Try out "A Little Night Music".

After cycling through several options, she paused at "A Little Night Music." The description read: "Gentle lullabies and soothing melodies designed to nurture your inner child and promote deep, restorative sleep." She almost laughed at the saccharine marketing copy - who actually fell for that kind of nonsense?

"Sure, why not," she muttered, selecting it with a touch of irony. After the day she'd had, perhaps something ridiculous would at least distract her from her thoughts.

As the audio began, she was surprised by its simplicity - a soft, gentle melody played on what sounded like a music box. The notes were clear and sweet, reminiscent of something she might have heard... somewhere, long ago. Before she could chase down the memory, the melody shifted, accompanied now by a low, humming voice - not quite singing words, just soothing tones that seemed to wrap around her like a blanket.

She found herself listening more intently than she'd intended. The padding beneath her seemed to pulse gently with the rhythm, almost like being rocked. Something about the combination made her throat tighten unexpectedly. The sensation was so foreign that at first, she couldn't identify it - a warm pressure behind her eyes, a peculiar ache in her chest that wasn't exactly painful.

"This is ridiculous," she whispered, but made no move to change the program. The melody continued, joined now by what sounded like a deeper voice, masculine and warm, humming along with the first. The two voices created a harmony that seemed to resonate somewhere deep inside her, in places she usually kept carefully walled off.

She couldn't remember anyone ever singing her to sleep. In the industrial efficiency of the place she'd grown up, bedtime had been a matter of lights out at precisely 2100 hours, regardless of whether you were tired or frightened or needed... anything at all, really. Needs were inefficient. Wanting comfort was a weakness to be trained out of you.

The music shifted again, the melody becoming more complex but somehow still simple enough to follow. She found her breathing slowing to match its rhythm, her body relaxing in ways that felt almost dangerous. To let down her guard, even here alone in the pod, went against everything she'd taught herself.

Yet she couldn't seem to help it. The combination of the gentle music, the soft rocking motion, and the perfect support of the padding created a sensation she had no context for - safety. Not the safety she created for herself through vigilance and control, but something entirely different. Something given rather than taken.

Sleep began to pull at her, dragging her down despite her resistance. As consciousness faded, she found herself listening for the next note, waiting for the deep voice to return, to continue its wordless reassurance that everything was alright. That she could rest. That someone else was watching over things for a while.

Her dreams were fragments of sensation rather than coherent narratives. Being carried. A steady heartbeat against her ear. Large hands adjusting a blanket around her shoulders. None of it made sense - none of it was memory - yet it felt more real than anything she could actually remember from her childhood.

She woke sometime later, disoriented and needing the bathroom. The music had shifted to something even gentler, almost a lullaby now. Her face felt strange, and she realized with shock that her cheeks were wet. Had she been crying in her sleep? The thought was so mortifying that she scrambled to exit the pod, nearly tripping in her haste.

With **** she couldn't quite explain, she sat up. "Pause program," she murmured, and the music faded to silence. The hatch slid open with a soft hiss, and she climbed out, her legs slightly unsteady. She felt oddly bereft without the music, as if something had been taken from her.

The corridor seemed especially dark and unfamiliar as she made her way to the facilities, her mind still clouded with strange emotions. That increasingly familiar ship scent seemed to wrap around her. She was suddenly conscious of the fact that the ship had been built for beings his scale, not hers, and found herself walking with one hand trailing along the wall for reassurance. A Kira of almost fifteen years ago had walked this way from the dormitories to the bathroom every night, following the wall because it was pitch black after lights out. The sudden shock of that memory left her unsettled all the way until her return to the pod.

Once settled, she hesitated. The vulnerability she'd felt during those hours of sleep had been... unsettling. Inappropriate, even. She was an officer, a professional. She couldn't afford to indulge in childish comforts, especially not on a mission like this one.

"Change program," she requested.

"I'm sorry," the pod responded with gentle firmness, "program changes are not recommended during deep relaxation cycles. Continuing 'A Little Night Music' for optimal sleep quality."

She should have overridden it, should have insisted. Instead, she found herself relaxing at the pod's gentle refusal, as if it had taken a difficult decision away from her. The music embraced her again, and this time she didn't fight the way it made her feel - small, ****, but somehow... safe.

"Okay," she whispered, a word she rarely used, preferring more formal affirmatives in her professional life. Her eyes grew heavy as the simple melodies continued, and she curled onto her side in a position she hadn't slept in since
childhood, knees drawn up slightly, hands tucked under her chin.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink back into the padding. Just for tonight, she told herself. Just this once. No one would ever know.

The pod adjusted perfectly around her, supporting her in this new position with what felt almost like tenderness. As sleep reclaimed her, she had the strange, fleeting thought that maybe it was okay to let something else take care of her, just for tonight...

As the hatch sealed and the music resumed, she felt a strange relief wash over her. As if the decision being made for her - being taken care of, in this small way - was exactly what she needed. The melody returned, and with it that deep voice, humming along in perfect harmony.