BEST LAID PLANS, Part 3

by mabb5

A/U What should have happened after the D crashed. The Wake. Jean-Luc and Beverly. Definitely an adult chapter. And Deanna goes back to Betazoid.

A.N.: February 3, 2013 My apologies to anyone trying to read Chapter 3 of THE BEST LAID PLANS during the past two weeks. I inadvertently posted a chapter 3 from the sequel to this novel in its place. Here is the correct, revised version of the story. However I have noticed that some of the formatting codes didn't carry over properly. I've tried to correct the obvious errors. Revised April, 2013.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Will tread lightly into the cabin he'd been assigned on the Farragut. Though the Farragut was Nebula-Class, she wasn't designed to accommodate comfortably, the lion share of refugees from the Enterprise-D. People had to share cabins. And Will Riker's suitemate was none other than Jean-Luc Picard.

Will had thought that it would be awkward at first. One more time, Jean-Luc Picard amazed his Number One. Picard was a polite, almost amiable roommate. If the circumstances had been different, Will might have almost liked having Picard sharing his quarters. Still, they both had to cope with their grief and loss.

The cabin door slid shut. Will paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the very dim lighting.

"I'm awake, Will." Picard's voice startled Riker. "You may turn up the lighting if you wish."

Riker turned toward where the voice was coming from which was a chair by the lone portal window. He looked upon a face awash with starlight and tears.

"Am I disturbing you, Sir?" Will was uncomfortable with seeing the man he respected most in the universe, in such a state.

Picard motioned toward the chair beside him. "Sit, Will. We've a few things to discuss." He wiped his eyes. "I was just remembering…"

"The Enterprise. I know, Sir, and understand."

"No, Will. I was actually thinking about my brother Robert and my nephew Rene." Picard looked over at Will. Even in the starlight, he could see his first officer's confusion.

"Sir?"

Picard laughed; a sad sound that spoke of a man having seen too much pain. He shook his head in mock disbelief. "I'm surprised at you, Will. Aren't captains supposed to be the center of their Number One's universe? I would have thought that you'd keep track of the ship's gossip more closely."

"Sir?" Now Will was truly confused, and feeling a little guilty. Obviously, he'd missed something important. He'd always listened to the ship's gossip concerning Picard, since as a first office he was supposed to know everything concerning his captain. He considered this odious task to be part of the duties of being Number One. It was just that during the last few days of the Enterprise, he'd simply not had the time to do so.

Picard stood and gazed out at the stars. "Rene and my brother Robert - they are dead…"

Riker gasped in shock.

"…It happened right before we met Soran."

More to himself than to Picard, Riker muttered, "So that was it…" He joined his captain, to gaze with him as the universe passed them by. He almost put his hand on Jean-Luc's shoulder. Will wanted, needed, to say something, to do something, but even after all these years, there were still some things that one did not do to Picard. At last he whispered, "I'm sorry, Sir. I know how much they meant to you."

Picard was silent for a moment; then he accepted Riker's condolences. "Don't take your family for granted, Will."

"I've learned that lesson, Captain."

"Call me Jean-Luc, Will. It's about time that you did so."

"Jean-Luc…" The name sounded strange crossing Will's lips.

"I would like to think that we are friends."

"Yes, Sir. We are, Jean-Luc."

Picard turned, and resumed his seat. Will followed. "Will, we have matters to discuss."

"You've heard from Starfleet Command? About the court-martial?" At no point did Riker reveal how nervous a man he was.

"I've just got done talking with Starfleet Command. You're not going to be court-martialed, Will."

Will's sigh of relief was audible. "Well, what do you know - miracles do happen." Will didn't mean to be sarcastic, but he'd been expecting the worst. And then he thought about it. "Who are they going to court-martial instead - you?"

"No."

Riker detected a certain gleam in Picard's glance. "What did you do, Jean-Luc?"

"Actually, you did it. Or rather, your record spoke for itself. It seems that Starfleet is viewing your actions as heroic. You saved hundred of millions of lives, and though the Enterprise was lost, you did not have a single fatal casualty."

"Somehow, I don't feel so heroic."

"Well, in my eyes, you are. My final log as captain of the Enterprise stated that. The Admiralty concurred."

"Thank you, Sir. But, if Starfleet didn't want my head, why didn't they go after yours? It's characteristic for certain admirals to want to hold a public pillorying."

"Starfleet didn't want to face the public scrutiny of my having lost yet another starship. Will. Especially after the Borg. Certain admirals didn't want to have to explain why I had remained captain of the Enterprise-D."

"You think they really blame you?"

"Starfleet would rather not publicly blame anyone at this point. Oh, there will be the official boards of inquiry when we reach SB 74. But it will all be a mere formality."

"Jean-Luc, I was the acting captain when the Enterprise was destroyed. I will not permit Starfleet to punish you."

Picard shook his head. "Oh, they won't. We saved the lives of 250,000,000 beings. Not to mention preventing a weapon of devastating consequences from falling into the grips of the Romulans and the Klingons. Not even the admirals who are after your hide because of Pressman, or those who despise me because I was Locutus, want to publicly question our actions. Some admirals aren't that stupid."

Riker wondered why Picard wasn't sounding more relieved. "You've reservations, Jean-Luc?"

"Our enemies, and we both have acquired some, are still there, Will. Waiting."

Riker nodded. "We'll just have to watch each other's backs." Riker smiled when Picard eased back against his chair. "Would you have changed anything that you did?"

Picard smiled more to himself than in response to Will's question. "I did, Will."

He didn't have to look into Will's face to know that the man had questions. At this moment, Jean-Luc needed the company of a friend. And Riker was there for him.

"It's a rather involved story, Will. One that did not get into my official report."

"I'd still like to hear about it. I had a feeling that there were a few things missing about the Nexus, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc abruptly stood and walked over to a number of boxes that had been stacked in a corner. They contained all that had survived of his personal items from the Enterprise. He scanned the labels for a second before he opened a box. A gasp of pleased surprised crossed his lips. "My Kurlan Naiskos."

"I found it in your ready room. Along with a flute, a thimble, and quite a few other things. I didn't think that you'd meant to leave it behind."

Picard carefully lifted it out of the box. He was more touched by Riker's consideration than he wanted to reveal. With trembling fingers, he searched the surface for any new damage, picking up the lid, taking inventory of the figures within the Naiskos.

Riker walked over to him. "It's all there, Sir. Only a few more chips, I think."

"Thank you, Will."

Jean-Luc placed the Kurl masterpiece from the Tarquin Hills on the floor. He then moved another box and retrieved a bottle of wine - a Cabernet Sauvignon, '43, from Château Picard .

"This is what I wanted, Will. Apparently, it's the only bottle of my collection that survived the crash. It may be a little shaken, but it should be drinkable." He stood and looked at his Number One, studying the man who'd shared so much of his life over the past seven years. "It's about time you tasted some of my family's good French wine, Will."

Picard went over to the replicator. "Two Baccarat style red wine glasses," he ordered. "And a corkscrew." Picard carefully opened the wine bottle and poured. He handed a goblet to Will. "The Enterprise," he quietly stated, raising his glass.

Will stood and matched his captain's toast.

Picard sat back down, motioning for Will to do so as well. "Let me tell you about the Nexus, Will…" Picard propped a foot up against the star portal ledge. "I still don't quite believe all that happened…"

A long time later, his head full of tales of captains of the Enterprise and their derring-do, Will Riker went in search of Mr. Data. He found his friend in the quarters he was sharing with Geordi and Reg. Data was alone.

After letting Riker into the cabin, Data went back to doing what had been occupying his time as of late - petting Spot.

"Spot's okay?" Riker politely asked, trying to avoid getting too close to the demon cat.

"Spot survived," Data replied, sitting down and still petting the cat. "Her offspring did not."

Riker ceased his restless movements about the cabin. "I'm sorry, Data."

"I am sorry too." Data lifted his head and looked at Will. He was crying. "It is quite odd, Commander. I feel sorrow. I cry. Yet, I am happy, too."

"Why, Data?"

" I feel, Commander. It is most peculiar having feelings. At last, I now have all sorts of feelings to analyze and categorize."

Things had happened too fast before, when Data had gained his emotions chip. Only now was Riker beginning to comprehend just how momentous an event this had been for Data.

Will sat down next to Data on a grey sofa.

"Data, I know that I should have said this before - but you are going to make a hell of a human being - better than most. I'm glad you can feel, Data."

Data looked at Riker, noting a strained look about his friend. He was viewing Riker through fresh eyes - eyes that now felt as well as analyzed. "Commander?"

"Yes, Data?"

"Once, when we first met, you referred to me as Tin Man. I recognized the reference then, but I never understood why you said it until recently."

Then he confounded Will by handing him Spot, before the man could figure out a way of refusing. Expecting the worst, Riker waited for the claws honed on his skin to unsheathe, and for his life's blood to pour out of his veins. Instead, Spot purred. Startled, almost dropping the Pah-wraith possessed cat, Riker gingerly reached behind Spot's ear and tentatively wiggled a finger. Spot purred again.

"You are not stroking her correctly," Data observed.

"What?" No female had ever complained about Will Riker's stroking before.

"You should employ at least two fingers, and move them thusly." Data demonstrated.

Riker copied Data. Spot nestled into the curve of Will's fingers. For a while, they both sat there; one man stroking a beast he'd often wished into perdition, and the other was a mechanical man who could smile with his heart.

"Data." Riker glanced over at his friend, looking a little sheepish. "I never meant to insult you. I was an arrogant, cocky bastard back then. I thought I knew everything. I didn't think it possible that one day I'd consider you to be my friend, much less one of my best friends."

"I know that, Commander. I now consider you to be one of my best friends, too."

Riker continued to stroke the cat, ignoring the clouds of shedding fur.

"Commander, I have been researching the appropriate behavior for responding to the loss of one's ship. I have studied various cultural responses and traditions."

"Yes, Data?"

"Humans should mourn, should not they?"

"Yes, we should mourn, Data."

Data removed Spot from Riker's grasp. Data may now have emotions, but he still was Data - ever curious. "And when we reach Starbase 74, we will not longer be one crew, will we, Commander?"

"Yes…" Will didn't like hearing Data's words even though they were the truth. "Starfleet won't keep up together. They can't."

"Then, we must properly mourn all that have gone before us, from Tasha Yar to the Enterprise-D. We must have closure."

"You have something in mind, Mr. Data?"

Data smiled. "I liked the Dixieland wake that you threw for Geordi LaForge and Ro Laren when we believed them to be dead."

For the first time during the past few days, Will Riker felt like laughing out loud. He slapped Data heartily on the back. This disturbed Spot. Spot scrambled off of Data's lap, and ran for cover under the couch.

"What a great idea, Data. A wake! For the Enterprise! We'll throw it at SB 74. Let's start making plans. I'll work on the details - you invite everyone involved with the ship. Let's throw a wake that will always be remembered!"

"Should we not consult Captain Picard?"

"I'll take care of Jean-Luc."

Data didn't inquire about Will's unexpected use of the captain's first name. But he was curious.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Late the next day, Jean-Luc was summoned to Captain Thomas Ozog's ready room. He was escorted into the room by an ensign.

"Captain Picard, I am Captain Thomas Ozog." The man stood, but did not extend his hand in greeting. "I apologize that I've not had time to greet you until now." Ozog didn't mention what had kept him from the courtesy of meeting with a fellow captain for almost four days.

Picard had noted the captain's actions, but made no comment. All he knew was that if their positions had been reverse, he would not have treated Ozog in the same manner that Ozog was now treating him. He tried not to view Ozog in too negative a light. "What can I do for you, Captain?" Picard settled into the chair opposite the captain's desk, without being invited.

"Admiral Nechayev wants to speak with you. I thought that you'd appreciate some privacy." Ozog swiveled the terminal screen toward Picard. He then walked to the door. "I'll have the admiral hailed immediately."

"Thank you," Picard politely responded as the ready room door slid shut.

He reached over and turned on the monitor. He was greeted by Admiral Nechayev's less than smiling face. "Admiral."

"Captain." She bestowed upon Picard a tight little smile. "Are you well?"

"I am fine, Admiral. And you?"

"Fine, too." She glanced down at a padd on her desk. "I see that you've applied for compassionate leave. A family problem?"

"The deaths of my brother and nephew. I have to help my sister-in-law Marie."

For a moment she did not respond. "I'm sorry, Jean-Luc. I did not know."

"Thank you, Admiral. As for the purpose of your call?"

"Not the diplomat today, eh, Jean-Luc? Well, I want to talk with you."

"Forgive me, Admiral. I did not mean to be presumptuous."

"But you always are. No matter. Jean-Luc, over the past few years, I've discovered that you are the one captain that I can truly admire." With this statement, she shut up.

It took Jean-Luc a few seconds before he realized that she no longer was conversing with him. She didn't help matters any by being entertained by the fact that her words had confounded him. More seconds passed before she finally added, "You're a starship captain."

"Admiral?" He didn't let her see his inner confusion.

"You're the best damn starship under my command."

"Admiral, I do…."

She didn't let him finish. "I resented that fact at first, you know. You didn't fit my ideas of what a fine starship captain should be. But, and this may surprise you, Jean-Luc, I do learn from my mistakes. And so do you."

"Admiral Nechayev…"

"Jean-Luc. Starfleet needs good starship captains. And you are the best there is."

"Thank you, Admiral. Obviously, you wish to make a point. What is it?"

"Take a long leave of absence. I know you like archaeology. I do too. I've read your paper on Tagus III - not that I agree with all of your illogical assumptions."

"They weren't all assumptions, Admiral. I did exacting research…"

She interrupted him. "Go visit some ruins."

"Be frank, Admiral. Please."

"I've already said it, Jean-Luc. You're a good starship captain. More importantly, you are my starship captain. And if you ever want to be a starship captain again, you will take a very long leave of absence. Starting right now."

"What has happened?"

"At the moment, the only posting the Admiralty would order for you would be retirement, Jean-Luc. It would be prudent for you to not remind them of your presence for a while. I don't want to lose you." She correctly interpreted Jean-Luc's shocked expression. "I mean every word I say, Jean-Luc. We may not be friends, but I think that over the past few years an arrangement has been reached between us. I may be a Starfleet bureaucrat, but I am not quite the cold-hearted politician you once accused me of being."

"I don't recall saying those specific words to you, Admiral."

"You didn't have to say it out loud."

"Admiral…"

"Don't apologize, Jean-Luc."

"I wasn't going to, Madam."

She smiled again. He shifted uneasily in his chair. He was unaccustomed and uneasy about seeing Admiral Nechayev smiling so much.

"Listen to me, Captain. I order you to one day share tea and Bularian canapés with me - as my starship captain again."

"Thank you, Admiral." He didn't understand her motives, but he would heed her warnings.

"Oh, Jean-Luc?"

"Yes, Admiral?"

"Commander Quinteros has brought to my attention the matter of Riker's party. He wanted to know if I'd officially sanction it."

Picard did not betray to the Admiral that this was the first he was hearing about Commander Riker's plans. "Will you, Admiral?"

"Tell Riker that I will authorize his get-together on one condition."

"And that is?"

"He'd better send me an invitation immediately."

"I will convey your message to Commander Riker, Admiral."

"I will see you in a few days, Jean-Luc."

When the screen went blank, Picard whapped his comm badge. "Picard to Riker."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Report to the senior officer's conference lounge - immediately." Picard was not about to impose upon the hospitality of Ozog's ready room for a second longer.

The next few days were busy, as most of the Enterprise's former personnel from the Farragut as well as the other rescue ships were transferred to quarters on SB 74.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Captain Picard, after he was settled into his new quarters, found himself engaged with the displacement of his crew. Order after order crossed over his padd about the reassignments of his people. With a detached soul, he attended to the details, as he said farewell on an individual basis to the people whose lives he'd held in his hand for over seven years.

He found it disturbing to say goodbye. It was as if his soul was diminished with each farewell.

Two hours before the wake was supposed to begin, the travel orders for one Dr. Beverly Cheryl Howard Crusher came across his padd.

For a moment he merely absorbed the words and attended to the official details. As he had always done, he would deal with his personal feelings at a later time.

