by Sally Bradstreet

I am reluctant to place any of my crew in such a volatile situation, even with Lieutenant Worf and his security officers as part of the away team. However, Prime Minister Cadnel has assured me that we will be meeting in a rural area that has thus far escaped Doural attacks. I can only hope that this area's status does not change during the course of the negotiations.

*****

"Gentlemen!" Picard's voice knifed through the angry murmur surrounding him, silencing it momentarily. "We have been over this already. I think that Prime Minister Cadnel is correct in believing that the only way to stop these attacks is by a united front."

"So are you suggesting we just leave our cities undefended while we rush off to fight the Dourals in another province?" demanded a regional governor.

Picard's response was cut off by Dr. Crusher's indignant voice. "Well, you've got to do something."

The officials gathered in front of a large farm house turned as she strode determinedly toward them, padd in hand. "If the terrorist activity continues, you will be unable to deal effectively with your medical needs within 72 hours. The Doural attacks that have damaged your industrial centers have also severely decreased your ability to produce necessary medical supplies." She pushed the padd into the Prime Minister's grasp. "You need to reach a consensus on how to handle this now."

The officials stared at her, surprised by her vehemence. Picard, however, was not surprised and started to emphasize her point when he was again cut off, this time by the unmistakable sound of phaser fire.

As a phaser bolt hit the tree above her head, showering her with splinters, Crusher dropped to a crouch, her own phaser drawn. "Where did that come from?"

Picard, in a similar stance a few feet away, gestured vaguely to the right. "There!" He ducked as another volley of phaser fire filled the clearing. He hit his comm badge. "Away team to Enterprise. Get us out of here now!"

The air sizzled as the security team set up a pattern of return fire, but the mercenaries continued to batter the clearing, unaffected by the counterattack.

Worf hit his comm badge. "Enterprise, why are we still here?"

"They've set up some sort of force field," replied LaForge, his words muffled by the whine of phasers. "We're trying to locate its source."

Worf fired a half dozen times, then rolled toward Picard. "Captain, we need to find their field generator."

"Agreed," Picard replied, shooting from behind a large boulder. "It's most likely at their base."

"I'll go." Crusher moved toward the forest, firing with every step.

"Beverly!" Picard yelled. "Come back here!"

Crusher heard him, but she chose to ignore his order. She ran noiselessly between the large trees, her steps cushioned by the thick greenish moss that covered the forest floor. She swung to her right, relying on the sound of the battle to keep her bearings.

Something caught her eye, a spark of silver in the lush color of the woods. She slowed her pace and entered another clearing, this one littered with supply cases and tents. Only one piece of electronic equipment was visible in the chaos, and it was unguarded.

"This must be it." Placing her phaser on top of the unit, she knelt in front of the console and studied the control panel. The layout was unfamiliar and she reached for her tricorder to perform a rapid analysis of its systems.

"What are you doing?"

Crusher started at the sound of the deep male voice and twisted around to face the mercenary. He fired before she could respond to his query, knocking the tricorder from her grasp and scorching her hand.

"Stand up!" the Doural barked. "Slowly!"

Crusher complied, shaking her injured hand to cool the stinging flesh.

"Now step away from that." He motioned sharply with his phaser. "Move!"

She took a step to her right, then another, then reached behind her, and grabbing her phaser, fired awkwardly with her left hand. The mercenary shrieked in rage and she fired again, cutting off the sound immediately.

Crusher took a final look at the Doural's motionless form, then turned back to the field generator. Her tricorder was useless, its chips fused from the laser blast. "So much for that," she muttered, nudging it with her toe. She hesitated a moment, then setting her phaser on 'kill,' fired at the generator. The console's metal casing glowed orange and vibrated faintly. The generator's circuits began to hiss in the beam's relentless heat and she stepped back as it finally exploded in a fountain of sparks. Crusher cut off the beam with a sigh of relief and moved toward the forest.

"Drop it!"

She knew another Doural mercenary was standing with his phaser trained at the base of her skull. She slowly raised her arm and let her weapon fall to the ground.

"Very good. Now don't move."

