Of course, the usual disclaimers apply here. Paramount owns everything in the story except the story itself, and I'm not trying to make any money off it. Please feel free to distribute this story in electronic form as long as my name stays with it.

Enjoy! --Katie

"Captain's Log, stardate 49225.3. The Enterprise has been ordered off its planned shakedown cruise and is en route to the Klingon Homeworld after receiving an urgent summons from the High Council. Ever since the assassination of the Klingon ambassador to the Federation, relations between the Empire and the Federation have remained somewhat strained. I believe that because I served as the Arbiter of Succession, Gowron may be making a diplomatic appeal through me."

Picard closed the log entry and set about preparing breakfast, taking a few moments to study the still slightly unfamiliar replicator layout of the Enterprise-E. He smiled, realizing that he'd never specifically arranged to meet with his companion. He simply knew that she'd be there, just like she always had. A few moments later, just as Picard was setting down the tray of coffee and croissants, the door chimed.

Right on time, Picard thought with a smile as he called a command to open the door. Beverly Crusher walked into his quarters, looking slightly disheveled. She dropped into a chair at his table and tore into a croissant without saying a word.

Picard smiled as he sat down across from her. "Rough night?" he asked.

She nodded at him tiredly. "I'll say. Half of beta shift decided they'd hurt them-selves on their off-hours. Lieutenant Garvey twisted her ankle in the arboretum, Ensign Boyles tried to catch a line drive with her nose on the Holodeck, and Lieutenant Grafton slipped off a ladder in engineering. Not to mention that small Bolerian salad food poisoning incident." Beverly rolled her eyes for emphasis. "What a mess that was."

Picard chuckled quietly and watched her grab another croissant.

She smiled back at him, but her expression darkened slightly when she looked beyond him out his cabin window, seeing the stars streak by in the characteristic effect of warp drive.

She turned her gaze back to Picard, her eyes narrowing. "I thought this was supposed to be a little impulse-speed shakedown run. Why are we charging off at high warp?"

"We've received a priority summons from the Klingon High Council. They've specifically asked for me to meet with them," he answered as he took a sip of coffee.

Beverly considered this for a moment, looking vaguely troubled. Jean-Luc saw her concern. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

She forced a small smile and shook her head. "I don't know. Just a feeling..." she answered.

He studied her face carefully. "What kind of feeling?" he asked, puzzled.

Beverly leaned forward and rested a hand on his. "It's nothing, Jean-Luc. Just please be careful?"

Jean-Luc squeezed her hand and smiled warmly at her. "Always, Beverly."

***

Belkor was being kept waiting. He hated waiting, and did not do it well. He paced the length of the alley, clenching his fists, listening to the sound of his rough leather gloves stretching with the movement. He heard a rustling from the behind him and whirled to face it.

A cloaked figure stood deep in the shadows of the alley.

"Picard is on his way to the homeworld," the figure stated without preamble, his rasping voice echoing slightly in the confined alleyway.

Belkor warily stepped closer to the cloaked man. "I know. He will be here in two days."

The figure shrunk away from Belkor's advance, retreating further into the shadows. "You will have the next stage of the plan ready by then." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, it will be done," Belkor confirmed.

"You serve the Empire well. Your house will be honored," the cloaked man offered before disappearing completely.

Belkor searched the shadows carefully to confirm his contact's disappearance before stalking out of the alley.

***

Two days later, the Enterprise entered orbit of the Klingon Homeworld. Picard stood from the command chair, anxious to get this diplomatic mission over with. Beverly had become increasingly and inexplicably nervous ever since she found out about their mission, and her behavior was starting to make Picard just a little jumpy as well.

"Hail Gowron, Mr. Worf," he ordered.

Behind him, the Klingon tactical officer complied. "On screen, sir." Moments later, the face of Chancellor Gowron filled the bridge's viewscreen.

Picard nodded respectfully to Gowron. "Chancellor, you have requested my presence?"

Gowron simply looked at him for a long moment, studying Picard carefully as he would an adversary. He spoke slowly, calculating each word. "Picard. You show your honor by coming here. I must admit, I suspected you would not."

Picard took a couple steps toward the viewscreen. "I do not understand, Emperor." He watched as Gowron's eyes bulged just a little more than usual.

"Then you do not know, Picard? You have been accused of assassinating our ambassador to the Federation."