Skilled at doing what he had to do when it was the last thing that he wanted to do, Jean-Luc Picard walked over three decks to the quarters that Beverly shared with Deanna. Along with Riker, he was supposed to escort the ladies to the wake.

He met Riker in the corridor.

"Ready, Captain?" Riker cheerfully asked.

"No." The look he gave Riker would have sent a lesser man away, quaking in his dress regulation boots. Instead, Riker's grin broadened.

"Come on, Jean-Luc. We're about to spend the night with two lovely ladies, a considerable amount of wine and ale, and our friends. If you have to go, what way could be better than this?"

Picard's grimace did not pass as a smile.

When they reached the ladies' quarters, it was Riker who rang the bell.

Privately, Picard thought that if Riker started whistling, he'd lead the charge to court-martial the man. Still mulling over what he'd discovered about Beverly, he was decidedly not in the mood for any festivities, much less a wake for the U.S.S. Enterprise 1701-D.

When the door opened, Deanna greeted them. Knowing that he could not conceal the state of his emotions from his Counselor, Jean-Luc instead assumed the attitude of a commanding officer who was not going to permit himself to be questioned.

Deanna moved aside, her rose-shaded-to-murrey chiffon skirt swirling about her ankles. She glanced sharply over at her captain and acknowledged his mood with a stiff nod.

"Captain. Commander."

"You look sensational, Deanna," Riker stated, loving what he saw.

"Thank you, Will." She eyed him in his formal dress coat. "You are quite handsome, yourself." She inspected her captain. "Captain, my mother once gave me some words of wisdom about men in military dress uniforms. I think tonight, I'll follow her advice for a change." Then Deanna looked expectantly toward the bedroom door.

As if on cue, Beverly emerged.

Will uttered a stunned gasp. For Beverly was wearing an opalescent aurene gown with a tissue overlay skirt. It clung and flowed with her every movement. The color gradation changed with every nuance of her mood.

Riker gulped. On certain worlds, such fashion was described as a paint dress for it clung to the wearer as if it were literally painted onto the woman's body - in all the right places.

"Fantastic…" Will commented, momentarily reminded of a passionate Beverly that he had once all-too-briefly known.

For a fleeting instant, Jean-Luc forgot everything as he was lost in the glory of Beverly's smile, and the vision that was before him. She was even more beautiful than he could imagine.

And then he remembered her betrayal. His instinctive answering responses died in his throat. Instead of making a proper - or improper - gentlemanly remark about her loveliness, he turned and faced Deanna, ignoring Beverly.

"Shall we go?"

A wall of anger followed by a sense of hurt and betrayal slammed into Deanna's mind. For a moment she was disoriented trying to sort through the captain's jumble of barely controlled emotions; to understand why he felt such anger.

Deanna turned and shoved Beverly towards the door. "You go ahead, Beverly. Captain. I need Will to help me with something before I'm ready to go." Under her breath she ordered, "Beverly, leave!"

Not quite sure as to what Deanna wanted, Beverly walked into the corridor. Reluctantly, Jean-Luc followed, having no desire to be alone with his lady.

Silently he walked down the corridor toward the lift. Beverly trailed him, her anger growing in tandem to his, her dress changing from gold to purple rage. She didn't begin to understand what crime he thought she had done.

The moment the doors closed behind them a worried counselor asked, "Will, what's wrong with the Captain? Such anger - it's all focused on Beverly and it is personal!"

"I don't know, Deanna. Maybe it's a delayed reaction to the Enterprise crashing - and everything else that has happened."

"Well, stay with him tonight. He's losing control. And how often have I ever said that about the man? He's in a strange mood - a dangerous mood."

In the lift, Beverly stood next to the man she had considered a friend - a close friend - for many years. And she didn't understand why he was so upset with her. All she knew was that when Jean-Luc was this angry, he turned bitter cold. And she didn't like being the recipient of his unjustified displeasure at all. Her dress palette was shifting from purples to blues.

"What is wrong, Jean-Luc?"

He ignored her, for he wasn't yet prepared for a confrontation. They then arrived at the deck where the party was being held, walking silently into the ballroom side by side.

For a moment he stood still, trying to adjust to the lowered lighting. And then he stopped, staring at what was on the walls. Highlighted by spots against twinkling indigo black walls, were all of the models of the starship Enterprise, rescued and repaired from the observation deck. Somehow Riker had achieved the impossible.

And then Picard turned around. Only years of strict discipline kept him from overtly reacting. For suspended overhead and toward the back wall was his portrait of the U.S.S. Enterprise 1701-D, against a blanket of stars.

Beverly leaned against him, wiping away more tears - tears that had been too ready to fall during the past few days.

"I'm going to miss her," she whispered.

"Beverly, she was only a ship…"

She stiffened, surprised by his sober choice of words.

"Doctor, it is the people that matter. Fortunately, we survived." Jean-Luc reached over and brushed away a few tears from her cheek. And at this moment, he didn't remember why he was angry with her. "We survived." His fingers lingered an instant, brushing against the velvet of her cheek. "You are so beautiful…"

But before Beverly could respond, Mr. Data intruded. "Thank you for coming," Data said, with the politeness that was still his second nature in spite of the addition of the emotions chip.

Picard raised an eyebrow. "You are the official greeter, Mr. Data?"

"Yes, Captain. And now that you are here, you can join me in the receiving line for all of the admirals."

"Admirals?" Picard was suddenly wary. He had thought that only Nechayev would be attending the wake.

"Yes, Sir. Admirals Haden and Haftel have already arrived. Admirals Walker, Aron, David, Gregory and Nakamura are due shortly."

"And Admiral Nechayev?"

"She is dancing with Gowron."

"Gowron?" Picard tried to ignore a feeling of foreboding. "You do mean Council Leader, Chancellor Gowron of the Klingon Empire?"

"Yes, Captain." Data nodded toward the band that was playing in the far corner. "Some of Commander Riker's musician associates arrived early and have already played two sets." Data guided Picard and Crusher to the dais table that had been reserved for senior officers.

"Perhaps you had best take me to Gowron."

Data would have complied, but Deanna, Will and Geordi joined them at the table.

"You really outdid yourself, Mr. Data." Deanna looked about the ballroom and then up at the canopy of stars. "How did you get the stars to glow so realistically?"

"Holograms, Counselor" He noticed Deanna's décolleté. "You look charming, Commander Troi. Please reserve a space on your dance card for me." Suddenly feeling that he might have made a faux pas, he added, "And naturally, Doctor, you too as well. I would not want to forget my favorite dance…" Mr. Data correctly interpreted the Doctor's warning glare. "…er, partner."

Deanna blinked. "Dance card?"

Beverly leaned over and whispered, "I'll explain later."

Further discussion was abruptly halted when Riker was attacked by a really, really big Klingon. Riker was lifted up in the air, and tossed as if he were a bag of Nasreldian tubers against the iron strong chest of an even bigger Klingon.

Having all the air hugged out of his lungs was not conducive to idle conversation - or to living.

"You've grown soft, Hu-man," the Klingon chortled.

"So have you, Klag!" Riker retorted, suddenly shifting and using the one leg that could touch the floor as a brace. Then he was shoved forward, low, against Klag's torso, and managed to topple him backwards in the arms of Worf.

Worf grabbed Klag into a hammerlock and looked down at the gasping-for-breath First Officer crumpled on top of the Klingon.

"Is he a friend, Commander? Or shall I toss this Romulan-lover into the nearest garbage disposal unit?"

Riker slowly stood up, not wanting to admit that more bones were aching now than would have ached seven years ago on the IKS Pagh.

"Klag! It's good to see you." Riker charged and kicked the other Klingon who'd attacked him, in the knees. "And you too, Captain Kargan!"

Suddenly, three very large Klingons were trying to make a Riker sandwich.

Picard politely tapped Data on the shoulder. "Do something, Commander."

A moment later, two of the three, were dangling by the scuff of their spiny necks from Data's upraised arms.

Worf helped Riker up off of the floor.

"Commander, your jacket is torn," Mr. Data observed. "What should I do with these Klingons?

"Join us in a drink?" Riker suggested.

Data dropped the cursing Klingons.

They both came over to Riker and cheerfully pounded him rather hard, on the back.

"Lead on, Hu-man!" Klag roared.

"Klag, you old Denebian slime devil."

"Captain Klag to you, Hu-man!" Klag snarled.

With great pride Captain Kargan announced, "Klag is captain of my wing ship, the P'Rang ."

Kargan reached over and grabbed Riker's pips. Fabric ripped. "You should have stayed under my command, Hu-man. You'd be a captain too."

Picard joined them. "Introduce us, Commander."

Riker nodded. "You've only talked with these warriors before, Captain." He formally stated, "Captain Picard, may I introduce Captain Kargan and Captain Klag of the Klingon Defense Force."

Picard offered his greetings.

"And my brother, Captain Kurn," Worf added.

Suddenly Worf was being mashed up into a big targ hug. "Brother! You're a Commander!" Kurn shouted. And then he dropped Worf, watching Worf bounce a little, before turning to Picard. "What took so long?"

Gowron joined them, flanked by four of his guard, effectively cutting short Kurn's interrogation. Gowron noticed something. "What's this?" the Imperial ruler of the Klingon Empire bellowed, pointing toward a door.

Nine Klingons stood there, bearing a large metal keg on their shoulders. Gowron turned to Klag. "More. You should have brought more bloodwine!"

Fourteen more Klingons stood there, bearing a much large metal keg on their shoulders.

Kargan gruffly declared, "My contribution to the ceremony - firewine."

"Good." Gowron nodded towards the kegs. "Now we can begin."

Picard leaned over, hiding his worry. "Explain, Mr. Worf."

"The Klingon transition ceremony of leave-taking. It must be done for the Enterprise since I was the senior security officer on board her."

Mr. Data added, "The Klingons sing a formal farewell. It is their freeing of the spirit ceremony for fallen comrades and ships that have passed with great honor. They drink and feast, recollecting days of glory. I felt it only appropriate that the Klingons who have played such an important part in the Enterprise's history, should be invited to the wake."

Picard tried not to blanch. Then he turned to Gowron, noting that Admiral Nechayev as well as several other admirals, had joined their group.

"I thank you for the honor that you do my ship, Chancellor Gowron."

Gowron crashed his hand rather hard against Picard's chest. Picard withstood the blow.

"For the Enterprise and for you, Captain Picard." Knowing that he had an attentive audience, and always loving to stir things up, Gowron suggested, "Leave Starfleet, Picard. Come join me. I would make you an admiral with a Vor'cha battle cruiser as your ship. Hu-man you have a Klingon heart."

For a second, Jean-Luc let his gaze travel over the admirals who hovered near Gowron. Then he responded to the offer. "Thank you, Gowron. I am honored. But, I will remain a Starfleet officer."

Gowron turned and raised his hand, silencing the ever-increasing congregation of Klingons that had been crowing about them. Midst the crowd his attendants were passing about wine. One of them handed Gowron a goblet.

Another goblet of blood wine was thrust into Picard's hands. All of the admirals around him also received the Klingon specialties.

Gowron nodded at Picard, saying nothing.

Worf leaned over and whispered to Picard, "You must make a toast."

Picard stepped forward. The room fell silent. Picard hated this. He hated every moment; the eyes staring at him, the pity other eyes contained. But most of all he despised those words - the words that he must say, the words that would finalize the most horrific of all truths - he had lost his ship. The Enterprise was gone.

He lifted his goblet, revealing none of his inner turmoil. He even managed a smile, as he spoke words from a grievously wounded heart.

"The Enterprise. Her crew."

There was nothing more to be said. Other toasts were chorused. The official wake had begun.

About an hour later, Picard was in a strange mood, an uncharacteristic mood. He'd spent the evening alternating between various degrees of anger and annoyance over Beverly. But adding fuel to his displeasure was the way Beverly was acting tonight. She was dancing - with everyone. And wearing a dress that seemed to become more provocative with each passing minute.

Emboldened by the wine she'd been drinking, Beverly finally decided to approach her captain.

"Dance with me, Jean-Luc. One dance before I leave?"

"Ah yes, your leaving, Doctor."

She pulled him into a tight embrace for a slow dance. Her dress glowed cherry red.

"What do you mean, my leaving, Jean-Luc?"

"Were you going to even bother to say goodbye? Or was I going to be presented with a fait accompli like the last time you left me?"

"Jean-Luc, what are you talking about?" Her dress was turning purple again.

"Captain Romanoff sends his regards. He's awaiting your arrival aboard the U.S.S. Harriman Nelson." She didn't refute his words. Suddenly he was tired of everything and every one. He turned and just walked off the dance floor, leaving her standing there. He didn't care if anyone noticed.

Beverly ran after him, grabbing his arm near the shrubbery that flanked the side of the dance floor. Her dress was glowing a flame red. She ducked under a dark green spear of several tall, spiky leaf Janaran Falls bromeliads.

"Jean-Luc! What is the matter with you? What is going on?" Beverly hissed. Unfortunately her righteous indignation over his actions was undercut when strands of red hair became entangled on some spiny points. It is hard to appear dignified when a Betazoid pineapple is trying to knit with a lady's hair.

"Stop struggling!" Picard hissed back when he took pity on Beverly's increasing plight. "You're only making it worse!"

Neither one noticed Worf and Data approaching and then observing them. Softly Data asked Worf, "Is the doctor entangling her hair on purpose?"

Worf considered the question. "Human females? Possibly." He paid closer attention to his two superior officers hissing back and forth at each other. "Probably." It was unusual behavior for both of them.

Suddenly Beverly grabbed Jean-Luc's forearm and shoved him out a pair of swinging doors hidden behind the fauna. The former captain of the Enterprise stumbled, but go he did. Picard didn't wish to make a scene. Neither combatant noticed the interested bystanders.

However, voices raised in argument, could still be heard on the other side of the doors. Data, with his superior hearing, did not do what other might consider eavesdropping. Dated called it observing human behavior.

"Mr. Worf. The Captain and the Doctor appear to be having a heated discourse over the Doctor's departure. The attitude of their discussion is atypical for them." Data stepped closer to the swinging doors. "They appear to be speaking in anger." Data listened another few seconds. "They are now quiet. Conversation has ceased."

"Do they need our assistance?" Worf asked.

Calculating the possibilities, Data peeked through a crack between the two doors. "It is all right, Commander. They are osculating." Data walked back over to Mr. Worf, side-stepping several waving branches. "I did not know that the Captain and the Doctor did that. Together, that is. Though there was considerable speculation about them doing it. I had heard persistent reports during every tour of duty that they were so inclined. And I have calculated the odds for the betting pools on many occasions."

Worf found Data difficult to understand at times. This was one of those times.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Worf?" Riker politely asked, waving his mug of Romulan ale in the general direction of some tropical trees, as he joined them.

Privately, the only problem that Mr. Worf could identify was the fact that Will Riker had his other arm tightly around Deanna Troi's waist.

"No, Commander." Worf nodded at Deanna. "Commander." Right now, he was living up to his poker nickname - the Ice Man.

"Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher are osculating," Mr. Data politely informed his fellow officers.

It is to Will Riker's credit and the superb training that all Starfleet officers undergo, that Will Riker only spilled his beer all over the front of his torn dress uniform. At least he didn't get any sticky ale on Deanna.

Trying to appear to be a serious, dignified officer even as driblets of beer dripped off of one's beard, is a difficult task. Will Riker didn't even come close to accomplishing it.

"Mr. Data, were you spying on Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher?" Deanna didn't want to be accusatory, but Data's behavior indicated otherwise. Clearly Data was under the influence of questionable associates. She glared at Will.

"No, Commander." Data watched Worf. "Commander Worf, would you call what I did spying? I had not considered that my actions could be viewed in that context. I thought that I was eavesdropping."

"Commander Data did not spy, Commander. He is concerned about the well-being of our captain. And Dr. Crusher." Worf appeared to be warming up. "Their behavior is unusual."

Before Riker could further interrogate his officers, Gowron joined them. "Where's Picard? He must lead the chorus!"

Worf stepped forward and formally stated, "Captain Picard is osculating. He is engaged in Sehloh."

Gowron tried to mouth the word osculate.

There was a cry from behind the doors.

Worf explained with great pride, "My Captain is honoring our customs, Gowron. He is celebrating the freeing of his ship's spirit with Dr. Crusher. They will not be disturbed. I will not allow it."

