Chapter Thirty Three: Revelations pt II

"And?"

Apparently the few minutes she'd taken to compose herself in the turbolift hadn't served their purpose. Jean-Luc saw right through her façade. Amazing how attuned to her he'd become. Never in a million years had she expected marriage to change him this drastically. Privately speaking of course; on duty he was still very much The Captain with whom she had served for over a decade.

She sat had sat down across from him, her favorite snacks were stalled out on the table between them and she absentmindedly took a delicacy from the nearest plate and took small bites. "She took it well."

The contradiction in her voice wasn't lost on him, but he didn't prod and watched as she picked up a strawberry. Looking at him, his eyes shining with love, worry and sympathy, she was suddenly reminded of the times he'd come to her to thank her for saving his life again. After the Borg and his ordeal with Madred especially.

A flicker of hope reached her eyes. Like no one else, Jean-Luc would know what Troi was going through. The resignation that had been so evident in her features earlier, had been present in Picard's too, during his recoveries. He too had at one point simply floated along with whatever was being done to him, not caring anymore. Between long hours of counseling and affection, she and Deanna had helped him heal.

Never had she been so aware of the necessity of a counselor aboard as she had been during that time. Yes, she was quite sure she'd found a solution to Deanna's refusal to seek counseling. "What is it?"

"What?" She smiled innocently, for the moment enjoying the relaxed teasing.

"That flicker in your eyes. I've seen it before; I'm in trouble, am I not?"

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair, chewing slowly on the chocolate in her mouth. "No" she said after swallowing the last bit, drawing the word out to get his full attention "I was just thinking…Deanna isn't allowing herself to heal Jean-Luc. Oh she did a good job by herself so far, but she's reached an impasse and she's refusing to seek help."

"There's nothing we can do then Beverly. If she denies there's a problem…" He trailed off, remembering a time when he too, had refused help. Until Deanna had somehow maneuvered him into admitting to need help. A counselor was powerless when the patient refused to admit there was a problem. One would think that a counselor, of all people, would seek help. But then, doctors were the worst patients by default; that might just as well be true for counselors.

He looked into his wife's face, her eyes showing concern, but with a fair amount of triumph. What was she up to? She leaned forward as much as her belly would allow and locked her blue eyes on his. "You know what she's going through Jean. Maybe she'll listen to you."

Startled he blinked, opened his mouth and then closed it again. "No…no, I don't know what she's going through! Our experiences are completely different!" He regretted his outburst immediately and was about to apologize when he realized that his wife hadn't even been surprised. Had she expected him to react this way?

"No Jean. What the Borg did to you is in essence, no different from what Thomas did to Deanna. You were both stripped from your identities, you both suffered because of that and like her, you needed a long time to recover. And you too were being court-martialed from something that was out of your hands." Beverly smiled assuring and let a hint of mischief creep into her voice to ease the anxiety he must be feeling, "I could go on, but I think you're getting the point."

"Yes…but, you know I'm not comfortable—"

"You wouldn't have been a year ago." She cut him off resolutely. "You'll do just fine.

Jean-Luc raised his hands in surrender and stood up, giving in to the urge to pace. "What if I make it worse?"

"You won't. Just show her that she's not alone and remind her of what she did for you." He shook his head, knowing full well that no he couldn't decline.

"For you Madame." He gave her a tender kiss and rested his hand on her belly for a long moment.

She watched him leave. "And for yourself." She whispered into the empty room, hoping that by doing this he would finally close those chapters of his life. She knew, from Deanna's reactions and from what he told her, that Jean-Luc would sometimes, rare and far apart as they were, still have nightmares and flashbacks.

~*+*~

As Riker settled himself in one of the seats Deanna forced her mind to relax. Her attempts were mostly thwarted simply because she was unable to separate the now and the then with him at such close proximity, but she achieved a small measure of success and hoped that it would be enough to guide her through this meeting.

