Chapter 8

She woke at the unexpected sound, instantly alert, instantly ready - then gave a sigh of relief as the realization that it was no emergency, no disaster, no panicked call from an injured or ill patient rousing her from her sleep - only the soft chirp of her alarm gently calling to her.

No emergencies here, Beverly Crusher reminded herself - not that she had seen a real medical emergency in years; her position at Starfleet Medical had forced upon her a degree of separation from the front lines of emergent medical care - but even if she had been an actively practicing physician, she was a guest on this ship, a Starfleet official who was merely catching a lift to a conference - and no ship captain would readily call on a visitor to handle a routine medical emergency, not when there was a capable and competent medical team in place.

No, she told herself; no emergency, no disaster - nothing more than the sound of an alarm clock.

The rush of adrenaline quickly receding from her bloodstream, Beverly turned to the terminal on her bedside table, touched the alarm control, then fell back against the pillows, silently debating whether she could allow herself to indulge in another half hour of sleep - or get up and start the day.

The idea of allowing herself another few minutes of sleep was a tempting one, she admitted; despite the weeks of preparation, she had spent most of the previous two days racing around Starfleet Medical, tying up loose ends, alerting her staff to some last minute details, and dealing with the emergencies that always appeared the day before leave was to start - and almost missing her rendezvous with the ship that was to take her to the conference.

By the time she had settled into her quarters, unpacked her bags for the four day journey, met with the captain, suffered through the obligatory dinner with the command staff and the equally awkward post-dinner discussion that none of them really wanted to endure, she was exhausted to the point that she had barely managed to change out of her uniform and into a nightgown before falling into her bed - and into a deep and dreamless sleep.

But one that seemed too short, she thought as she studied the ceiling of her quarters, her body aching with fatigue, her mind dulled from sleep. She glanced at the clock a second time, hoping that she had somehow misread the time, or that the alarm had gone off prematurely - but the grim truth was that it was, indeed, six in the morning.

Five more minutes, she tried to convince herself. Just let me sleep five more minutes. No one will know or care...

Get up, another part of her mind insisted; this isn't leave - this was Starfleet Medical business - and you are the head of Starfleet Medical. And you've got work to do.

Even if the paper you're presenting is someone else's, she reminded herself, you damned well better know the subject matter backwards and forwards, so you can knowledgeably and confidently answer questions after the presentation. After all, you are representing a fellow physician and a fellow member of the Federation! she chided herself firmly.

As though there would be questions, she argued silently. Keynote speeches were rarely the subject of hot debate - and Sherril Jackson's paper was no exception to that tenet, she reminded herself. Not that it wasn't competently researched and well written, she hastily added, but the role of the keynote speaker at these events was to present an overview of the historic and current work - and leave it to the researchers to present their own new - and often more controversial - data.

And my role isn't even that important, she thought to herself: I'm just presenting the paper on Sherril's behalf. No matter how much I study her work, no matter how much research I do, no matter how well I know the material, the conference attendees will assume I don't know the topic well enough to pose even the simplest of questions - and be relieved in doing so; they won't feel any need to pose even a token questions - and they'll get through the boring opening and on to the heart of the meeting all the faster.

As I would, she added; how many times have I arranged to be conveniently 'late' to a seminar just so I could skip the dull formalities and get right into the heart of the matter?

Too often, she replied with a sigh, still able to hear Jean-Luc's reprimands even after all these year. "Rank hath its obligations as well as its privileges," he had reminded her - gently - after once such occasion. "And while Dr. Beverly Crusher may be able to claim that her medical duties preclude her full attendance at these seminars, Commander Beverly Crusher, chief medical officer of the Enterprise - the flagship of the Federation - has no such privilege; indeed, her duty requires not just her full attendance - but her complete attention as well."

I know, Jean-Luc, she told him silently; I knew my privileges and duties then - and I know them now. The title that allowed me to commandeer a place on this ship in order to get to the meeting also obliges me to reach the meeting on time and sit through the hours of pointless blather that would precede it.

She could, of course, claim that her work didn't permit her to attend the full meeting; that she was filling in for Sherril Jackson as a courtesy - but that she had to return promptly to San Francisco to fulfill her obligations as head of Starfleet Medical.

