"What about a woman?"
The champagne that was in Beverly's mouth came out through her nose.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Here," Guinan pulled a napkin out of what seemed to be thin air, but what was more likely just a well-hidden pocket, and offered it to Beverly.
Once the doctor was sufficiently cleaned up and had taken a moment to catch her breath, she feigned ignorance, actively ignoring the heat that had risen into her cheeks, "Why in the world would you say that?"
Guinan gave her a quizzical look at first, "Hm, I don't know… Maybe because you were gazing at your friend there for three straight minutes until I came over here," she shrugged, glancing over at Counselor Troi with a smirk. She knew exactly what she was doing.
"Three minutes?" the doctor squeaked before taking a deep, grounding breath and standing upright once more, awkwardly adjusting her dress as if it would give her more confidence. It always seemed to work for the captain. "I do not gaze at Deanna."
"Hey," Guinan held up her hands in metaphorical surrender, "All I'm saying is you might want to try socializing more and staring less. Maybe you should go over there and tell her how you feel. She is a counselor after all."
"How I feel?" Her brow furrowed inquisitively before the implications of Guinan's words hit her and she let out a dismissive chuckle, shaking her head. "Oh, no. No, no, no. I don't have feelings for Deanna. She's my best friend. I could never…"
"You could never what?"
Beverly took a moment to gather her thoughts, taking a good look at her shoes rather than the woman in front of her. She couldn't envision herself with Deanna, anyways. Such a proposition went against moral principle – it was a matter of violating a friendship that Beverly had come to covet. Visions of Odan flooded her memory; she had loved him more than any man since Jack – at least, she thought she did. It may have been nothing more than a schoolgirl's infatuation, but she found that when she was with Odan, everything had come so naturally; until it didn't anymore. When he was forced to switch from the Odan she knew to the Odan that was William Riker, she didn't know if she could continue a relationship with him. Of course, then came Kareel, the female host. At the time she had told herself that it was the ever-changing host situation, that it was simply the process that had caused her discomfort. Beverly could not refrain from asking herself the obvious, however: Was it the abrupt, grueling process that drove her away? Or was it something as shallow as the change of scenery? She hoped it was the former.
"Well, I suppose I-" In a blink, Beverly's eyes finally found their way up from her heels and she came face-to-face with none other than her date, Data.
"You suppose you… What, Beverly?"
The doctor quickly peered beyond her android friend to see Guinan at her post (the bar) polishing a glass and shooting Beverly a wink. She turned her attention back to Data, "Oh, I was just, um-"
Data lifted a finger, effectively silencing her, and cocked his head slightly, "Ah. I am sorry to interrupt this conversation, Beverly, but if I am not mistaken, that was the cue for the first dance." He was correct, of course. The quartet had stopped the music briefly, giving everyone a chance to get situated while the program phased in a piano and subsequent player. The android bowed to her slightly, extending a hand, "May I have this dance, Doctor?"
Beverly placed her glass on a nearby table, took Data's hand, and allowed herself to be guided to the dance floor.
It took approximately one measure for her to identify exactly which steps corresponded with the rhythm of the song. "Waltz," she smiled at Data as he assumed the position that she had taught him and took her hand in his. As she expected, their weekly lessons had paid off and in just a few short minutes she was able to release any lingering negativity, giving herself away to the music. Dance had always been her source of relief; she found solace in song and step.
The song came to a swift end, leaving Beverly feeling out of breath but otherwise weightless. For the doctor, dancing was an addiction with no undesirable side effects. It was a craft that had won her several awards throughout college, dubbing her 'The Dancing Doctor.' She had fallen in love with jazz and tap back then, but lately she had been sneaking in trips to the least popular of the sixteen holodecks to brush up on more lyrical styles. As much as she feared the resurfacing of that title, one night of fun couldn't hurt. Participation would be more appropriate than polarization, anyway.
"Fantastic job, Data, really!" Beverly beamed. Admittedly, she was extremely proud of her pupil. He was already moving with more purpose and fluidity than he did when they began weekly ballroom lessons no more than two months ago. Not to mention his mastery of tap after only one lesson, which could only logically be attributed to his positronic memory.
"Thank you, Beverly. If you do not mind, I would like to sit down and continue my earlier discussion with Geordie." Data had barely finished the sentence before a large hand landed firmly on his shoulder.
"That's quite alright, Data," William Riker grinned almost wickedly at Beverly, "I'll take it from here."
