Beverly stared at the severed plant stem in her hand and swore, "Dammit. Damn, damn, damn."

Halfway into seventy-two hours of Starfleet-regulated decompression therapy and she was still wound tighter than a Ferengi's fingers around a bar of gold-pressed latinum. She glared at the decapitated plant specimen as if it were to blame.

"Doctor?" Deanna's soft voice filled the silence in the lab. "Beverly?"

Beverly inhaled deeply and turned to face her friend. A faint smile touched her lips despite her inner turmoil.

"Deanna. Hi," Beverly said.

Deanna stepped further into the lab. "How are things going?"

Beverly slid her hands behind her back, hiding the severed plant and the shears. "That depends. Is this a personal or professional inquiry?"

"That depends," Deanna said, arching an eyebrow. "Would your answer differ?"

Beverly's shoulders sagged and she leaned against the table. "Probably not." There really was no point lying to the Betazoid. Her empathic abilities made most attempts futile.

"Then it's personal. Off the record."

"Thanks." Beverly gave her a weak smile.

Deanna waited, hands loosely clasped behind her back. Beverly held her gaze but remained silent.

"So?" Deanna finally asked.

"So, I'm having trouble relaxing. Trouble sleeping. Trouble letting go."

"Trouble sleeping? You should have come to me," Deanna said.

Beverly shook her head. "It's only been two nights. I'm sure my sleeping patterns will sort themselves out." Eventually.

"Beverly, what you experienced down on the planet was prolonged and incredibly stressful—"

Beverly shook her head. "I know. I understand the theory." She snorted. "Hell, I helped write the manual on mandated decompression time."

"And?"

"And it doesn't mean I expected it to apply to me. I hate enforced idleness."

"I thought you found your botany research very relaxing," Deanna probed.

Beverly sighed. "Normally, I do."

"But not right now."

Beverly shrugged and held out the severed plant and the shears.

"Oh, my," Deanna said, trying not to laugh.

"Yeah."

"All right then," Deanna said, considering. "What other activities have you tried?"

"Aerobics, yoga, reading," Beverly replied. She paused and added, "Drinking." Her eyes glittered mischievously as Deanna's expression went from thoughtful to shocked.

"Drinking?"

"I'm kidding," Beverly said, relaxing slightly. "I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention."

"And nothing has worked?"

Beverly shook her head.

"We could always schedule an additional session to discuss what happened down there…" Deanna offered. Her words trailed off as Beverly's eyes narrowed. "Or not."

Beverly nodded. "I don't need to talk, I just need to unwind."

"Sometimes talking—"

"Deanna."

"Fine," she said, crossing her arms. "You're as bad as a certain captain we know when it comes to taking advantage of counselling services."

Beverly smiled. "And how's he doing with his enforced idleness?"

"Quite well, actually," she said, sounding almost surprised.

"Hmm." If he can do it, why can't I?

"Have you considered some virtual recreation?" Deanna asked as she walked over and removed the plant and shears from Beverly's hands. She set them on the worktable and then leaned against it alongside her best friend.

Beverly brought her gaze back to Deanna and blushed. She had most definitely not been thinking about certain recreational activities she'd like to engage in with the captain.

"Excuse me?" she asked, tugging on her lab coat.

"Not that kind of activity," Deanna replied, chuckling, "Although, I hear some of the holo-programs are very realistic." She paused. "And highly satisfying."

Beverly groaned. "I think a one night stand with an artificial intelligence is the last thing I need."

"No, but you could certainly use it for something else."

"Like what?" Beverly eyed Deanna skeptically.

"Dancing?"

Beverly shook her head. "Not fun unless you've got a real partner."

"Then invite someone."

"Who?" Beverly rolled her shoulders, trying to work out some of the tension that refused to leave.

"The captain—"

"Doesn't dance," Beverly interrupted.

"I'm sure Will would gladly take you for a few turns around the floor."

"With the amount of stress I'm dealing with, I need someone who can keep up with me for a solid three or four hours. Do you really think he's up to that?" Beverly hid her wince as she realized her toes wouldn't survive more than an hour if Will were her partner. Nice guy. Big feet.

Deanna shook her head.