She could sense him behind her, moving cautiously toward her discarded phaser. One step. Another. He bent down to retrieve it... Crusher spun on her heel and kicked him squarely on the jaw. Then she ran.

The surrounding forest faded to a blur as Crusher darted between looming trees. She stumbled over a protruding root and scraped her palm against a gnarled trunk in steadying herself.

"Stop, woman!" The voice boomed behind her and she cut right, crashing through a thick stand of bushes.

"Stop!" the man shouted again and fired.

Crusher ducked and hurdled a fallen log, stumbling slightly. As the undergrowth thinned out she sped up, then slid to a halt at the edge of a steep, rocky hill.

"Fire, you fool!" the voice ordered, closer now.

She cried out as a phaser beam hit her shoulder. She dashed along the crest of the hill, her footing unsure on the flaking shale. Another blast flew between the trees and seared her thigh. Her leg collapsed beneath her and with a yelp, Crusher tumbled helplessly down the hill.

Dust filled her nose and mouth and she coughed, trying to ease her breathing. Her eyes snapped open at the jolt of pain this action caused, and she looked around her in confusion. She was covered with dirt and rocks, and she shifted her limbs experimentally, afraid she was trapped. Her right arm came free of the debris, and she closed her eyes in momentary relief. Pushing desperately at the rocks on her chest, she winced as the sharp edges dug into her phaser-burned hand. One by one the stones rolled free, and at last she drew a deeper, painful breath.

Crusher paused, then took another breath and another, listening to each with a practiced physician's ear. She was familiar with the gargling, wheezing sounds now coming from her lungs. They were the sounds made by people with severe internal injuries.

So this was how she was going to die, on an obscure planet, senselessly, and alone. Crusher closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall as her mind struggled with this and other realizations. She hadn't seen Wesley for more than a year, and she would never see him again, never again be able to tell him how she loved him, how proud she was of him. Now Wesley would be alone in the universe, and Jean-Luc would again bear the message that one of Wesley's parents was dead.

Jean-Luc. Ah, Jean-Luc. She remembered how he had looked this morning, smiling affectionately at her over their breakfast of coffee and croissants, and she realized with the blinding insight granted only to dying souls that she was a fool.

She loved him. She had loved him for years, but she had never known how much until the time they spent telepathically linked on Kesprytt. The depth of Jean-Luc's feeling for her had unsettled her, but it was the realization that her feelings for him ran just as deeply that had frightened her. "Perhaps we shouldn't be afraid to explore those feelings," Jean-Luc had said; but she had been afraid and had walked away from everything he had offered to her.

And now their love for each other didn't matter. She was dying, and he might well be, too, if the unit she destroyed wasn't the field generator.

But she was too stubborn to believe that she had failed. She had destroyed the right console and a search party from the Enterprise was looking for her. Grasping at this hope, she drew as deep a breath as her injured lungs would allow and screamed.

Picard doggedly followed the haphazard trail that led away from the Doural encampment. After Crusher had disabled the field generator, the Enterprise had beamed down several security teams who had quickly and efficiently ended the mercenary attack. They completed the capture of the fleeing Dourals with equal efficiency, but each prisoner was silent on the issue of the red-haired woman in a Starfleet uniform who had visited their camp.

Now Picard, Riker, and two of Worf's security teams found themselves traipsing through Karthia III's tangled forest in search of their Chief Medical Officer.

Picard paused a moment to study a crushed bush. It had clearly been trampled recently, but by whom? He sat back on his haunches and wearily rubbed his hand across his face. "Beverly," he muttered, "where are you?"

As if in answer to his question, a hoarse scream rang through the air. Picard was on his feet and running toward it before the sound fully died away.

Seconds later Riker's voice caromed off the trees. "Captain! I've found her!"

Picard broke through the trees just as Riker disappeared into a dry wash, and he skittered down the rocky slope after his First Officer. He came to a sudden stop when he saw her, laying in a scattering of rubble. He fell to his knees beside her. "Beverly," he whispered, brushing the hair from her eyes. "Beverly."