Stunned, Picard took a few moments to regain enough of his composure to answer. Worf was surprised too, but quicker to recover, launching into a vehement defense of his captain. Picard stopped his blustering officer with a gesture.

"Emperor, I assure you I did not kill Ambassador Kygrel," he stated with as much calm as he could manage.

"Nonetheless, Picard, you are accused of a crime against the Klingon Empire. You must stand trial in front of the High Council."

Picard nodded and tried not to glare at the screen; he failed. He watched Gowron carefully, weighing his choices: stand trial for murder on the Klingon homeworld and risk causing an interstellar incident, or refuse to stand trial for murder on the Klingon homeworld and definitely cause an interstellar incident? Ultimately, his diplomatic duty left him very little choice. He took a deep breath and answered, "Of course, Chancellor. When will the hearing begin?"

The Emperor actually looked somewhat surprised as he answered. "High sun."

"I'll be there," Picard answered, ordering Worf to sign off.

From his post at tactical, Worf frowned. "Sir..." he began.

Picard stopped him by raising his hand slightly. "Commander, I want you to find out everything you can about these charges. When you have it, call a briefing for the senior staff."

Worf nodded, and Picard slowly walked to his ready room at the side of the bridge. As the doors closed behind him, he couldn't help but wonder if Beverly's anxiety about this mission hadn't been justified.

***

Picard walked into the observation lounge half an hour later, the senior officers already there and awaiting his arrival. He sat and turned to his tactical officer. "Report, Mr. Worf."

The large Klingon took a deep breath. "I accessed the High Council's records on your case, sir. Apparently, they have evidence that you are responsible for the Ambassador's death."

Picard nodded. "Any specifics?"

Worf shook his head. "No, sir. You will receive those tonight at High Sun."

Riker leaned forward to the table, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "What do we know about the assassination?"

This time Data responded. "Ambassador Kygrel was on Earth, attending a Federation banquet, where he collapsed in the middle of a speech. His death was ruled homicide by poison, and several Klingon factions on the Homeworld immediately blamed the Federation for the incident."

Picard nodded. "I remember, I was at that banquet... I'm guessing that's their main evidence that I was involved. Anything else I should know about this particular Klingon procedure, Mr. Worf?"

Worf leaned forward slightly. "Capital trials are rare; they are usually an accommodation to off-worlders. Klingon justice is generally more... swift," he growled. "The Empire views the assassination of a high-ranking official to be the depth of dishonor. The ambassador's death must be accounted for. You will be required to stay in a prison on the Homeworld for the duration of the hearing. You must also serve as your own legal council, and you may only communicate with the Enterprise outside of chambers."

"Very well, thank you, Commander." Picard looked at his crew briefly, his eyes stopping on Beverly, who was sitting silently at the end of the conference table, staring intently at him.

"Captain," Riker began, interrupting his thoughts. "You don't have to do this. The murder occurred in Federation space, in Federation jurisdiction..." He trailed off and tried a different tack. "You'll be away from the Enterprise. If something happens, we won't be able to help you."

Picard nodded. "Normally, I would not agree to attend without a security escort. However, given the strained relations between the Federation and the Klingon Empire right now, I think this situation calls for a show of good faith. Whatever evidence they have that implicates me must be forged. We should have no problem maintaining my innocence." Riker looked like he was about to object, Picard raised a staying hand. "Mr. Worf, am I correct in assuming that my refusal to attend the hearing would be taken as a further insult to the Empire?"

Worf nodded. "Yes, sir. The Empire's honor has been severely impinged already."

Riker was still shaking his head. "There has to be another way." He looked to Worf, who only glowered and looked away. It was the closest he ever came to a shrug. Riker swore under his breath. The captain allowed himself to smile faintly.

"Will, the Klingons are just as aware of the diplomatic tension between us as we are. I don't really think they'll want to start a war. Not over this."

The other officers around the table seemed to accept this, though clearly still not happy about it. But from the end of the table, Picard was struck by the intensity of Beverly Crusher's gaze. He recognized that look.

She was pissed.

To the rest of his crew, he mumbled "Dismissed..." The officers scurried out, quite aware of the suddenly palpable tension between their Captain and CMO.

As the doors closed, Picard stood, finally tearing his gaze from Beverly's and turning to the large windows, pondering the Klingon Homeworld rotating lazily below.