It's a good idea, Beverly mused, and Deanna means well, but

"What about Data? Didn't you give him lessons a while back?"

"Data?"

Deanna nodded, warming to the idea. "He's certainly got the speed and stamina to keep up with you. In fact, he might be the perfect partner."

Beverly considered the suggestion. Maybe, just maybe, it might work.

-P/C-

Data—wearing a tuxedo with tails—was already at the door when Beverly arrived outside the holodeck. His eyes quickly scanned her appearance, and she watched in amusement as he cross-referenced her choice of wardrobe with either what he'd seen her wear before or, quite possibly, the entire Federation fashion database.

He tilted his head slightly and then nodded in greeting. "Doctor."

"Data," she said, smiling.

"Your appearance suggests we will not be practicing the waltz."

"You look great, too."

"I did not—"

"But you should have," Beverly responded with a smile.

"Ah," Data said. "My apologies. Doctor, you look very attractive this evening. Any human male in search of a mate would no doubt react positively to your presence."

"Thank you." Beverly gestured toward the thick grey doors. "Shall we?"

"Of course," Data replied.

Beverly entered the command code for her chosen simulation and then took Data's proffered arm. The doors opened with a rumble and hiss, and the pair stepped onto a crowded street at night.

"Despite the safety parameters, I do not think it would be wise for us to dance in the middle of this street," Data said, tugging her out of the way of oncoming traffic.

Beverly laughed "We're not dancing in the street, we're going clubbing."

Data tilted his head. "Ah. Bar hopping. Partying. Tripping the light fantastic. Getting one's groove on—"

"Yes," she said, "now let's get started."

Beverly led Data to a building with a line outside the door. A large neon sign flickered over the head of an immense man blocking the entrance. Beverly strode up to him and smiled.

"We'd like to go in and dance."

"Oh?" said the man. "So would everyone else out here. What makes you think you're better 'en them?"

Beverly scanned the holographic people in line and shrugged. "Nothing. We'd just like to go in."

"You'll have to wait in line like the rest of 'em then."

Beverly's pressed her lips together until they were a thin line of scarlet. "Fine." She turned to Data. "There are plenty of other clubs on this street. Let's go find another."

"As you wish."

Beverly led Data down the block to the next club, and the bouncer let them in with hardly a glance. She grinned. "That was easy."

The club's music reverberated through the walls and floor as they walked along the short corridor leading to the main interior. Beverly's pulse rose as the familiar strains of a jive set her bones thrumming.

"Perfect," she whispered. "Absolutely perfect."

They entered the room and stared as more than two dozen couples whirled about the floor. This was no waltz, and the dance floor was no ballroom. Despite knowing they were computer-generated—the speed and precision of their movements was impressive.

"Let's go," Beverly said as one song ended and another began. She tugged on Data's arm and they found a space on the floor. "Let's see what you remember from our lessons."

Data stared quizzically at her. "I remember everything from our lessons, Doctor."

Beverly rolled her eyes. "Just lead then."

Data nodded and took her right hand in his left. He placed his right hand on her waist and pulled her into the music.

-P/C-

Two hours, and more than two dozen songs later, Beverly pulled Data off the dance floor and toward the bar. They found a pair of vacant stools and sat. Beverly leaned heavily on one elbow and sighed.

"Are you fatigued?"

She shook her head. "No. Well, a little. I'm not seventeen anymore."

Data tilted his head. "Did something occur to make you believe you were? You haven't been seventeen since—"

"Don't say it. I know perfectly well how many years it's been."

"Then what—?"

She shook her head. "It's an expression. It means I'm more tired—pleasantly tired—than I expected to be."

"For the past one hundred twenty-seven minutes you have exerted yourself far beyond what a human female of your age would typically do. It is not surprising you are experiencing a greater than average level of fatigue than someone significantly younger than yourself."

"Thanks. I think that's enough praise for now."

The bartender turned from dusting a bottle on the back shelf and asked, "What can I get you?"

"Water," Beverly said. "A large glass of ice water, please."

The man tried to hide his frown and then looked over at Data. "And you?"

"I do not require anything, thank you."

"Boy, you two are a real pair. It's a good thing you're killing it out there," he grumbled as he thumped Beverly's drink on the bar and wandered off.