"The med team's here, Captain," Riker said quietly, but Picard didn't reply. Riker looked up at Dr. Selar, and motioned for her to begin her work.

"Beverly," Picard repeated his throat unexpectedly tight.

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, then slowly raised. Her eyes, a brilliant blue in her bloodless face, focused gradually on his features. She smiled. "Jean-Luc," she whispered, reaching out to him.

He took her hand gently and held it against his chest. "Yes, Beverly. I'm here." He could feel her pulse beneath his fingers, weak and erratic, and he grasped her hand more tightly, as if to infuse her with his strength.

"They're wrong, you know."

Picard leaned closer. "Who's wrong?"

"You don't see your... whole life... before you die." Her voice was growing fainter and she drew a rasping breath. "You only... see... your regrets." She looked into his eyes a moment longer then slipped into unconsciousness.

Picard stroked her hand, his thoughts in a whirlwind. All of the feelings he had buried after Kesprytt came rushing to the surface, and he struggled to regain his emotional equilibrium.

"Captain Picard."

He raised his stricken face to meet Dr. Selar's gaze.

"Captain, we must get Dr. Crusher to Sickbay immediately."

Picard released Beverly's hand. "Yes. Of course, Doctor. I'm sorry. Please. Go."

She nodded and touched her comm badge. "Transporter room. Four to beam directly to Sickbay."

He stayed there, kneeling among the rocks, long after Beverly had shimmered away into thin air, and his stomach twisted into knots as he thought of her dying. She had been many things to him over the past twenty years - physician, advisor, confidant, and friend. Her presence was a bright thread that ran throughout the tapestry of his life, and he knew that losing her would be like losing a part of himself.

"There are times, Will," sighed Picard, "that I wish I were the god the Mintakans thought me to be." He felt Riker's sympathetic hand on his shoulder, and he slowly stood, feeling old and very tired. "I believe we have things to attend to aboard ship, Number One."

"Yes, sir," Riker agreed quietly.

*****

It was well after 0200 hours, and Picard felt as if someone had lined his eyelids with old-fashioned sandpaper. The away team's little adventure on Karthia III had extended into a series of interrogations, lies, and misrepresentations that had only just ended, and Picard wanted nothing more than to retire to his quarters and collapse into six.hours of oblivion. After one short stop.

The doors hissed open and Picard stepped into Sickbay's silent dimness with a sigh of relief. The only light came from the duty nurse's station and the illuminated area around an occupied biobed. Beverly lay asleep in the far comer, and an adjustable stool stood near the head of her bed. Picard smiled at the evidence that someone else, perhaps Counselor Troi, had already sat beside Dr. Crusher's sickbed. He sank onto the stool with a tired sigh and placed his hand lightly on hers. Her pulse was strong and steady and he rejoiced in its rhythm.

He watched her sleeping, and his head suddenly filled with the hundred details of his day that he wanted to share with her.

"Would you like to talk with her?"

Picard jumped at the sudden disturbance and turned to face the speaker.

Lieutenant Alyssa Ogawa looked a bit sheepish. "I'm sorry, Captain. I didn't mean to startle you. Dr. Selar has ordered that Dr. Crusher be kept under light sedation for the next 36 hours, but if you'd like to talk to her I can wake her up for a few minutes."

He cleared his throat. "Why is she to be kept sedated?"

Ogawa smiled. "Dr. Selar thinks it's the only was to keep her from going right back to work."

"I can't argue with that," Picard said with a quiet laugh.

"Neither can I, but..." She produced a hypospray and pressed it against Crusher's neck. She smiled again and discreetly backed away.

Crusher stirred as the stimulant moved through her system, stretching and sighing like a cat waking reluctantly from an afternoon nap. She blinked sleepily, her gaze wandering until it stopped on Picard. She smiled, then she sat bolt upright, panic etched on her features. "Are you all right?" she rasped, her voice heavy with sleep.

"Yes, I'm fine." Picard grasped her shoulders and tried to lower her to the bed, but she fought against him.

"The others?" she persisted. "The away team?"

"They're all fine," Picard replied, still pushing against her rigid form. "You destroyed the field generator and everyone beamed back safely."