"Mating, eh, with the flame-haired female?" Gowron roared with laughter. "I knew I chose well for my Arbiter of Succession. He has a Klingon warrior's heart with the fires of Kahless filling his loins."

No one quite knew what to say about Gowron's assessment of Captain Picard.

Gowron continued to laugh as he walked off to join the other singing Klingons, to inform them of the honor that Picard was paying to all Klingon warriors.

Deanna looked at Worf. And then looked at Will. They both had silly masculine grins on their faces. "MEN!" She was disgusted by all of them. "Just because Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher are having a private conversation…"

"At strong decibel levels," Data mentioned.

"…with each other, does not mean that they are…" Deanna abruptly stopped speaking. For she was now sensing something new. She couldn't have stopped her blush if her life depended upon it. "Will…"

"Yes, Deanna?" Will still had a big grin plastered across his face.

She stepped out of Riker's embrace, and elbowed him in the ribs. "Go change your uniform. You stink." She turned to Mr. Data, ignoring Worf. "Shall we dance, Mr. Data?"

"Is the appropriate response - I have waited my entire lifetime to have someone ask me that question - Deanna?" He winked at her.

It took Deanna a moment to realize that Data was flirting with her. And then she sensed something else from him - he was teasing her. Her smile grew warm as she reacted in delight over perceiving more of Data's feelings.

"I think I have waited all my life to have you dance with me, dear Mr. Data," she replied in kind. She ignored both of her commanders as she fox trotted off with Data.

"Women!" Riker cursed under his breath, as he headed for the closest exterior door. Worf watched Data guide Deanna expertly around the parquetry dance floor.

"Commander." He halted Will's exit. "I think I finally understand what you mean. I shall treat Deanna differently - like a Klingon female." Worf wasn't quite sure how to interpret Commander Riker's raucous laughter as he left.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

On a crystal bridge way, beneath the starlight, far from the madding crowd - most of whom were dancing at the wake - one human male was slowly strolling next to one human female. They were almost holding hands. And trying to find a way to talk about what had just happened between them. It wasn't easy. They'd spent too many years becoming too adept at sidestepping their private issues. They'd honed to a fine art the ability to avoid any truly personal confrontation.

Now, they had to face the fact that only minutes before they'd been kissing with such passion in a public corridor, inside a public Starbase, with an abandonment more akin to flaring hormonal teenagers than two mature, adult Starfleet officers. Add to this the fact that Picard had even gone so far as to raise Beverly's skirts as their hunger grew. Only the none-too-subtle coughing of Woody Nakamura had stopped Picard's advances.

Woody hadn't helped matters any by commenting as he passed by, "Just getting a breath of air, Johnny. I didn't see thing; not a thing." He then nodded toward the lady. "Beverly. Scarlet garters. Nice."

Beverly's dress was now a shade of ruby mortification. Her face acquired an even darker hue. Now, standing under stars which once they had warped past, the two star-crossed would-be lovers had to deal with their here and now.

There was no ship between them. No Jack. No Wesley. No Nella. None of the thousands of other excuses both had used over the years for keeping their safe distance from each other.

Beverly broke the silence. The color of her dress was changing. "Your place or mine?" In spite of her recent embarrassment over her actions as well as coping with his unexpected, overwhelming fiery response, her voice contained a hint of admiring laughter.

"Now is not a good time to demonstrate your infamous sense of humor," Jean-Luc warned.

"Actually, I cannot think of a more appropriate time to have a sense of humor than right now, Jean-Luc. Can you?"

He stopped and leaned against the transparent aluminum observation wall.

"Doctor."

She placed her forefinger against his lips, shushing him. "No, Jean-Luc. No doctor or captain or Starfleet between us tonight. You are just Jean-Luc. Me, I am simply Beverly. She tapped her finger against his lips. "Understand?"

"Yes, Beverly." He did understand.

"Good. Now, answer my question."

"Which is?"

"Your place or mine." She thought for a second. "No, forget that." He froze. "We'll go to your quarters. You're bound to have been assigned better rooms than mine - without a nosy roommate." His body melted into hers. "Lead the way, Jean-Luc."

"The wake…"

"Don't you dare tell me that you were having a good time…"

"You were…"

"Well, that's true. I love dancing. I'd have liked it even better if I'd been dancing with you most of the night. Anyway, you are trying to divert me, so stop it." She just had to kiss him.

"Beverly…"

She lifted up his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss against his palm, and then nipping every trembling finger tip.

"You were saying, Jean-Luc?"

It took every bit of his will power to answer her. "This way." Not even wanting to consider the possible foolishness of this move, Jean-Luc guided Beverly down several corridors, still holding her hand. He stopped when they reached his door, silver grey, in an angled wall of neutral tan. In the night lighting of the corridor she stood there looking as if she were draped in vibrant, passionate breathing dark flames.

"This isn't what I'd envisioned, Beverly."

"So you did think about us together. Good."

"Too often." He looked down at her hand, still entrapped between his fingers. "Don't flirt with me, Madam. Not tonight."

"Why not tonight?"

"Tonight, I am not as you know me. Tonight, I have only dangerous desires. Exigencies. Tonight, I do not even want to remember that you are leaving in the morning."

She brought his hand back to her lips. "You've always been a danger to me, Jean-Luc. These circumstances change nothing."

She kissed his palm again.

"Ah, but tonight, Beverly, I will honor no boundaries, follow no rules of civilized conduct. You once told me that you were afraid of what we could mean to each other, that you were frightened of what we could become. Perhaps you were right then, and not now. What we learned from the KesPrytt - what if that is what is truly valid?"

She brought his hand to her face, guiding his fingers against the line of her cheek. "Jean-Luc, I only told Captain Romanoff that I would consider the post on the Nelson. I never said yes. He assumed too much from our conversation. I guess he wanted me."

"Now that is something I can understand." He unconsciously breathed a sigh of deep relief. Beverly wasn't going to leave him just yet.

She mistook his silence. "Jean-Luc."

He perceived her fears. It was his turn to bring her hand to his lips. He kissed the smooth skin and then carefully chose his future.

"Come, Beverly."

Her hand rested lightly against him. Only the trembling of her fingers revealed how frightened she was of this next step. Yet, she was also excited beyond measure as well. For a second, she remembered the taste of his lips against her mouth, the feel of his tongue impressing hers. She knew there was danger here with him, a danger to her self, to her heart, to her sanity. And the peril wouldn't vanish just because she gave in to her desires tonight. But she'd think about all of that tomorrow.

There was a spark of something in his eyes; something that forced an answering response in her. "Jean-Luc", she whispered, not sure of what should come next.

He stepped inside his quarters which were definitely not the most luxurious suite in the station. "Lights, thirty percent," he ordered.

She glanced about the room, but didn't notice the ambassador grey sameness to almost every item in the room. Only a vase of bright yellow tulips added any color at all.

"This should not be happening," she said.

"But it is," he said. He closed the gap between their mouths, kissing her softly, tenderly, openmouthed.

She moved her hands up to his shoulders, and readily came into his embrace. Her slender fingers played against the nape of his neck as she bowed her body into his. She was wanting, now. This need was familiar. Moaning when his lover's kiss turned into a mating dance, equal portions of fear and desire engulfed her body, welling like an icy torrent through her veins. She shivered, breaking away.

"It's cold in here," she declared, taking a blind step back.

Escape…

No escape…

He drew her back against his chest, wrapping his arms warmly about her, his arms pressing against the sides of her breasts.

"No." His hands moved about her, coming across her softness, her warmth. "No, Beverly, it will not be cold in here tonight."

She turned her head and rested it against his heart, and closed her eyes. One gentle hand rested against the top of her head, smoothing some of the strands back into place that had lost their way over the evening's festivities.

"Forgive me," she finally stated.

"For what?"

She felt his cheek press against her hair.

"For this," she said, and kissed his cheek. "And this," she whispered as she stood on her toes to kiss the top of his head. "And this," she sighed as she pressed a kiss against his left temple. "And this," she added, experimenting with her tongue, brushing against his lips. She felt his arms tighten about her as he turned into the kiss. She moaned.

"Jean-Luc…" She threw her head back, her eyes fluttering close, as his mouth moved from her lips down to the hollow of her throat. His hands found no difficulty in pushing away the silken material of her bodice, exposing her breasts. His palm moved against her nipple, circling it, with his fingers curving into a caress of the soft, trembling flesh.

Her mouth opened in a silent cry and then her fingers curled against his neck as he took the hardened tip of her left breast into his mouth and sucked it, flickering his tongue against it.

She realized in that moment that for all the knowledge and experience of sensual matters, both practical and clinical that she had, nothing had prepared her for this rush of feelings. She now knew why she'd both feared and been fascinated by this man since the very first moment that she ever seen him so many years ago. More by instinct than by knowledge, she fell against the room's only sofa, a darker grey piece with serviceable long-wearing upholstery. Jean-Luc followed her down, his face above hers again, his eyes searching her own.

"Last chance," he warned, his honor waging war with the demands of his body.

At that moment, she could not imagine loving him more. "That was several minutes ago." She corrected whatever misconception he might be considering by lowering the shoulder straps of her changeling gown.

"Beverly…" he groaned against the velvet smooth valley between her breasts. For a moment he breathed her perfume. He'd always identified this scent with her, in his mind.

She could hear his heart beating as he pressed against her. They were alone together - very alone in the night, and very close to each other. She felt him against her, muscles relaxing then tensing as his body continued to battle with his mind. She thought of many things as she waited for him to decide. She would not be the only seducer this night. He would have to cross the Rubicon as willingly as she.

He rolled suddenly, pulling her against him with such an effort that she forced the breath from his lungs when she whomped against his chest. Now, she was on top of him, lying parallel to the plush cushions.

She found her mouth on his, open, being plundered. She pressed herself against him, answering back his stroking, dragging her fingers against his tunic closure, searching for the releases. She pushed against his sleeves, until she could feel his bare, hairy skin against her breasts. And when he rolled them both to the side, she pulled his jacket down. He lifted up a moment to slide the offending garment away from them both.

And then she was pulled against his chest, cool air touching the skin that he was exposing on her body, tugging her gown away. Other clothing flew off of their bodies, joining their first offerings wherever they landed.

His hands moved between his body and hers, moving hard over her breasts, squeezing them, luxuriating in the feel of them until her nipples were hard and tender. His mouth roamed over her ivory throat, and then below, searching out the nipples that his hand had been teasing. His lips surrounded it, as his knee worked between her thighs, pushing them apart.

Startled by the rapidly demanding nature of his actions, she knew he was reaching a point where he could not control himself. She only had two choices - to acquiesce, or to be an active participant. She wasn't going to let Jean-Luc in days to come, believe that he'd been the only one doing the seducing. She wrapped her legs about his hips, kneeling on top of him.

He protested her movements by nipping the underside of her breast.

She twined herself against him, feeling the roughness of his leg hairs rub against the silken skin of her inner thighs.. His mouth returned to her breast, driving her almost to a sublime madness. Her hands reciprocated by pushing against his ribs through his hairy chest until she was stroking his nipples.

His hands threaded through her hair, bring her head back up to his. "Beverly," he groaned, as he guided her against him. The solidity of his manhood told her that she was now going to be taken. Her only option was to take him. And take his cock, she did. Reaching down to meet him, shoving her weight against his body, she straddled him, letting her body ravish him too.

They joined.

It was too much. He ejaculated.

Moments later, her heart thumping erratically in her bosom, she felt him relax and become flaccid inside of her. She thought of all the things a woman should do in this situation. Instead, she did the one thing she shouldn't do - and the one thing that he should have expected.

She laughed. Lightly, ironically, more in humor at herself than against him. After all this time, the imaginings, the dreamings, the sexual speculations, she now had her answer.

He was a man, after all. Just as susceptible as the next.

"You find me funny, Doctor?" Guilt mingled with the recognition that Beverly was behaving rather true to her nature. He was trying very, very hard not to feel indignation.

"You are not funny at all. What I find funny are all those stories about legendary French lovers."

He truly didn't know how to reply, for she did have a point. At the moment, he was the one who'd had a momentary satisfaction. She hadn't. Another man might have been mortally wounded. Jean-Luc on the other hand, courtesy of the KesPrytt, had a pretty good idea as to the way Beverly's mind worked. He knew that she'd be willing to give him a chance to make amends.

"Doctor, that tongue of yours is going to get you into more trouble, tonight."

"That's one promise I will make you keep."

His traced his hand over her flank, picking away pieces of her changeling dress that still adhered to her skin. It's last color had been flame.

"I apologize, Beverly."

"For something specific, or for men in general?" Her mirthful sapphire gaze caught his attention. He was beginning to consider her to be far more dangerous than he had previously hoped.

"For not telling you how spectacular you looked tonight. I was remiss. You were magnifique, mon coeur."

"Were? Not are?"

He smiled. "You'll get no meaningless flattery from me. When I speak of your distinctions, you'll know that I mean it."

"Well, speak away, Jean-Luc."

He slapped her left buttock. "I'd rather demonstrate," he explained. "Question my heritage, would you?" he swore, under his breath. "You'll pay." He slid from underneath her, and stood. Before she could stop him, he scooped her up, carrying her into the bedroom.

"Jean-Luc, put me down! I'm way to heavy for you to carry!"

He looked down into her face and agreed. "You're right, Beverly. But, I need the exercise. If you stop squirming, I think I should be able to carry you a few meters without dropping you. You wouldn't want me to drop you, would you?"

Beverly heeded his warning. What surprised her though, was that he carried her past an orangish red and brown bed in an olive and grey bedroom, and took her straight into an ugly salmon pink bathroom.

"Now, you'll see why I chose these quarters, and it was not for the color scheme," Jean-Luc explained, as he placed her on a marble bench. "Whenever I'm at SB 74, I always order these quarters, in the old section." He turned away from her. "Computer, draw a bath, water temperature at thirty-five degrees Celsius. Add some Vulcan contemplation salts."

Beverly stood and moved aside some filmy gilded curtains. "This isn't a bathtub - it's a swimming pool." She fanned her fingers against the cool sand pink to grey striated marble panels of the ledge, before sitting down.

Jean-Luc knelt before Beverly and picked some more of the paint dress off of her knees.

"I believe that I've removed all of the fabric still clinging to your body. Now, I'll work on the remaining paint." He raised his eyes up to meet her gaze. "And Beverly, if you wish to attract my attention in the future, dispense with the paint. Not that I won't enjoy removing it, now. But speaking strictly as a Frenchman and a connoisseur, I prefer silk and perfume."

"Duly noted, Jean-Luc. For future reference. But what makes you think that I would want to attract your attention again?" She smiled down at him, rather liking the way he was watching her. "Now what do you suggest to change my mind? Hmmm….?"

"Something about your satisfaction, I think. I won't have you continuing to cast aspersions on my ancestry."

Something about the way he said it warned Beverly. But instead of protesting, she warily watched him, waiting for his next move. He didn't disappoint.

Standing, trying not to overtly react to her perusal of his body, he stepped into the pool. Dark waters with an odd but not unpleasant scent, swirled about as he guided Beverly to a water covered ledge. He moved below her, sinking onto a lower shelf.

"I shall draw pleasure from you, mon coeur. And give you infinite pleasure in return. This is my promise." He grinned, a silly smile, knowing that his words were melodramatic and quite out of character for him. But Beverly had to learn that there were facets to his nature other than just that of a too-serious Starfleet officer. He could play, too.

The intensity of his hazel gaze convinced her that he could be properly romantic when necessary. But she was finding it difficult to believe that he was saying such things to her. She idly wondered what he was quoting.

He leaned forward and kissed her fiercely on the mouth. He had yet to satiate her appetites. In fact, they both had thirsts that were yet to be met. He waited until she was kissing him back with determined passion. He broke away. And then he continued his downward progress with his lips.

"Oh," was her only comment as he alternated between sucking and nipping her breasts till they were hard and pointed against his searching touch. He moved even lower, placing her legs upon his shoulders, pausing to lightly bite the tender flesh behind her knees. His hands were as busy as his lips, learning what would give her pleasure, how to touch her, how to stroke her, until she was nearly a mindless creature solely dependent upon his touch as reality's anchor.

