Title: Judgement Day
Author: Whimsicle-1
Feedback: Always welcome at Whimsicle.dreams@gmail.com
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Paramount, and I'm thieving scum who makes no profit from taking the characters on a wee bit of a joyride.
Author's Note: This strange, twisted story was actually written for a zine years ago, only the editor didn't like the overall idea, but did like the writing in the opening scene, and so encouraged me to write a story that used it. Dunno that the second story ever really jelled (meh, my brain doesn't play well with other people's ideas), but I have to admit I still have a demented fondness for the original as it was written. I'll probably post the other version at some point (when I can get it retyped…eeks!).

Judgement Day
By Whimsicle-1

Hearing the sounds of the sickbay doors slide open then closed again, Beverly Crusher looked up from her PADD just long enough to identify the newcomer. "I'll be with you in just a moment, Lieutenant," she told Worf. Head down, she was unaware of his approach until a hard hand curved to the back collar of her uniform. Her chin snapped up. She knew Worf was a man of few words, but that didn't excuse his manhandling her. Her eyes glittered with irritation right up until she twisted far enough to get a good look at the cold mask of his face. "Worf?" she exhaled in stunned disbelief.

His arm came up and Beverly barely had time to block the blow aimed for her face. At the time same time, she felt the hand at the nape of her neck tighten and start to shift, but had neither the time nor the leverage to do counter the maneuver. Before she quite realized what was happening the doctor was hurled backward off her feet and through the glass partition that separated her office from the rest of sickbay. Shards shattering around her in an ice-fall of glitter, she tumbled floor on the other side and lay stunned. Just trying to grab a breath caused a sharp shear of pain in her side—bruised ribs, but not broken by the feel of it—-and her skull was throbbing so violently it was hard to think. Pushing up on one hand, she pushed down a pained groan as she spotted her attacker.

Worf: headed straight for her, his expression grimly determined.

Crusher tapped the communicator on her chest, not noticing as she did so the blood that ran freely down her hand and forearm. "Security to sickbay. NOW!" she yelled and shoved to her feet just as the security chief reached the doorway a few feet away.

The Klingon's head swung around at the sound of her voice and for just a moment he paused. It gave the doctor just enough to put her desk between the two of them, but the flurry of movement seemed to snap the security chief's momentary paralysis. Stepping forward, he tried to shove the desk out of the way, but it didn't budge, so reached for the woman across the top.

Crusher danced just out of reach, faked going one way, then lunged the other, intending to rush for the door.

She almost made it.

The Klingon caught her on the other side of the office entry, grabbing her by the hair and yanking so hard she stumbled to one knee. The doctor twisted and slammed a shoulder hard into her crewmate's midsection.

Worf woofed, but didn't slow as he chalked back his arms to deliver a backhanded slap, the force of blow enough to snap her head and body around and toss her to the floor in an ungainly sprawl. The Klingon stared down at her for a moment before straddling her and forcing her onto her back.

Crusher groaned softly, struggling to focus on her attacker, but he was little more than a blur. Running on instinct, she hit him twice, knuckles splitting on the hard line of his jaw. The blows were hard enough to snap his head back momentarily, but not enough to make him alter his attack.

Realizing there was no way in hell she could physically beat him back, she shifted tactics and tried to wriggle free, but Worf caught her wrists and pinned them to the floor. "Do you surrender?" he demanded.

Crusher frowned. "Oh God," she groaned. "It can't..." Whatever she was about to say trailed of as the sickbay door slid open and Will Riker stepped in.

"Get him off me," the doctor pleaded.

"That's enough, Mister Worf," the commander snapped.

"But she has not--" Worf started to argue, but Riker shook his head.

"Now, Lieutenant," the commander said impatiently.

The big Klingon pushed away and to his feet while the doctor remained in a dazed sprawl amid the debris on the floor. Crusher looked suspiciously at Riker who was studying the mess with a worried expression. Her eyes went back to Worf who had straightened his uniform and now stood at ease a few feet away. "Judgement Day," she moaned as she let her head fall back to the floor.

Riker nodded.

'Judgement Day' was the common slang for the yearly surprise self defense exams. It was a hated ritual in all of Starfleet because it could happen anywhere, anytime with no warning. Since Worf had taken over as chief of security, it had become doubly despised aboard the Enterprise, a rite of torture dreaded by absolutely everyone. The officer in charge was, of course, not allowed to seriously injure the person being tested, but that was scant comfort to the individual facing a seemingly enraged Klingon.

"It can't have been a year already…" the doctor complained as she lifted her left arm and noted the torn sleeve and shallow cut just above the elbow.

"Data double checked it," Riker assured her.

"…because I really don't think it has..." Crusher continued as if he hadn't spoken, only to shift mental gears with startling speed. "Are my pupils the same size?"

Riker glanced at Worf who had the grace to look somewhat discomfited. "I think throwing her through the partition may have been a bit gratuitous, Mister Worf."

"Not to mention that slap," Crusher grumbled as she worked her abused jaw muscles. "I think he loosened a couple of teeth."

"Regulations state—" Worf began defensively.

"I know, I know," the doctor cut him off, "but, personally, I think you enjoy your job just a little too much."

"It is unlikely an attacker would be more gentle, Doctor," Worf reminded her.

Crusher grumbled something very impolite under her breath as she rolled into a sitting position. "Oh well," she muttered after a moment, trying to put the best possible face on the situation. "At least it's over for another year."

Worf's brows rose slightly, but he didn't respond.

"No," the doctor groaned, dread welling up in her eyes. "Don't tell me I flunked?"

Worf shook his head. "You passed...barely."

Still looking uneasy, Crusher repeated, "Barely?"

"You achieved the lowest possible passing score," Worf informed her.

Crusher sighed in a mixture of relief and irritation. According to shipboard scuttlebutt, the lowest possible passing score had become the norm aboard the Enterprise. That didn't mean she didn't hate getting it. "I suppose you have to report this to the captain," she murmured disgustedly.

"Not immediately," the security chief responded grimly.

"He'll be a little busy for awhile," Riker added.

Crusher's brows rose questioningly. "He's next?"

Worf stiffened. "We cannot divulge that information."

"Yeah...right..." the doctor grumbled facetiously as she scrambled to her feet. "By the way, Worf, nice performance. If I ever need to cast a Marquis DeSade, I'll think of you first."

The Klingon stiffened, but did not respond.

Riker reached out to help the doctor, then glanced around the room regretfully. "Well, we'd love to stick around and help clean up, but we do have other appointments…." He trailed off meaningfully.

"Right," the doctor sighed as she watched them go. She looked around herself and noted that the small housecleaning droids were already vacuuming up the glass, then down at her arm. "Better get cleaned up and ready for the next round," she grumbled as moved to take care of the minor injury. "Jean-Luc will be here soon enough."

THE END