Except, of course, she had no obligations; after four years with barely a weekend off, she had made sure that nothing, short of another war, would require her return to San Francisco.

Of course, I made those arrangements so I could spend my time with Jean-Luc on Samarassia, she reminded herself angrily; now all those arrangements, all that careful planning to get the time off means I have no choice but to attend.

I could say I'm sick, she considered - then laughed.

Sick - at a meeting of the top physicians in the quadrant! That excuse would last all of ten seconds, she though with a laugh.

No, she knew, I have no choice; I have to attend - and attend all of it!

Damn you, Jean-Luc, this is all your fault!, she chided her friend silently; you've trained me too well!

After all, how many hideously boring ceremonies, dinners and cocktail parties had Jean-Luc sat through because duty required? she asked herself, smiling at the memory of his 'performance' expression, perfectly composed, displaying what appeared to be fascinated interest in the topic at hand while concealing every hint of boredom, frustration and exasperation as he listened to countless speakers, presenters, researchers and politicians over the years, remembering those times she had attended meetings with him, catching his eye on occasion - and trying not to laugh as he looked back at her, rolling up those hazel eyes of his as the speaker droned on, oblivious to the frustration of the audience.

They would laugh out loud about the speakers later, when time and discretion allowed, usually over a drink in Ten Forward or over breakfast the following morning, chuckling over the inanity and the pretentiousness that seemed part and parcel of every one of these conventions, sometimes even laughing over the same moment even years after the event.

I miss that, she sighed; I miss you, Jean-Luc.

Joining you on that archaeologic dig would have been fun, she thought, and maybe we could have... Well, there was no point dwelling on the maybes, she told herself; what we wanted for ourselves had always taken second place to the requirements of our duties - and duty had called, as it inevitably did; just as you sat through those interminable meetings that almost bored you to death because duty required, I too have my professional obligations.

Including familiarizing myself with that damned paper, she reminded herself, pushing back the fatigue, rising up from the bed, reaching for her robe.

Slipping it on, she took the padd from the nightstand, quickly scrolling through the paper to find the point where she had stopped late the last evening even as she entered the main room of the guest quarters and moved to the replicator.

"Tea," she said automatically. "Earl Grey - hot," she added - then stopped, smiled to herself, and shook her head.

Another old habit, she thought to herself; one thought of breakfast - and Jean-Luc - and I'm ordering his tea.

Or maybe not habit, she added as the cup materialized, the scent rising to her nostrils; maybe I just wanted to smell the tea, to have the scent of the bergamot take me back to those breakfasts - and him.

I do miss you, Jean-Luc, she repeated, but...

But we keep finding ways to avoid each other, she reminded herself. Oh, we've had a few days together - the weekend in London, the holiday in Paris - but those were always filled with things to do, things to keep us busy - and never with time for us to just to be alone together. Every time that opportunity presented itself, one or both of us found a reason to back out, a reason not to give ourselves the chance to say what we want to say - or, she admitted, a reason not to hear the words we both dread.

If we even know what we want to say, she admitted. Do I love you? Yes. Do I think you love me? Yes, she thought - but it's been years - decades - since that simple answer was the end to the questions; now it's only the start - and neither of us are ready to go there.

Not yet; perhaps never, she added.

And so we dance our little dance of uncertainty and fear, occasionally moving out so we can just touch, only to jump back into the safety of our protected little spheres of professional responsibility, letting our work serve as a substitute for the lives we're too scared to live.

She reached for the cup, raising it to her lips, savoring the warmth in her hands, then closing her eyes, drawing in a long breath - and smiled at the scent.

I miss you, Jean-Luc, she thought - then sighed; I miss you - but duty does call - and we both have our obligations.

The cup in her hand, she turned her attention back to the padd, shaking her head at an unexpected value, then tabbed through the document, searching out the footnotes even as she sipped at the steaming brew.

Transcription error? she murmured as she referenced the footnote - or was there really an elevated megakaroyocyte level in the patients? Whichever it was, this was the oddity that might well catch someone's attention at the meeting - and if anyone wanted to press her on it, she wanted to be sure she had the right answer.