She closed her eyes, and let her head rest against the pool's padded rim, as he ministered to her, capturing her flesh with wave after wave of addictive pleasure coursing through her body, in ever expanding spirals from the focus of his mouth. "Oh" she moaned again and again, as he kissed her intimately, searching through her vaginal lips, touching the walls of her channel, with ever increasing determination to arouse her. And when he captured her clitoris with his teeth, her stunned gasps turned into loud moaning.

He pleasured her. She climaxed. Then she opened her eyes to look down at him, shocked by what he could do, and how quickly he had done it, to her body. When he felt her finally still, he raised his head, then rested it against her thigh, watching her as if he were memorizing every bit of her being.

"Again, magnifique, mon coeur," he whispered.

"Yes," she finally sighed, when she had the strength to speak. "I truly had no idea it could be like this, Jean-Luc. No idea at all." Her voice was weak, stunned and befuddled by what he had accomplished; what he had done to her.

"Dare I be flattered?"

His teasing words focused her. "Your ancestors should be proud, Jean-Luc."

Not that as a man, he wasn't pleased with her words, but he also questioned them. "Surely I am not the first lover to kiss your beautiful…" He stroked his tongue across her mons venus.

"Not like this…." She sighed. "I loved them all, but it was never like this…" She signed again as she still felt the aftershocks. She caught the questioning look in his eyes. "Now is not the time to discuss the details of each and every one of our love affairs, Jean-Luc." She sighed again. "But you - you are extraordinaire." She caught his bemused smile at her admission. "And damn you, you know it, too!"

"Merci, Madam."

And then her trademark look of deviltry, that had gotten her into so much trouble in her past, surfaced again. By the time he realized what that look meant, she slipped off of her ledge, and sunk beneath the waters. When she surfaced, she had latched on to several of his essential body parts and was tugging them upwards. And what she was doing to him certainly garnered his attention. She held him with her hands, capturing his cock with her lips, to reciprocate in the way he had just pleasured her. When his manhood had reached a hard-muscled strength, belying its most recent exercise, she shoved herself upwards. Twisting over him, she trapped him with her arms and legs in the buoyant, scented waters of their bath.

"Do what you wish," he sighed. "I believe we have reached a mutual enjoyment agreement."

"We'll negotiate the terms, tomorrow," she warned. "I can be quite demanding."

"That is something that I've always known about you, my Beverly."

Hovering against him, she was throbbing as she placed him within her sheath, feeling her inner muscles drawing him even deeper and harder into her body. She was wanting him as much as he was requiring her.

This time, he moved slowly, thoughtfully. Turning, he braced himself on his knees and elbows, anchoring their bodies to the upper ledge. His face was above her suddenly, his grey-green mutable eyes gazing into hers, almost without expression, just watching every subtle change to her face with his every stroke.

"Does this give you pleasure, Jean-Luc?" she asked him, in a whisper. "Is it right?" she further queried, as she adjusted to his stroking.

"Yes…" he hissed, trying to maintain absolute control over her. He moved with more energy. "Does that please you?"

Wondering how he could speak so coherently at a time like this, yet not wanting to be the first one to surrender control she nodded.

He withdrew from her warmth, and stopped moving. "Beverly?" He demanded an answer. It wasn't just his ego. It was his need to know for sure that what he was doing to her was what she really wanted. "Am I giving you pleasure?"

"Yes…" she whispered. And he entered her again, his eyes holding hers, once more. "I didn't know…" she gasped when he changed the rhythm of his stroking.

"Now you do…" he whispered against her lips.

"Damn it, Jean-Luc. Why didn't you before…"

"I was afraid."

She stopped responding to his stroking. "Of me? Really?"

"You terrify me, Madam." And then he chuckled, noting that he most certainly had secured her attention. She silenced his laughter by clenching her vaginal muscles.

"Let me give you something to really worry about…" she murmured against his lips. She sought his tongue. His mouth met hers, in the closeness of their loving. She moved her hips so that their tempo changed. They tongues and their bodies were now synchronizing.

"So good…" she murmured, when she could.

"Oui…"

"So very good…" The ache of her need was in her throat, with the involuntary sounds that she made. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feelings. Surely he could sense the truth between them. How could he not know?

She thought that he would surely drive her mad with his loving. He was taking forever. There were moments when she wished they could be joined together for eternity, like some erotic sculpture captured forever in a Dionysian pose. But, he would not allow her that pleasure. When he felt her coming, when her body tensed, when she was almost at the edge of the precipice to which he'd skillfully brought her, he stopped, changing the way he moved, the way he touched. When she thought that she recognized the signs of his passion coming, when her breathe shortened, when his eyes shut, he stopped again, withdrawing from her for a moment. Frustration mounted upon frustration as he toyed with her.

Waters now cooler than their bodies, swirled over them. He used the difference in the temperatures to assist him in his control.

As the minutes passed, with his dominant game playing through several rounds of frustration for Beverly, she knew she was losing this particular struggle. Whatever peace awaited her depended solely upon when he wished to grant it. He was playing with her as one would play with an opponent whose expertise was miniscule compared to this. She had to bite down on her lips in order not to breakdown and to whimper and plead.

Still, he kept stroking her, ruthlessly controlling their pleasure. Finally, she had to plead. "Damn you, Jean-Luc. You're torturing…. Forget what I said about the French. Just do…"

"Have done, Beverly," he said. "Hush." He silenced her with his mouth again, his tongue perfectly mimicking his hip's actions.

He shifted their positions again, this time dragging her up to the top shelf of the pool, their bodies almost completely out of the water now. Now, he lay on top of her, pressing himself hard against her yielding flesh, liking the way she felt beneath him. He reached down with his hands to cup her buttocks and cushion her against the hardness of the marble. He then started stroking at a faster, stronger speed.

She could not fight him. She could not challenge him. She could not even keep up with him, as her body surrendered helpless under his control and guidance. He controlled everything now, about their mating.

"Now," he ordered against her ear, though he might as well have been speaking Klingonese for all that she was capable of understanding at the moment. Her entire attention was focused on him, and what he was doing to her body. And she was learning the language of his body. He slowed and then deepened his urgent driving into her body.

A shattering force started to rise up between them, obliterating all coherent thought, and even consciousness for endless moments.

When she had the strength to open her eyes, she was lying on her back beneath a mottled ceiling that needed painting. She decided that she should have been looking at the stars instead. Part of her was still seeing them.

She turned into the heat that he radiated, resting her head against his supporting arms. He cuddled her body next to his. She rubbed her cheek against him, as the shattered pieces of her mind began to form more coherent thoughts. She said the very first thing that crossed her mind. "I don't know how they survive…"

"Who?" He was curious, and considering how short his breath still was, he was perfectly willing for Beverly to do the talking for now.

"Telepaths. Betazeds. Vulcans." She languidly stretched, smiling into his eyes. "If we can achieve this, and we're only mere mortals, what must it be like to share love as a telepath. If it's anything like us, they couldn't survive," she decided. "Humanoid bodies couldn't handle more than this…"

"I take it that your ramblings are a roundabout way of paying me a compliment?"

She raised up her head. "Men. You think everything has to do with your egos. You and your damned sexual prowess."

"I believe I've already proved my point. Shall I repeat myself?"

"Oh, yes." She grinned as she considered his offer. "But give me at least an hour to recover. I'm only a feeble female, and I need the time to recuperate from your extraordinary loving."

He sensed that he faced further trials during the night. Beverly was not going to readily forgive him for making her beg. But his ego had needed it from her. He would willing pay her price again and again, to repeat what had just occurred between them. For he knew that he had never loved or been loved like this before.

She tried to move. Muscles protested. She realized how stiff her body was.

He noticed. "May I suggest a massage, and then some champagne?"

"Didn't you have enough to drink?"

"Obviously, you didn't taste the Klingon bloodwine. It's a drink that only a Klingon could refer to as wine."

She began to laugh. And laugh.

"You're a snob, sometimes, Jean-Luc."

For a minute, he only studied her, and then he started to laugh, too.

When she could, she explained, "And to think that I thought being French didn't mean that much to you. I always thought of you as an officer first, and then a gentleman. Now I am a wise woman. A much wiser, greatly pleasured woman."

"Now, you do indeed know better. On certain matters, being a French man will always take precedence."

"Yes, I know that now." She arched an eyebrow. "I'll pay you back for what you just did, you know. I promise."

"Only as long as you don't start your attack for at least another fifteen minutes."

She was silent for a while, regaining her strength, permitting him to recuperate too. She stretched again, and sat up.

He lay there, watching her, memorizing every nuance of her. Perhaps the secrets of a nude body held little mystery for his former CMO, but for him, seeing Beverly naked was a new and most treasured experience. There was so much he had to learn about her, things that before as her commanding officer, he could never know, and had no right to even discover. Now, it was another matter. She had given him permission for a personal exploration that he planned on taking forever to do.

She had noted the way he'd been perusing her. And she understood his reasons. Being a doctor had not made her immune to being a healthy female. Professionally, all she'd ever observed was the condition of his body. She didn't dare imagine doing anything else - at least not professionally and on duty. Now, matters had changed. She could look as long as she wanted. And she knew that he'd not mind the examination, as long as it was not in sick bay.

"You mentioned champagne?" she hinted.

He sat up and merely looked at her. She knew that look and groaned. His thoughts were elsewhere - duty, honor, responsibilities, etc. If their ship had been in orbit, she'd have started cursing the Enterprise.

"Oh, Jean-Luc, what duty could you possibly be thinking of doing at this very moment? If Starfleet wanted you, they'd be calling you!"

"The wake. Perhaps I should see if it's still alive."

"And do what? Hold Will's hand as he tells some outrageous tale to some gullible civilian ladies? There are admirals there, for heaven's sake. What possible trouble could there be?"

She might not have sounded so positive if she'd known that the Klingon ritual included staying until all the wine was consumed - a volume which only happened to be several thousand liters. It didn't matter that some of Starfleet's most prestigious admirals were in attendance, for they'd been drinking lots of Klingon wine too.

Hours later, when Picard finally got around to checking his messages, he would read many reports listing some of the incidents that would make the wake more than legendary - above and beyond his own personal memories. The ones that would intrigue him the most included Data throwing the first punch and being detained for inciting to riot, Riker wrestling with Worf over something - or someone, and Admiral Nechayev being propositioned. propositioning some and/or/all Klingons. It would be days before he'd learn all the stories.

Deciding that she was in the mood for the afore-mentioned champagne, and something to eat, Beverly stood and walked over to the adjacent sonic shower in the bathroom. Moments later she emerged, very pink, ruffled and dry. She went over to the vanity and started rummaging about for a brush for her hair.

He watched her for a while until he realized what she was looking for. "Beverly," he teased, "do you think that I really use a hair brush?" He couldn't help it. He was amused.

She straightened, clenched her teeth and then walked over to the towels, draping a fuzzy hideous pink sheet tightly about her body.

Picard was somewhat disappointed that she had managed to cover herself so completely. He stood, and stretched, experiencing a few protesting muscles himself. This night's exercise had been for him, considering recent years, a most rare occasion.

She walked into the bedroom, straight for the replicator. "Computer, replicate a hair brush for a woman. And a warm ankle length robe, my size, in blue chenille." She warily watched him as he joined her. He didn't mind walking around nude. She added, "Make that two robes."

She put on her robe, then dropped her towel. Picking up her hair brush, she walked over to the built-in dresser an mirror, and started working on the tangles in her hair.

Sensing that she wasn't in the mood to converse with a naked Starfleet captain, he put on the robe that she'd ordered. He ignored the fact that it was a tad on the long side. He went to the com panel and quietly ordered some 18th century lute music. Then, not knowing what else to do, he sat in an armchair, and watched her.

When she was finished, she padded over to the chair net to his, and sat down. "Now, shall we talk?" she regretfully asked. The moment of reckoning was nigh.

He leaned over and clasped her hand, momentarily delaying their conversation by playing with her fingers. There were a thousand things he should say to her, a hundred things that he should do, but he couldn't think of a single place to start.

Somehow, she sense his problem, for she spoke first. "We've been good friends for a long time, Jean-Luc. What we did this evening - I don't want it to change our friendship. But I know that you needed me tonight."

Perhaps it was the way that she said it. Maybe he was reading something more into her words than the obvious. But he had to know.

"Beverly, did you come with me tonight - that is - did you come to me out of pity?" He didn't want to bring up what she'd told him during their dinner together after the KesPrytt. But her words from that time, had preyed on his mind for a very, very long time.

She supposed that she should have been angry with him, for even asking if she'd gone to bed with him out of pity. Part of her did duly note that they'd yet to reach the bed. And the portion of her mind that still was thinking, had asked the very same question - why had she surrendered now? Why had she gone with him?

"I think that I'm here with you, Jean-Luc, for a number of reasons, ranging from curiosity to driving need. And maybe I do want to do something to help make your pain go away. But those aren't the only reasons as to why I'm here. I do need you. Your touch. I always have. When I know all of my other reasons, I will tell you. I promise."

"Beverly, we can never go back to what we were. It wouldn't work. If our friendship can survive all that it has, surely it can weather our becoming lovers."

"But, where do we go from here, Jean-Luc?"

"Did you really want to be CMO of an Ambassador-class starship?"

"I've already been CMO of the best there is, Jean-Luc. I won't go backwards."

"You did when you returned to the Enterprise."

"I have always viewed my year away as a lateral transfer. Trouble is, I really don't know what forward is yet, for me. I've already been head of Starfleet Medical. What's left?"

"You could try out for command. You showed some promise as I recall."

She laughed, thinking about the few times she'd been in command of the Enterprise. "You sure? I always had this nagging feeling that you were afraid I'd bump the ship into a planet or something, when I had the big chair."

"Never."

Beverly was surprised to realize that he meant it.

"Beverly, I let a fourteen-year-old boy pilot my ship. How could I even think to question his mother's abilities, if I had not questioned her son's abilities? Now, if I'd known about Deanna being the pilot when the Enterprise crashed, that would have been another matter."

"Deanna made it to full commander."

"Yes. But have you ever seen her pilot's rating? There's a reason why whenever she took a shuttlecraft, I always assigned a pilot. I never did so when you took a shuttlecraft."

"So you think I'm a good pilot, eh?"

"You'd make an even better captain. Beverly, you and Will Riker are the only two Starfleet officers who can boast about besting the Borg in battle. Think about it."

"It is a possibility. Meanwhile, what are you going to do? During the past few days, you've said next to nothing about your plans."

"They are really indefinite, Beverly. First, I have to return to LaBarre to attend to Robert's affairs. I have to go, even though I've already missed the funerals."

She leaned over to hug him. Somehow, not quite sure how he'd maneuvered it, she found herself sitting on his lap, still hugging him.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No," was his instinctive response. He quickly realized that he had hurt her. He could see it in her eyes. "That is, I'm not sure."

"Jean-Luc, if you don't want me to come with you, just say so."

"Beverly, until this very moment, I'd never even considered the possibility that you'd want to come with me."

"Well, then you think about it, Jean-Luc. I'd be happy to go with you."

He studied her face, gazing into her blue eyes, trying to comprehend everything that she was offering. He threaded his fingers through her hair, marveling at its fiery silkiness. For some reason, he needed to keep touching her. He decided that he wanted Beverly to be with him, more than he desired his privacy.

"Then, your offer is accepted, Beverly. We'll go to LaBarre as soon as we can. I'd like your company. But, be forewarned. Knowing Marie, if something needs doing, she'll talk you into it."

"From what you've told me about Marie over the years, I'm glad that I'll finally get a chance to meet her. She sounds like she's an interesting lady. And I'll ask her advice on how to handle the Picard male…"

"Marie is a brave lady. A remarkable lady. I grieve for my brother and nephew. But they were not my world. They were hers."

"Well, at least you made your peace with Robert."

"Did I? The last message that I received from him was full of complaints about my planned shore leave with Rene in San Francisco. He was afraid that I'd be corrupting the boy." He didn't realize that tears were forming in his eyes. "If only I'd had the chance…"

With gentle touches, she wiped the tears off of his cheeks with her fingers.

"After we leave France, what will you do?"

