interesting insight into just why we found Parihn sitting on Mantovanni's bed reading a book when Kate Sheridan tried her amusing little aborted seduction in "Love/Hate Relationships."

Things really are rarely what they seem.

"Bear Necessities"

Joseph Manno

When he answered his quarters' door chime, Luciano Mantovanni was expecting just about anyone other than the woman at whose bedside he'd spent part of every day for the last few months.

What he'd expected, however, didn't change the fact that Vaerth Parihn was there before him, looking anxious—as a matter of fact, almost frightened.

"Are you all right, Ensign? Come in."

Parihn stepped only so far into the room as to comply; the door itself remained ajar.

"I was wondering, sir…"

There was enough of a hesitation that he considered nudging her along, but waited instead.

Finally, she finished with, "…I'm having a little trouble sleeping… nightmares…

"…and I was hoping I might use your couch for a while."

Liberty's captain arched a brow, and almost replied thoughtlessly.

Then he saw… really saw… her face.

Mantovanni abruptly recognized that there was nothing at all intentionally untoward in the request she'd just made. If anything, it reminded him of a sleepy, terrified little girl, fervently asking the adults, "Can I sleep in here tonight?"

This is not appropriate, he thought.

A number of all-too-proper responses, such as, "I'll contact Counselor Hatshepsut... you two should meet in her office," and, "Perhaps Dr. Matsuoka will prescribe something temporarily" presented themselves as viable options.

What came out of his mouth, though, was, "Of course."

He was uncomfortable during those initial few moments, but as he watched, and marveled at her ease in so doing, she simply padded into the living room, quietly curled onto the couch, and begun to nod off within seconds. The only words Parihn spoke were a drowsily murmured, "Thank you, Cicero… 'm sorry for the trouble," just before her eyes closed.

"It's… no trouble," he replied, but wasn't even sure if she'd heard before slipping into what looked to be a peaceful slumber.

Mantovanni watched her for long moments, caught between amusement, perplexity, and another emotion he couldn't quite place.

Don't make more of this than there is. She feels comfortable with you… probably because you're a familiar face. For now, you're Parihn's commander—at least until Starfleet reassigns her—and it's your job to protect her, to help her feel safe. So if that means an unconventional sleeping arrangement for a night or two, well… it's not hurting anyone.

Another, less emotional part of him countered, And since when are you on a first name basis with pretty little young ensigns, Captain? She called you "Cicero."

She was half-asleep.

And you liked hearing it.

This is absurd. I'm over 40, and she's barely 30, as I recall. This is Big Brother Syndrome—nothing more.

Over the next few minutes, he assured himself that, indeed, his actions had been entirely logical, given the circumstances.

Of course, the fact that he'd been, during that time, retrieving a blanket, draping it over and tucking it carefully around her for some reason left him less convinced of that than he would otherwise have been.

***

Four months ago:

"How do I look?"

Luciano Mantovanni found himself carefully considering his response.

It was a tendency that would become all too familiar when dealing with the person at whose side he now sat.

After he and Captain DeSoto had transported over from the Ch'moch with the critically injured Vaerth Parihn, Liberty's CMO Shiro Matsuoka had responded with his usual decisiveness, summoning a trauma team into the private room for assistance. Just prior to his attention being completely diverted by the challenge set before him, he'd given Mantovanni a brief, meaningful look the Sicilian had recognized.

It said, "She's nearly gone. Don't get your hopes up."

But it had been too late for that.

Despite the doctors' none-too-subtle indications they should leave, only DeSoto had complied. Mantovanni had remained, quiet and expressionless, as the medical staff struggled with the nigh-impossible task of giving a body that had no real business being alive the wherewithal to continue in that state.

In the aftermath of the hours-long struggle, an exhausted Matsuoka had met his captain's expectant gaze with a puzzled one… and for a instant, Mantovanni's optimism had wavered.

Then, Shiro spoke.

"I don't know how, or why, just yet...

"…but I have a feeling she's going to make it.

"She's soon going into a regenerative gel bath we're preparing now, and will be there a long time—months, unless I miss my guess. It'll be tedious and frustrating, but eventually her recovery should be complete."

Mantovanni had asked, "Is she conscious?"

"She will be in a few minutes."