They stayed that way for several minutes, Beverly staring at the side of Picard's face while he concentrated on the view.

Finally, when Beverly couldn't take the silence any longer, she slapped her hands against the table, pushing herself upright. "You don't have to go," she offered simply.

Finally Picard turned to her, somewhat surprised at her statement. He had been expecting her normal lecture about being careful and not taking unnecessary risks. "Beverly..."

"No, Jean-Luc," she interrupted. "No discussion, no reassurances. I don't want you to go down there."

He stepped closer to her, resting an arm on the top of a lounge chair. "I have to go. You know that."

"No, I don't know that. This incident is not your responsibility. Let some paid diplomat take care of this! It's too dangerous. For once in your life, would you just be selfish and not go down there?!" She paused, her temper drained, and looked at him sadly. "Jean-Luc, it's not your job to fix the universe."

Picard stood, stunned by her statement. Fix the universe?

Suddenly it hit him. That was exactly what he was trying to do. Ever since Veridian III, he'd been trying to get fight of the everyday danger of life. Last week it was working with Starfleet Intelligence on a lead into a possible Cardassian/Romulan alliance. Now it was risking his life on some quest to save the quadrant from war. A year before he had wanted only to save little boys from fires... Beverly had seen it. She knew, had known instantly when this had ceased to become a purely diplomatic issue.

He swallowed hard, fighting the sudden lump in his throat. "I have to do this," he repeated, barely audible.

Beverly suddenly looked pained, and this time it was her turn to look away. "I know that," she acquiesced. When she turned back to him, he could clearly see tears in her eyes. "Please..."

Picard had moved even closer to her, taking her hand. "I know, 'be careful,'" he finished for her, trying to smile.

She half-smiled back at him and squeezed his hand. "No... Jean-Luc, please come back."

***

At High Sun on the Klingon Homeworld, Jean-Luc Picard materialized in the High Council Chambers. He stepped to the center of the chamber, watching as the council members milled about, occasionally throwing a suspicious glance towards him. Gowron looked him over for nearly a full minute before clapping his hands once sharply, bringing the council to order. The council filed into place at the Emperor's side.

"Picard, I always knew you were a man of honor," Gowron said, his low voice reverberating throughout the chamber.

Picard drew himself to his full height and looked up to address the Chancellor. "I have come to hear the charges against me." He stated, just as dramatically.

Gowron signaled to another council member. The man stepped forward and read from a PADD: "Captain Jean-Luc Picard is charged with the murder of Krygel, Klingon ambassador to the Federation. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

A slight murmur arose from the council, and Gowron stood. "Human, you realize that you must stand to face your charges in open council?"

"I do," Picard answered. "And I demand to see all the evidence you have against me." The Klingon with the PADD stepped over to Picard and handed it to him with a distinct snarl.

Gowron gestured to the guards, and Picard was led to a holding cell.

***

Late that night, Picard leaned tiredly against the wall of a dark, musty cell somewhere in the catacombs below the High Council chambers. He had already transmitted the details of his charges to the Enterprise, and was about to dive in himself. The stone wall was cold through his uniform, and he shifted uncomfortably, feeling his muscles beginning to stiffen.

Outside the door he heard soft footfalls, and the sound of a keycard running through an access scanner. The door to the cell swung open, and for a few seconds Picard was blinded to the unaccustomedly bright light outside the cell. He put a hand up to his eyes and stood slowly.

"What do you want?" he asked the dark figure standing in the doorway. The figure entered, followed by three other men. Two of them grabbed Picard by his upper arms, restraining him. The cell door closed behind them.

The first Klingon smiled menacingly at Picard, saying, "You should not have come here, human." Then he drew back a gloved fist and pounded it into Picard's abdomen, knocking the air out of him.

Picard panted for breath as the Klingon's companion clubbed him over the head with the blunt handle of a knife, and he slipped into a hazy world of partial consciousness. The part of him that was aware sensed massive pain from bruises and cracking ribs as he was beaten mercilessly.

***

Late that night, Beverly Crusher paced the length of her quarters, consumed with worry over her Captain. She had been assured by Worf that nothing would happen to him overnight, that he was in the safe custody of the Klingon authorities. But somehow, those assurances just didn't help too much. She sighed and raked her fingers through her long red hair.