Thumbing the padd's control, she searched for the reference, barely noting the chirp of the ship's intercom. "Bridge to Commander Crusher," a voice, apologetic, warm and vaguely familiar came back.

Lost in her work, she murmured back, "Crusher here; go ahead."

"Sorry to wake you, Commander," a woman's voice returned, "but I've got an incoming message from you."

Beverly looked up, taken aback by the unexpected remark, wondering if the woman was taking a dig at her position or her title - then realized there was no sarcasm or malice in the captain's tone - only sincere regret. Perplexed, she looked at the ship's chronometer - and shook her head in disgust.

No wonder I'm tired, she thought; it's just after two in the morning! she sighed, then shook her head again. I've been away from space too long, she thought; I've forgotten the basics of traveling on a ship - the first of which is remembering to reset your alarm clock to ship's time.

"Not a problem, Captain Elric," she answered, not about to let the ship's commander know about that mistake. "I'm awake."

"I understand," the woman replied knowingly, a smile audible in her words. "It always takes me a few days to make the shift from planet time to ship's time. I realize this is probably preaching to the choir, but you might want to consider a cup of valerian root tea; I find it works wonders after a long day," she added sagely.

Beverly nodded. "Sound advice, Captain - and I'll do so, after I take this message," she added.

"I'm sending it to your terminal. Get some rest, Commander," Elric concluded.

Beverly smiled back at the overhead speaker, more used to being the source of motherly advice than the recipient. "And you, Captain," she countered.

"I will, Doctor," Elric replied. "Have a good night," she added, then fell silent, allowing the computer to terminate the call automatically after a moment's silence.

Nonetheless, Beverly waited a moment longer before turning to the terminal and tabbing the communications button. The screen lit with the familiar array of stars and laurel shining brightly against the field of azure blue - then dissolved into the image of a familiar face.

"Deanna!" Beverly gasped, startled, delighted - then worried. "My God, is everything all right? The baby?"

Deanna grinned back at her friend. "Nothing's wrong, Bev; everyone's fine - which you would know if you were here," she added accusingly.

Beverly sighed, settling back in her chair, preparing herself for the rebuke she knew Deanna was about to administer. "Dee, I explained everything to Jean-Luc..."

Deanna raised her hands, stopping her friend in mid explanation. "I'm just giving you grief, Bev. The captain... the _admiral_," she corrected herself, "explained - though I don't think he fully understands why you'd rather spend your leave with a thousand clinicians talking shop when you could spend the time with him," she added teasingly.

"Spending a week with a bunch of pig-headed Kvesterians, then a week-long hike through sixty kilometers of rainforest, then another fifteen klicks of desert to a possible - and only possible! - archaeologic site, and spend another week or two digging in the dirt?" Beverly countered. "Which part of that doesn't sound like the ideal leave?"

"Yes - but it's still four weeks you could be spending with him," Deanna reminded her gently.

Beverly sighed, her shoulders slumping in frustration. "Deanna, we've been over this topic before..."

"I know," Deanna apologized, "but... let's be honest, Bev; neither one of you is getting any younger..."

"Thanks for that reminder," the physician interrupted caustically.

"I just meant: you've put off a relationship a long time; if you don't start one soon, when are you going to start one?" she pressed. "When he's too old to get it ..."

"Deanna!" Beverly cried out, appalled. "Just because you're pregnant and obsessed with sex doesn't mean everyone else is!"

"Of course they are," the Betazoid countered, "they just don't want to admit it!"

The two women stared at each other for a moment - then they both burst out laughing.

"Oh, Deanna," Beverly said as the laughter subsided, "I do miss you - and I do wish this conference hadn't come up. Even if I hadn't plan to meet with Jean-Luc, it would have been so nice to see you and Will again - if the two of you ever got out of the bedroom, that is," she teased her friend.

"My dear Dr. Crusher," Deanna replied haughtily, "a physician with your experience should know that an increased sex drive is a sign of a healthy pregnancy in a Betazoid woman," she said - then broke into a grin. "And we are both doing fine," she added, her hand protectively moving to her belly, caressing the swelling curve, then looked back at her friend. "Really, you don't have to worry, Bev," she said soothingly, "Alyssa assures me we're both fine - although the doctor in you wants to confirm that for yourself," she added with a smile.