Liberty's CMO had watched with a more than clinical interest as his captain—without asking if it was all right, of course—had taken a seat next to Ensign Parihn, and settled in to wait. At first Shiro had thought the damage to the young woman's face and body had left Mantovanni sickened, or at least uneasy, because he'd specifically chosen the other, less ravaged side to approach even though it had meant walking around the biobed.

A moment later, he'd seen that wasn't the case. Mantovanni had taken note of the bandage covering the other arm…

…and he'd wanted to hold her hand.

In that moment he'd taken it, she'd stirred.

Something had told Matsuoka to leave them alone—posthaste.

Now, her question loomed large.

Parihn's hand tightened around his, and he suddenly knew that she wanted nothing more, or less, than the truth about her appearance.

Mantovanni told her, "Hey…"

"…what's a little horrible disfigurement between friends?"

There was no immediate reaction.

Then, she began to shake. For a moment Mantovanni berated himself, and debated calling Matsuoka.

You insensitive prick, he thought. She's crying, or convulsing, or...

…or laughing.

His sense of relief palpable, he smiled slightly in return.

"You know," she whispered, with still-sore vocal chords, "I used to wish I wasn't beautiful."

Something about her encouraged his candid streak.

"Well… there you go."

"So…" Parihn began…

…only to be interrupted by the intercom.

"Captain Mantovanni to the bridge."

He tapped his badge—with the free hand, of course—and replied, "On my way."

That registered a few seconds later. Her uncovered eye widened, and she murmured, "You're the… the captain? I hadn't noticed… sir."

Thank God someone hasn't.

"You're a little preoccupied. Let's just dispense with the concern over ranks for now. You have the option to become obsequious and flustered when you're feeling better, all right?"

She relaxed.

"That's a deal."

Gently, he touched, almost caressed, her knuckles with his free fingers, in a subtle attempt to disengage. For a moment, she clung to him, then remembered who he was—who she was in relation to him—and relaxed her grip.

"Thanks for coming to see me." She seemed more than disappointed at his departure, but bore up stoically.

He stood, laid his hand over hers a final time…

…and found himself saying, "I'll come back if you like."

Ensign Vaerth Parihn smiled. It was grotesque and wonderful all at once… but strangely enough, he only saw the latter part of it.

She said, "I'd like."

***

Throughout the months of the 13^th Fleet's ordeal, no matter the situation, he'd found a way to see her daily.

Neither had realized it then, but his visits had quickly become a part of their routine. They'd been, for Mantovanni, a chance to think about something other than the conflict that pervaded his thoughts and dominated his actions. For Parihn, the sight of him had been the height of her day; and though the time he could spare more often spanned seconds or minutes than hours, they'd punctuated the weeks of discomfort and frustration with happiness and contentment.

When he'd been with her, she'd quite forgotten her pain.

Four days ago:

On one occasion, near to her release from Sickbay, he followed his usual habit, moving to sit quietly beside her and slipping a hand through the permeable force field at the tank's side to take her small one in his. The gel was soup-dense and viscous; as usual, he'd had to steel himself before braving the slimy gunk. He couldn't imagine lying in it for an hour, let alone the season of days Parihn had endured it—floating in it… even breathing it.

She found his eyes with hers as he touched, beaming at his presence. The healing process had nearly completed over the months; and her body, beneath the modesty shift she wore, was essentially restored. Even her once frightfully damaged face had once again become that of an attractive woman—one who'd perhaps gotten into a bad scuffle, but certainly what most would probably consider "cute."

Though she couldn't answer verbally, of course, Parihn could hear him, and respond to his comments with a smile, frown, or other facial adjustment.

"This stuff gives your skin a rather interesting tinge of color," he noted. "I shudder to say, you look like a green animal woman floating in there."

Parihn, in response, had affixed him with the most solemn gaze he'd yet seen from her, squeezed his hand, and nodded.

For a while, he hadn't understood, and had dismissed it, moving on to give her news of the war fit for someone whose spirits needing cheering—truthful, but ever so slightly expurgated.

It was only after he'd left sickbay and was halfway to the bridge that what she'd meant fully registered…

…and Luciano Mantovanni found himself reversing course and returning the way he'd come.

"What do you mean, she is a green?"

Mantovanni's incredulous response came as no surprise to Shiro Matsuoka, who'd guessed such a revelation would be eventually forthcoming, and had prepared to discuss it with him.