She sagged immediately in relief, and Picard eased her back onto the pillow. "If you have a relapse because of this, Dr. Selar will jettison me out an airlock."

Crusher chuckled. "She wouldn't dare. Besides, she's being over-protective. I'm in perfect health." She paused, studying his face for a moment. "You, however, look half dead."

He smiled, encouraged to see a glimmer of her usual spirit. "Well, it has been rather a long day."

'Warm milk, dash of nutmeg."

"What?"

'Warm milk, dash of nutmeg. It will help you sleep."

"That doesn't sound like a very scientific prescription."

Her eyes narrowed. "Never argue with your doctor, even if she has been given enough sedative to take down a large rancor."

That sedative was beginning to take effect again, and Picard noticed with a pang of disappointment that she was fighting to keep her eyes open. "Very well, Doctor," he reasoned. "I'll follow my physician's advice if you'll follow yours."

"Well," she replied with a stifled yawn, "if that's the only way I can get you to get some sleep." She nestled into her pillow and closed her eyes. "Good night."

"Good night, Beverly." Picard grasped the edge of the bed and, pulling himself stiffly to his feet, turned to leave.

"Jean-Luc."

The sound of her voice and the feel of her hand on his made him stop. He turned toward her and met her eyes, two clear, bright reflections of her soul.

"Jean-Luc," she repeated softly, her words a caress. "I'm not afraid any more." She squeezed his hand and drifted back to sleep.

Picard stood motionless, stunned by her words and her tone. In all of their long acquaintance, Beverly had only expressed to him two of her fears. One was her fear of heights. The other was her fear of exploring their feelings for each other.

He touched her cheek and she smiled slightly in her sleep, and he could almost, almost, let himself believe that she wasn't afraid of those feelings any more. But it was late and he easily dismissed that fleeting hope as a half-dream of his tired mind. He smoothed a lock of hair away from her cheek, then walked quietly, resignedly, away.

*****

Crusher sat on the edge of the biobed, swinging her legs back and forth like an impatient child. "Selar," she repeated, "these tests are unnecessary."

Her colleague turned to face her, tricorder in hand. "If you were currently the physician instead of the patient, I am sure you would agree with me."

"But I'm fine," Crusher insisted. "I'll hop down and do a time step if you need proof."

Selar raised one eyebrow in the classic Vulcan expression of disbelief at the ever illogical processes of the Human mind. "Dr. Crusher, I fail to see how that performance will be productive in this case."

Crusher sighed in frustration. "All right. Run your test."

Dr. Selar began moving the scanner methodically across Crusher's body. "If you remain still, Doctor, this scan will proceed much faster."

She sighed again and stopped squirming.

"And I thought I was the most difficult patient on board."

Crusher glanced over her shoulder to see an amused Picard standing near her bed. "I am not being difficult," she replied, her tone even. "I am merely having a professional disagreement with a fellow physician."

Picard raised his eyebrow in such a perfect imitation of Selar that Crusher smiled. 'Well, maybe I am being a little difficult."

"Dr. Crusher," Selar interjected, snapping the tricorder shut, "the results of your tests are normal. You are free to leave."

"Wonderful," Crusher grinned, sliding down from her perch.

"However," Selar continued coolly, "on the advice of Counselor Troi I am not authorizing you to return to duty for another 24 hours."

"What?"

"Counselor Troi observed that you usually benefit from some time away from Sickbay after you have been ill. I found her reasoning most logical."

Crusher drummed her fingers on the edge of the bed, contemplating how she would thank her friend the next time she saw her. Well," she relented, "I guess I..."

"Dr. Selar!" shouted Nurse Laro, dashing to the doctor's side. "A containment field collapsed in Science Lab 4. We have five people with severe plasma burns on their way."

"Assemble an emergency team and have a stasis field on stand-by," Selar ordered, abandoning her healthy patient.

Crusher stood alone in the midst of the efficient bustle. She knew that her staff was well trained and could handle this situation without her help or guidance, but she still battled with her instinctive need to pick up a tricorder and follow Selar. She took a step toward the knot of medical personnel, but Picard grasped her arm and led her to the door.

