AN: I love longer, involved fics. I love playing with characters and letting them live their lives. This is the start of one of those fics. It's also the first in-depth fic I've ever written for Beverly and Deanna. I plan for it to have a lot of TNG characters (with Lwaxana appearing quite a bit) and a lot of "family" moments and themes. If you decide to read, I hope you enjoy, and I look forward to sharing with you!

I own nothing from Star Trek, and this is just for entertainment value.

I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

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Though not a linguist by profession, Deanna found language beautiful and fascinating. She found the expression of thoughts and feelings—however that expression may happen—to be captivating. In the words said, and in the words unsaid, there lay the essence of a person—their thoughts, feelings, experiences, hopes, and dreams.

Imzadi.

Deanna inhaled, stilling herself, body and mind.

Imzadi. Hear me.

Deanna imagined that, perhaps, every language, culture, and people had some expression for the same idea—imzadi—beloved.

Imzadi—the one that the heart and soul calls out for in a language that is unlike any other language.

It was believed that everyone had at least one imzadi. Of course, one could have more than one, as well. For different reasons, as life ebbed and flowed, and years passed, some found that they had more than one imzadi.

The heart wanted what it wanted, after all, as some poet once said.

Deanna could only hope that her heart never wanted anything different than what it wanted right now, because what it wanted at this moment consumed her entirely, like nothing before ever had. The love that she felt, especially now that she had admitted it and felt free to let it flow forth from her mind and body, was overwhelming and wonderful.

And, in some ways, terrifying.

Imzadi. Hear me. Open your mind to me. Open your heart to me. Hear me, my love. Imzadi.

Beverly stirred in her sleep. Slowly, she woke, her body moving and stretching as her eyelids fluttered. She drew in a deep breath as she surfaced into consciousness, and Deanna leaned down, her hair spilling over Beverly's face and mingling with hers, to press a soft kiss to a cheek and then to soft lips.

Deanna smiled at Beverly as she straightened back up, and Beverly returned the smile.

"Imzadi," Deanna said. Beverly's smile grew. She blinked a couple of times in rapid succession, blinking away the nap she'd taken after the passionate lovemaking they'd indulged in. As far as anyone knew, they were simply spending their time off together, in Deanna's quarters, painting each other's nails or doing each other's makeup—something of the like. The truth of the matter was that, if either of them had been wearing makeup at the moment, it would likely be smeared by sweat and sex. "Did you hear me?"

"Hmmm?" Beverly hummed, asking her question clearly enough for Deanna to understand. She stretched like a cat, her full length spreading across Deanna's bed. Deanna rearranged herself and leaned to kiss Beverly again. This time, it was a little slower, and a little more drawn out, and Beverly returned it with passion, tangling her fingers in Deanna's hair to hold the kiss a second longer.

"Did you hear me?" Deanna repeated. She traced a fingertip affectionately across Beverly's face and down her jawbone. "I was reaching out for you. You woke. Was it because you heard me?"

Beverly frowned softly.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe? I think I just woke."

Hear me now. Imzadi.

Deanna watched Beverly's face, but she knew the answer before she asked the question.

"You heard nothing?" She asked.

"No," Beverly said. "I'm sorry…I didn't."

Deanna drew her knees up and rested her chin on her knee. Beverly reached a hand out and brushed it against Deanna's thigh.

"I'm sorry," Beverly repeated.

"It's fine," Deanna said. "It doesn't matter, Beverly."

"It matters a great deal to you," Beverly said. "But—I'm not a telepath."

"Imzadi should have a special connection," Deanna said. "It goes beyond traditional language—spoken or telepathic." She sighed. "But I'm only half Betazoid, and you're entirely human…and maybe there's just something that's stopping it."

Beverly sat up. Deanna could sense her disappointment and something else—hurt. Beverly made a clear move to sit on the side of the bed, her back to Deanna. For a moment, Deanna paid attention the way her hair spilled down her back. She paid attention to the alignment of her vertebrae. Each of these details she noticed like studying a painting—the most beautiful work of art she'd ever seen.