The android left the dance floor and headed over to a table in the back to converse with Geordie (who wasn't much of a dancer) and his date Jessica (who may have looked the tiniest bit disappointed in light of that.)
"You sure you can take the heat, Doc?"
Beverly flashed the commander her slyest smile, "Bring it on."
"Mambo!" Riker barked, and the musicians were quick to comply.
Beverly went on like this for the remainder of the evening, switching partners as often as they approached her, which was practically every song. She couldn't help but feel like the most popular woman in the room as she spun effortlessly on the vinyl, accompanied by her muscle memory of the samba, the salsa, the Cha Cha, and one unexpectedly energetic rumba with Jean-Luc, who finally seemed to be enjoying himself. Hastily taking the chance to excuse herself before the next – slow – song started up, she strode towards an empty seat; that was, until she heard her name being called by a sweet voice a few tables down.
"Beverly! Over here!" The doctor would recognize that accent anywhere. She turned to see a gleaming Deanna Troi motioning for her to take a seat beside her. She glanced at the bar, and in doing so locked eyes with a very smug Guinan. Brace yourself, Bev.
Beverly smiled, plodded over to her friend, and settled down into the seat beside her, peeling off her gloves. She kicked off her heels and leaned back into the cushion, attempting to recuperate a little before she would, without question, once again fall victim to the dance floor. "How did you recognize me?"
"Red hair," Deanna shrugged. It seemed there was no escape - even an updo couldn't hide Beverly's natural hue. "Someone's been enjoying themselves," she teased, resting her chin on her hand, elbow on the table.
"It's not as easy as it seems to switch styles at warp speed," Beverly leaned forward, mimicking the counselor's pose, "One moment I was doing the mambo with Will, the next I had finished at least seven songs' worth of dance with six men I barely knew."
"Not to mention Jean-Luc," Deanna chimed in, cheeky, "You made him very happy, you know."
"Oh, hush," Beverly rolled her eyes dramatically, "Empaths."
"What? I'm just doing my job!" The counselor fired back, playfully defensive. She continued, "But I don't blame them."
"Blame who?"
"Those men. You say you barely know them, yet they practically flocked to you! I mean, well, you look…"
Beverly couldn't help but notice Deanna's dark eyes flicker up and down her body behind her mask, perhaps lingering a little too long on the places where her skin was clearly visible.
No, she thought, that's just your imagination talking, Beverly.
"…Astonishing, to say the very least," the brunette finally finished her sentence after what seemed to Beverly like years of internal deliberation. Exaggerating once again, she reasoned. Yet she couldn't escape the blush that creeped up her chest and onto her cheeks. Thank God for dim lighting.
"Thank you, Deanna," the redhead grinned to herself before lowering her voice, "But between you and me, I don't think any woman at this event holds a candle to Lieutenant Worf." This remark made Deanna giggle uncontrollably and even let out a snort, at which Beverly broke character and joined in her laughter.
"But seriously, Deanna," Beverly interjected after taking a moment to catch her breath, "Have you looked in the mirror recently? You're easily the most gorgeous woman in the room." You always are. She swallowed, thinking, There go those intrusive thoughts – again.
"Fine," Deanna stood up from her seat suddenly, wiping away any stray tears left over from her fit of giggles. "We could sit here all night arguing over who's the most attractive girl in the room. But you know what they say," the empath held out a delicate hand for Beverly to take, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "It takes two to tango."
The music had already started, and Beverly barely had time to slip her shoes back on before she was dragged onto the dance floor by the beaming brunette - she didn't even bother trying with the gloves. Just as Deanna had predicted, the tune emanating from the holographic piano was a classic tango. Not terribly quick, but it was enough to make her wonder if Deanna would be able to keep up. From what Deanna had told her she wasn't much of a dancer. That, and Beverly was certain that Betazed was home to completely different styles of dance. Does she even know what a tango is?
"Deanna," the ginger started as the two briskly assumed position. She tried her best to comment without judgement, "the tango is notorious for-"
"Don't underestimate me," the empath must have sensed her doubt, as her smile quickly transformed into a straight face and what the doctor knew was a raised brow behind the mask, "Just put your hand on my waist and lead. I'll follow."
The flustered doctor managed to place one hand in her partner's and the other on her waist, drawing her close enough to make her heart beat about two times as fast, guiding the shorter woman across the floor, falling into a natural step with the music, trying as best she could to be totally fluid in her movements even if her nerves demanded she do otherwise. What she would have said if Counselor Troi hadn't interrupted is that the tango is notorious for its oftentimes unpredictable changes in pace and improvised poses. What Beverly would have refrained from telling Deanna is that the tango is regarded as one of the most - for lack of a better word - sensual ballroom dances, though she couldn't ignore the voice in her head suggesting that the empath already knew that.