"And I thought you said your empathy wasn't working these days," Beverly said suspiciously.

"I don't have to be an empath to know what my best friend is feeling," Deanna answered gently. "But as long as you insist on going to that conference and not coming here to check up me and Junior for yourself, you're simply going to have to take Alyssa's word for our condition.

"And speaking of taking Alyssa's word..." Deanna hesitated. "Bev, Alyssa has given me the go ahead to return to work."

"Work? But I thought..."

"You thought I was on leave," the empath interrupted, "and I was - but we've got a special patient, someone who I can help - someone whose treatment doesn't require my empathy - only my understand of humanity," she explained, her voice growing sober, serious.

Beverly stared at the terminal for a moment, perplexed by the woman's tone. "A special patient?"

Deanna nodded. "Very special, Beverly. It's... Data. He's alive."

She gaped at the woman on the screen for a moment, stunned into speechlessness, then managed, "Data? Alive? But... how?"

"Through Geordi, of course," Deanna replied. "You know he's been determined to try to find a way to rebuild Data's body, to upload the memories that Data downloaded into B-4 just before he... before he died."

Beverly nodded. "And he did it?" she finally said.

Deanna nodded, her eyes misting over. "He did it," she said simply. After all of these years of work..." She shook her head. "It finally all came together last night - this morning, I should say. One moment there was just the shell of his body standing there - and the next, he was... Data," she said, awed by the memory of her friend's return.

"Data. Our Data?" Beverly pressed.

"Our Data," Deanna agreed. "Or at least our Data up until the time he downloaded his memories into B-4."

"And B-4... Deanna, Geordi didn't do anything to B-4, did he?" Beverly gasped.

"Beverly!" Deanna gasped back. "This is Geordi we're talking about! B-4 might not be Data's equal - but Geordi would never hurt Data's 'little brother' - not even to save his friend! And even if Geordi would consider such a thing, the captain would never allow it. He's B-4's guardian, and he takes that role very seriously, you know." She eyes her friend. "You do know about that, don't you?"

"That Jean-Luc had taken legal guardianship of B-4? Yes," Beverly agreed quietly.

"He took Data's loss hard, Beverly," she said quietly, "harder than I think he would like any of us to know. Losing a crewman has always been difficult for him - but Data was more than just a crewman - he was a fellow officer - and a friend."

"And because Data died saving him," Beverly added.

"Saving us all," Deanna echoed.

Beverly shook her head. "I don't think I'm talking out of turn when I tell you how difficult it was for Jean-Luc to accept that, Dee; he had gone over to the Scimitar intended to do that very thing - to save the ship and the crew - and he failed - and Data had to die to correct that failure. It shook him, Deanna, more than he might admit - and I think, in part, it's one reason he accepted the Admiralty's offer of a promotion. Oh," she continued dismissively, "I know he's giving that old song and dance about it being a promotion or retirement - not that I wouldn't put it past the Admiralty to give him that ultimatum - but I think there was more to it than that. I think - no, I know - he was hurt by Data's death, and he was beginning to realize he didn't want to have to face any more losses like that in his life."

"People are still going to die, Beverly," Deanna countered. "He's still going to give orders that result in people's deaths."

"Yes - but not his people, not his friends - and not because he failed." She thought for a moment, then sighed.

"He didn't fail!" Deanna argued. "He killed Shinzon..."

"... but he couldn't save his ship. Data could - and he did - and he died doing it." She shook her head, letting the memory of that day fade, chasing away the image of Jean-Luc's empty, haunted eyes from her mind - then look at her friend once more. "Taking guardianship of B-4 was Jean-Luc's way of trying to repay a part of that debt. I suppose he'll be turning that over to Data now," she added.

Deanna shook her head. "Maybe - but not for some time. Geordi still has a considerable amount of work to do to ensure Data's physical reconstruction. After that, Data's existence and legal standing will have to be resolved - and Geordi's not willing to face that battle - at least, not yet," she sighed.

Beverly frowned. "Meaning?"

"Meaning... Meaning this is why I'm returning to work. Geordi thinks Data may have developed a mental aberration."

"Mental aberration?"