This is ridiculous... she told herself for the millionth time that evening. He's fine, and he'll get out of this, and he'll come back and everything will go back to normal...

She was shaken from her thoughts by the chirp of her communicator. The voice that accompanied it was rasping, whispering: "Picard to Crusher..."

She answered the hail, her concern instantly peaking. "I'm here, Jean-Luc."

From the other end came brutal silence. "Jean-Luc??" Beverly asked more urgently. She raced into her bedroom and grabbed a medikit.

"Jean-Luc, I'm on my way down, hold on!" she cried as she charged out of her quarters.

***

The next morning, Beverly returned to the Enterprise and walked tiredly into the observation lounge well after the senior officers had convened to discuss their captain's situation. She approached the table and tossed the PADD with the results of Picard's exam across the table. It skidded to a halt in front of Worf.

"Tell me, Mr. Worf, is it common Klingon practice to beat a suspected murderer to death?" she demanded.

The rest of the staff looked up at her sharply, murmuring concern.

"No, he's not dead yet, but another night in that septic tank they call a holding cell will kill him," she said, answering their unspoken questions. "He was barely conscious when I found him but he did manage to say that a group of Klingons came into his cell last night and attacked him."

Worf's massive brow raised questioningly as he picked up the data PADD sitting in front of him, examining her results. Will, Data, Deanna, and Geordi merely sat in silence, splitting their attention between the Klingon and the seething doctor.

After reading the medical report, Worf slowly set the PADD back on the table. At his right, Deanna winced at the sensation of the magnitude of his fury, combining with the mixture of fierce concern and anger pouring out of Beverly. Worf pushed away from the table and stood.

"It is the depth of dishonor not to allow a suspect a hearing in open council," he declared in a controlled growl.

Beverly nodded and sat heavily at the end of the table. "That's what I thought."

Riker looked up at Worf. "How can we get him out of there?"

Worf considered this question carefully. "I do not know. We cannot simply remove him from the planet, and if he has been attacked, honor demands he report it to the Council in person."

Beverly was shaking her head before he even finished his speaking. "He'd have to physically challenge the man who attacked him. That would only kill him quicker."

Deanna turned to Worf as he was sitting back in his chair. "Can't anyone else stand in his place?"

Worf shook his head. "Only an immediate relative. Preferably a brother or son." The rest of the senior crew sighed, knowing Picard was the last of his family, his only relatives killed in a tragic fire only months before. They sat silently for a few moments before Beverly spoke.

"Could his wife take his place?"

Every head in the lounge quickly spun toward her. Worf blinked at the suggestion, surprised. "Yes," he allowed slowly. "But she would have to prove herself a capable warrior before her challenge would be heard." He looked at her carefully. "If you were to fail, you would both be killed."

"Beverly..." began Will.

"Save it, Commander. I've got things to do," she interrupted impatiently, standing from the table. She had clearly given this tactic some thought. "It would be inappropriate to involve Starfleet any more in this manner, therefore I resign my commission and request permission to beam down to the surface." She removed her communicator and set in on the table.

Riker looked from Beverly to Worf and back again. He couldn't read her expression, but he knew better than to argue with her decision. He simply nodded to her. She nodded once in acknowledgement and left the observation lounge.

The officers sat, slightly off-balance from the rapid turn of events. Geordi leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Wait... how did she get down to the planet in the first place?" he asked in sudden confusion.

Deanna smiled. "If you had been the transporter operator on duty, would YOU have argued with her?"

Geordi chuckled despite himself. "Hell, no."

***

Twenty minutes later, Beverly walked into the transporter room, wearing a long dark-colored cloak. Worf and Deanna were waiting for her.

Worf approached her and handed her a ceremonial dagger, which she fastened to her belt. "Doctor, I have arranged for an old friend of my family to meet us at the holding cell. He is a mak'tor, capable of performing Klingon marriages. I will accompany you to present your challenge."

"Thank you, Worf," she said, smiling up at him. Then she turned to Deanna, who stood with her hands tightly clasped in front of her.

"Good luck, Beverly," she said quietly. Beverly smiled and hugged her friend briefly before climbing onto the transporter pad with Worf.

Deanna watched Beverly disappear as she was enveloped by the transporter's familiar blue shimmer, trying to will the stinging in the back of her eyes to disappear as well.

