If the below vignette seems to end abruptly, well... let me offer an explanation.

This scene was originally written as the teaser presaging the novelette “Green for a Season, Sweet for a Day”… but for a number of good reasons we’re never going to see that particular story: First, the premise is something better suited to Julie’s USS Adventurous site… and while she trusts me implicitly to write Erika Donaldson and crew, I think it’s too much of an intrusion into her literary territory; second, Julie is only now [It’s October 31st, 2004 as I write this] considering a return to fanfic after a long absence, and she has far too much on her table in both real life and with Adventurous to divert and devote energy to a story that never quite came together for us; third, it gives the reader a look at an earlier stage in our development as writers, in that she and I wrote this some years ago; fourth, while the work had potential, it never quite fit into the 13th Fleet story arc, especially after I took the series in another direction; and fifth…

…it gives me something to post, thus keeping you ravenous wolves off my case.

“Tossin’ and Turnin’”

By Joseph Manno and

Julie Raybon

Though she’d gotten the requisite eight hours of “sleep,” Erika Donaldson hadn't exactly had what she’d call a restful night... and it showed. She staggered into her uniform, stumbled into the Officers’ Mess, snarled her order to the replicator… and in response to her X-O’s cheery greeting, she silently sneered.

Damned morning people.

Determinedly, Erika focused on her ham and eggs, for a few minutes ignoring the table banter—until, as was inevitable, she became its subject.

“Hey… you don’t look so good,” Shana Arland told her. Her CMO had on that patented “reassuring doctor” smile while saying it, too, which probably meant that last night’s “bags under the eyes” look had grown into a full luggage ensemble. “Trouble sleeping?”

Hoping coffee would provide her a semblance of life, Erika took a deep swallow… right after saying, “Not exactly.”

Doug Roese asked, "Did-ums have bad dreams?"

That got him an unlooked-for reaction: Erika gurgled and nearly choked on her drink. Seconds later, when she could breathe—and speak—again, she snapped, "Breakfast is over for you, Commander. Report to the bridge."

Everyone at the table was astonished at their captain's seemingly unprovoked flash of temper.

Wide-eyed, and through a mouthful of food, Doug mumbled a protesting, "Bud I habben't fiddished my padcayges..."

Upon seeing her glare, he immediately realized that, indeed, he had.

As he scrambled away from the table, Shana Arland, who'd noted—as poor Doug obviously hadn't—the furious blush she was still wearing as a result of his innocent question, inquired, "What was that all about?"

Erika glared at her over the rim of her coffee cup.

"You can be dismissed, too."

Shana grinned with real relish.

"Yes, but in my capacity as CMO and ship's counselor, I can ignore you with complete impunity if it's a matter of 'medical or psychological wellness'... and I've decided it is."

The glare became a glower.

"Isn't abusing your authority for personal amusement against the Hippocratic oath or something?"

Now Arland's expression grew more serious.

"Come on, Erika... Doug's was an innocent shot in the dark, and he doesn't even know he hit anything—though I bet he's figuring it out about now. You and I, though, have known each other too long. You're genuinely upset, or at least... thrown. What is it?"

Donaldson remained very interested in her cup of coffee.

"I... I had a dream about…." A slight flush reddened her face. "You're going to laugh," she said plaintively.

Now extremely curious, Shana put on her best "concerned confidante" face.

"No," she avowed, "I won't."

With a sigh, Erika leaned a little closer and whispered, "I had a dream… about Mantovanni."

For a moment, Shana simply regarded her expectantly. When it was clear that Erika wasn't planning an elucidation, though, she prodded, "What kind of dream? You quarreled? You fought in an arena with bat'elh's? What? You're not giving me a lot to go on, here."

The captain's blush had darkened almost to a scarlet, now.

"Well, we most definitely weren't fighting..."

The doctor nodded. "Well, that's a relief. Then you were… talking?… and the subject was…?"

Arland, by now, of course, knew precisely what the dream had been about, but was so enjoying her friend's discomfiture she simply couldn't relent. Instead, she desperately attempted to keep from relinquishing facial control, and fought a gradually losing battle against the grin that was spreading over her face.

Fortunately, Donaldson was still looking at her breakfast.

"There, uh, wasn't a lot of talking involved, either," she muttered.

"Were you engaged in some... activity?"

The moment's hesitation cost Shana her veneer of calm. When Erika grew suspicious and glared at her, she gamely tried to suppress her laughter... and ended up snorting orange juice all over the table.

With a mortified groan, Donaldson buried her face in her hands. "It is not funny!"

After nearly twenty seconds of uncontrollable, gut-wrenching laughter, Shana's conniption subsided into sniffling giggles.

"So..." the doctor said. She avoided looking directly at Erika, lest whatever self-control she'd regained disappear in a nanosecond. "…it seems you're upset about this. May I ask why?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Donaldson whispered fiercely, even though no one else was present. "I have to work with him!"

Shana's shoulders were starting to shake again; her eyes were literally tearing now, from the strain of attempting to force down the laughter.

"As opposed to playing with him?

"Man," she gasped, "can you pick 'em, or what?"

Looking utterly betrayed, Donaldson stood and snatched up her coffee cup. "Isn't there some ethical consideration against torturing your patients?"

"Guilty with extenuating circumstances... Captain Cuddles."

"You... you little...." Fuming, and utterly mortified, Erika Donaldson stalked out of the mess to the renewed laughter of her friend.

On her way to the bridge, though, she realized that whatever divinity—or demon—had sent her that dream wasn't done with her yet.

"Mantovanni to Donaldson. I need you in my ready room."

Shana Arland, who'd run after her, heard that... and literally fell to her knees laughing.

Donaldson's cup hit the floor, spattering its contents across the corridor. It took Erika a full five seconds to gather her wits enough to respond, "On my way," in some approximation of a normal tone.

"Don't tarry, Captain," Shana Arland said liltingly. "He needs you."

To her credit, Erika managed not to cringe as she withdrew...

…or, rather, fled.