"Maybe we're just—not imzadi," Beverly said.

Deanna unfolded herself, reached out, and touched Beverly's shoulder. Beverly pulled away slightly, and then she seemed to think better of it. She leaned her face to the side, her cheek touching against Deanna's hand.

"Don't say that," Deanna said. "Of course, we are. I know what my heart wants, Beverly. I know what it feels. What it needs. And you feel the same. There's no use in trying to lie to me about it. I know what you feel."

Beverly looked over her shoulder at Deanna and gave her a soft smile. The hurt showed in her eyes, but more than that, Deanna felt it throbbing in her own chest as her body responded to her imzadi's pain.

"I never tried to lie," Beverly said. "But—I can't read you."

"Not yet," Deanna said. "It'll come. I'm sure of it."

"And if it doesn't?" Beverly asked. She turned her body to make conversation easier. Deanna moved across the bed and joined Beverly in sitting on the edge of it.

"It will," Deanna said. She touched Beverly's face.

"But if it doesn't, Deanna?" Beverly repeated again, this time putting a little force behind her words. "How long do we do this in secret? How long do we hide it from everyone around us? How long do I hide it from my son—waiting to see if…if I suddenly develop telepathic powers that prove to you how much I love you and want to be with you?"

"You're putting the weight of everything on me, Beverly?" Deanna asked.

"You're putting the weight of everything on me," Beverly countered. "Deanna—I love you. I meant that from the moment I said it, weeks ago. I mean it every time I say it—with my mouth, with my…heart, with my mind, and with every little thing that I do to try to prove it to you. But—how long do we wait, talking about a future with one breath and holding the next breath to see if I'm going to learn how to do something that I don't have the ability to do?"

Beverly stood up. Deanna took her in, again. She let her eyes trip over Beverly's form. Words like "perfect" and "beautiful" bubbled up in her mind—words that Beverly wouldn't hear if she didn't put voice to them.

For as much as Deanna loved Beverly's body, though, she loved her spirit, too. She loved her mind, her sense of humor, and her very soul.

Deanna loved Beverly with everything inside of her.

Beverly started to dress, working her way back into the off-duty clothes that she'd worn to Deanna's quarters. She'd wear them back to her own quarters, where her son waited for her, and she'd pretend that she'd done nothing more than spend an afternoon with a friend. Of course, it was mostly Deanna that had created this dynamic between them and, honestly, she was truly starting to struggle with remembering why.

"I love you, Beverly."

"I know you do," Beverly said simply. "I don't need to be a telepath or an empath to know that."

"You're angry," Deanna said. "Hurt."

Beverly laughed. It was a short, sharp burst of laughter. It was insincere.

"I want to know how long, Deanna," Beverly said. "We meet like this. We talk about the future—a life we want together. You tell me what you want, and I tell you that I want the same thing. And, then, you shut down on me because I can't read your mind."

"Is that what you think?" Deanna asked, standing up and going for her own clothes. "You think I'm shutting down? Beverly—I'm trying to open up to you on every possible level. I'm trying to connect with you entirely. Forever."

Beverly seemed to soften. Deanna felt some of the relief. Her own muscles loosened in response. She let out a breath, trying to release some of the tension. Beverly crossed the small space between them and, reaching out her hands, she touched one to each of Deanna's cheeks and held her face affectionately. She smiled at her.

"Then, just accept me, Deanna," Beverly said. "Just as I am. Whether that's your imzadi or…"

Deanna reached and rested her hands on Beverly's hips, letting the gown she'd just dropped over her head fall as it would.

"No matter what," Deanna said, "I know you're my imzadi. My beloved."

Beverly smiled softly. Her eyes searched Deanna's face, and Deanna's body flooded with a hungry response that made her feel like they were just coming to bed instead of just leaving it.