***

Jean-Luc Picard weakly turned his head toward the cell door as it opened. Beverly, Worf, and another Klingon walked into the small room. Beverly knelt beside him, running her tricorder over him briefly. Satisfied with what she saw, she put her tricorder away and took his hand in hers. "Good morning..." he whispered quietly.

She smiled tenderly and raised her other hand to his cheek. "Jean- Luc, listen -- we have a way to get you out of here."

His eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. "Beverly, you know I can't just back out now. This has become an internal Klingon matter. The Prime Directive won't allow..." He broke off as he saw her shaking her head. For the first time, he noticed she wasn't wearing her uniform, but rather a long flowing robe reminiscent of traditional Klingon attire.

Beverly took a deep breath. "Jean-Luc, marry me."

Picard coughed in surprise. It was literally the last phrase he ever expected her to say. "What?"

"Marry me. I'll make the challenge in your place, as your wife." He was about to protest, but instead studied her face, seeing her intense concern and the hint of some deeper emotion playing across her features. He looked at her for a long time, wanting to remember everything about her expression, everything about the warmth of her hand in his.

"You think I'm going to willingly put you in danger?" he finally asked.

Her gaze was as hard as steel. "We can argue about this later, Jean-Luc. For right now, we both know that you need my help." Her voice dropped even lower, and she leaned closer to him. "You're the one who needs to save the universe. Well, I need to save you."

In his heart, he knew that he could never refuse her anything. He also knew that he couldn't stand the thought of her in danger for his sake. But in his head, he knew that this woman was stubborn enough to act even without his consent, and that he honestly couldn't think of any alternative to her plan.

"All right, Beverly," he agreed, almost inaudibly.

Beverly and Worf helped him to his feet. The mak'tor approached them and began reciting the Klingon marriage ritual, which, in fact, was extremely brief. He spoke for about 10 seconds, then said "Qo'Noth," with finality. Beverly repeated the word, as did Picard. Worf, standing as quiet witness to the ceremony, smiled. "Joined with honor," he translated to no one in particular.

Beverly turned to Jean-Luc and kissed him briefly, then looked into his eyes and smiled. He smiled back, his pain-numbed mind unable to understand why he felt so indescribably happy at that moment.

A few minutes later he had been carefully eased back into the corner of the cell. Worf and Beverly were talking quietly in the doorway with the mak'tor. The other Klingon left with Worf. Beverly turned and again knelt by Picard.

"Jean-Luc, we'll have you out of here tonight, after I make the challenge to the Council."

He nodded, fighting to remain conscious. "Thank you, Beverly..." he mumbled, and the last thing he remembered as he drifted off to sleep was her lips gently pressed against his in a tender kiss.

***

Beverly strode confidently into the High Council chamber with Worf following slightly behind and to her left. There were several council members conferring, and they all turned to stare at her.

Gowron, upon his elevated throne, glared questioningly first at her, then at Worf. "Human, you have no place in this chamber," he pronounced sternly. The other council members once again filed into place at his sides.

Beverly lifted her chin proudly to address the Emperor: "I have come to challenge the dishonorable charges laid upon my house," she said in crisp, unaccented Klingon.

Gowron's massive eyebrows lifted in disbelief. "Your house, human?" Turning his attention to Worf, he asked, "Son of Mogh, what is this woman talking about?"

Worf took a step forward. "She is Beverly Picard, wife of Jean-Luc Picard, and she is here to challenge the charges against him."

"Picard has no wife," Gowron growled.

"They are married in full accordance with Klingon rite and tradition," Worf answered.

Gowron considered this new information before returning his gaze to Beverly. "Human, if this is a Starfleet trick..."

Beverly shook her head once. "No trick, Gowron. And I am no longer in Starfleet."

"Why couldn't Picard make his own challenge?" another council member sneered.

Beverly recognized the question as the opening to the examination of her worthiness to even stand in Picard's place. She turned toward him, feeling her anger flare inside her. "You tell me. When I found him, he had almost been beaten to death."

"Son of Mogh, is this true?" Gowron demanded. Worf nodded.

"If I find the dishonorable pah'tahk who did this, I will kill him myself," he growled. "Picard has served the Empire well, and he deserved an honorable hearing for his crime."