"What was that about?" she asked as she brought the glass to her lips. The first sip slid down her throat in a divine, icy cascade. "Oh, that's good."

"As this simulates Earth during its most commercial phase, I believe it was customary for patrons to purchase an alcoholic beverage—or several—when taking advantage of the music."

"I see," she said, turning the glass in her hands. Her red nails clicked against the surface, and she watched the lights from the dance floor shift and refract through the water. It was almost hypnotic in its beauty.

"However, as this is only a simulation, I do not believe we have caused any real offence."

"Oh, good. I wouldn't want to offend the fake man," Beverly quipped. "I'm ready to hit the floor again if you are."

"Of course, Doctor."

They stepped into the turmoil created by the other couples and quickly found the beat. Data skillfully led her through a complex routine, and she laughed with the pure joy of losing herself in the moment.

Deanna was right; Data really was the perfect dance partner. Well, as perfect as anyone other than the captain could be.

Now, where the hell did that thought come from?

Data spun her and they moved past the bar toward the darkest recesses at the back of the club. Beverly thought she caught the outline of the captain's very distinct profile as they whirled by, but Data had her moving so fast she decided she imagined it.

Another song ended, and one of the holographic men approached.

"You're amazing," he said. "Care to give a guy like me the pleasure of leading you through a few steps?"

She scowled, positive she'd set the program so she and Data wouldn't be disturbed.

"No, thank you. I'm perfectly content with my current partner."

The music shifted—this time to a much slower jazz number—and Beverly frowned again. "What is going on?" she whispered. "I know I programmed a playlist consisting of nothing but fast songs."

"Would you like me to investigate?" Data asked.

She shook her head. "It's fine, Data. Just a glitch. Trying to fix it would only ruin the illusion."

He nodded. "If you would prefer to sit this number out, we could return to the bar for refreshment."

"I guess so," she said with a sigh.

"Unless you're willing to humor an old man and let him lead you onto the floor where, for a few moments anyway, he will be the envy of every other man in the room," Captain Picard said from behind her left shoulder. His rich baritone rolled through her, making her shiver.

"Captain," Beverly gasped as she whirled to face him.

He smiled and his eyes twinkled. "Doctor."

She eyed him skeptically. "You don't dance."

His lips twitched. "Not if I can avoid it, no." He held out one hand and lowered the other so it hovered just above her waist. "May I?"

Beverly nodded and took his hand. They moved further into the crowd, and she was impressed with how assured he seemed as he kept them moving at tempo. Just like everything he does, she thought. I wonder if he's like that in

She cut that thought off before it could fully form. Instead, she leaned close to his ear and asked, "And what, my dear Captain, forced you to lift your ban on dancing except under duress?"

He smiled as he twirled her. He pulled her close and his lips brushed the loose hairs trailing down the side of her neck as he spoke. "On the contrary, Doctor, I find I am under extreme duress."

"Oh, really."

"Indeed."

She pretended to scan the room. "I don't see any phasers pointed at you, and I'm certainly not holding you at gunpoint."

He chuckled. "As a matter of fact, you are."

Beverly opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a quick spin. When he brought her close again, he continued, "The computer told me you were in here and I thought to stop by and invite you for dinner as we're both temporarily bereft of duties at the moment.

"I didn't know what sort of simulation—beyond dancing—you were running, and when I entered and saw you and Lieutenant Commander Data…"

"Yes?" Beverly's heart raced.

"As soon as I caught sight of you, I became hopelessly entranced. So, you see, I absolutely had to step in. I am a prisoner; a fly caught in your web."

"You poor thing," she said, teasing.

He pulled her closer and ran his fingers a short way up her spine. "I wouldn't say that."

"No?" She arched an eyebrow.

He shook his head. "While I may have been forced to take you in my arms," Beverly's stomach entered a zero-gravity free-fall, "I find I am enjoying the experience immensely."

"Are you now?" Her voice came out as a husky whisper.

"I am."

She pretended to consider him. "If the truth be told, I'm finding this dance to be quite pleasurable, as well."

"Perhaps, once it is over, you would care to join me for a meal?"

