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It was that time of day.
They all hated it. Yet, they all needed it desperately. They needed to know what they never wanted to find out. It was the same across the multitude of species gathered.
Pettigrew smiled nervously at Manez, trying to ignore why they were there. "Comb your hair today?"
"Not yet." Trying to help him out, she finger-brushed a few of the more ratty strands.
That only made it worse. When Lisa didn't pick a fight with him, she was worried about someone specific. Pettigrew tried another smile, wasn't pleased with the results, and gave up. Once it was over they would all cheer up. He would go find the karioke program after he had checked the list himself and make certain they did.
Finally, he heard the door open, and the already limited conversation around it rattled to a halt. An electronic beep bounced hollowly across the ceiling. Women, men, and beings of neither category strode forward, their hearts leading them. Their brains would have told them to go away and never come back and fight the war in blessed ignorance and hope. Their brains had less than little say in the matter.
Each one checked the lists. Each one walked away to react in a less crowded room; some would cheer, some would cry, and some would simply breathe again. Some might do all three. Lt. Pettigrew tried not to speculate about whose name he might find. He failed miserably, in every sense of the word, but he did try. In his peripheral vision he saw Lisa exhale slowly in obvious relief, then leave. Whoever she had been most concerned about had lived. That was good.
Pettigrew's eyes scanned the lists. Then, suddenly, they went back a few names and focused on one.

"Commander Bentley," he thought. "No. Not Commander Bentley." He wasn't keeping track of his fingers strumming the old-fashioned guitar, or the people watching him, or the cheerful words he was throwing towards them as the only consolation gifts he had.
He was thinking of the tall Terran woman who had once been his rank and how he had once been an ensign. Her smiling face was trying to explain to him how everything was going to be all right. Everything would always be all right. He would fall back into favor with the CSO and the captain. He would stop messing up every experiment that came his way. He would be able to say more than two words to a pretty lady his age in a social situation without his face turning a brighter color than his uniform. It would always be all right, except that it wasn't. She was gone and she wasn't coming back. It was only a memory telling him that it would all be okay.
Pettigrew forced her face to dissolve into the crowd before him. His voice was good and his guitar playing was not quite bad and his present crewmates needed him desperately. They needed to hear someone singing. They needed to laugh at the amusing songs and join in the serious ones. Pettigrew had the power to begin the healing process in other people and this department needed a whole lot of healing.
The part of him that governed emotions had short-circuited by the time he entered his quarters. If he'd locked the door he would've had trouble with the lock. As it was, he walked in blindly and fell on the bed with no particular intention of going to sleep. A warm, fuzzy mass climbed on the bed with him.
Quilter, the feline fuzzy, nuzzled his face, concerned because her Human's eyes only stared at the ceiling. She nuzzled his face all night and still wasn't happy when the poor zombie went off to work in the morning. So she followed him. No one complained. It took a few days, but she made sure her Human was laughing and joking again. Since Pettigrew's touch worked on all but Pettigrew, she had developed a touch of her own. It was needed.

Star Trek universe belongs to Paramount and Viacom, I'm just playing in it and not making any money off the game. Pettigrew, Torres, Manez, and Quilter are mine. I'm sure this is an earth-shattering announcement for you all. Yes, in comparison to some of you I might be southern, hence 'you all'.