'Ah, all things come to those who wait,'

(I say these words to make me glad),

But something answers soft and sad,

'They come, but often come too late.'

One

Picard awoke from the dream with a strangled cry. As he swung his legs out from knotted sheets and began to control his breathing, he struggled to recall the events that had turned a pleasant night's sleep into a fevered ruin. His bare feet curled on the plush carpet of his quarters and images drifted back into his mind. The familiar smells of the La Barre vineyards, horse dung, apple and grape, mingled with an unpleasant sulphurous tang that burned his nostrils and left him reeling. Vistas clawed their way behind his eyes, mountains of volcanic fire, fountains of coursing energy in deep space, a ship, the Enterprise? And the taste of something that pretended Earl Grey tea. Strange, and not altogether pleasing.

Dressing in his robe he sat on the couch and picked up his book. The Iron Feather. A Recommendation from Commander Data, not something he'd usually choose. 21st Century, Post Atomic history was never his favourite. He wasn't able to read more than a few words however, the dream, fading further now, still bothered him. Figures danced around the deepest reaches of his consciousness, old faces mixed with the faces of friends, changed by the ravages of time. And through it all, the pervasive, haunting fear of losing one's self.

Throwing the book aside in frustration he glanced at the chronometer, had he really only been asleep for two hours? With seven more until the start of the first shift on the bridge he balked at returning to bed.

–***–

The holodeck doors slid shut with their familiar hiss, leaving Worf and Troi alone in the corridor. "That was an incredible program," said Deanna, smiling as she looked up at Worf.

The Klingon nodded. "I am glad you approve. I have always found the Black Sea at night to be a most... stimulating experience."

His companion rolled her eyes at him as they walked down the stark, metallic corridor. He wondered what he had said to occasion such a reaction.

"Worf," she moaned, "we were strolling barefoot along the beach while balalaika music played in the air. A sea breeze washing over us... stars in the Sky... a full moon rising... and the most you can say is 'stimulating'?"

He groped for a more appropriate response. "It was... very stimulating?"

"The truth is," said the Betazoid, obviously changing the subject for his benefit, "I don't spend nearly enough time in the holodecks. I should take my own advice and use them to relax."

Worf thought about his holodeck calisthenics program. "Most times," he confessed, "I use them for other things besides relaxing."

Deanna chuckled softly. "Yes," she said. "I've heard."

As the turbolift doors opened, depositing them on deck eight, they stepped out. The entrance to her quarters was just opposite the lift. "Next time," she went on, "I'll choose the program. If you like the Black Sea, you're going to love Lake Cataria on Betazed. Especially the aurora... the way it folds and twists and changes from blue to violet to a sullen orange. And the scents that come out of the forest that surrounds the lake... You'd really enjoy it."

For a moment, as they stood outside her suite, their eyes met and established a bond. Worf basked in the scent of her, in her warmth, in her beauty. He felt his

discomfort slip away... and decided this was as good a time as any to mention his misgivings. "Deanna"; he began, "perhaps before there is a 'next time,' we Should discuss... Commander Riker."

She grinned playfully. "Why? Will he be coming along?"

Worf frowned. This was a serious matter, and she didn't seem inclined to make it any easier for him. "No," he said. "But I do not wish to... I mean, it would be unfortunate if he..." He took a breath, started again. "If you and I are going to continue to... to..." He gave up. "I do not want to hurt his feelings."

Deanna took his hands in hers. "Worf... I think it's all right to concentrate on our feelings. Yours ... and mine."

Her smile was contagious. Gazing into her eyes, reassured, he began to forget about Commander Riker and everything else in the world. As Worf bent lower for the kiss he sensed rather than saw the person about to turn the corner and interrupt their special moment. Pulling back to avoid embarrassment he noted Troi's abject look of frustration before the figure of Captain Picard came into view.

"Counselor. Mr. Worf." Picard offered a greeting as he approached.

His face, typically stoic, betrayed nothing, but Troi instantly picked up on his troubled mood. "Captain? Are you alright?"

"Mm? Oh yes, counselor, quite fine. I just had a little trouble sleeping. Thought I'd stretch my legs. A stroll around the ship is good for clearing the cobwebs. It was either that or try Doctor Crusher's atrocious warm milk cure."

Worf cleared his throat and put aside his awkwardness, "If you would like some company, sir, Deanna and I were about to retire but we could share a nightcap in Ten Forward."

Picard's eyebrow lifted, the only sign he was surprised at Worf's rather formal use of Troi's name. Realising he had interrupted something, he hastened to make his excuses and leave the two to their own private business. "No, no, that's quite all right, Worf. I believe I'll return to my quarters. Pleasant evening to you both."

As Picard left, Worf contemplated resuming an attempt at romance but the moment had passed, he let out the breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding and looked down at Troi, who seemed intensely focused on the departing figure of the Captain. "Deanna? What are you thinking?"

Troi didn't attempt to mask her concern. "He's hiding something. But then, he's the Captain, when is he ever not sealed tighter than a Ferengi's coin purse?"

"Then I think perhaps you should go after him. He is... clearly troubled."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You are ship's counselor... and your Captain needs you."

She leaned up on her toes and delicately kissed his cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, Worf. I'll see you in the morning."

He watched her chase after the Captain and sighed, admiring her shapely form swaying in her long, chiffon dress. Not the ideal end to the night he desired but it would suffice. For now.