His nose was less than two inches from her own, and she couldn't keep her eyes from wandering to his lips. She bit her own in an attempt to distract herself from the urge to kiss him. Despite their flirting—and for so many other reasons—it wouldn't be appropriate.

The song ended to Beverly's simultaneous relief and disappointment. The captain led her from the floor to where Data stood by the bar. The android sipped something dark, and several ice cubes swirled in its depths.

"Thank you for returning my partner to me, Captain," Data said, setting his drink on the bar and offering Beverly his arm. "I believe this next number is one more to your liking, is it not, Doctor?"

Beverly studied the couples on the floor as they moved in total precision to the beat of the early rock ballad. Some danced close together and some treated the song as if it were a swing dance. Her feet itched with the desire to join in.

Beverly took Data's arm and allowed him to lead her back onto the floor. She glanced over her shoulder and said, "I'm sorry, Captain. You'll have to wait until after this number for an answer. Counsellor's orders."

His eyes widened in confusion, but he nodded and took a seat on a nearby stool.

Beverly left him sitting through three more songs before stepping out of Data's embrace. "Thank you, Data. This has been exhilarating."

"My pleasure, Doctor," he said. "Should you find yourself in need of further decompression therapy, I would be more than happy to repeat this simulation."

Beverly smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "I think I'm good now, but I'll keep your offer in mind."

Data nodded. "Good night, Doctor."

"Good night, Data."

She turned and found herself instantly caught in the captain's gaze. The butterflies in her stomach increased in intensity with every step she took toward him. He remained absolutely frozen, and she felt as though she were the only thing he was aware of.

She stopped less than a foot from him and mustered a nervous smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Captain."

"Not at all," he said. She curled her nails into her palms to quell the rollercoaster in her abdomen. What is it about his voice that affects me so?

"I believe an offer of dinner was on the table?"

"Indeed." He smiled and stood. "May I escort you back to my quarters?"

Beverly wanted nothing more than to say yes—yes to anything he might suggest—but the way her dress clung to her reminded her she needed a shower and a change of clothes before she'd be a suitable dinner companion.

She shook her head. "I need to get cleaned up first. Give me half an hour and then I'll meet you in your quarters."

Picard's eyes traveled up and down her form, and a wave of heat rushed up her neck. "I see." He cleared his throat. "Would it be inappropriate for me to say I was looking forward to having a further opportunity to, erm, appreciate your choice of dress?"

"I think, Captain, given our respective positions—that while it might be considered inappropriate by some—the sentiment is not inappropriate and is, in fact, highly flattering." Beverly took his arm and patted it gently. "But you'll have to trust me. We'll both enjoy the evening more if I have a chance to clean up first."

"Then it would be my pleasure to escort you home."

"Excellent," Beverly said. She shifted her gaze to the ceiling. "Computer, end program."

With a quiet hiss the world—and the music, the glorious music—dissolved around them, leaving them in a black room covered in a softly glowing yellow grid.

Beverly sighed as she tucked a sweat-streaked strand of hair behind her ear. "Back to reality."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

She shrugged. "Not really, I suppose."

They walked in a comfortable silence to the turbolift. The lack of conversation as they traveled up to her deck gave her the chance to carefully explore the sensations caused by standing so close to him. He hadn't released her arm when they entered the lift, and she relished the solidity of his frame against her side.

The doors opened far too soon, and within moments they were at her door.

"Thank you, Captain."

"My pleasure, Doctor."

"I promise not to keep you waiting too long," Beverly said with a smile. She triggered the locking mechanism and the door opened with a soft woosh.

The captain's lips twitched and he replied, "You could keep me waiting until the end of time, and I would never begrudge you a minute."

Beverly's chest constricted and she struggled to draw a full breath. "I hope I don't keep you waiting that long."

"Moi aussi, Doctor," he replied, serious. "Me too."

He turned and strode down the corridor. She watched until he disappeared around the curve several yards away.

She retreated into her cabin and wondered if she had the courage to follow where he seemed to be leading this next—verbal—dance. She stepped into her bedroom and slipped out of her dress. It puddled on the floor, and she made her decision.

If he was half as assured in courting as he was on the dance floor, she'd allow him to lead her anywhere. After all, he'd been pulling on her heart for longer than she could remember anyway.