They moved into the corridor and the door hissed shut, abruptly cutting off the rumble of emergency.

She rubbed her hands across her face, her mind still in the room behind her. "It's like trying not to breathe," she muttered. Sighing, she headed for the turbolift.

"Now you know how I feel when you prevent me from retuning to duty," Picard remarked, falling into step beside her. "So, the next time you want to restrict me to my quarters..."

"I'll be much more patient when I listen to you complain." She gave him a charming smile and stepped into the turbolift.

"Thank you," he replied wryly. He addressed the computer. "Deck 9."

They fell silent, and Crusher stole a glance at Picard. He stood beside her, calm and dignified as always, but she felt oddly uncomfortable with him. He had come to visit her, she knew that, but she had also dreamt of him, and quite frankly, she was unsure where the reality ended and the swirling images of her drug-induced sleep began. That uncertainty, combined with the emotional revelation she had experienced on Karthia VI, served to unsettle her completely.

She shifted uneasily and tried to convince herself that her feelings were ridiculous. She spoke suddenly and too loudly. "So, did anything interesting happen while I was incapacitated?"

"Well," he began, adjusting his uniform, "Lieutenant Worf challenged Commander Riker to a duel over Counselor Troi, Mr. Data is exploring what life is like as humanoid female, and I negotiated a peace treaty with the Romulans. Other than that it has been strictly routine."

Crusher narrowed her eyes good-naturedly. Few members of the crew knew that their Captain had a wit as quick and dry as a sudden dust storm. She always enjoyed his rare humorous jabs, but that didn't mean that she always had to encourage them. "If you're going to be that way about it," she retorted, "feel free to return to the bridge." The lift doors opened and they moved again into a corridor.

"Actually, I'm not needed on the bridge until 1400 hours, when we're scheduled to meet the Doural ship."

"Oh." She felt her uneasiness rising again, but she pushed it firmly back. "Did the captured mercenaries tell you anything?"

'They were reluctant to talk at all, as you might imagine," Picard said, moving to one side to allow an Ensign to pass between them, "but they eventually told us that they had been hired by a conservative splinter group to cause social unrest."

"Oh." The word communicated her understanding.

He nodded. "It was a sound idea, if a bit extreme. As the terrorist attacks continued, they hoped the Karthians would retaliate, and the increasing violence would not argue well for their claims that they had overcome their internal conflict. However," he concluded, "the Dourals did overestimate their power when they attacked the away team."

"Well," she spoke thoughtfully, "You don't know if it was so much an overestimation of their power as it was a tactical decision. If they were hired to prevent Karthia IV's admission to the Federation, a dead Starfleet officer or two could only help that cause."

Picard stiffened. "It's unusual to hear you speak so cavalierly of death, Doctor."

"I am not being cavalier. I was the one laying half-buried at the bottom of a ravine, remember?"

His steps slowed and he turned to face her. "Yes," he said softly, "I remember." He held her gaze a moment, then resumed his measured pace.

Crusher stumbled along after him, stunned by the jumble of emotions she had seen flash through his eyes. The realization that he was as confused as she was only added to her consternation. She knew that, given time, she could again bury her newly-admitted love for Jean-Luc under twenty years of familiar friendship, but now she had his feelings to consider. She owed him more than to simply turn her back on the possibilities before them.

"Here we are, Doctor." Picard's voice broke into her thoughts.

"What?"

"Your quarters."

"Oh, of course." She absently hit the control panel and her door hissed open. "Jean-Luc," she began, but her intentions trailed off with her words when she saw that her entire cabin was filled with flowers. Every available surface was covered with vases and baskets of blooms. "What's all this?" she asked, wandering through her own private arboretum. "Where did they come from?"

"They're well-wishes from the crew," Picard answered, clearly pleased by her delight. "Dr. Selar objected to the number of people descending, to see you, so Counselor Troi suggested this alternative."

"Did you make a ship-wide announcement about my injuries?" Her voice was muffled as she buried her face in a bowl of Terran lilacs.