As a matter of fact, he'd prepared Hatshepsut to discuss it with him, as well.

The old doctor gestured to a chair, and Mantovanni sat. Matsuoka then tapped a button on his desk, and the office doors obligingly shut. The CMO put aside the PADD to which he'd been giving his attention, and guessed, "I take it you haven't been poking around in her personnel file, then?"

"No. I hadn't even considered it. She's not a member of my crew… simply a guest."

"What she told you—evidently not in so many words—is true."

It was a difficult thing to assimilate.

"But her coloring…"

"…is atypical, and has been for years," finished Matsuoka. "Until the accident, the ensign took daily doses of hormone and pheromone suppressants; these also have the cosmetic side effect of destroying her epidermis' equivalent of melanin—which I'd say is an understandably intentional consequence, if I were to speculate."

"And since the accident?" the captain inquired.

"She's been geared towards self-renewal and regeneration. Bio-mimetic gel is miraculous stuff, granted… but you saw her, Cicero. Her total body mass was almost 30% corroded away. A normal Orion would have died seconds after exposure to the coolant. When Ensign Parihn's system reconfigured itself into 'survival mode,' physical attractiveness found itself on the systemic back burner. Once she's sufficiently recovered, I'll have to re-institute regular injections, or that sweet, pretty girl will be causing riots all over the ship."

Shiro was a more than fair student of human nature, but Mantovanni was a difficult read. He'd clearly been startled by the revelation, but his deeper reaction to the knowledge was indistinct.

Hmm… better give it all to him now.

"There's more."

Liberty's captain arched a brow.

"I'm listening."

"Oh, no. You have clearance—barely. Take a look yourself, if you think it prudent. I've said enough. You only got that much out of me because Parihn had already revealed the main point. Confidentiality would have otherwise prevailed."

With his typically businesslike pragmatism, the CMO once more took up the momentarily discarded PADD and began reading. When his friend considered pushing the point, Matsuoka allowed his almost stereotypical Japanese taciturnity to manifest itself in all its dubious charm.

"I've said all I'm going to say. Now, I've got work to do, and you've got a record to read…

"…or not to read."

***

A few days later, Mantovanni had found the time.

The "more" Matsuoka had mentioned—the “more” contained in Parihn's personnel file—had not just been unsettling, but downright distressing, even for him.

Halfway through, he'd whispered, "My God."

The references therein were made with typical Starfleet circumspection, but it hadn't been difficult to piece together what her existence—one couldn’t really call it a life—must have been like.

Obviously it hadn't been as painful to read as to live, but it had been bad enough…

…and, for her, had gone on years.

It had angered him on so many levels he'd had to struggle for control.

Slavery… war… disfigurement…

Are this poor kid’s experiences ever going to improve?

You know, when we've defeated the Dominion, maybe we should just roll right over the Orions, as well.

He'd shaken his head at the bloodthirsty resolution.

Santa Maria, but I’m starting to think like Patton. I can just imagine him urging Bradley, "While we're over here, let's clean up all our messes."

The Orions were an ancient space-faring race, true—a people that had been old before humans had managed anything more than scrawls on cave walls and flint-knapping.

But venerability's devolved into decadence and cruelty. They've been allowed to continue their atrocities unchecked for far too long—all in the name of “The sovereign right of a free people to govern itself however it deems appropriate.”

What a Prime Directive-inspired crock of shit.

Easy to stand behind a podium on the floor of the Federation General Assembly spouting idealistic platitudes while developing worlds are seduced and rifled for their resources… while helpless young girls are sold into...

What's that old homespun saying? "People have the government they deserve"?

Well, warlords, merchant princes, and neo-Mafiosi govern the Orions.

Doesn't say much for them, now does it? I…

In the midst of his internal rail, the door chime to his ready room had sounded.

Four hours ago:

As was customary, M'Raav wasted no time.

“I’m as concerned for you as I am our guest, Captain.”

M’Raav Hatshepsut’s frank declaration caught Mantovanni by surprise…

…but he knew exactly to what she was referring.

He arched a brow.

“And why is that, Counselor? Have I been exhibiting unusual behavior?”

She trilled, amused.

“That’s a loaded question, sir. ‘Unusual’ and ‘unusual for you’ are two entirely different matters.”

He conceded the hit with a slight grin, and motioned for her to continue.