"Beloved," Beverly said, her voice low. "My beloved. My imzadi. I can feel it. I can say it. Even if I can't hear you in my mind, Deanna, I feel you in my heart."

"I suppose that's really all that matters," Deanna said. She leaned toward Beverly to request a kiss, closing her eyes before their lips met. Beverly closed the distance between them, and Deanna wrapped her arms tightly around Beverly, enjoying each second of the embrace and the kiss.

"You tell me what matters most to you," Beverly said when the kiss broke. "I can't read your mind, after all."

She pulled away and started back the task of dressing to leave Deanna's quarters. Knowing that she would go, Deanna's heart started to ache.

"I miss you before you're even gone," Deanna said. "I wish you would stay."

"Wesley…" Beverly said, letting it hang.

"He stayed by himself when you were at Starfleet Medical, Beverly," Deanna said. "He can sleep in his quarters alone. He's not a baby. You shouldn't use him as an excuse."

"What do you want me to say, then?" Beverly asked. "I miss you, too. I would love to—to wake up in your arms, Deanna. I would love to have breakfast with you. Did you know that's one of my most favorite times of day? The morning. Waking and having coffee and breakfast…realizing a whole new day is just laid out before you. I love that feeling of a little piece of the future that you get at the start of the day—the only one you're really promised."

"But you don't want to spend it with me," Deanna said.

"I want to spend every morning with you," Beverly said. "But—if we're going to do that, then it's time to start telling people. We have to start telling them, if I'm going to really stay."

"We could tell everyone on the ship," Deanna said.

"Just as long as we swear them all to secrecy whenever your mother comes? How does that work when she can read their minds? When she can read our minds?" Beverly asked. She smirked and raised an eyebrow in challenge. For a half a second, Deanna felt like stomping her foot in frustration.

"You know how my mother can be," Deanna said.

"I do," Beverly said. "But I also know that, until you're ready to tell your mother, there's no more future than…this. Something we can pretend is something else. Something we can lie about. If this is going to be real, we have to tell your mother."

"And as soon as we tell my mother, do you realize how fast she'll be pushing us toward every possible facet of the future?" Deanna asked. "We have to be sure about everything we want before we say a word."

Beverly smirked at her and raised her eyebrows. She sighed, though Deanna didn't believe it entirely. Beverly's mood was lighter than the sigh would have made it seem.

"I'm sure of what I want," Beverly said. "I've never been anything but honest with you, Deanna. I want you. A life together. The future we discussed."

"And my mother?" Deanna asked.

"If she's part of the deal," Beverly said, shrugging her shoulders, her smile never fading. "It's you who has to decide what you want. You're the one that has to be certain. I already am."

Collecting her shoes, Beverly sat down and put them on—one and then the other. She took her time with it. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to make it look less tangled by the time she'd spent rolling around in the bed with Deanna.

Deanna sat down on the bed next to Beverly.

"Beverly—I'm certain," Deanna said, almost feeling desperate. "I'm sure. I've never been more certain of anything in my life." Deanna wrapped her hand around Beverly's arm to make it clear that she didn't want her to go. "I don't care if you can't hear me. It doesn't matter. All I want is this. To be with you."

"Do you actually mean that?" Beverly asked. She shook her head. "I can't read your mind, remember? I don't know what you're feeling. You have an unfair advantage over me."

Deanna smiled.

"I'll try to use it responsibly," she teased. "And—I'll call my mother…if you'll promise to spend the night."

Beverly held her eyes a long minute, obviously trying to read her that way. Deanna didn't move her eyes at all, trying to give Beverly the chance to see everything she wanted to see. Her pulse picked up. For weeks they'd been meeting like this, after those first careful declarations of love. Now, it seemed, they were moving forward toward a future that they'd only planned over pillow talk.

Beverly smiled and nodded.

"I'll tell Wesley," she said. "And—pack a toothbrush."