"No, but you know how quickly news travels aboard ship. And more than any of the other senior officers, you have daily personal contact with the crew. They were concerned about you."

Crusher, a closet horticulturist, was lost in exploration and only half heard the explanation. A bunch of daisies caught her attention and she pulled a card from the foliage. She read it and began to laugh.

"What's so funny?'' Picard asked, looking up from a Bajoran violet.

She held the card out to him. "Read this."

He took it and read aloud, "Please resume functioning within normal parameters rapidly." Picard chuckled. "That can only be from Data."

"His sentiment is lovely, but his delivery needs some work."

Picard tossed the card to the table, then gestured to one of the arrangements. "Well, that doesn't express the correct sentiment. Who the devil would consider this to be a get-well present?"

He held up a heavy crystal vase that contained a single ash grey stem. Three brittle black leaves curved upward near the top of the stem, and the center seemed to glow faintly red.

Crusher's smile widened. "Oh, it's from Worf. It's a Klingon fire flower. Watch." She took the stem from the vase and blew gently on its center. Suddenly a flame burst up and Picard flinched in surprise. The flames subsided a bit and curled into lustrous petals within the circle of the charcoal leaves. She put the flower back into the vase and the design etched in the crystal prismed the bloom's light.

"Remarkable," muttered Picard fascinated with the flickering petals.

'There is a story of Kahless," Crusher whispered, staring into the glimmering flower, "in which he fought a battle during a great blizzard. His enemies wounded him deeply, then fled into the storm. Kahless knew that his foes were without honor and would return later when he was weakened by the cold and loss of blood to kill him.

"He searched desperately through the snow for something to bum, and all he could find were a few grey stems like these. He struck a spark with a rock and his baht'leth and the stems flared to life. By the light of the flowers he tended his wounds and by the warmth of their fire he survived the cold. When his enemies returned, he was whole and strong and he defeated them easily. Since that time the fire flower has been the symbol of health and healing for all Klingons."

"I didn't know you were a student of Klingon mythology, Beverly," he remarked with a half smile.

She shook her head, breaking the spell she had woven. "I'm not a student, per se," she explained, taking the vase from him and setting it back on the table. "When Worf was recovering from his back surgery a few years ago, Alexander would visit each night before he went to bed and Worf would tell him stories about Kahless and his brother Morath. After he told the story of the fire flower, I asked Keiko O'Brien if she could get one for me. She could, and Worf kept it by his bedside even after it stopped blooming."

"I see." He paused, holding his hand over the fire flower as if warming it, then spoke in. "Beverly, may I ask you a question?"

His tone was overly casual and her heart began to race. She had momentarily forgotten her emotional dilemma amid a sea of blossom, but now it reared up and demanded her attention. But she answered lightly. "Of course. What is it?"

"When I came to see you, you told me you weren't afraid any more. What is it you're no longer afraid of?"

Here it was then, her opportunity to tell him how she felt, but now that it was before her, she was paralyzed. She clenched her hands into fists to stop their shaking, and made an impulsive decision. She circled the table, closed her eyes and kissed him.

The kiss was brief and tentative, but Crusher had to force herself to look at him when she pulled away. Picard's face was inscrutable, and he said nothing.

She looked away with flaming cheeks and stared unseeingly at the floor, mortified. It was obvious from his response that he no longer harbored such feelings for her and now she had to suffer the consequences of her rash action.

Picard finally stirred and moved toward the door. Crusher expected to hear it hiss open... but instead there was a beep as the mechanism locked. She held her breath as he came to stand behind her. She released that breath in a sigh as he placed a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her to face him.

Smiling, his expression open and his eyes reflecting his love, he slid his hand beneath her hair and caressed her neck with his thumb. "I'm not afraid either," he stated simply. He pulled her toward him.

Crusher's lips curved into a smile as she kissed him in earnest.

On the bridge, a tidal wave of emotion broke over Counselor Troi and she gasped in surprise.

"Deanna, are you all right?" Commander Riker placed a hand on her arm.

She hastily constructed a metal block against the flood and nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. That was just unexpected."

