Chapter One

In which our heroes dance the cha-cha (or not…), avoid a belligerent ambassador with an agenda, and thoroughly enjoy some very good champagne.

Light, airy string music floated through the air. Beverly let it wash over her, barely paying attention to it at all. She leaned against the wall, watching, trancelike, as couples waltzed gracefully before her. She thought she spotted Jean-Luc out there. Admiral Raner of Starfleet Security had snatched him up several dances ago, much to Jean-Luc's apparent dismay, and hadn't let go of him since. Beverly almost felt sorry for him, or she would have if it weren't so damned funny. The Admiral was a formidable woman, several inches taller than the captain, with a dour expression of disapproval etched into the lines of her face on what seemed to be a permanent basis. How she'd managed to take a fancy to Jean-Luc Beverly hadn't the faintest idea, but it was far too amusing an occasion to pass up.

Beverly herself had spent the evening dodging various ambassadors and high-ranking medical personnel. Ever since she'd been tapped as the new head of Medical, she'd been lobbied constantly this way and that for any one of a number of ultimately pointless causes. She hadn't even officially started the job: she was assigned to the Enterprise for another month and a half and she had no intentions to start making political decisions before she had to.

She heard another person walking up to her and she cursed herself for staying in one spot for too long. Turning, she was just about to make a hasty excuse when she saw that it was only Deanna. Breathing a sigh of relief, she leaned back against the wall.

"You have no idea how glad I am that you're not a Tellarite," she said, taking one of the champagne glasses Deanna held.

"I'm glad you're not a Ferengi, but you don't see me going on about it, do you?" Deanna quipped back, smiling. "That was for Will."

Beverly took a rather large sip of champagne. "Tell him I'll get him another one later. I need it more than he does. I've been avoiding the Tellarite ambassador all evening. Apparently his son is graduating with his medical degree and wants to be posted to the Enterprise. I might have heard him out except that he wanted to dance. He's a terrible dancer, Deanna."

"Just dance with him once. So he steps on your toes a few times. At least he'll leave you alone then. Poor Will's been cornered by Commander Hutchinson by the roast beef station. He'll probably fight you for that champagne once he escapes."

"I'll give him a good run for his money." Beverly squirmed in her dress, tugging at the ruching around her waist. She sighed and stilled herself. "I miss my dress uniform."

"That dress looks divine on you, Beverly, and you know it. It's no wonder you haven't been able to get rid of the ambassador. I'm not sure it's a job he's after."

"Are you speaking as a woman or an empath?"

Deanna looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm not sure. Does it have to be one or the other?"

"I guess not," Beverly laughed, hoping that Deanna was joking. She strongly suspected that any stray desires wafting towards the two of them were directed at her friend, rather than herself. Deanna was resplendent in a light, floaty little purple chiffon number. It was shorter than Beverly would have dared to wear, but it suited the Betazoid. There was something so very exotic about Deanna that Beverly couldn't help but feel the slightest bit average in comparison. It was rather comforting in situations like this. Deanna, who thrived on attention, got the considerable bulk of it and Beverly was free to blend into the background.

"I'm going to go rescue Will," Deanna said. "He's almost reached his breaking point. Save my spot?"

Beverly nodded and shrank back against the wall. She took a long swig of champagne and toyed with the flute stem. Deanna had made her way over to Will and the pair was slipping out onto the terrace, hand-in-hand.

"Ah, Doctor Crusher! I've found you at last! You are a slippery little thing, aren't you?"

Closing her eyes and groaning a bit to herself, she steeled herself for the inevitable confrontation and turned to face the intruder.

"Ambassador Gralk, how good to see you. I hope you're enjoying yourself?" Beverly gritted her teeth and forced the most earnest smile she could muster. Being friends with a diplomat the likes of Jean-Luc wasn't without its benefits, it seemed, for the Tellarite extended a hooved hand, a self-pleased smile on his besnouted face.

"Quite, quite. Now, about that dance we discussed?"

"Ambassador, so lovely to see you. I'm afraid that waltz will have to wait, though. I have Dr. Crusher penciled in for the next dance." Beverly turned to see Jean-Luc standing at her side. She smiled widely at him.

"Captain Picard, this is unacceptable!" the Tellarite exclaimed, his voice rising as he spoke. "I have been waiting all evening to speak with the doctor. I consider this a terrible affront. I will not stand for it! I-"

"I am terribly sorry, Ambassador. It's simply that I've been promising Beverly all evening that the first cha-cha was all hers. Perhaps once this dance has finished?" And with that, Jean-Luc placed a hand on the small of her back and steered her onto the dance floor.

"The first cha-cha, Jean-Luc?" she asked as they began to dance. She hadn't been out on the floor all evening, and it was nice to finally get the chance with someone she genuinely wanted to talk to.

"You looked as though you needed some help." He smirked at her, leading gracefully. Beverly settled into his grasp and moved with him. It was an odd sensation, his fingers on her back, their hands joined, his shoulder firm and warm beneath her palm. They had been spending a great deal of time together lately but the physical boundaries between them hadn't been breached until now. Beverly was almost surprised at the substance of him, as though up until this point Jean-Luc had existed in her mind only as a concept. The fact that he had a physical being associated with himself was new territory indeed.

"I did. There's only one problem: this isn't a cha-cha," she replied.

"The ambassador certainly doesn't know that."

"Sneaky. I really can't thank you enough, though. He's been wheezing down my neck all night."

"Not that you don't look ravishing, but whatever for?" Jean-Luc was certainly being bold tonight, Beverly mused. "I didn't think Tellarites were much for dancing."

She scoffed lightly. "His son is graduating from Starfleet Medical this semester and he wants an internship on the Enterprise."