"I don't know, Beverly. For the first time since I was a boy - what, ten? Twelve? I honestly have no idea what I'll be doing with my future."

"What did the admirals tell you?"

"Other than the fact that they weren't going to court martial Riker or myself?"

"Thank God." She breathed a deep sigh of relief. "I'd hoped, when so many of the attended the wake tonight, that it meant that they weren't going to go after you and Will."

"Well, the only two admirals who had anything constructive to suggest were Nechayev and Nakamura. They both, each in their own diverse way, suggested that I do the same thing - take a leave of absence - a long leave of absence."

"Are you going to do it?"

"Unless I can conceive of some greater plan, I probably will. I've always wanted to work on an extended archaeological dig. Now I will have the time to do so."

For a while, they had nothing to say to each other so Beverly just rested her head against his shoulder. She was thinking of all that he had revealed.

Not wishing to mention that his arm was falling asleep, Jean-Luc tried to change his position.

"Starbase 24," she stated as she shifted with him. She was finding her position on Jean-Luc's lap to be quite comfortable, not to mention the fulfillment of one of her more frequent fantasies.

"What about SB 24?"

"Dr. Rose, an old associate of Dalen Quaice - you remember my mentor, don't you, Jean-Luc?" He nodded, wondering when she was going to make her point. "Anyway, she's at SB 24 doing extensive research into folk medicines. You know that's been one of my major hobbies." He nodded again. "Anyway, one of the offers that I've received is to be CMO of SB 24, with the added benefit of getting to work with Dr. Rose. Now, ordinarily, I'd refuse a Starbase posting. I did that during the early part of my career, and I swore I'd never do it again."

"But SB 24 is close to Caldos."

"Correct." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I could open up my grandmother's cottage and live on Caldos for a while - maybe even as long as a year. Nana had this most marvelous garden. I regretted not being able to harvest it properly when we were there for her funeral…"

"Beverly…"

She stopped his talking by kissing him lightly on the lips. "Don't you see, Jean-Luc? You can come with me. The cottage is big enough for two. Once we leave Earth, Caldos could be a place for you to go. You could get caught up on your reading. Or get caught up with me…"

This time he silenced her by kissing her. "Beverly, are you asking me to live with you?"

"Well, we could have separate bedrooms if you insist."

He just looked at her, trying to burn the image of her, the way she looked , smiled, felt, and smelled into his memory to be captured forever. Her hair tumbled in unruly glory about her shoulders, a cascade of fiery silk radiance. He'd always suspected that the professional styles she'd favored had little to do with her hair's natural tendencies. He thought that she'd never looked more beautiful to him that she did at this moment.

"Sweet present of the present, cool of night, warmth of my life…"

She faced him, placing her hand against his cheek. "Are you going to give me an honest answer, or do you want to think about my offer? Though I wouldn't mind it if you continued to quote poetry for the remainder of the night."

"Jacques Prevert…"

"Of course. A French poet. Who else." She shook, trying to contain her laughter. "You were really upset by what I said earlier. And you're going to torment me with it for a long time to come, aren't you?"

"I take it that you will wish for me to come with you? In spite of the fact that I will be plaguing you in the future by correcting any misinformation you have about your Starfleet lover who happens to be French?"

"I can't think of a better future." She smiled. Two could play his game. "In her arms, he loved best? Make that my arms."

He thought for a moment, trying to place the quote. Then he focused on the obvious. "That's Dryden."

"A fine, highly revered English poet."

"I didn't know you liked English poetry."

"You didn't think that I was a romantic at heart? There is a lot about me you have yet to learn."

"I would have thought that you'd have preferred French poets…"

"You're going to be quite a challenge as a lover, Jean-Luc. I think I'll relish making you see the light."

Now it was her turn to study him. For the first time, in quite a few days, he seemed relaxed, almost happy, even, possibly, at peace with himself. Only the right muscles seemed to be tensing at the moment, as she wiggled a little against his thighs. As a doctor, she was glad of his normal responses. As a woman, she vowed to do everything possible to continue his progress.

He knew she was subtly trying to tempt him. And he was pleased that she still desired him. "We do have a great deal more to discuss…"

"There's always tomorrow, Jean-Luc." This time, when she kissed him, her intent was blatant. Her knees were nudging his. Her robe had parted. Somehow, the belt at his waist had come undone. "The night is not yet over."

"Don't you mean the morning, Beverly?"

She didn't answer him because she had better things to do with her lips. And she had waited a very long time to finally be able to do them to him, and with him. She sighed in delight.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Commander William Thomas Riker sat on a hard metal bench in a corridor a long, long way away from two of his fellow officers. He was watching the people go by. He had nothing better to do while he waited than to count the number of rips and stains which his replacement dress uniform had acquired. It had been quite a night.

He rubbed his knuckles, wincing when he hit sore spots. After he retrieved Commander Data, he was going to demand - no make that order - Data to explain why he had started the brawl. Though Riker did have to acknowledge that tonight's fracas had been one of the more edifying brawls of his lifetime. It wasn't every brawl that had Starfleet admirals joining in the melee swinging on the side of the Klingons. The image of Alynna Nechayev piggyback riding Worf as they both entered the fray against the Nausicaans, the Edorites and other civilians, would be something that Will would remember for a long time to come. He suspected that Worf would remember the night even longer.

Will wasn't sure if it would be a story he'd tell in the future, though. Anyone who knew Nechayev would never believe his story, even if he did have the pictures and discs to prove it.

Thank God for the soon to be placed on the full speed ahead "A" promotion list of full Commanders belonging to William Thomas Riker, one Reginald Endicott Barclay III.

Riker could have also sworn that there'd been no Nausicaans on the official guest list. Not that Commander Quinteros would believe him. Ever since their Academy days together, when Quinteros had been a senior and Riker had been a lowly but rowdy freshman plebe, Riker always had suspected that Quinteros had no sense of humor. Obviously, having to place in custody several admirals did not help create one.

"Commander?"

Riker looked up and saw a tall humanoid wearing a long-suffering look, that wasn't there just from having a brig stuffed with Admiralty brawlers. Judging by his uniform, the aged looking man was some sort of civilian constable. He wasn't Starfleet. And he wasn't happy - not happy at all.

"All of the admirals have been released on their own recognizance. Huh. Imagine that." The man didn't sound like your usual cog of official bureaucracy.

"I wouldn't even try. There are some things better not envisioned." Riker bestowed on the man his best good ole boy smile. "Now, what about my people?"

"Charges have been dropped. On all of them, except for that whitey-faced guy. Commander Quinteros was saying something about adding him to his nuts and bolts collection."

"Nuts and bolts?"

"Let me put it this way, Commander Riker. If he ever invites you over for coffee, not that it's likely to happen now - don't ask about his hobbies. You haven't live until you've heard the stirring history of the evolution of the machine-made bolt."

"Let me put it this way, Captain…?" Riker almost mimicked.

"It's Sergeant - Sergeant Morton. Chip Morton." The man extended his hand.

Riker shook it. "Well, Sergeant Morton, I'm Commander Riker. Will. I went to the Academy with Commander Quinteros. I was a lowly freshman to his senior-ship."

"A miracle, Will."

"What?"

"That any of you hotshots let him live to graduate."

"Sergeant, did he ever discuss with you his detailed research papers into inventing a better paper clip?"

"Can't say I've had the pleasure." Chip looked down the hallway. "I wondered how he missed cornering me with that one…"

Riker kept smiling. "Do you think that any Starfleet officer in his right mind would want to be around someone who had such vision?"

"Minute he graduated they drop-putted him into Administration, didn't they, Commander? Figures. Administration is where Starfleet dumps most of their mistakes." Chip Morton then pulled a small bag out of his pea-green uniform's vest pocket. "Salt stick, Commander?" He offered one to Riker.

"Uh, no thanks, Sergeant. About Data…"

"Commander Quinteros wants you to personally come and get him out - at 0600. He also said to be sure and see him. He wouldn't dream of missing you." The man sighed. "If you really want your Data out of the brig, you'd better do it, too. If you ask me, Quinteros has way too much time on his hands for a man who is supposed to be running this station."

Riker checked the clock on the wall. 0600 was less than two hours away. He sighed. No sleep tonight.

"See you in the morning, Commander," the friendly constable said before returning to his duties in his office by the brig.

For a moment Will considered searching for Deanna. She hadn't been overly pleased with his behavior tonight. Something about the blood feud he'd started with Worf was altering her opinion of him. Didn't Deanna know that Worf had to formally challenge him in order to honorably be able to court her? It really didn't matter who'd win or lose, just so long as Worf's family and fellow Klingons knew that Worf had not behaved dishonorably. That Worf had not stolen Deanna Troi away from a superior officer and friend.

Riker sighed again. The things that he'd do for his Imzadi.

His Imzadi…

Riker's next sigh sounded more like a groan. The more he thought about Deanna, the more he wasn't sure that he was doing the right thing where she was concerned. He couldn't give Deanna what she wanted or needed, yet he wasn't so sure that Worf could do it either.

He stood, stretched, thereby extending some of the rips to his already ruined dress uniform, and started the long walk back to his quarters.

He thought of all of the offers that he'd received since he'd arrived at the Starbase. He was somewhat surprised that his services were in demand. Evidently, what Jean-Luc had said about Starfleet's official viewpoint over the saving of Soran's weapon from the Romulans was true. If Admiral Pressman's cohorts were out to get him, they weren't being obvious.

Right now, though, Admiral Nechayev's offer of being a commandant at the Starfleet flight school sounded like a pretty good idea. It was short term, and would give him time to consider what should be his next career move.

After cleaning up, and finding a uniform that wasn't reeking of Romulan ale or Klingon blood, Riker met with Commander Quinteros.

It was not a pleasant meeting. Quinteros' opinion of Riker had not changed in the slightest since the Academy. Getting Data out of jail didn't change it, either.

Matters hadn't been helped by the fact that Commander Orfil Quinteros had personally viewed the Enterprise as his baby when he worked on her at UP. Quinteros had often said that assigning rowdy Riker as First Officer was one of the biggest mistakes that Starfleet Command had ever made. The Borg not withstanding, Will's crashing the 1701-D into Veridian III hadn't changed his opinion of Will Riker and his command abilities.

Ordinarily, Riker would have ignored and accepted Quinteros for what he was. But the fact that he had to eat humble pie for breakfast in order to get Data out of the brig, had not helped to improve Riker's mood.

Riker's attitude was not bettered when he met with Mr. Data. The android did not appear to be the slightest bit penitent.

When they were alone, Riker pulled Data into a small side room by his quarters. Riker stretched out comfortably on an armchair of Arcturian design.

"Why, Data?" Why did you throw the first punch?"

Data gave the commander's question some serious thought. "Because it was the logical thing to do at the time? Commander Riker, thank you for arranging for my release from the brig. It was a most intriguing experience. I have never shared a cell with Klingons before. The colloquial versions of the swear words in Klingonese that they used were most intriguing. I must research the root sources. Did you know that they are incorporating epithets from over eighty other races including Terran, into their language? The Klingons had added some curious variations…"

"Data!" Standing, Riker let his exasperation be known. "I don't give a damn about curses that your cellmates have taught you!"

"Why not, Commander? I plan to incorporate some of those curses in my future use of…"

"Shut up, Data!"

Data correctly concluded that Commander Riker was short tempered this morning.

Data shut up.

"Mr. Data, why did you throw that first punch? What possible reason could you have?"

"Why, Commander. It was my duty."

"Your duty?" Riker took a deep, deep breath and counted to ten. "Explain, Mr. Data."

"I did not believe that you should be the one who started the fight. Though, since you are my superior officer - should I have given you the opportunity of throwing the first punch? It is considered to be an honor of distinction by the Klingons."

Riker was torn between laughing hysterically or losing his legendary control.

"Mr. Data - if throwing the first punch is supposed to be such an honor, why didn't you ask Captain Picard to do it?" He spoke sarcastically.

Data took him seriously. "He was the Enterprise's captain. Only a captain's senior officers are supposed to have the right to so honor him."

"Why do I have this suspicion that Klingons are involved? Somehow Klingons have been causing a lot of problems, lately."

"Yes, Commander. Their ritual required that the freeing of the spirit ceremony end with a fight of honor - the more energetic , the greater the honor. Not to have a fight would have been an insult. And a discourtesy."

"I see." Riker should have known. "Why didn't Worf do the honors?"

"I did not think it prudent for a newly-promoted officer to officially start a fight."

"Why did you throw that punch, Mr. Data?"

"The Nausicaans and the Edorites were somewhat negative in their opinions of the Enterprise, Starfleet in general, and my choice of hors d'oeuvres. At the time, it seemed to be the correct course."

"So you started the fight alone?"

"Q helped." Riker shuddered at this bit of news. "Q is the one that first insulted the Nausicaan."

"Q?" Riker really didn't want to know. He was beginning to develop a headache, though some inner voice warned him that now was not the best of times to disturb Dr. Crusher. Or so he hoped…

"Mr. Data, why don't you write up your report. And don't leave out any major details, especially if they concern Q…" If Q was involved, maybe there was a way to salvage certain officer's pending promotions, and possibly even their careers.

"Commanders?"

Riker looked over to the open doorway and saw Worf - a Worf, that for a Klingon, seemed to be in an uncharacteristic good mood. Considering the fact that Riker had seen Worf less than three hours ago, Riker knew that Worf's well-being was not from a good night's sleep. He didn't want to think about the other possibility as to why Worf was almost cheerful.

"Commander Worf," Data greeted. "I thought that you were with Admiral Nechayev?"

Riker suddenly remembered how the Admiral had left the party. Worf had been carrying her. She had been caterwauling a bawdy song at the top of her lungs. He was now no longer quite so upset about Worf's nocturnal activities.

"Data, what Mr. Worf did with Admiral Nechayev is his own business." Riker couldn't help but grin as he said it.

"Counselor Troi assisted," Worf commented with a straight face. He knew Commander Riker too well. "Good party," Worf added, almost smiling. "Gowron and the Council were pleased and honored that at least some in Starfleet understand our ways."

"Q was there," Riker flatly stated.

"I know," Worf agreed. "I hit him."

Riker was suddenly alert. "Q let you?"

"It is a story of some length, Commander," Worf replied.

"Put it in your report to Captain Picard - but I see them first."

Data looked over at his friend, puzzled. "Commander, should not we immediately contact Captain Picard? Reading these reports will probably constitute his last official acts as captain of the Enterprise."

Both Riker and Worf shared a look of mutual agreement. Worf gruffly stated, "The Captain will not be disturbed unless it is for a matter of great importance."

Riker knew what the expression on Data's face meant. "That means a red alert, Data."

"Or worse," Worf added.

Riker had to add, "Captain Picard has his own affairs to occupy him at the present time. I'd rather that he not be concerned with your reports." To his credit, Riker made the statement with a straight face.

Data was about to ask a question, when Worf leaned over and whispered, "Dr. Crusher."

"What does Dr. Crusher have to do with my reports?" Data asked.

"And Captain Picard," Riker added.

"What does Dr. Crusher have to do with Captain Picard and my reports?" Data continued. Riker and Worf exchanged looks. Worf looked uncomfortable, but he would have spoken up if it was required. He was responsible for the matters concerning his cha'Dich.

"Beverly, Data," Riker enunciated. "And Jean-Luc," he patiently added.

Data looked over with interest at his commander. "And my reports?" He noticed a look that Data had seen before on Riker's face. He had designated such expressions as Riker long-suffering look, Number 23. Data processed this news, and correlated it with the prior information.

"Oh. The Captain. And the Doctor."

Riker nodded. "Yes, Data."

"Do you mean sex, Sir?"

Worf cracked a smile.

Riker's smile was broader as he added, "They both are on shore leave. And it's the best kind of shore leave they could have right now, Mr. Data. Let's let them be. When they are ready to surface, they'll tell us." Suddenly his demeanor changed, his voice became serious. "They both need a chance to heal, Mr. Data. Hell, we all need it -even you. Life will never be the same again, for any of us. At least Jean-Luc and Beverly have a chance. If it's brought them finally together, maybe some good has come out of the death of the Enterprise after all."

Riker stood and motioned at the replicator on a far slate grey wall. "Let's have some breakfast." He put his arm about Worf's shoulder. "And then, Worf, you can tell me all about the last verse to the song that Admiral Nechayev was singing… Something about a drunken Klingon, wasn't it?"