"What was unexpected?" His grip on her arm tightened, and even through her block she could sense his rising concern.

"I sensed very strong emotions coming from somewhere on the ship," she replied, putting her hand over his. "It's nothing to worry about."

Riker, ensconced in the Captain's chair, didn't look convinced. "Are you certain?"

Troi smiled. "If it's something that might endanger the ship, I promise I'll tell you."

He relaxed visibly. "All right, Deanna. I trust you."

Her smile transmuted into a wry grin. "I should hope so."

Riker chuckled in response and turned his attention again to ship's operations.

Troi, however, didn't. She turned her attention inward, centering herself and gathering her energy. She disliked emotional eavesdropping, she always had, but it was unusual for her to sense such overpowering emotion without actively seeking it. If only for her own mental well being, she needed to find its source.

She cautiously reached beyond her mental barrier. The feelings were still there, swirling and eddying in intricate patterns. Now that she had distanced herself slightly, Troi realized that she was dealing with two sets of emotions, not one. They were intertwined like music, the soprano of female sentiment playing over the bass of male feeling. That helped to explain the strength of the emotions, but didn't indicate where they came from.

Troi closed her eyes and focused first on the emotions themselves, separating them as if they were tangled hair ribbons, naming each as it came free. Excitement. Anticipation. Desire. Relief. Eagerness. It was a common enough collection of emotions in the context of a romantic interlude, but those occurred every day without Troi being aware of them.

Her forehead wrinkled slightly in concentration, Troi touched the woman's emotions, reaching, for the nuances that carried echoes of her personality. Intelligence. Determination. Independence. A mean streak. Oh, she thought with a smile, Beverly. Of course. Ever since she had been beamed aboard, Troi had kept herself open to Beverly's mood shifts, mentally keeping tabs on her progress. It thus made sense that she should feel a sudden surge of her friend's emotions so strongly.

But Beverly wasn't currently involved with anyone, at least as far as she knew, and the possibility of whom she was sharing such feelings with piqued her curiosity. Troi reached out to the man's emotions. Intelligence. Dignity. Self-control. Command ability.

Sudden recognition brought her analysis up short, and she collapsed back into her chair, muttering under her breath.

Riker, overhearing the remark looked at her in wide-eyed shock. He was familiar enough with the phrase; he had learned it while frequenting some of Betazed's less reputable dining establishments. But never before in their long acquaintance had he known the prim and proper Deanna Troi to utter the Betazoid equivalent of 'Well, I'll be damned."

Some time later they nestled comfortably together, he with his hand on the curve of her waist, she with her cheek on his chest. Crusher was still and quiet, content to lay in the circle of his arms, but she was also wrestling with a demon.

What now? This was not like one of the few casual affairs she had indulged in since Jack's death. Far from it. Those encounters, even her relationship with Odan, had been shallow and fleeting at best. In contrast, her relationship with Jean-Luc was complex and vibrant, and now at risk. She sighed deeply and moved closer to him, trying unsuccessfully to smother the demon in the feel of his warm skin against hers.

Did they try to forget that this afternoon had ever happened, communicating in the next months only with uncomfortable looks and silences? Did they try to move beyond their fear and guilt to something more than friendship? And if they did, where would that something lead? What now, indeed.

Crusher closed her eyes and the demon clamored in her mind, taunting her with shifting images, forcing her to speak. She took a deep breath and vaguely wondered how Pandora had broached the delicate subject of her open box. "This complicates things a bit, doesn't it?"

He didn't respond immediately; he just lay there, drawing random patterns on her back with his fingertips. When he did speak, his voice vibrated in her ear. "Yes, it does complicate things, but it's generally the things that complicate life the most that make it the most interesting."

His words fell on her like gentle rain and her demon fled. She propped herself up on her elbow and, smiling, bent to kiss him, moving her lips lazily over his.

"What was that for?" he asked at last, tracing the curve of her cheek.

"For saying the right thing," she purred, nuzzling against his hand.

"Well," he murmured, trailing his palm over her shoulder, "I'll have to remember to say the right thing more often."