Before Beverly could respond, the other council member stepped in front of her, still sneering. "Emperor, we have no need to waste time on this human," he declared. "Picard deserves his dishonor, and should die like a miserable blood worm."

Beverly stepped nose to nose with the Klingon, her face a mask of fury. "You will not insult my husband like that again," she said quietly, with icy clarity.

The Klingon grinned lasciviously. "And what if I insult his choice in mates?"

Beverly growled, grabbed hold of the Klingon's shoulder, and kneed him hard in the crotch. She pivoted and elbowed him across the ridged bridge of his nose. The Klingon staggered and gasped, caught completely off guard by the intensity and speed of the attack. He fell to his knees as blood began to pour from his nose. Beverly dropped back into a defensive posture, ready for a counter attack.

Behind Beverly, Worf looked mildly impressed.

Gowron had risen from his seat to watch the exchange.

"Belkor," he said, grabbing the Klingon by the collar and lifting him to his feet. "You have dishonored yourself enough for one day," he declared and shoved the man toward the exit. Belkor walked gingerly away, swearing under his breath and holding his nose to stem the bleeding.

Gowron stood in front of Beverly and smiled. "I see Picard has chosen a truly worthy mate. Your challenge will be heard tomorrow at Mid-Sun."

Beverly nodded acceptance. "Allow my husband to be transported to the Enterprise," she said. "I will stay in his place."

Gowron agreed, and guards appeared to escort her back to the cell.

***

When they returned to the cell, Picard was still curled up in the same corner Beverly had left him hours before. Again she immediately crossed the cell to him and put a finger to his neck to check for a pulse. She found one, weak and slow, and he stirred slightly under her touch. "Beverly..." he called groggily.

"I'm right here, Jean-Luc. Worf's going to take you up to the ship to get you medical attention," she said, wrapping an arm under his shoulders to help him to stand. Worf stepped forward and grasped him firmly by the upper arm to hold him steady.

"What about you?" Picard asked weakly.

"I'm staying here to complete the challenge. Worf, make sure he gets safely back to the ship."

"Yes, Doctor," Worf answered.

Picard looked at her sadly. "Beverly..." he began, reaching out to her. She smiled bravely at him.

"Take care, Jean-Luc."

Worf led him out, and the guards shut the door. Beverly squinted into the sudden darkness of the cell and felt her way to a wall. She leaned against it and slid down to sit on the floor. She could still feel Jean-Luc's lingering warmth radiating from the hard stone. She smiled and took some comfort from the feeling as she tried to get some sleep.

***

Belkor stalked down the same dark alley where he had met his contact earlier. He glared into the shadows, willing the man to appear.

Finally, giving into his impatience altogether, Belkor called into the darkness, "I risk exposure every time we meet! What is it you want to say?"

A low growl from behind him responded. "Your orders did not include attacking Picard."

Belkor whirled on the source of the sound. "You said to ensure that he stayed here and faced the charges. I did that. How was I supposed to know he'd live and get married?"

The figure seemed to meld with the shadows. "If you are not more careful, you're entire plan will be uncovered. Picard will surely recognize and identify you."

Belkor's indignant voice grew louder and more belligerent. "I don't care any longer! I'm through carrying out your orders. You said my house would benefit... and I want to see some evidence. Now."

His contact laughed slightly. "Your impatience is dwarfed only by your ineptitude. I will contact you again."

Belkor stomped out of the alley, not even waiting to see if the contact had left.

***

Very early that morning, Jean-Luc Picard awoke in sickbay with a very concerned Deanna Troi leaning over him. "Beverly..." he mumbled.

Deanna smiled down at him reassuringly. "She's on the planet, Captain, and she's fine. She meets with the Council in a few hours."

Picard nodded and sat up on the bed slowly. Dr. Selar approached, scowling slightly, as usual.

"Captain, I have healed your injuries, but it would be unwise to exert yourself at this time," she stated in her characteristically impatient monotone.

He shook his head slightly. "No, I've got to talk to Beverly and warn her... I recognized the man who attacked me..."

Selar raised an eyebrow and was about to protest, but Deanna interrupted. "Doctor, Commander Riker needs to brief the Captain about the evidence being used against him. I promise to keep an eye on him," she said, smiling appeasingly. The doctor merely sniffed slightly and walked away.

Picard sat heavily into his ready room chair, wincing slightly at the lingering shadow of pain in his chest. "Report, Number One."