“Your… developing relationship with Ensign Parihn is not something I would have predicted from you.”

Mantovanni transfixed her with a glare that, while not at full strength, was of more than sufficient potency to evoke a low, defensive growl. His tone was rife with a sardonic edge of which she’d all too often been on the receiving end. If anything, the war had honed it keener than the Sha'rien mounted on the wall behind him.

“I’m sorry I’ve not remained within your carefully considered and plotted parameters, Hatshepsut. Visiting a woman in sickbay is… what?… too kind-hearted for someone like me? If you think I need balance, I could… I don’t know… randomly summon officers in here and berate them—though I can't imagine Bagheer would want me intruding on what he considers his personal privileges as first officer.”

The Felisian’s tail coiled just so, poised and pointed at him, like a cobra considering a strike.

“My, aren’t we defensive? And besides, you berate your ship’s counselor more than enough.”

Again, that infinitesimal smile appeared.

“Woe is you, Lieutenant.”

She purred slightly in response.

“I wasn’t precisely complaining, as you well know.

“Ensign Parihn's not exactly forthcoming when I speak with her. She answers any questions I ask, but volunteers nothing.

"Sound familiar?”

That angled brow was again his initial response.

He added, “She's self-sufficient. She's had to be. It's an admirable quality, if you’re asking me.”

“I’m not. As a psychologist, you make a brilliant starship captain.”

The banter and requisite sparring now in full swing, Hatshepsut continued with the main purpose of her visit.

“I simply want you to be aware that you’ve become enormously important to her… and that, in my opinion, her feelings for you are already quite intense.”

Mantovanni’s expression grew immediately guarded.

“It’s nothing like that.”

Hatshepsut extended a forelimb, and presented her talons in a pleasant, leisurely stretch.

“Nothing like what? I didn’t mention what type of intensity… but evidently you had a specific kind particularly in mind.

“Which one, may I ask?”

Provoking Luciano Mantovanni's irritation wasn't exactly a prudent idea, but this wasn’t the first time she'd done it…

…and, of course, wouldn't be the last.

"Do you think so little of me, M'Raav, you imagine my interest runs to seducing an…" He hesitated.

That very perspective, though, was part of the Felisian's point.

"…an innocent? She can't be described accurately with that word, as you well know—even if you're indulging some sort of 'redemption fantasy.'"

His only response this time was an adamantine silence most would have taken as cautionary.

Hatshepsut, instead, was inspired to continue.

"You do have a weakness for aiding 'imperiled women': Sito; Sa'lanna; Erika Donaldson—though, admittedly, the assistance you provided her was more recreational than redemptive. It's a tendency that suits both your compassionate and passionate natures. Considering your Catholic upbringing and continued interest in Ensign Parihn, should I extend that analysis to 'fallen' ones, as well?"

She'd obviously probed a tender area.

Coldly, he said, "That was entirely uncalled for, M'Raav."

She made an offhand slash with a paw, cutting only air but punctuating her subsequent reply nicely.

"Perhaps the tone was provocative… but the content? We'll agree to disagree on that."

The Felisian knew when her ball of string was nearly unraveled with him, and she'd just reached that stage.

He snapped, "Is there a point remotely in our future, Counselor?"

"Naturally," she replied… then elaborated.

"I'm just trying to make certain you'll be friends with her… and not some idealized version you've invented in your sentimentality. See Parihn, sir, and I'll be more than satisfied.

"End of lecture." Before she reached the ready room door, Hatshepsut added, over her shoulder, "But not the end of your internal dialogue, I’m sure."

After her departure, Mantovanni announced to himself rather matter-of-factly, "I don't particularly enjoy when she does that."

Disliking something and denying its validity, however, were two very different things, and he found himself doing exactly what Hatshepsut wanted.

This wasn’t the first time…

…and, of course, wouldn't be the last.

***

If Mantovanni had thought he'd have days or even weeks to ponder the nuances of the situation at length, Parihn's appearance and subsequent bivouac on his sofa disabused him of that notion.

Good thing this didn't happen two nights ago after the cotillion, or even yesterday afternoon. I don't think Erika would have appreciated being interrupted—especially considering we were, at that point, utilizing the couch ourselves.

She's rather… assiduous… once she gets going.

And besides, I can imagine the acid-laced comments this would've inspired.