"It was about a horny Klingon, Sir."

Data piped up, "But, Commander, I still do not understand what the Captain's sexual activities with the Doctor have to do with my reports."

Worf grrrred through his teeth.

Data shut up.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

On another floor, far from the wake's aftermath, Beverly quietly ordered a coffee and a croissant for herself. Jean-Luc had finally succumbed to Morpheus a while ago, and she didn't wish to disturb him.

Beverly knew she'd had little sleep lately. She also had a very long albeit incredible night, and she was tired. But she was also too keyed up to sleep. She finished her small snack. Pilfering a shirt from Jean-Luc's closet, she went into the bathroom and ordered the computer to heat up the bath water. "Add lavender and Pacifica water oil number four."

"One of my favorites," a subdued voice stated from the doorway.

She whirled around. "Jean-Luc - I thought you were sleeping."

"Neither of us seems to be able to get much sleep tonight." He corrected himself. "Today, that is."

"Join me?" She placed the borrowed shirt on the bench, and dropped her robe, then stepped onto the first water covered ledge.

He appreciatively eyed the lady. "Only if you'll permit me to scrub your back."

She softly laughed. "We never did get around to actually bathing before."

"Well, if it is of interest to you, I can assure you that bathing is all I'll be doing now. I'm too exhausted to attempt anything else at the moment."

"You're complaining?"

"I wouldn't dream of being so ungallant or foolish." He dropped his robe and stepped in the pool beside her. "Come, Beverly. Let's just relax." He looked around and then at her, wryly smiling. "Shall we talk? Even if our present circumstances are unusual, I hope that in the future they will not be considered to be that rare."

Beverly sat down on a shelf and then took his hand, pulling him down besides her. "Enjoy this pool, for now. On Caldos, I don't think that there are any bathrooms quite like this one. There aren't any Holodecks either, and the only bathing facility in my grandmother's cottage is a cast iron bathtub built for two."

"What?"

"At least, that's how Nana described the tub in her diaries."

"I've never thought about the sharing of a tub with a ghost before."

"Well, Ronin could be corporeal when he had the energy to be."

Jean-Luc was hesitant. "Beverly, do you blame me?"

"Whatever for? For bringing to an end my future that included endless ecstasy beyond mere mortal imagination.?"

He suspected that she was teasing him. He decided to reply in kind, though he was somewhat rusty at it. Romantic banter was not a foreplay skill he had practiced much lately. Pulling her into a close embrace, he promised, "Well, then, I'll just personally have to see about replacing him for the endless ecstasy remainder of your life."

Then a worried look crossed his face - was he being too presumptuous? Assuming more beyond just the moment?

Beverly correctly interpreted his thoughts, and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"Is that a promise, Jean-Luc?"

"Do you want it to be?" He was concerned.

"I wouldn't have asked you to come to Caldos if I only wanted us to be just another fabulous forty hour fling."

"Oh, I see." He sounded most serious. "You want a forty day fabulous fling, or thereabouts."

Her first reaction was to suggest a forty year fling, but that would have been suggesting too much, too soon.

"Or maybe beyond forty months… Though I think we should discuss tomorrow - tomorrow, Jean-Luc. Right now, I believe that I owe you a massage."

He released her and rolled over onto his chest, resting flat on the ledge.

She laughed. "I take it that this is a hint? Or an order?"

"Beverly, if you would care to, please do. I promise that I'll reciprocate."

She leaned over and placed a light kiss on his left shoulder before squirting oil on his back. "I know you will, Jean-Luc. You are a most fair man, a most noble man." She thought for a moment before she added, "Like Jack."

He raised his head, startled that she would mention Jack to him. Yet, saddened that she had. "No, Beverly. Not like Jack. He loved you."

She stopped massaging his shoulders, wiping her fingers on a towel. "You don't?" she tersely asked, her voice suddenly trembling with emotions. "You said you did, once."

"Do you love me?" he countered.

His gaze captured hers, as he dared her to cross the unspoken line that had been a boundary between them for decades.

She gave in, bending her head down, her hair brushing against his face. She kissed his cheek. "You're right, Jean-Luc. Let's save certain discussions for later, much later."

She privately vowed not to mention Jack again, until Jean-Luc spoke of him.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Two days later, in newly replicated uniforms, they both left his quarters, trying to act as normal as possible. Considering the schedule of the day's events which included a private dinner with the senior officers of the Enterprise, 'normal' was going to be a state that would be difficult to achieve.

When they reached the deck where his transitional office was located, Picard kissed Beverly lightly on the cheek, after ascertaining that there was no one spying on them. She left him with promises of meeting him for lunch.

Then he tackled all the communiqués and padds that had piled up since the hearings, and then the wake. He'd forgotten how much sheer bureaucratic work the crashing of a starship entailed. One hour later he ordered Commander Riker to come to his officer.

When Riker entered, Picard greeted him and then pointed at the only other chair in the office besides the grape-purple one that was behind the apple green painted desk. Riker took in the stack of chips and padds that were on the desk.

"Reports on the wake?" Riker nodded toward the high stacks.

"Only a few of the preliminary reports, from Commander Quinteros. I haven't read the admirals' versions yet. Some of them contain rather interesting details." Picard picked up a hand full of chips. "This is Quinteros' report for the events during the second hour of the wake. I was still attending at the time." He pointed at a larger bunch of information chips. "And this bunch contains Quinteros' recommendations for you and my senior staff. Somewhat surprisingly, they don't include any mention of a promotion for you or anyone else."

Riker couldn't discern Picard's mood. To say that the man was cloaked in the remoteness of his rank, was an understatement.

"What are you going to do, Sir?"

For a moment, Picard was silent.

Riker wasn't 'sure but he thought that he saw a faint glimmer of a smile in Picard's eyes.

"If I were still captain of a starship, I might have to pay attention to some of these reports. However, I no longer am a starship captain. And I do recall that I have a perfectly capable first officer. Therefore, I see no reason why I cannot delegate all of this…" He nodded in the direction of the multiple stacks, "…to, dare I say it, to the person I hold completely responsible for the brawl?" Whatever humor that might have been creeping into his voice vanished. "Discipline as you see fit - or as your conscience dictates, Commander."

This time, Riker was almost positive that Picard was hiding a smile. "As you wish, Captain. Lieutenant Barclay…"

Picard interrupted. "Make that Lieutenant Commander Barclay, Commander."

Riker was now sure about the smile. "Yes, Sir. Anyway, Lieutenant Commander Barclay recorded the entire wake. I don't think that I'll have that much difficulty in clearing out these reports." He picked up a few chips off of the desk. "Would you care to see Barclay's vids?" Riker suddenly grinned for he knew what he was going to say next. And he was the only officer who could get away with saying it to Captain Picard. "You really should have stayed around, Sir, when the party really started swinging."

"I think that one of my life's little regrets will be not having stayed through the wake until its end." Picard stood and pulled down his tunic. "But, given the circumstances, I made the better choice."

"Off the record, Jean-Luc?"

"I believe we've been speaking off the record for a while, Will."

"Jean-Luc, I consider myself to be a friend to both you and Beverly. However…"

"Warning noted, and duly understood, Will."

"Then, Beverly is in good hands."

"I sincerely hope that she thinks so."

Picard was smiling when he went to the replicator and ordered up a double strong coffee with cream for Will, and then tea, Earl Grey, hot, for himself. "Will, I have a serious matter to discuss with you. In fact, it's the reason why I came back on duty this morning."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Commander Data tendered his resignation to Starfleet. Admiral Nechayev just gave it to me this morning. She wants us to find out why he wants to leave, and to try and dissuade him, if possible."

"Data?" Riker shook his head in disbelief. "I don't get it. I was just with him yesterday, and he didn't mention any kind of problem."

"What was Mr. Data's mood?"

"Data? He was just being Data, yesterday." Then it dawned on Riker what Picard meant. "He wasn't displaying any emotions."

Picard put down his cup of tea and walked over besides Will, leaning against the edge of the desk. "Perhaps that is it. I've already had one conversation with Data about his emotions. He has a more difficult path to follow than any of us, at the moment."

"Do you want me to speak to him, Captain?"

"No. Not yet. I'll send for him and try to see what I can do."

Riker stood, automatically tugging down his tunic. "Then I'll see you at the dinner tonight, Jean-Luc." As if having a second thought, he turned away from the dull grey door, and studied his captain. "Do you want this dinner tonight, Captain? I know I should have asked you first…"

"Yes, you should have," Picard agreed, "just like you should have asked me about throwing the wake, too."

"I can cancel the dinner."

"No need, Number One. I want to attend tonight. As Counselor Troi would counsel, we all need to come to a sense of closure about the Enterprise and the ending of our lives together." He finished off his tea. "I wish you'd been my Number One of the Stargazer. She deserved a good wake, too." Picard paused to carefully choose his words. "I am appreciative of all your efforts, for the wake, and for everything else that you have ever done, oftentimes above and beyond the call of duty. I couldn't have been a good captain without you. Thank you, Number One."

Picard extended his hand to Riker. And Riker silently shook it. What they felt for each other, their respect and friendship, was deeper than mere words. Riker feared that Picard knew it was the end of their era, too…

An hour later, Data came to Picard. He was wearing civilian clothing; a jumpsuit of light blue with darker blue piping.

After polite greetings, Picard motioned for Data to sit down.

"Why, Mr. Data?"

"I presume you are referring to my resignation, Captain?"

"Yes, Mr. Data."

"I have to learn how to cope with my emotions, Captain. It is actually rather funny, Sir. Before, when I was wishing to have human emotions, I never considered what it would mean if I actually got them, and what I would have to do and master in order to control them.

"And now you must spend the time to learn how to be human."

"Precisely, Captain. I am not fit to be an officer in Starfleet until I do learn how to deal with my emotions. What I did to Geordi. The fear I felt when Soran was attacking…"

Captain Picard interrupted his second officer. "Mr. Data, it can be argued that there are no human adults who have learned how to master all of their emotions all of the time. Surely you understand that the best you can do is to try. That is all that any of us can do. And Geordi understands this too."

"Captain, I see no other choice for me."

"Then, Mr. Data, why don't you just take a formal leave of absence, like I will be doing? You have years of leave accumulated. Don't make your leaving of Starfleet so final. Keep the pathways open for your return, Commander. I've always found your work to be exceptional."

"Even when I joined with my brother Lore and the Borg, Captain?"

Picard realized that Data was making somewhat of a jest. He acknowledged it. "Even then, Mr. Data. In the end, you did the right thing."

"I had to give up my emotions in order to do so, Captain. That is precisely my point."

"Data - don't."

"What, Sir?" Data couldn't interpret Picard's attitude.

"Don't let the end of my career as the Captain of the Enterprise include listing the loss of you as an officer. That's too great a price for me to pay."

"Sir, I never considered…"

"Then, consider this, Commander. I order you not to resign. Take a leave of absence."

Data tried to smile. "Captain, I do not believe that it is within your rights as my commanding officer to so order me. However, as your friend, I will follow your advice. Please withdraw my resignation from Starfleet. I shall apply for extended leave."

"Leave granted. Mr. Data?"

"Yes, Captain."

"I shall always consider you to be one of the finest officers with whom I have ever served - as well as my friend."

"Jean-Luc…" Data looked hesitantly at his captain, unsure if he had permission to cross over this boundary. Picard nodded.

"Mr. Data, if you had a first name, I would hope that you'd grant me permission to use it, too."

"Jean-Luc, as my friend, I should tell you that lately, I have been feeling the need to have a first name of my own. Do you have any suggestions?"

"You're officially listed as Data Noonien Soong on certain files, Mr. Data. But why don't we meet tomorrow, and you can show me a list of possible names. We'll consider your choices then.

"I am sorry, Jean-Luc, but tomorrow morning I am going to be on my way back to Earth. However, I had not considered the possibility of Data being my first name instead of my last name. I shall reflect upon this."

"Why are you going to Earth, Data?"

"I applied for and have been granted permission to attend Harvard and the University of Michigan doctoral programs. Eventually I will pick which academic program will best suit my needs."

"In mathematics or cybernetics?"

"No, Sir. Musicology, performance and composition. I feel that I can best learn to explore my emotions through the expressiveness of my music."

"Well, many races have used music as a metaphor for emotions.

"I plan on concentrating on the more emotional period of Earth's music, specifically Italian versus German opera."

Picard mentally groaned. "Instead of Wagner or Humperdinck, might I suggest Bellini or Donizetti instead?"

"Jean-Luc, though I appreciate your suggestions, I believe that I must find my own way."

"Quite correct, Mr. Data. And I hope that you do. Just remember that you have friends, Data, with whom you can talk whenever you feel the need. Contact me."

"Aye, Sir."

"Dismissed, Commander."

With a curt nod of acceptance, Data left the office. Picard then called Admiral Nechayev to inform her of his success.

"Excellent, Captain." Seated behind a burled wood desk of somewhat massive proportions, she glanced down at her padd. "Captain Jean-Luc Picard, as of 1201 hours tomorrow, Federation Standard Time, you will be relieved of the duties of your rank and will be considered to be officially on a leave of absence for an indeterminate length of time." She looked back up at her view screen, absentmindedly pushing aside loose hairs that had strayed from her tight Vulcan hair twist. "When you feel that it is time for you to return to active duty, Captain, please contact me. I still consider you to be one of my best officers."

"Understood, Admiral. Thank you for your consideration."

"I will take under advisement your recommendations for your officers and crew. Commander Riker just informed me that he will be accepting the posting at SB G-6."

"Good. I was hoping that Commander Riker would consider it."

"You do realize that once Riker is finished there, he will probably be at the top of the list for the chair of the next available galaxy class starship?"

"Is this your way of trying to tell me that I will not be on that list?"

"Jean-Luc, realistically speaking, I don't dare suggest that you get another ship at the moment. Let your friends, and those of us who are not quite your enemy, deal with the politics of ships and promotions for a while."

"Thank you, Admiral Nechayev. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf."

"Jean-Luc."

"Yes, Admiral?"

"When we are conversing in an unofficial manner, you may call me Alynna."

He was somewhat surprised by her offer. There were some who had whispered that Admiral Nechayev was so stiff and proper that she even wore starched underpants. He couldn't recall any other Starfleet officer who referred to the lady by her first name. Though he was appreciative of her offer, he was also somewhat suspicious. There was a part of him that would never quite trust her, not after what had happened at Celtris III. Realizing that his chain of thought had been drifting, he quickly stated, "Thank you, Alynna. I am honored."

Alynna thought of something. "Jean-Luc."

"Yes, Alynna?"

"Tell Mr. Worf that I personally arranged his new posting. One day he may thank me."

"Where are you sending him, Admiral?" Jean-Luc was worried. Though he'd never heard of any specific scuttlebutt concerning Admiral Nechayev and vindictive actions, she did associate with admirals who considered such behavior to be a privilege of rank.

"Don't worry, Jean-Luc, Mr. Worf is still a Lieutenant Commander - but only because I can be such a forgiving person at times."

"Understood, Admiral." He just wondered what she was getting at.

"Tell Worf that I know he is a warrior. Now, he must learn how to be a diplomat." She smiled. And it wasn't a very nice smile. "I shall think of him and his new posting, often. And if I hear the vaguest whisper that he is not fulfilling, cheerfully - I do insist - his duties, he will experience the full range of the power of my wrath as an Admiral. Please make that extremely clear to him, Jean-Luc. Tell him that if he does not perform his duties well, I will personally consider him to be a coward."

"Yes, Admiral." There was naught he could say in response to her words. He waited. Then he added, "Alynna?" Still she said nothing. Finally, he surrendered having to openly admit that he was curious. "Where is Mr. Worf posted?"

"Betazed. The Embassy." Before Jean-Luc could even think of forming an appropriate response, she added, "Good bye, Jean-Luc. I doubt if I will see you again before you leave. Take care."

With that she clicked off her view screen, and leaned back against her comfortable Delenian design chair that she took with her wherever she went. Though she prided herself on not being a too-officious commanding officer, there were certain amenities of rank she considered to be her rightful privilege. And those amenities went with her whenever she could arrange it.