"Well, Sir, most of the evidence the Council has against you is based upon this security recording that they supposedly obtained through diplomatic channels," Will began, emphasizing the word with definite sarcasm, then reaching over to activate Picard's viewscreen.

The tape showed a silent wide-pan view of the banquet, with dozens of high-ranking guests milling about in the Federation Concourse. Picard watched himself making small talk with Ambassador Kygrel, laughing politely at one of his witticisms.

"Now, Sir, the part of the tape that the Council is concerned about it here. Computer, forward to time index oh-one-oh-three-two, and pause."

The image jumped and froze. "Computer, zoom in on image section E-18 and enhance," Will commanded.

Again the image jumped, this time zooming in on Picard and the Ambassador. "Computer, resume playback, one-third normal speed."

Picard watched intently as the recording of himself surreptitiously pulled a vial from his sleeve and poured it into the Ambassador's drink.

"According to the time index, he was dead five minutes later, killed by a slow-acting poison of Ferengi origin," Will finished.

Jean-Luc steepled his fingers and sat back in his chair.

"That never happened," he scoffed.

Will nodded. "We agree, Sir. Whoever made this is a lousy con-artist. It's a Federation security recording, all right, but Data ran it against the actual recording, and discovered definite signs of tampering."

Jean-Luc's brow wrinkled slightly in thought. "Surely the High Council would have run the same tests? They would know it's a fake as well... why even bother?"

Will shook his head. "I don't know, Sir, but it was certainly enough to get you out here."

"Yes... and enough to almost get me killed." He looked up suddenly, realization lighting his face. "And I think I know why," he declared as he stood quickly.

"Captain, you're still not fully recovered..." Will began.

"Yes, Number One," he replied impatiently. "But Beverly's still in danger down there. I have to help her."

***

Five minutes later, Jean-Luc Picard beamed into the Council chamber, where Beverly's challenge had nearly convened. Beverly watched him enter, a question clearly on her face, but she remained silent as he strode confidently to her side. He had instantly captured the attention of the council.

"The charges are false!" he declared.

Gowron watched him with interest. "False, Picard? Then who do you think killed the Ambassador?"

Picard pointed directly at Belkor. "He did."

***

"This is preposterous," Belkor snarled. "Chancellor, you cannot believe the words of dishonorable criminals," he seethed, pointing accusingly at the Picards.

Gowron smiled slowly and gestured to the Klingon standing to his right. The man held up a small remote controller and activated the chamber's comm system.

                I risk exposure every time we meet! What is it you want to say?"

Another voice joined in:

               Your orders did not include attacking Picard.

Belkor's eyes widened, as he listened, speechless, to the recording. Behind him, both accused Picards were watching with growing smiles.

And Belkor's voice once more:

               I don't care any longer! I'm through carrying out your orders. 
              You said my house would benefit... and I want to see some evidence. Now.

Another gesture from Gowron, and the playback ceased. "It's a Federation trick, Chancellor! They're trying to draw the blame away..." Belkor spluttered unconvincingly. He grew silent as Gowron raised a staying hand.

"Belkor," he began, deliberately drawing his name out as if scolding a child. "Your house has served the Empire honorably for ten generations. It is a tragedy that you disgrace the name of those before you," he said, shaking his massive head slowly.

For the benefit of the two Federation citizens, Gowron explained, "For nearly a year we have suspected a traitor sat upon the Council, undermining the Empire's plans for personal gain," he emphasized with disgust. "Belkor was the first natural suspect, given his tendencies to publicly disagree with Council decisions. Because I suspected that his dishonor might extend deep into the heart of the Council, and into the very heart of the Klingon ruling hierarchy, I could not risk an open challenge. Instead, I had to act covertly... and assign him to assassinate Ambassador Krygel... one of his close partners. He did not quite follow the orders I gave him."

Belkor gasped in surprise. "The informant... it was you!" he said disbelievingly, charging toward Gowron maliciously. Every other Klingon in the room rushed forward to restrain him as Gowron chuckled quietly.

"Get this dishonorable targ-worm out of my sight!" he declared. "I will deal with him later." Five of the Council members dragged Belkor from the hall, and the Picards heard the outer door close on his frustrated snarl.

