Picard was relaxing under the influence of some secret French brandy and equally French opera when his door comlink chimed.

"Yes?" he called out, irritated at the intrusion. It had not been a pleasant day, what with Anthony Halftel's announced intentions and the confrontation with Data and Leo. Confrontation was the only way to characterize it; they were confronted by a commander who was bound by oath to support the objectives of the Federation and Starfleet. No matter that he had decided that personal ethics determined that he couldn't fulfill that mandate this time, their respective rank and position placed them at odds by definition. To have sat in that seat behind that desk facing two people for whom he had not only respect but genuine (non-Starfleet issue) affection set his mind, his teeth, and his stomach on edge.

"Captain, it's me."

Leora O'Reilly. The bane and blessing of his command, and at the moment the person he was least inclined to face. He took a breath. "Come." Picard was out of words where she was concerned, and couldn't count on himself to address further opposition with anything approaching grace or reason.

The door slid open, revealing Leo in her preferred casual attire of 21st century style: faded blue jeans and a t-shirt that featured a singer named Tina Turner, whom he'd come to learn was something of a patron saint to his administrative exec, for reasons she'd yet to reveal, and he had neither the time nor inclination to research.

"Captain, I'm sorry to disturb your down-time. But I needed to see you 'off the clock', if you know what I mean."

"Not at all, come in Lieutenant. Would you like some tea? Computer, end music."

Leo protested, "No, please, I adore Gounod."

"Computer, continue selection." Then, "I had no idea you were a devotee of opera."

"Not much time to ask, I guess, even after almost two years. You could say I have eclectic musical taste. If it's well done, I like it. Rock, jazz, blues, classical, any genre as long as it's art and not mechanics."

Picard indicated the sofa. "Sit down. What brings you to my sanctum, Lieutenant?"

"Please, we're off the clock. I'm Leo now. And for the next little while, at least, I'd like you to be Jean-Luc. Can you handle that?"

"I think so."

She hadn't sat yet, but stood regarding her commanding officer with the kind of steady gaze that existed outside of protocol.

"I wanted, that is I needed, I need to tell you something. Before any of this spins out of control, before there's any damage to undo, I wanted to speak before any good intentions are trampled by necessity."

He stood there, uncomprehending and slightly uncomfortable, as he could see she was as well. "You're always free to speak your mind, Lieutenant… Leo. Even when not given leave, as we both know."

She took a breath, gathering her nerve. This wasn't natural or easy for her; she clung to the security of divisions of rank in much the same way as Picard did. There were established parameters within which deeper meanings could be expressed. Both of them were comfortable with the subtle "grammar" they'd developed. But Leo had decided, considering how things might play out, that "subtle" was insufficient for her purpose.

"What you said this afternoon, about supporting Data and me against the admiral and the Federation, against every powerful and small-minded opposition they'll muster… you have to know that I took you at your word, that we both did. That I don't take it lightly, and I know exactly what it might mean to you."

Picard smiled rather uneasily. "As do I. Understand what it might mean. I'm not a reckless man given to grand displays but there are some things, to paraphrase Winston Churchill, up with which I cannot put. I'll be honest, it would be much easier I could simply issue an order for you both to comply, but at the end of the day I have to face myself even if the mirror is broken."

Leo gestured vaguely with both hands. "I don't know what that might mean in the long run. I don't think I want to know what lengths, what risks, it might drive you, all of us, to. Maybe it'll be a lot easier than we imagine, at least I hope so. But knowing you're willing to stand up even if it isn't… to me, doing that when you have no idea of the outcome says much more than doing it when you're sure one way or the other. It's the difference between commitment and calculation." She paused then, shook her head. "I'm babbling."

The smile became indulgent. "I think not. I hate to step down off my pedestal, but I'm afraid my decision to back whatever you and Data decide has more to do with me than you. Perhaps age has helped redefine my estimation of the finer elements of command, until as a commanding officer I can't do otherwise than support my crew as they support me."

Leo shook her head, and finally her gift for expression was overcome by something less logical and more powerful.

"Wrong, you're so wrong. This afternoon, and right here, right now, you're not a commanding officer, or a mentor, or a keeper of the ethic. You've become something entirely different," she held out her hand in their well-established convention of connection, then bypassed Picard's own as he reached to take it, because suddenly it seemed a ridiculously inadequate gesture.

"You're the kind of friend I thought I'd lost forever," Leo told Picard, her voice barely a whisper and her eyes unexpectedly awash in unwanted tears. Compelled by the ghosts she'd never left behind, she reached around his neck to hug tight and run a hand over and behind his head to cradle it in a gesture so intimate neither of them could quite believe that instead of stepping back he returned her embrace warmly.

"However this ends," she told him fiercely, "I'll be the same for you, always, no matter what it takes."

Later to fade in intensity but not in significance, at this moment the affinity of (alleged) opposites crystallized into something that promised to extend deeper than duty and defy all differences. Neither would ever mention it to another soul, or even to each other. When, silent moments later, Leo returned to her quarters it was with the knowledge that lightning could, in fact, strike twice and burn just as brightly both times. She also knew that somewhere, somehow, 300 years past, Paul was smiling.