She also prided herself on being an officer who remembers and paid her debts. With that thought, she placed a call to Betazed. A few minutes later she was speaking to the lady's chief supernumerary. "I'm sorry I missed the lady, Mr. Homm. Please tell your mistress that I'm granting her two favors for the cost of one. And that now she owes me."

When the transmission was ended, Alynna sighed, deciding to call it the end of her duty shift. She'd learned one very valuable lesson a few years ago. Never try to bluff Lwaxana Troi in a game of chance.

In another office, thinking that the day had gone well, all things considered, Picard tidied up his borrowed desk, and then went to ready himself for the night's mess. Entering his quarters, he was agreeably surprised.

"Beverly?"

"Jean-Luc." She greeted him with a kiss, determined to begin as she meant to continue. When the kiss began to deepen, she broke away, and then returned to brushing her hair.

He looked about his quarters and noticed several boxes and some clothing in the rooms.

"I've moved in," she gaily announced, almost challenging him to contravene her actions. "Any objections?"

"No. Of course not, Beverly. I am just a little surprised, that's all."

"Not too surprised, I hope, Jean-Luc."

She put down her brush and returned to kissing him with great enthusiasm. He replied in kind. When this kiss ended, he finally noticed what she was wearing; a lavender and lace piece of silk that wispily covered only a few curves of her body.

"That's not regulation," He observed, considering the probability that she was going to continue to greet him in such a manner in the future. He rather liked the idea.

"Will suggested that the dinner be informal."

"In other words, any excuse to see the ladies wearing something other than their uniforms." He sighed. "When Will becomes captain of a ship, I fear that his female crew will have to increase the size of their wardrobes."

"Well, they should do their shopping here. Wait till you see the dress that I bought this afternoon when I went shopping with Deanna. This station has a fantastic market place." She looked at his duty uniform. "Are you going to wear that?"

"No. I'm going to wear my dress uniform." He went to the bedroom closet and pulled that uniform out, automatically checking to see if it showed any sign that it had been previously worn.

Beverly considered her dress and then looked at the red of his uniform tunic. "Why don't you wear something else? I've always been partial to you wearing olive silk. Your eyes appear to be almost hazel when you wear that color."

He shook his head, denying her request. "Beverly, tonight will be the last time I will be able to officially wear a Starfleet uniform as captain of the Enterprise. Starting tomorrow, Admiral Nechayev has granted my leave of absence. I won't be able to wear my uniform after that." He said those words as if they were a commonplace statement that he made every day, as if they indicated nothing out of the ordinary with his life.

And with every syllable that he uttered, Beverly felt the ache in her heart for him exponentially grow. He didn't have to speak about what this was costing him. She knew.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and simply looked at her, trying not to reveal how great the loss was that he felt. That which and been his whole world since he'd been a young boy, was now removed from his life, officially, at least for a while. And though he could mouth the words and say the things that everyone expected him to say, none of this could disguise the extent of his pain at the loss of almost every single thing of import to his life - Robert, Rene, the Enterprise, and now even Starfleet.

Wanting only to comfort him, Beverly sat down next to him.

For a moment he permitted himself the luxury of looking at her. She was radiant tonight. The lacy shift like garment that she was wearing only enhanced her attractiveness to him. Reaching over to her, he lightly grazed his hand against the rose point lace of her bodice. His fingers lingered for a minute.

"Beverly, you must understand it has been a very long time since I've shared living quarters with anyone, much less my lover. If I seemed a bit hesitant when I came in, it was only because I hadn't expected you to come here quite so soon."

"Thereby announcing the change in our relationship to everyone."

"I imagine that even the admiralty have received memos about our relationship by now." He smiled, somewhat embarrassed by everything. "I've never been comfortable with the notoriety that seems to come with the position of starship captain. Even now, when I no longer have such a status, my actions are still observed."

"Jean-Luc, you could be a simple terra-farmer or a vintner, and still command the attention and respect of anyone who meets you."

"I think you exaggerate, Beverly."

"No, I'm not." She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips, her right hand resting against the nape of his neck, slowly massaging it. Unconsciously she caressed him, just enjoying a moment that had, until now, been the stuff of which only her daydreams were made. She decided to give him another kiss, an openmouthed one that started kindling flames that had only been dampened. She moved away from him, though her hands still rested on his shoulders, abstractedly rubbing the tensing muscles. "Jean-Luc, we'll be late."

He embraced her, pulling her toward the bed, lowering her backwards onto the cocoa brown and orange coverlet, before he kissed her again. "Yes, I rather believe that we will be late."

Meanwhile, on another deck, in a private dining room at one of the better Tarsasian establishments in the Starbase, Data stood waiting by the entrance, wearing his impeccably neat dress uniform, counting the seconds. At 1935 hours, Riker showed up, wearing his dress uniform and his famous trademark grin, Number Two.

"Data, what are you doing here?"

"I was wondering where you were, Commander."

Riker looked around the dining room, noting that all was in readiness for the dinner. Against the curved space windows of an outside wall overlooking the planet rise of Tarsas III - a planet that was almost identical to Earth - as well as other portions to the restaurant, were several tables laden with chilling wines, ales, canapés and elaborate desserts, most of which were chocolate based.

"I told everyone to meet at 2000 hours."

"Incorrect, Sir. I distinctly heard you tell Captain Picard to meet at 1900 hours."

Riker heartily laughed, understanding how Data could have made a mistake. "Well, I only told Jean-Luc and Beverly that time. I didn't want them to be late for our last supper together."

Sir, I do not understand. Captain Picard is one of the most punctual humans that I have ever observed. Why would you give him and Dr. Crusher an incorrect time?"

"I wanted to keep the Captain punctual, Mr. Data." Riker was grinning as he said it, though he could see that the android was clearly puzzled. "Think about it, Mr. Data. Access the honeymoon period."

Data did just that. "I still do not understand, Commander."

Will sighed in exasperation, but before he could further his explanation, Deanna Troi made her entrance.

Will Riker had always thought of Deanna as beautiful. He had seen her through many stages of her beauty from a young innocent coed to a woman in full control of her destiny. But tonight, he doubted if she had ever been more beautiful than she was at this moment.

She wore a gown of shimmering molten ruby which was a startling contrast against her fair ivory skin. Her hair was long and flowing against her off the shoulder neckline, which was quite demure by her mother's standards. Her only adornment was a bandeau of darkly glinting stones in the crown of her hair. And when she smiled at him, Will felt his heart stop pounding in the presence of his Imzadi. She was too lovely for mere words.

The only thing that could surprise him about Deanna this night, was that she was alone. Will looked about for Commander Worf.

Just as he was thinking it, Worf came into the room, and from the way he was trying not to glare in Deanna's direction, Riker wondered if Worf had already tried to treat Deanna as if she were a Klingon female. If he had Riker just might need to be around in order to comfort his friend, or better yet, his Imzadi.

The next person to enter the dining room was Sergeant Morton. He looked decidedly uncomfortable about being there.

Riker put on his best neighborly smile and greeted him.

"Commander," Chip cordially stated, looking about the private dining room. "The Tarsas Sar has never looked better."

"What?"

"This restaurant, Commander. It is a good place to eat."

"Good to know, Sergeant." Riker glanced about, hiding his displeasure at the man's presence. "Is there a problem?"

"Well, let me put it this way, Commander. There's my boss, Commander Quinteros. There's you. There's this here Klingon. There's liquid refreshment." He pointedly stared over at the refreshment table, and then raised his hand as if to stop Riker from commenting. "And no, I am not going to officially bother to notice exactly what liquids are over there." He jerked his thumb toward Data. "And then there is this whitey-faced fellow that Commander Quinteros wants to add to his, um, staff. Until you leave this station, Quinteros gave me specific orders about keeping an eye on you. Sorry, Commander. I've been ordered to call out the marines at any sign of trouble."

"The space marines will not be necessary, Sergeant Morton. Tonight's dinner is just a small private party between old friend who won't be seeing each other for some time to come. I promise that there will not be any brawling." Riker couldn't help it. He looked at Worf as he spoke these words. Worf grunted.

"I know that, Commander. You know that. But my boss does not know that."

Data joined their conversation. "Commander Riker, if I may?"

"Yes, Commander Data?" Riker was trying not to act like a man upset with the current problem, but having security guards watching over the final dinner of the Enterprise's senior staff was not his idea of an appropriate farewell.

Data nodded in the direction of another part of the restaurant that could be seen through the curving window. "Sergeant, you and your security officers could have dinner over there. You can watch our dinner yet not intrude."

Sergeant Morton looked expectantly at the android. "And?"

Data thought for a moment. "I would be most pleased to pay for your dinner."

"And?" Morton hinted.

"And for your men, Sergeant."

"And?" This time Morton's hint was more than obvious.

Data looked over at Riker who shrugged. He glanced at Deanna who mimed picking up a drink. Data nodded, understanding Deanna's suggestion. "And, if after the dinner, when you and your people are off duty, I would be most happy to pay for any drinks that you might care to imbibe."

Morton slapped Data on the back. "You're not a bad sort - for an android." He walked over to the door. "You gave me your word of honor, Commander Riker." Riker nodded. "Pleasure doing business with you gentlemen - and my lady." He pointed looked at Worf. "And Klingon, mind your manners!"

Worf just growled.

After the man had departed, Riker breathed a loud sigh of relief, relaxing. He turned to look at Data. "You're learning, Data."

"Learning what, Sir?"

"The ways of the universe, Data. The ways of this universe."

Boisterous laughter could be heard as the door swished open. Geordi sauntered in, apparently in good humor over something one of the security guards had said to him. "Commanders!" he loudly greeted. He looked about the room. "Great spread." He zeroed in on the refreshment table. "Could I get anyone a drink?"

Deanna took his arm, and they walked over together. "Geordi, you're in fine spirits this evening," she gaily commented, matching his mood. She had other reasons besides Geordi's company to be cheerful. Both Riker and Worf were unsettled by her. And all she could think of was good! After their little contretemps at the wake, and the way they had embarrassed her by fighting, she was not in a charitable mood toward either commander at the moment.

"I just got great news, Deanna," Geordi blurted out, as he poured her a glass of champagne. He idly noted that the label read Château Picard, and wondered if the wine came from the captain's family vineyard.

"I can tell." She took the flute of champagne from his hands and watched as he poured himself some ale. She had a suspicion that it was Romulan, but she wasn't going to openly mention the possibility of an illegal potable at this dinner.

"A couple of hours ago, I got a sub-space message from Leah Brahms!"

The way he said her name told Deanna everything about Geordi's feeling for the scientist. She wanted to caution him about not being too hasty with his heart, but now was not the time to be a counselor.

"I thought that you wanted to stay on board a starship, Geordi."

"Yeah, I do. But I've already worked on Excelsior class starships. And with Le…, that is Dr. Brahms, I can work with her on creating new starship propulsion systems. She actually offered me a job as her assistant."

"So of course you said yes."

"You bet I did, and I even talked her into taking Reg along with me as well. I didn't see any reason why I should split up a team that worked so well on board the Enterprise."

"I really am glad for you, Geordi."

Geordi took a sip of his ale before he thought to ask, "And what are you going to be doing, Deanna?"

Before she could answer, Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher made their entrance. And a grand entrance it was indeed, for they were holding hands as they walked into the room. Riker whistled under his breath when he saw them. Picard was wearing his dress uniform, and he had never looked more like the epitome of an officer and a gentleman than he did this night.

Beverly, on the other hand, was not dressed at all like an officer this evening. She was draped in amethyst silk that flowed in gentle curves about her shoulders down to her ankles. It was simple, elegant, understated and yet very sexy. But what made her truly beautiful tonight, was the expression in her eyes. She was happy.

Though his expression was haunted by darker remembrances, a similar emotion could be seen reflected in Jean-Luc's eyes.

Through the dinner that followed, everyone spoke fondly of their life as shipmates. The food was delicious, though few noticed it. Their minds were too full of what this dinner meant - the end of a most extraordinary period in a Starfleet starship's history.

When they'd gotten to what Riker referred to as the brandy and bull stage of the meal, the group was interrupted.

"Sorry, I'm late," Guinan remarked as she glided into the room, cutting a bright path of color in orange and apple red silk bedecked with sequins, the wings of her hat bobbing wildly. In her hands she held out two large bottles of something green. She handed them to Data, who automatically stood when she'd entered the dining room.

"Data, you'll be my assistant. Good evening, everyone. I've got something special planned for our last dinner together."

"Guinan," Picard wryly greeted, knowing that the lady's presence indicated a change in the proceedings.

She surveyed the refreshment table's contents. "Good, you've got everything that I need already here."

Data, with a somewhat bemused smile on his face, walked over to the table that had the other drinks. "Guinan, I think that you are in error. I have no record of you ever attending a senior officer dinner before."

"I've been to too many of them, Mr. Data. But, you're right. It's about time that I did attend one of this Enterprise's dinners." She turned her head and pointedly stared at Jean-Luc. "Don't you think so, Captain?"

"You were always welcome, Guinan. Though you had given me the impression that you preferred not to attend such functions," Picard politely replied, somewhat amused by Guinan's appearance and attitude. He knew his old friend too well. She was here for a reason.

"That was then. This is now." She turned her glaring brown gaze on Riker. "Now that you have crashed my ship and kicked me out of a job - you owe me, Commander."

Riker didn't know whether he should lose his temper or to laugh. He chose laughter. What he didn't realize was that one day, Guinan would always collect her debts.

"We are all out of a job, Guinan," he retorted. "We are all starting over."

Guinan started mixing things, pointing and nodded at Mr. Data when he did something right. When she reached the stage where she started pouring multi-colored liquids into tall cylindrical glasses, she continued speaking. "I am going to go visit my Father. My Uncle Terkim is planning a surprise millennium part for him. And now, thank to you, Commander Riker, I have to go. I don't have a good excuse not to join in the festivities."

Riker looked about the table, wondering if everyone else had heard correctly about what Guinan had just said about her father's age. "Your father is a thousand years old?" He'd always believed that Guinan could bull shit with the best of them, and this statement was a perfect example.

"Actually, he's much older than a thousand years. He's lied about his age for so many years, I don't even think that he knows how old he really is." She turned to Data. "Gotta match?"

Data looked about the table that had been used as a bar. He reached over and picked up a crystal candle, carefully handing it over to Guinan. "Will this do?"

"I suppose so," Guinan grumbled. She reached into a pocket somewhere inside of the voluminous folds to her robe, and pulled out a large packet. She opened it up and removed something that suspiciously looked like a little pink paper parasol. She plopped it onto the glass and lit the tip. As it flamed, she took it over to Jean-Luc. "You're the captain - you're the number one guinea pig," she informed Picard.

Worf quickly stood and moved as if to take the glass away from Guinan.

"Sit down, Worf!" Guinan barked.

Picard waved Worf back, as he stood accepting the flaming drink from Guinan. Warily, he watched it as the flamed consumed the parasol until it reached the alcohol in the drink. There was a whoosh, and suddenly the flame turned into flaring droplets forming a rainbow arch above the rim of the glass. It sparkled.

"Drink," Guinan ordered as she played one of her favorite Picard games.

He knew her intent as he studied the drink, noting that beneath the rainbow's arch, he could see dark specks like islands floating on top of the now churning liquid. "What is this?"

Guinan's all-knowing smile was her patented one, guaranteed to annoy and irritate all those it was directed against. "It's my own concoction. I call it Veridian III."

Picard directed a look that bespoke of knowing the lady all to well. He was not surprised in the slightest by her audacity. He expected nothing less from the lady who'd been his personal rascal for centuries. He drank the drink until it was gone. Putting down the glass he uttered, "It's not poison."

"Oops. My mistake." Guinan grabbed the glass. She poured him another one, but refrained from lighting the parasol, waiting until everyone else around the dining table had a glass in their hands too. She handed Jean-Luc the candle, then stood between Picard and Riker at the table.

Picard nodded slightly in her direction. "Thank you, Madam Guinan." He lit his drink then passed the candle over to Riker. Each officer in turn, lit their glass. Amazingly, all the drinks burned evenly together. Picard raised his glass.

"To the Enterprise, and the finest crew with whom I have ever served!" He looked at each and every one of them, as if he were memorizing the moment forever. Then, almost in unison, every drink poofed and formed its rainbow. They all drank a sip.