"Picard," Gowron continued, "you were never meant to face the charge of the Ambassador's murder. It was merely an accident based upon Belkor's bumbling. And the incident in your cell last night was completely unsanctioned by the Empire. I hope you will accept our... apologies. All charges are hereby dropped," he declared with finality. As an afterthought, he smiled slowly, and added, "Of course, I never doubted your honor." He laughed and turned to leave, but changed his mind as he looked at Beverly.

Inclining his head respectfully towards her, Gowron said "You serve your house and the Empire with honor, Doctor." With that, he finally walked out of the chamber.

The remaining Council members filed out after their leader, and Beverly and Jean-Luc suddenly found themselves alone in the vast chamber. Both were silent a moment, trying to process all that had just happened. Finally, Beverly turned to him, smiling broadly, the way that had always made him tingle inside.

"After all that... and it wasn't even real." She shook her head slightly and smiled. "Well, looks like we did it," she said quietly.

He smiled back. "No, Beverly, you did it. Thank you so much... I wish you hadn't risked yourself like that for me," he replied, reaching for her hands and clasping them tightly. He took a deep breath and looked down at their intertwined fingers, unable to meet her gaze. "You know, I checked with Worf... The Klingon marriage ritual can be nullified very easily. Yell a few obscenities, knock me across the jaw, and we're officially divorced." Jean-Luc tried to make his tone light, but Beverly didn't miss the strain in his words. Finally he looked up at her. Her expression hadn't even flickered.

He looked into her eyes and saw that same look of deep caring that she'd shown when she'd first married him. Jean-Luc Picard was not a timid man, but the pure intensity of the emotion pouring from her and the response it was generating within him scared him silly. After a few moments of study, he realized she hadn't yet responded to his offer of divorce. He swallowed hard, desperate for an answer, but unwilling, as always, to rush her.

Beverly squeezed his hands and pulled away from his grasp, allowing herself to pace about the chamber, listening to her footsteps echo between the stone walls as she considered what to say. She could feel Jean-Luc's anxious gaze on the back of her neck as she stopped pacing directly in front of Gowron's throne. He was leaving the future of their relationship entirely up to her... again. One part of her mind churned in an insistent mocking replay of their dinner after the events on KesPrytt... with the one image that had haunted her ever since: the look of disappointment and pain on his face that stung at her soul as she said those idiotic words: "Or perhaps we should be afraid..." Afraid of what? Afraid of admitting that she was completely and utterly lost in her love for this man? Afraid of taking the next step? Funny how that "next step" had seemed so entirely natural when she'd married him a day earlier.

She stopped short. She was married to Jean-Luc Picard. Legally, she was his wife. Was she willing to be his wife in more than the legal sense? She sighed, remembering that he had left their whole future in her hands again. Suddenly she was sick of making all the drastic relationship- altering decisions. Abruptly, she turned on her heel to face him.

"Jean-Luc, what is it you want? I mean, I married you to save you... you didn't really have much choice in the matter. But what about now? Is it so appalling to be married to me?"

Picard blinked, taken aback by the sudden flare of her very familiar temper. "No, Beverly, no..." He took a step toward her and his voice dropped to a whisper. "You already know that I love you. You're everything to me. I just..."

"You just what? Wanted to make me choose again?" Her words her harsh, but her tone had lost all anger, drained by his simple admission of love. She had known it, ever since Kesprytt, but hearing him actually say the words shook her deep inside.

He looked away from her again, pained by the years of hurt and longing in her voice.

Beverly spoke again, low and hoarse. "I've made my choice, Jean-Luc. I married the man I love." She paused as he quickly brought his gaze back to level with her own. "Now it's time for you to choose."

Jean-Luc was so completely overcome with emotion that he found himself unable to speak. Instead, he closed the distance between them with a few rapid steps and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her urgently.

Beverly took only an instant to respond, hugging him to her fiercely. After a few moments, they pulled apart - just a little - still clinging to each other tightly, as if each was afraid the other might suddenly disappear.

Jean-Luc leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers.

"Beverly, will you stay married to me?"

She laughed quietly. "Yes, Jean-Luc... yes."

They stayed there for what seemed like hours, locked in a passionate embrace in front of the Chancellor's throne, each reveling in the knowledge that they'd finally found each other. Neither could help but think about the difficulties that lay ahead, but they rested secure in the knowledge that they would conquer it all together, joined with honor.

End.