She sat down across of him and tried to dispel the urge to run. Unsure of where to start she chose to reach out with her mind instead. Repeating to herself, like a mantra, that he wasn't Tom. Before she had a chance to analyze and decipher what she found however, Will spoke. "Dea…I want to…apologize." She could sense how difficult it was for him to control himself, his anger was boiling like crazy underneath his familiar exterior, as was his urge to hold her tight against him. "I should have left, the second I saw that my presence reminded you of…that my presence upset you."

"You couldn't have known." Deanna replied after a brief pause, surprising herself at how calm her voice sounded. "And I couldn't bring myself to tell you." Looking up at him, she tried to smile but by his reaction she could tell she hadn't succeeded.

"What did he do to you?"

"Will" How could she possibly tell him? His anger was already so strong that she feared it might consume him if it got even stronger. And if she told him about what Thomas had done to her…she shuddered to think what that knowledge would do to their friendship, fragile as it already was.

"Please, Imzadi, I need to know."

Her fingers flexed, stretching, then curling into fists. The endearment brought back more memories than she had thought possible and none of them carried the warm and loved feeling she had associated with the word before. "Please don't call me that."

"What?" Stunned by her request Will tried to peer into her lowered eyes. Imzadi had always been a word of comfort and friendship, although at one point it had meant more than that. "Why not?"

Come one Imzadi…I know you want me. I know that you can feel me inside your mind. Be a good girl Imzadi and please your Master. Deanna trembled with the resurfacing fear and repulse, but managed to keep her composure. "Just don't Will, please."

He nodded, albeit reluctantly and abided to her wishes. "Deanna…I read some of the reports, but please, I want to know what he did; he *is* me, in a way."

"No!" She almost jumped to her feet. "You are not Th—him! I know you're not."

"Yet I scare you."

The statement was so matter-of-factly that is startled Deanna. "I…I can't help it Will. I'm sorry.""

"No. Don't be. Dea, you know that what happening wasn't your fault." His calmness, the affection and love he radiated felt so wrong, so alien coming from that man…she shook her head. This was Will…her best friends, her colleague, she'd often felt those emotions from him. They were true and right. The reasoning calmed her a bit, but she knew that the sooner she told him of her pregnancy the safer it was for her and her baby.

Her baby.

The words provoked a dizzying swirl of emotions and images; some memories from her short time of raising Ian, others from dreams and again others were solely made up by her imaginations. "Yes, yes I do know that." She answered finally. "Will" She had to tell him, for his sake, for hers. Taking a deep breath she forced her eyes on his again. "there's something I need to…tell you."

Will tilted his head slightly to one side, watching her with too familiar blue eyes. 'What made me ever think I could handle this?' Troi questioned herself. Then, remembering Thomas calling her weak and forcing her to go down on him, she strengthened her resolve; eyes hardening, muscles tensing and her breathing evening out. Emotions were useless where Riker was concerned, certainly when she had to tell him about her baby.

"Deanna?"

She nodded once, acknowledging his question. "I'm pregnant Will." Deanna congratulated herself for sounding so matter-of-factly and focused her attention on Will's reaction, only looking at his face and refusing to listen to the thoughts that floated into her mind. The inhibitor was wearing off apparently. Might as well, she was sick of the foggy feeling it gave her anyway.

His distinct features went from surprise to disbelieve to shock. "You're…what?! How?!"

"Well Will, sure you know how to make babies." Whatever possessed her to go with sarcasm she didn't know. The joke, bad as it wasn't, wasn't at all appreciated by her companion. Which wasn't that strange because she cringed at it herself too. The situation was not one to joke about; she knew that better than anyone.

"Dea!" His scolding tone cut through her mind, bringing with it unwelcome memories. What the hell had she been thinking when she'd told Beverly that she could distinguish Will and Thomas? She dropped her gaze in acknowledgement and waited for him to speak. "How did it happen?"

How indeed.

Well, a more accurate question would be *when*. Beverly had told her that the drugs she'd been given had somehow counteracted the effect of her six-monthly anti-conception hypo, but that wasn't what Will was asking. And she too had wondered *when*. Which day? Which time? "It just did."