Riker raised his arm. "To Captain Jean-Luc Picard!" Everyone sipped again.

Data raised his glass. "Thank you, all of you. I will forever treasure our friendship and my time on board the Enterprise.."

"What's in this drink?" Geordi asked, finishing quickly.

"You really don't want to know," Guinan replied.

"No, seriously," Geordi answered.

"Seriously," Guinan warned, through smiling teeth. "Tell you what Geordi, I'll leave the recipe to you in my will. When I die, you can get it then."

Geordi was about to protest when Data added, "Geordi, I believe that a barkeep's secret recipe for a drink is similar in nature to that of a magician's trick. Neither should be revealed in order to maintain the mystery."

Riker added, "Guinan, I don't care what's in this drink. All I know is that we all would like another round of this out-of-this world cocktail."

"Then it's a good thing that I made many pitchers. Pour, Data," she ordered. She looked about the table. "And sit down, all of you. You'll start spilling the stuff if you continue to stand. I won't be responsible for you if you get any of the drink on your clothes."

Picard sat down, accepting another drink from Data, and then giving it to Beverly, who was seated on his left. He leaned over and whispered something to the lady. Everyone at the table noticed.

Riker stood, raising his glass again. "To the Enterprise and Captain Picard!" Everyone joined in with this toast.

Picard accepted the toast, and then stood, saying nothing for a long minute. He studied them all. When they were all looking at him, he didn't hide the pain he still felt as he softly stated, "To all those who have gone before us. To Tasha Yar!" He then sat down.

Beverly stood. "Jack Crusher. Walker Keel."

"Admiral Hanson, Paul Rice, Robert DeSoto." Riker added.

"Sylva LaForge," Geordi whispered.

"Sito Jaxa. Marla Aster. K'Ehlyr…" Worf spoke the names with sorrowful pride .

They all took turns around the table, speaking the names of all those who had, in some way or another, touched their lives.

Guinan and Data kept the flaming drinks coming. Soon, the conversation turned toward the future.

Picard leaned back in his chair, as he explained the plans that he'd made with Beverly. He was enthusiastic about becoming an amateur archaeologist again. He didn't make mention of what Starfleet was doing to him. But they all suspected.

Geordi informed Picard of his decision. Picard was pleased. "That is good news, Geordi. You'll be in a position to personally supervise the 1701-E when she is built."

Riker looked over at his captain. "Then there will be another Enterprise, Sir?"

"Admiral Gromek has assured me that there will be another starship named Enterprise. She even ventured so far as to reveal that one of the new class of galaxy starships, that they are designing at the Daystrom Institute at Utopia Planetia will bear that designation." Picard smiled at Geordi. "The future of the Enterprise is in your hands, Mr. LaForge."

"And this time, I can build her engineering department, the way I want it to be," Geordi agreed, pleased and excited with the idea of what was to come.

"Then, one day, you'll be the captain of the Enterprise again, eh, Jean-Luc?" Riker sounded like he truly wanted such an even to happen. He might desire the captain's chair for himself, but he did not want to get the big chair over Jean-Luc Picard's living body.

Picard drank a little more from his glass. "I think you'll have a better shot at the captain's chair than I will, Will." Riker started to protest. Jean-Luc waved him into silence. "It doesn't matter, Number One. Whatever ship is named Enterprise will get the very best there is. It doesn't matter whether or not it is you or I, Will. Just as long as there is another Enterprise to explore the heavens. After all, that is what we are really all about, is it not? To seek out new life. To boldly go…"

He didn't need to finish the quote. Every Starfleet office knew the unofficial motto of Starfleet, words that the first captain of the Starship Enterprise, James Tiberius Kirk, and immortalized more than a century ago.

Fearing that the party was turning into too maudlin a wake, Deanna brightly said, "Well, I am following your example, Captain."

Her words caught everyone's attention.

"And what is that, Deanna?" Picard asked.

"I've decided not to take a position back on Earth. Instead, I am taking a leave of absence. I am going back to Betazed to further my education."

Riker suddenly grinned. "Why, that's wonderful, Deanna! I'll come and visit you when you get lonely."

Puzzled, she looked at Will. "You said that you were going back to the Academy." She didn't like the look of his broadening poker gotcha! grin. "On Earth!"

Riker did what some at the table thought was physically impossible. His grin got even bigger, brighter. More teeth gleamed in the candlelight.

"I am going back to Starfleet Academy, Deanna. Except that I'm going to be the new Commandant at the graduate flight training school at Starbase G-6. Near Betazed. I'll be able to visit you whenever you need a break from your mother, Deanna."

Her expression did not change. She was too schooled at hiding her emotions to reveal her dismay at his change of plans. She thought that she was going to be far, far away from him. "That's wonderful, Will," she graciously replied, imitating her mother's smile.

Then a sound that had been only infrequently heard, echoed about the room. Worf was laughing. Out loud. As if he were finding the situation to be highly amusing.

"What?" Riker demanded. When Worf continued to laugh, Riker hid his confusion behind, "Aren't you taking the second officer's post on board the USS Endora?"

Picard controlled his chuckling as he explained, "Admiral Nechayev has changed Commander Worf's orders. He is now the new cultural liaison officer to Betazed."

Riker choked on the words cultural liaison officer, as he gasped, "That's my old post."

Deanna's ambassador-worthy smile did not waver. Only her eyes widened as she hid her feelings over the possibilities behind these postings. Maybe it was Guinan's alcoholic creation. Whatever. She had a headache. And she suspected that in the months to come, it would only become a more common occurrence.

"Congratulations, Commander," Data politely said, not recognizing the undercurrents to Worf's posting. "I am sure that Starfleet will benefit from having you as a cultural liaison officer. It is a position that one does not often hear of a Klingon accepting. You must be excited over the opportunity."

Worf didn't know how to reply to Data's words, except with the obvious. "Where are you going, Data?" He desperately wanted the focus of the conversation to move away from his plans. Even as he spoke, he continued to watch the reactions of both Deanna and Riker.

"I will be practicing my violin as I too, take a leave of absence, Commander Worf. I will be going back to Earth, as well as working with Commander Bruce Maddox. He has made some intriguing advances in his positronic studies, and I have decided to offer him my assistance."

Riker's mood shifted as he instantly became concerned over Data's words. "You're not planning on becoming a new and improved toaster, are you Data?"

It took Data a moment to sort through the commander's references before he understood the question. "I promise you, Commander, that I will never let Commander Maddox convert me into a toaster. Over the years through our correspondence, I have come to discover that Commander Maddox and I have much in common. He is, idiomatically speaking, not a bad sort. I think that I actually like him. I will further investigate these feelings when I reach Earth." Data said the words softly, as he tried to become accustomed to actually using words that were describing his feelings.

"I'm glad, Data," Jean-Luc stated, warmth creeping into his voice. "You know, of course, that if you ever have need of me, for any reason, you have only but to ask." Picard looked about his officers. "I have always considered all of you to be the best of Starfleet. And now, I can acknowledge you as my good friends as well. If you need me, I will be there."

"Understood, Jean-Luc," Riker agreed. "The same goes for all of us as well."

"I know."

Picard accepted these words as he unobtrusively slipped his hand under the table, and reached for Beverly's right hand. When he felt her warmth, he inwardly smiled. The tension in his heart dissipated at the reassurance of her touch.

"Well, I have a correction to make," Guinan tartly commented, before things got too weepy. "I'm not a Starfleet officer. I never have been an officer in any man's army - ever. I'm not about to become an officer in any man's navy. And I never will be an officer, no matter how many centuries I live, in any man's space corps." She looked at Jean-Luc daring him to differ. "The only thing that has ever mattered to me, though I must admit it took me a few centuries before I acquired the wisdom to know better, are people. Good friends. Good people." She lifted up her glass. "And all of you are my kind of good people. Only reason I ever put up with Picard as my captain was because of all of you. Otherwise I'd have been sunbathing on Walsh's world. As they say there: Here's Mudd in your eye…" She knew what that cryptic reference would do to Picard's mood as she raised her glass for yet another toast.

After drinking, briskly speaking, Picard said, "Will. Geordi." Picard nodded in the direction of the rest of the officers. "Did I ever tell you about the time when I was captain of the Stargazer, and was ordered to the Andromeda sector to retrieve a man named Harcourt Fenton Mudd? Now, there was a man who belonged in the scoundrel hall of fame."

"Like Okana," Data suggested.

Picard shook his head. "No. Okana was no where near Harcourt Fenton Mudd's league. Mudd was a master con, a man born to bedevil two different captains of the Enterprise."

"He dealt with androids, did he not, Captain?" Data inadvertently interrupted Picard. "Though a scan of the schematics of those androids indicate that they were not as sophisticated a design as anything that Dr. Soong created. However my father did use some of their technology as a basis for the creation of myself." He thought for a moment. "One could even say that Mudd's androids are my relatives."

"Distant relations, Data," Picard commented.

"Cousins. Barely on the family tree," Guinan added. "Whatever." She fixed her gaze on Jean-Luc. "Go ahead, Captain. I want to hear your version. Then, maybe I'll tell my own."

Picard continued to tell his tale. After Guinan added nothing to it, Riker retold his favorite Picard story - the one where there had almost been a rooster in every pot on board the ship.

As the stories progressed, the only person at the table who was still tense was Deanna. She really wasn't paying that much attention to the stories. Her mind was still reeling with all of the possibilities of what could happen with Will and Worf and her mother all being on Betazed at the same time. Nothing good would come of this.

Only when Beverly stood to go to the lady's room did Deanna focus her attention on the moods of the people at the table. Sensing something, she went and joined Beverly.

"What's wrong?" she asked, the moment they were alone in the lounge.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly stated, knowing that there was no point in trying to hide her confused and upset emotions from Deanna.

"What is the matter?"

"He's putting up such a courageous front over all that has happened. He hasn't said a word of disparagement over anyone or anything. He hasn't complained about the way that the Admiralty has treated him."

"They didn't court-martial him. Isn't that good news?"

"It's why they didn't court-martial him that is the problem. The admirals didn't want to pillory him in public. But what they're doing to him out of public view is even worse. They're punishing him, Deanna. For doing his duty. They are making him pay."

"They're not going to give him another ship, are they?" Deanna sat down, carefully spreading her skirts about her, motioning for Beverly to join her on the Antarian style chaise lounge.

"I don't know. Jean-Luc doesn't seem to think that he will ever have command of a starship again. He acts as if he'll never even be an active officer of Starfleet again."

"But what about you? What are you thinking?" She reached over and touched Beverly's arm. "I sense so much turmoil in your own mind."

"I don't know what I'm doing, Deanna. I'm not even sure that what I am doing is the right thing for Jean-Luc. Becoming lovers…" Beverly bit her lip, turning away from Deanna's too-knowing gaze. "And yes, I've desired being with him for a very long time. Even when Jack was alive, there was always something about Jean-Luc that touched a part of my heart." She looked at Deanna, imagining that she saw something in Deanna's look. "And no, I never thought about being with another man when I was Jack's wife. But that didn't mean I was immune to the romantic lure that Jean-Luc cast - the challenge of the Starfleet captain who could not be tempted away from the love of his ship."

"Yet you are unsure about what you are doing, being his love, now."

"I don't know if I'm doing it for Jean-Luc, or for myself. Yes, it's very pleasurable being with him. I never once doubted that Jean-Luc would be the most superb of lovers…" Her lips trembled as she tried to smile. "In fact, he's skilled beyond what I'd ever pictured. And I thought that I had a pretty active and varied imagination."

"But you wonder if starting this intimate relationship right now, is what is best for Jean-Luc. And for you?"

Beverly nodded in agreement. "I'm not even sure why I started this relationship with him. Jean-Luc accused me of possibly coming to him out of pity."

"Did you?"

Beverly looked away for a second. Deanna's gaze was too intense.

"That's partially true, Deanna. He needs me - more now, than he ever has before. Some part of me answered that need. I liked finally being truly needed by him. I responded to it."

Deanna thought for a moment. Then she carefully asked, "Has Jean-Luc ever spoken to you of Eline or what happened to him on the planet Kataan?"

Puzzled, Beverly tried to understand and recollect Deanna's reference. "Wasn't Kataan the place that captured Jean-Luc with their mind probe?" Deanna nodded. "He's never told me much about it, other than the fact that he had memories of a lifetime, as if he lived there for many years."

"It wasn't just memories of a lifetime, Beverly. It was memories of his lifetime - Captain Picard actually felt as if he'd lived and truly experienced, over thirty years of life as another man. Didn't you notice how he'd changed after that incident? More that the Borg or even his torture by the Cardassians, those memories altered him."

Beverly leaned back against the quilted gold fabric of the chaise lounge, trying to understand Deanna's words.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I know Captain Picard, perhaps emotionally, better than you do."

Beverly considered the counselor's words. "Then you've always known about his feelings for me - even when I didn't. What happened, what he felt, even his fears over my being Jack's wife."

"Yes. Jean-Luc was always honest in my psych profiles of him. He never hid his fears about serving with you. He only wanted me to help prevent any problems that might arise. He didn't want you to feel any discomfort by having to serve under him. He was afraid that one day you'd publicly blame him for Jack."

"I know." Beverly sadly smiled. "That first year on board the Enterprise, I had the feeling that he was waiting for me to yell J'accuse! at any of our staff meetings. In reality, there were no problems except the ones that Jean-Luc created for himself."

"I would add that the first year on board the Enterprise, I think Jean-Luc took more cold showers that Will Riker did."

"What?"

"Some day soon, you might want to suggest to Jean-Luc to recreate his Dixon Hill Holodeck program. He carries a vision of you in some sort of pink outfit foremost in his memories. Whatever it was that you did or said when you were in the Holodeck most certainly made an impression on him."

"Oh my." Beverly thought for a moment. "That's why he reacted so strongly when he thought I was leaving to go join the Harriman Nelson without telling him. He was really afraid that I was going to abandon him again, like he thinks that I did when I left to become CMO of Starfleet Medical."

"He's lost so much more than the rest of us in the past few weeks, Beverly. But it would only be cruel of you if you offer him the comfort he needs without giving him everything else that his heart demands."

Beverly took umbrage at her words. "Just what is it that you are trying to tell me, Deanna."

"When the Enterprise crashed, you only lost the place where you did your work, Beverly. Jean-Luc is afraid that he's lost his lifetime's dream. Right now, he needs you more than you need him. And when you consider how much he loves you…"

"He got over that. He told me so when we were joined by the KesPrytt. He said that he became used to not loving me like that any more. Now, it's different. We are different."

Deanna shook her head. "Beverly he loves the stars. He loves being a starship captain. And he loves you. This is how he has defined his existence in his own mind for decades." Deanna reached over and held Beverly's hand, offering her sympathy. "He loved you then with all of his heart. And whether or not he knows or consciously admits it now, I can still feel how deeply he still loves you. That has never changed." Her expression showed that she understood some of Beverly's troubles. "Though most can keep little from a Betazed counselor, Captain Picard was different. I've known and counselled Jean-Luc Picard for years, and I admit that I don't understand everything about him. There is so much that he has always kept hidden. But this I do know. If he were to lose you now, it would be injurious. You are going to have to decide how much of your self you are willing to share with him. To commit to him. Because if you don't include your heart, you will devastate him."

"I do love him, Deanna. But with the way things are now…"

"Beverly, forget the circumstances. Circumstances will always be changing whether it be on board a ship or on a planet. But you must decide to either love him and commit to him, or you should let him go. It is time for you to choose."

Beverly stood, walking over to the gilded door, avoiding her friend's concerned gaze.

"I think we should be getting back. Though I wouldn't mind being an interested observer over what would happen if both Worf and Will came here looking for you."

Deanna stood, smoothing her dress down over her hips. "You should have seen them at the wake. They behaved almost as disgracefully as you," she teased.

"I heard that they were only following a Klingon custom. And you know you loved every minute of it."

"You are trying to change the subject." She glared at Beverly.

"Actually, Deanna, I believe I was making my point." Beverly's smile bordered on the wicked as she returned to her lover's arms.

Continued in THE BEST LAID PLANS: Part 4. Listed under the "M" settings.