Crusher touched her lips to the cleft in his chin, then brushed them lightly over his jaw. He growled, burying his hands in her hair and pulling her against him. She gave a husky laugh and melded her mouth to his.

"Riker to Picard."

No response.

"Riker to Picard."

They both reached blindly, halfheartedly, toward the chair where Picard had tossed his uniform.

"Commander Riker to Captain Picard.'

Crusher caught the edge of a sleeve and yanked the tunic onto the bed. Picard fumbled for his comm badge.

"Picard here. Go ahead, Number One," he replied, a little breathless.

"Are you all right, Captain?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he replied calmly as she nibbled his earlobe. "What is it?"

"We've been in contact with the Doural representative. Their ship will be meeting us at the rendezvous point in 15 minutes."

"Understood, Number One. I'll meet you on the bridge. Picard out." He tapped his comm badge off and gazed regretfully up at her. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If it's not the Captain, it'll be the doctor." She kissed his forehead. "Go on, before Will sends a security team to find you."

He slipped out of bed and Crusher rolled onto her side to watch him dress. He pulled on his clothes with the same efficiency that marked all of his actions... Well, she amended, not all of his actions... and she found herself grinning as he performed the mundane task.

"You're awfully quiet." He sat down beside her to pull on his boots.

Crusher thought a moment, collecting the proper words, then replied, "Silence is the perfect heralt of joy; I were but little happy, if I could say how much!"

Jean-Luc's jaw dropped a little in surprise. "I didn't know you had been reading Shakespeare."

She shrugged. "A doctor cannot live by medical treatises alone."

His eyes smiling, he bent to kiss her. She placed her hand behind his head, holding him to her. She released him at last and he stood up reluctantly. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he whispered. "Be good."

"Yes, sir." She winked at him and snuggled into the pocket of warmth his presence in her bed had created. She was asleep before the door closed behind him.

*****

"You're holding out on me."

Crusher glanced over the top of her office computer. "Deanna. I'm glad you came by. I'm a little behind in my work or I would have come to see you." She turned her console off and gestured to the chair opposite her desk. "Please, sit down."

Troi settled into the chair and narrowed her eyes. "I said you're holding out on me."

"Holding out on you?" Crusher asked innocently, propping her heel up on the seat of her chair. "How so?"

"I sense that you're very... relaxed."

The emphasis Troi placed on the last word was not lost on the doctor. "A day away from Sickbay usually does that," she replied, a smile lurking at the corner of her mouth.

"I mean unusually relaxed. In fact," the counselor continued, clasping her hands in her lap, "I haven't sensed you being this relaxed since you were involved with Odan." Her expression could only be described as a smirk.

"Well, I..." Crusher suddenly sat straight up, slapping her palms on her desk. "You know."

Troi only laughed softly.

"You know!" Crusher repeated. "How did you find out?"

"I sensed some interesting things yesterday afternoon," Troi explained, her smirk broadening. "What glorious yellow roses," she said, admiring a bouquet on Crusher's desk. "Were they a get-well present?"

Crusher removed the vase from Troi's reach. "I always knew I'd regret having a Betazoid for a best friend. Were you eavesdropping on me, that you sensed these things?"

Troi flushed slightly. "Not exactly. You were both expressing very strong emotions. It would have been difficult for anyone with empathic ability not to sense them."

"All right," Crusher said with a slow chuckle, "I'll let you off the hook. I suppose I would have told you eventually anyway."

"Or I would have pestered it out of you. You know you can't lie to me." Troi leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. "Actually, I'm surprised that you kept your feelings to yourself for so long. I never suspected that you felt that way about Captain Picard."

"Really? Sometimes I thought it was painfully obvious, especially after we got back from Kesprytt."

"Mmm," Troi murmured, considering. "I do remember sensing some ambiguous emotions in both of you after that incident, but I was never able to label exactly what they were. But that doesn't matter. What does matter is you telling me how you came to be in love with our Captain."

Beverly gave a fond smile, her eyes unfocusing with memory. "It all began twenty years ago, when Jack first introduced me to one of his fellow officers..."