"Beverly," Deanna uttered, her voice at a volume that only Beverly could hear, "Don't be afraid, pick up the pace. I can handle it." The counselor smirked and suddenly the switch flipped in Beverly's head. The gears that were previously grinding began working smoothly again – in short, she regained her composure.
"I hope so," Beverly toyed, returning the smirk and giving Deanna a quick twirl before drawing her near once more.
Sure enough, the counselor stayed true to her word. Beverly adjusted her stride so that Deanna could keep up and still manage to maintain a swift pace. She had long enough legs to generally match a male counterpart's, however, this time she had assumed that role and her partner was at least ten centimeters shorter than she was – something Beverly found convenient in the sense that it was easier for her to lead, and on a personal level somewhat endearing. As the music increased in intensity so did their movements; one moment Deanna was performing a simple twirl, the next Beverly was picking her up by the waist and spinning her (albeit not very high) in the air. Nevertheless, the act seemed to amaze them both. She knew it was the adrenaline, but she was grateful for the much-needed boost of confidence it provided regardless. In a few steps Beverly briskly turned Deanna around so that she was facing the opposite direction – a textbook tango move – but it left the two of them pressed together, Beverly's front to Deanna's back. The brunette outstretched her arms, and the ginger knew what to do of course, but was difficult to keep her cool when she could feel every inch of her skin burning through the softer-than-silk fabric of her dress. She hoped that Deanna couldn't feel her heart beating out of her chest.
Start at the waist. Beverly placed both hands on Deanna's waist, closing her eyes and allowing her nerves alone to guide her up the velvet of her partner's dress at a pace that matched the tempo of the song but felt agonizingly slow. Past the rib cage, past the gentle curve of Deanna's breasts, following the soft skin of each outstretched arm until she reached the manicured tips of her fingers and clasped their hands together - she was glad she ditched the gloves. It was at this point that the doctor realized she had stopped breathing and forced herself to take a singular, shaky breath before opening her eyes. She then steered their united hands back down to Deanna's waist and quickly spun her before dipping her low. Their eyes met, past the masks, blue eyes searching black, and in that moment, Beverly was sure that Deanna knew exactly how she was feeling. The dream had reached peak surrealism; it was all too bizarre and simultaneously too real for her to handle. It made her feel queasy. Time was stretching like Cytraxian taffy and she felt her ears begin to ring and when the crescendo of the piano cued her in to resume movement, she couldn't have been more thankful.
They fell back into step, but Deanna refused to break eye contact with Beverly. It made her nervous. Could Deanna really tell what she was thinking? Maybe, if she tried hard enough, Beverly could disguise it as a feeling of loving friendship rather than what it actually was: desire. She knew deep down that she had to admit it, maybe even come to terms with it, but Beverly only felt herself become frustrated, There's that damned word again. Guinan was right – Guinan was always right – but the thought that it had been obvious to someone that wasn't even an empath and yet it hadn't been to Beverly until just a few moments ago was infuriating. Just focus.
The piano plunked out the last few chords and Beverly instinctively lowered Deanna into a final dip, closing her eyes. Maybe if she closed her eyes, when she opened them, she'd be in her quarters. Maybe, if she shut them tight, she'd wake up from this dream and head down to sick bay, check herself out, then happily chalk it up to nerves.
Beverly.
Beverly?
"Beverly!"
The doctor opened her eyes, and alas, she was still in the ballroom, breathing heavy, eye-to-eye with the ship's counselor who was breathtaking, and not just because Beverly was literally out of breath. "What! What?" She exclaimed, flustered.
Deanna just smiled and tipped her head slightly in the direction of, not the musicians to their left, but what should have been an open space to their right. Beverly finally mustered up the courage to divert her attention away from her friend and direct it there, and immediately pulled herself and Deanna up into a standing position. The guests that had been standing around or dancing had formed a half-circle of sorts around the dance floor, and those that were sitting had seemed to stop all conversation in favor of what must have been a very entertaining show. Only a few seconds passed before someone from one of the back tables – was it the captain? - stood up and initiated a what could only be described as a roar of applause among the crew. All Beverly could think to do was smile and wave a dismissive "oh-that-was-nothing" hand. She was prepared to excuse herself from the floor and get back to her quarters as fast as humanly possible without causing a scene, but Deanna grabbed her hand before she could carry out her escape plan and took a bow. Beverly followed suit, but the attention was making her woozy. Normally she took pride in her on-stage presence; in fact, it oftentimes was the place she felt most comfortable, but this time she wanted nothing more than to be out of the spotlight and alone. Thankfully, Deanna finally turned to step off the vinyl flooring, but it seemed she had no intention of dropping Beverly's hand.