"And you agreed to it?"

"WHAT?!" Deanna's head snapped up. Did he just ask if she had *agreed* on having a child?! Will realized his mistake mere seconds later, but the shock was too fresh in his mind for him to rectify it. "How dare you ask  me that!"

"Dea I'm sorry. I'm just shocked." Standing up now they held each other's gaze, but only for seconds because she turned away. "I mean…you're having a baby." 'and it's not mine' the thought remained unspoken. Then again, it occurred to him, that in a way the child was his. Genetically speaking anyway.. "I guess…" He hesitated, not sure if what he was about to ask her would be received well. "I'd like to assume the father-role."

Startled her eyes met his, surprise shone in them. Whether of the good or bad kind, Riker couldn't tell. Her answer however made that very clear. "No."

"Why not? Thomas is, was my duplicate so in a way the child's mine too."

"No. And will you stop saying that!" The vehemence in her voice seemed out of place and silenced him briefly.

"Why not?"

A harsh snort brutally cut through the quiet conversation and surrounding silence. Deanna debated with herself whether to answer or not. She wanted to scream at him, revealing what Thomas had put her through, so that maybe he would leave her alone, at least for a while. Yet another part of her was telling not to. His pity was bad enough to deal with as it was, she didn't want to increase it. For her sake more than his. "I said no Will."

"Yes, I heard that." His voice was no as cold as hers. "I'd like an explanation though." 'I always imagined that if I'd ever have children you would be the mother Imzadi, this may be my only chance to fulfil that dream, please don't take that from me.' He wondered, hoped, that Deanna would pick up on his thoughts, but if she did, there were no hints.

"An explanation? Fine. I don't want you to be the father Will, because you look exactly like the man who raped and abused me and fathered my baby." She left the rest unspoken, not trusting her own voice, which had gotten shriller with each word.

Again Riker fell silent. He had suspected, because of the injuries, yet hearing her say it aloud made a definite impact on him. "But I'm not Thomas."

"That's not what you said a minute ago." A wry smile accompanied the remark; a sign of resignation instead of the deviance he'd been expected.

"You know what I meant."

"Yes. Yes I did. Goodnight Will."

~*+*~

According to the computer, Deanna was in Ten-Forward, so that was where he headed. After leaving his wife in their quarters he'd gone to the Bridge and finished reading, evaluating and writing the daily reports. An often tedious, but necessary task, but today he was grateful for the work. It gave him the necessary time and distraction to put his thoughts into order. The task Beverly had given him unnerved him a great deal, though not as much as it once would have and a part of him was glad that he could do something for Deanna to repay her in a small measure for what she'd done for him after numerous events in the past.

When he first met her, a six months before the Enterprise-D had been commissioned, he'd been opposed to the idea of having a counselor on the Senior Staff and although he had altered his opinion little by little when she offered valuable insights in situations and helped his crew through emotionally trying times. But until the Borg he had never truly appreciated the complexity of her position.

And now he could do something in return and he surprised himself with the relieve he felt.

He found her just outside of the Lounge, leaning against the grey wall. Her eyes were closed and she was tapping two fingers against the skin behind her ear. She'd explained to him once why she did that, but the memory eluded him. "Counselor, are you all right?"

Startled she jumped to attention, then relaxed and blushed slightly with embarrassment. "Yes. Can I help you?"

Her question, familiar as it was, surprised him. She was off-duty and the look in her eyes screamed that she wanted to be alone, yet she still was willing to help him. "No…I just came to see how you were doing."

Her features hardened slightly; a testimony to how often she'd been asked that question and how annoying it was becoming. He knew, he'd been there. "I'm fine Captain."

"Join me for a drink?"

She tilted her head and contemplated for a while, then softly accepted. When he turned towards the Lounge however she stopped him. "No, please, we can go to my quarters." Surprised he followed her but not without glancing through the windows in the doors and seeing his First Officer staring at the stars.