Fragment Friday

Star Trek The Next Generation.  
Q-Squared by Peter David.

"Don't want to go!" howled Lieutenant Commander William Riker. 

He was clutching a piece of furniture, looking like a trapped animal. His hair was still wild and disheveled. Worf was certainly no barber, and did not have the time, patience or finesse to do much with Riker's appearance beyond making damned sure that Riker bathed, since his stench was considerable even for a human. Worf stood nearby, his muscled arms folded across his armored chest, barely able to conceal his impatience. 

"You must go," he rumbled. "You are a Starfleet officer. A Starfleet vessel has arrived, and you are scheduled to depart with it."

"I don't want to!"

"You must. It is your duty. Furthermore, your wife..." He paused, trying to recall her name, and then it came to him. "...Deanna... and your son, are aboard ship."

That caught Riker's attention. Somehow the mere mention of her name seemed to penetrate the confused and angry haze that hung over him. "Deanna," he whispered. 

"Yes, that is correct. Deanna. She is waiting for you. Do you wish to keep her waiting?"

Riker shook his head in a quick, short fashion, as if afraid that too much shaking might cause it to tumble off his shoulders. Then he stared at Worf with a sort of animal cunning that looked so crafty that Worf felt his opinion of Riker going up a few notches. "Are you are coming, too?"

"As a matter of fact," said Worf slowly. "I am."

Riker considered that a moment. "Good," he said at last.