"Aah, and you're the woman to see about that sort of thing now."

"Guilty."

A comfortable beat passed between them, filled by a swelling crescendo from the orchestra.

"We're going to miss you on the Enterprise when you're gone, you know," Picard said softly. "A year can seem like such an awfully long time, but it's flown by, hasn't it?"

"I'm not sure I'm ready to leave. I envy you, getting to explore the galaxy while I'll be slaving away behind a desk. Bureaucracy is certainly not the final frontier."

"Oh, I don't know about that. It could be fun. You'll get the chance to stretch your interpersonal skills at least. And you will have all these wonderful galas to look forward to."

"God, don't even think it. Hopefully the fleet admiral has gotten this civilian dress nonsense out of his system. My dress uniform is bound to get jealous if this keeps up. You do look very dashing in your suit though." Beverly ran her free hand over his lapels, flicking a small piece of dust off his collar. Her long fingers were almost even with his collar bone; if she moved them just a touch she could run her index finger down that tendon under his chin, she realized. Not that she had any plans to do so, but she certainly could.

Jean-Luc had gone very stiff, his dancing lacking the fluidity it had had moments earlier. Beverly returned her hand to his shoulder and felt the tension seep out of him.

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong," she said, changing the subject seamlessly, "but I assume that a thwarted infiltration of Starfleet by alien parasites would be a highly classified occurrence. Why exactly are we having a party to celebrate?"

"It is highly classified," he answered. "So, naturally, most of the fleet knows about it." Beverly smirked and waited for him to continue. "I believe the idea behind the gala was to distract everyone until something better came along to talk about."

"An interesting theory. No wonder there's real alcohol. Put enough admirals and ambassadors in a room with a little social lubricant and they're bound to start a few rumors."

"The fleet admiral's distraction techniques are required reading for the command track at the Academy. Perhaps they should institute them in the diplomatic school as well."

They danced the rest of the song in amiable silence. Jean-Luc really was a wonderful dancer, Beverly thought to herself. They moved smoothly in tandem so that she hardly had to think at all. She supposed that it shouldn't surprise her. The captain was such a natural leader in all the other spheres of his life that dancing shouldn't be any different. There was a sort of communion between them that came only with years of familiarity. It had been lacking for most of their time together on the Enterprise, but since Walker's death it had resurged full-force. Jean-Luc had become a powerful force in her life during the past weeks, one that she wasn't ready to give up for Starfleet Medical just yet. It was silly, really, to turn down the promotion just because of a few weeks of renewed closeness, but the thought had been burrowing in the back of her mind lately.

The music ended, tapering softly so that Beverly couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when the song had ended. She quickly took Jean-Luc by the hand and led him out the wide French doors onto the patio. The last thing she wanted was to run into Ambassador Gralk again.

They found Will and Deanna overlooking the bay on the far side of the terrace. A young Bolian couple were using the telescope closest to the first officer and counselor to look out at the water. Beverly couldn't help but smile at them. They couldn't have been more than a year or two out of the Academy. She remembered having been young and in love, as they clearly were. It all seemed so long ago.

"Will, Deanna," Jean-Luc greeted his officers. "I trust you two are enjoying yourselves?"

"Sir," Will replied. "We're having an interesting evening so far."

"I heard you let Commander Hutchinson catch you, Will. I thought your evasive tactics were better than that. Perhaps I'll have to consider a change in my senior staff. I can't have a first officer who's open to an attack like that, can I?" Jean-Luc teased. He had a playful spark in his eyes that matched the one in Will's cheeky smile as he responded.

"No, sir. That wouldn't do at all. We ran into one another over the roast beef. I had no idea that the history of the cattle industry in the Anteden system was so…extensive. The commander was kind enough to educate me on the subject."

Jean-Luc raised his eyebrows and laughed heartily. "I've never met a man who is so thoroughly dull and hasn't a clue."

"He would probably be a fascinating psychological case to study," Deanna added bemusedly. "Perhaps Data would be interested in him."

"Hutchinson would be right up Data's alley." Will crossed his arms and leaned against the railing behind him. "Of course we probably wouldn't be able to stand being around him anymore. Imagine how long bridge shifts would seem. Speak of the devil. Data!"

Will raised his hand and waved it at the android, who spotted the group and hurried over from where he stood in the doorway leading back to the ballroom. Even in the dark night air he was painfully conspicuous in his uniform, his pale face practically incandescent in the moonlight.

"Captain, Commander, Doctor, Counselor," Data acknowledged each in turn with a small, sharp nod.

"This is a surprise, Mr. Data. Is everything alright?" Jean-Luc asked, wrinkling his brow.

"I am sorry to interrupt, sir, but a transmission has come in for you. It is marked urgent."

"From Starfleet?"

"No, sir. I would have contacted you via your communicator had that been the case. I believed that the situation required personal attention. It is a code 47 communiqué, sir."

"Code 47? Are you certain, Data?" Will caught the captain's eye and frowned.

"Yes, sir. The transmission appears to be from Dytallix B."

Beverly's chest constricted. It simply wasn't possible… "Jean-Luc, Dytallix B. That's where-"

"Yes, Doctor. The Horatio." Jean-Luc rubbed his jaw, deep in thought. "Thank you, Mr. Data. I'd like to return to the ship now. I hate to cut the evening short, everyone, but I think it best if you all accompanied me."

They all nodded in agreement. Heart suddenly pounding, Beverly straightened herself up in preparation for transport. She had a terrible feeling about this. Something seemed…off, not right about the whole thing. A message from the abandoned planet was highly unlikely at best.

"Picard to Enterprise, five to beam up."