"Wh-where in the world did you learn to do that?" Beverly managed to string together a sentence. It may have come out as nothing more than a murmur, and she may have stumbled her way through it, but it was a sentence, nonetheless.
"Lessons," Deanna responded plainly, though she was obviously pleased with herself – yet another quirk that Beverly found painfully sweet.
"With whom?" Fuck, the doctor swore at herself, knowing that her inflection made her sound offended.
"I'm sorry Beverly, I wanted to surprise you," Deanna's smile softened, and she gave her friend's hand a light, reassuring squeeze, "It was just a holodeck program. I have to admit, I wasn't really expecting to reveal it to you like this…"
"That's alright, Deanna," Beverly returned the squeeze before dropping her hand. Though she had escaped the spotlight, she hadn't yet escaped Deanna, and she was convinced that if she continued the conversation for much longer, she would pass out. She took a couple steps backward, fully intent on leaving, "But I'm feeling a little tired. I think I'll just head back to my quarters-"
Before she could complete the sentence, a deep voice interjected, "And miss my speech?"
"Hi, Will," Deanna beamed as he bent to give her a kiss on the cheek.
"I have to admit, it's gonna be hard to upstage that show," Riker joked, giving Beverly a peck on the cheek as well.
"Yeah, sorry. I think I might be a little dehydrated."
Will started, "We could get you something from the bar, I'm sure Guinan's got water somewhere back th-"
"No, that's okay-" Beverly had accidentally backed into a chair, "Shit, sorry." Did I really just apologize to a chair?
"It's alright, Beverly," the doctor could tell that Deanna was trying not to sound disappointed. For a moment, she even felt a little guilty. "Feel better!"
Beverly gave a final wave as she headed towards the door, head low and unassuming. She was able to snatch her gloves but was called over to a nearby table before she got much further.
"Hey, Doc, that was some performance," Geordie whistled, and all she could think in such a foggy, irrational state was, He knows. "You thinking of offering any couple's lessons anytime soon? Jessica and I-"
"Sorry, Geordie, can we talk about this another time? I'm not feeling well," I'm not feeling well, I'm not feeling well. "Oh, hold on, Data?"
"Yes?" The android looked up from the corkscrew Guinan obviously lent him.
"How long was that tango? How long was I up there?"
"Well, the duration of time from the moment the music started to the moment it ended was approximately three minutes and forty-two seconds, however from the time the music stopped to the time you stood up and ended your performance was approximately eleven seconds. So, that brings the total time to-"
"Three minutes, fifty-three seconds. Thank you, Data." She started again toward the back of the holodeck; arms folded. She couldn't believe it; that three minutes and forty-two seconds had felt like an eternity, and eleven seconds at the end? That was an eternity, at least in the spotlight it was. She would never even think of being silent and unmoving during a performance for eleven seconds without it being absolutely crucial to the plot.
"Beverly!" Jean-Luc approached her from the back of the room with open arms, "Inspiring performance, as usual."
Beverly, out of respect for her good friend, permitted the hug and offered a weak smile. She could feel her anxiety beginning to weigh on her, melting her down like wax over a flame. Was she sweating? "Thank you, Jean-Luc. I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"Probably not as much as you did," he replied before stepping back from the hug, gently holding her by the shoulders at arm's length. He furrowed his brow, "Beverly, you don't look well."
"That would be because I'm not, I was actually heading off to bed," she could detect the concern on his face and in his tone. Jean-Luc had a way of seeing right through her that nobody else did – he always noticed the little things.
"Well then, you'd better get to your quarters before anyone else snags you," his soft voice was accompanied by an understanding smile. "And believe me, I would not like to be the one to keep you from getting your beauty rest. Not on a night before breakfast, that is."
"Yes, breakfast, right," obviously she had forgotten that their bi-weekly breakfast happened to be the next morning, "Thank you. Goodnight, Jean-Luc."
"Goodnight Beverly. Oh, and one more thing…"
"Yes?"
"Thanks for the rumba," he winked.
"Anytime," and with that, she hurried out of the holodeck.