"Well, it seems you have a very special prospective cabin boy, there, Captain Casanova. You could have at least finished in one port before setting course for another."

Even if it weren't like that, the at times all-too-fiery Erika Donaldson would probably not have found it in her to understand—at least not then.

For long moments, Mantovanni watched Parihn sleep, considering both Hatshepsut's caveats and her concerns.

In that moment, he conceded they weren't lacking merit.

Could they be friends?

More importantly, should they be?

Despite the fact that fraternization was no longer a punishable offense, and hadn't been for centuries, captains and ensigns simply didn't often associate in a private setting. There was a definite stigma, especially against the higher-ranking individual—an implied coercion, whether genuine or imagined. It was generally felt that junior officers were far too easily influenced to hold their own in such situations.

Social pedophilia, Mantovanni thought.

But wasn't such an assumption also an unjust judgment of Parihn, in and of itself?

For that, and a few more obvious reasons, he was torn.

Through slit lids, Vaerth Parihn watched Luciano Mantovanni in turn.

Something had awakened her, and yet warned the Orion not to simply open her eyes. She'd peeked, discretely as was manageable, and found Liberty's captain regarding her with an intensity that both warmed… and worried.

And here I thought all my awkward "mornings after" were behind me.

The poor man looks like he's been fretting about this—about me—all night.

It doesn’t matter if it made you feel better. Coming here wasn't one of your brighter ideas, Parihn.

Then, he smiled, and she immediately reconsidered. Either that expression was directed at her, or he'd become quite a bit more spontaneously jovial.

The former was both more likely, and more preferred.

Does he somehow know I'm awake?

How could he?

A more analytical part of her replied, Perhaps it's the fact that you're smiling in response, like some besotted adolescent.

She closed her eyes completely for the span of a few seconds, steadied herself, opened them, and…

…he was already elsewhere.

Needing something to distract her, Parihn came to her feet, folded the blanket she didn't remember bedding down with the night before, and smoothed her clothes into an approximation of neatness before he emerged from his bedroom, holding something behind his back.

"Good morning… Captain."

Had she called him "Cicero" the night before? Oh, Warlords. "I'm grateful for your letting me stay h–"

Liberty's captain cut her off with an expressive shake of his head, a "there's no need to thank me" motion that rather than being dismissive, indicated it had been—at least in some small way—his pleasure.

He was once more studying Parihn with the discerning gaze he'd often worn during those countless times he'd sat beside her in sickbay. This was subtly different, though—as if rather than searching for something, he'd located it, and was now examining what he'd found.

Whatever his conclusion, he kept it to himself.

"I have something for you, Ensign; it may help you sleep. I gave this a little thought, but found nothing more suitable than the old standard, so... perhaps that's why it became an old standard. I had one when I was a boy. He's still at home… and, on occasion, I regret that I didn't bring him with me aboard Liberty. God knows I could use the reassurance every once in a while."

Mantovanni produced the gift.

Vaerth Parihn's eyes widened, and her expression softened.

It was a teddy bear.

"Ohhhh…! It's so cute! Look at his eyes. It's like he sees me!" She reached for the stuffed animal… and in a rare moment of whimsy, Mantovanni hugged the pudgy little figure before relinquishing it.

"This is a grave responsibility, Ensign," he told her sternly. "Your first assignment after naming your bear is to read a story entitled The Velveteen Rabbit; you'll find it in the database under 'Children's Literature.'

"It'll make everything clear.

"You're dismissed…"

Then came the shocking addition—shocking, she realized, to both.

"…but you're welcome back here whenever you wish… if you'd like."

Parihn had turned to leave… but then, on hearing that, veered back, flung her arms around him, and stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. The bear's presence between them kept it a platonic embrace—but only just.

"Thank you, sir.

"I'd like."

Then, after all this, her nerve inexplicably failed her, and she fled.

On her way back to the quarters she'd been temporarily assigned, Parihn was careful to carry the bear head up and face forward—so that he could see, too.

She addressed the little creature with his new name—one she was unable to resist.

"You know what, Cicero? I think I've found a friend…

"…and a home."

Four minutes ago:

Her spontaneous embrace had taken him completely aback. For long moments, he'd stood there after her departure… then had found himself touching the cheek she'd kissed.

This is going to be complicated, Mantovanni had thought.

And for the first time in a long time, he'd had no idea how it was going to turn out.