Deanna hesitated. "He sent me a report a few minutes ago - and he says that he thinks there may be a fault in Data's positronic net; he thinks Data's delusional."

"Delusional?"

Deanna sighed frustratedly. "This would be a lot easier if you were here, Beverly."

"Yes, but I'm not - so tell me what happened. Why does Geordi thinks Data's delusional?"

"From what Geordi said in his report, Data thought that the reason that all of Geordi's efforts to bring him back on line were unsuccessful - until today - was because... because someone needs him," she said at last.

"Someone? Someone who?" Beverly pressed, perplexed.

Deanna rolled her eyes as though the answer should be obvious to the doctor. "Someone important enough to Data that he would return from the dead to help," she said emphatically.

Beverly considered, then shook her head. "Jean-Luc?"

The Betazoid shook her head. "_Someone_ else."

Beverly thought a moment longer, then shook her head in resignation. "I don't understand, Dee. Who?"

Deanna gave a groan of frustration. "Someone who would have done the same thing for him that he did for us; sacrificed herself to save the ship - and him."

Beverly thought for a moment longer - then realization flashed through her. "And..." she started to say, only to see Deanna raise a hand to silence her.

"Don't say it, Bev," she cautioned her friend. "That's a dangerous name to use over subspace."

"This is a secure line, Dee," the physician protested.

"Not secure enough," the woman replied cryptically.

Beverly frowned, her curiosity rising, regretting - and not for the first time - that she had agreed to attend this meeting rather than visit her friend. "All right," she said at last. "It's... an old friend of ours. And Data thinks that's why he suddenly functional? Because he's somehow aware that she needs him?"

Deanna nodded.

Beverly raised a brow. "Geordi's right; he _is_ delusional."

"Is that your professional opinion?" Deanna pressed.

"No, just a personal one. Dee, Data has no telepathic or psionic abilities; there's no way he could be 'aware' of where she is or what she's doing. Hell, even we don't know what she's up to! Data's... friend... isn't even in Federation space!"

Deanna gave her a puzzled look. "Then... he didn't tell you either?"

"Who? Tell me what?"

Deanna shook her head. "The captain, Bev. He saw her."

"What?!" Beverly gasped, stunned - and stricken. Jean-Luc hadn't said anything to her about seeing Andile - but he had told Deanna?

"I don't know the details, Bev - but there's not a doubt in my mind that he's seen her. He won't admit it, of course; he flat out lied to Data about it and to us - but after fifteen years as his personal counselor, I don't need my empathy to know when he's lying. He's seen her, Beverly," Deanna said flatly.

For a moment, conflicting emotions filled the woman - then she forced them back, compartmentalizing them until she could consider each one in order - then looked at her friend.

"Okay, he's seen her - and somehow Data has come to the conclusion that she needs him. So what do you want from me?" she asked bluntly.

"I want a professional medical opinion on Data's mental health," she said. "You're the only person in Starfleet who's qualified to perform that type of examination on an android."

"I can't give that to you without an examination, Deanna - and I can't get out of this meeting to do that exam," she replied. "But... " She hesitated a moment, thinking, then nodded. "Data had a deep bond with our absent friend - and that bond existed in the memories that he downloaded to B-4. It's possible that those memories were affected or altered, either by storage in B-4's net or by having an insufficient emotional neural structure in place in Data's brain when he came on line to handle the input - and they have reasserted themselves in this manner."

Deanna nodded. "So you think it's possible that this is a just a 'damsel in distress' scenario that Data developed to explain his return?"

"It's possible; he never did come to terms with all of his emotions, especially those involving a certain someone," Beverly explained. "If his emotional development runs akin to humans, he's going to be applying some emotionally immature explanations to his feelings until he fully integrates the more mature scenarios. Logically, he understands how he was brought back on line - but emotionally, he has to explain it in some other way."

"That makes sense," Deanna mused. "It's how a child would view it - and emotionally, Data is still very young."

"That doesn't mean he's not delusional," Beverly quickly added. "There really could be some fault in his net - but that's unlikely; we've never seen that type of fault in any of the positronic brains Soongh developed. So, short of a full exam and neural workup, that's my best educated guess. In the interim, work with him on developing those more mature scenarios, and see if he doesn't start to put his revival in a more conventional context. If my travel arrangements keep to schedule, I should be able to get to the Enterprise in about three weeks and I can do a full exam then."

"That'll be after we drop off the archaeological team - and we've a mission to complete before we return for the retrieval," Deanna reminded her. "You know, you could just deliver the address then get a shuttle and meet us at Samarassia IV. You might miss the first few days of the dig..."

"First, there aren't any shuttles available," she interrupted Deanna. "Believe me, I checked; I was looking forward to spending some time with Jean-Luc and I wasn't going to give it up without trying to find some way to join him - but Aldo Three is a medical research facility, not a starbase. They simply don't have any long range shuttles, let alone one that I can commandeer. And I can't just dismiss this meeting, Dee; I am the head of Starfleet Medical," she reminded the woman.

"I know - but in a year, or five years, or ten years, you won't be," Deanna countered. "What you will be is alone - and so will Jean-Luc - and I don't want that for either of you. Bev, your dedication to duty is blinding you to the important parts of life," the empath countered.

Beverly sighed in exasperation. "Dee..." she began - then raised her hand, silencing herself. "Dee, whatever Jean-Luc and I have - or don't have - a few weeks won't make any difference. If we're meant to be together, then we will be. If nothing else, Jean-Luc and I will have at least a few days to visit after he returns to the Enterprise and we both head back to Earth."

"A few days - when you could have had a month together," Deanna scoffed.

"Dee..."

"Sorry," the Betazoid apologized - although not very sincerely.

"For now, let's just see what we can do for Data," Beverly finished. She thought for a long moment, then looked at Deanna soberly. "It's really Data?"

Deanna nodded slowly. "It's really him."

Beverly bit at her lip, forcing back the tears that threatened - then smiled. "Then do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Give him a hug and a kiss for me - and tell him I'll be there as soon as I can," she said.

Deanna nodded. "And did you want me to do the same for Data?" she said - then grinned mischievously.

Beverly rolled her eyes up, shook her head and sighed. "Go to bed, Deanna. It's late - and you and your baby need some sleep."

"Yes, ma'am," Deanna replied caustically.

"And give Will a hug and a kiss for me."

Deanna grinned widely. "Oh, I'll do more than that."

Beverly shook her head. "If this is what you're like during pregnancy, God help him when you enter the Phase," she murmured - though she doubted Will would have any objections to sating whatever needs Deanna's changing hormones demanded.

"Hey! Let's not make me any older than I already am, Bev. The Phase is still more than a few years away," she reminded her friend, "and with any luck Will will be an admiral by then, so he should be able to adjust his schedule to meet my needs without too many comments," she added with a grin. "For now, we just remind ourselves that it's only for a short time - and for the most part, I'm able to control myself until he's off duty."

Beverly nodded. "Just don't kill him," she warned the woman.

"I'll try my best."

"And keep me posted about Data?"

Deanna nodded. "I will. Good night, Beverly."

"Night, Dee," she replied, then thumbed off the communicator switch.

She stared at the monitor for a few minutes - then noticed the time log showing the moment of the disconnect: oh three sixteen.

Three hours until I have to get up, she realized, pushing herself up from the computer station, grabbing the now cold tea cup and wearily heading back toward her sleeping area. Shedding her robe, she lat it across the foot of the bed, set the cup on the nightstand, then crept between rumpled linens, reaching to her nightstand and resetting her alarm clock to the correct time.

"Computer, lights out," she called, then watched as the lights faded away, leaving her to stare up at the stars above her bed, alone but for her thoughts - thoughts that were as active, however, as any bed partner.

There was, of course, only one choice she could make; she had her responsibility, her duty to her post, her profession, to her friend and to the doctors who were waiting to hear her presentation.

And in the end, duty was all that really mattered.

She turned over and let her eyes close, pushing away the thoughts of duty and responsibility, and leaving her mind open and quiet, letting the images of friends pass by her as sleep slowly took hold once more.

Deanna.

Will.

Geordi.

Andile.

Data.

Jack.

Jean-Luc.

She drew in a deep breath, the air now filled with the faint scent of tea and bergamot, and smiled as sleep claimed her.

Jean-Luc.