Beverly's tears flowed freely as she walked, stinging like splinters on her burning cheeks, but she ignored them just as she had for the past thirteen days. The hallways of deck twelve had morphed into some foreign labyrinth, but the doctor kept her head down regardless, for it was spinning and she felt that if she looked up, she'd vomit. She burrowed her fists in her coat pockets as well, fearing they'd punch a defenseless passerby if given the freedom to do so. Somehow, she had found a way to make things worse. Typical. What ever happened to 'do no harm'? Like the blood of a fresh wound, the memory of Deanna just… thrashing around in that office chair had begun to ooze its way throughout Beverly's medulla. Another gush of recollection and she just might have fainted.

Okay, Beverly, breathe. Where can you go? Her quarters were compelling, yes, but even in such a volatile state the doctor knew that she couldn't be alone. It was a matter of her own safety.

Alright then, talk to someone… Jean-Luc?

No, not yet, she reasoned. He's probably on bridge control, anyway. Then, Oh, God, this might break his heart.

Alyssa? Maybe… later. Geordie? Nope. Data? No way. Worf? Absolutely not. Will? I'd rather jump out of a loading dock. Come on, Beverly, there must be somebody you can confide in.

Finally, after navigating what seemed like kilometers of winding corridor, she arrived at the turbolift. The plain landmark provided some relief for Beverly, who had begun to think that the walls would surely swallow her whole had she rounded any more corners. She pressed the call button and the doors slid open to reveal a familiar face bearing a kind smile that went largely unappreciated in the instant, "Doctor Crusher, what a pleasure it is to see you again."

"Hi, Guinan," Beverly purposefully avoided eye contact with the woman as the doors hissed shut. She turned away to pat at her wet cheek with the sleeve of her coat, attempting to be as discreet as possible – likely, she knew, to no avail.

"Deck?"

"Hm?" The ginger kept her head lowered, offering but a quick glance and stilted smile, "Oh, I don't know."

"You don't know, hm?" A dull silence hung between the pair for a moment. Guinan's expression was one of thoughtful concern; it was obvious that she was brewing up some sort of scheme. "Well, I was on my way up to the arboretum, but you look like someone who needs a friend," she turned away before commanding the computer, "Deck ten." Her face softened a little before continuing, "Word on the ship is that Ten Forward has the most remarkable view of space. And I have a feeling you'd like some of that."

"What?"

"Space," she smiled, "That, and a glass of authentic Silmic wine." Beverly must have looked suspicious of the proposal because Guinan was quick to follow it up with a persuasive, "Come on, Doc. You need someone to talk to and I have a couple of hours before things get busy."

"No," Beverly protested, this time giving her damp cheek an intentionally conspicuous pat. "Really, it's alright. I don't want to keep you from your recreation time, and I… I can't let anyone else see me like this."

"I'm a grown woman, Doctor, and I can choose how and with whom my personal time is spent," the door to the turbolift opened and Guinan gestured for Beverly to step out ahead of her, "Nobody else will see you, that's a guarantee." Beverly sighed; there were no means of escape. Then again, the last time she had tried to 'escape' someone it ended with a near-death experience and what was most likely a severed relationship – and that was less than half an hour ago! Who knows? – maybe I'm on a roll.

Just as promised, Ten Forward was utterly desolate (save for the volunteer bartender, who Guinan dismissed with one deliberate look), a stark contrast to its busiest evening hours. Beverly showed herself to a table for two while Guinan slipped behind the bar to fish out a bottle of Silmic wine – whatever that was. The doctor shed her coat and sank down into her chair. She folded her arms on the tabletop and dropped her head down onto them in defeat, releasing a long, frustrated groan.

"That bad, huh?" The mystic approached the table with two glasses of a dark blue liquid and sat down opposite Beverly, "Take a sip of that. It'll help."

Beverly sat up in her seat and followed her instruction, swallowing down something richly sweet with a slight tang. The flavor induced an earnest, weak smile, "Delicious. Thank you, Guinan."

"You're welcome," she relaxed into the firm cushion of her chair, "Now tell me all about this awful morning you've been having."

"It all started… Well, I suppose everything started the last time we spoke, actually," Beverly racked her brain until she could dig up the words to convey her story without tripping over every detail – there were so many details. When she finally did unearth them, she was off and running.

Beverly told Guinan of all the qualities that she found beautiful in Deanna: her hair, her eyes, her smile; her intelligence, her tenderness, her magnetism. How it took her so long to realize that every time they were together, Beverly felt happy – truly, blissfully giddy – and how she just hadn't been able to feel that with anyone else since Jack, unless they happened to be the subject of a particularly fervent fling. How Deanna's absence left Beverly feeling empty – truly, excruciatingly vacant. She told Guinan how it seemed like for months before she touched Deanna in the way that she had at the masquerade, she couldn't feel much at all, and how when she finally did, it was like piloting a shuttle into an exploding star: an engulfing eruption of every emotion, all at once. (She didn't, of course, disclose to Guinan the fire that the image of her dancing friend kindled… How every time she touched herself, she could only fantasize about what was hidden beneath blue velvet, how everything else didn't seem quite right… or as thrilling.) She informed Guinan of the incident in sick bay – how her childish melodramatic outburst could have been fatal for the innocent Betazoid. How those thirteen days of physical and emotional evasion were all for naught, how she'd sabotaged her relationship with her close friend for no valid reason, and how she'd likely be relieved of duty for forcing a coworker to undergo easily avoidable paracortical trauma.

This onslaught of baggage was met with laughter, of all things. It was nothing but a snicker, but Beverly was appalled. How could this woman, who had just sat through what must have been a ten-minute confession, laugh at her? There was venom in Beverly's tone when she asked, "Did I say something funny, Guinan? Please, enlighten me." The woman across the table only laughed harder.

"I'm sorry, Beverly, I couldn't help it. It's just-" Guinan struggled to curb her enthusiasm, "You really think it's that serious?"

"Excuse me?"

"First of all, you're not going to be fired. She didn't die. In fact, you saved her life."

"In case you've forgotten, I was also the one who almost killed her!" Beverly rolled her eyes and took another sip of her wine. She added then, bashfully, "I just… wasn't thinking. I knew how dangerous releasing all of that negative… stuff could be."

"So, your intention was to hurt her?"

"Of course not!"

"Well then, there you go. It was an honest mistake." Guinan folded her arms slowly, knowingly. She continued, "Second, you're in luck because one of Counselor Troi's greatest attributes is her ability to forgive. I'm willing to bet that she won't report the incident to Starfleet at all. That, and she probably understands what you're going through better than anyone else on this ship does, myself included."

"How is that?" Beverly raised an incredulous eyebrow, "I just confided in you everything that's been going through my head for the past two weeks. She has – what? – a couple seconds of abstraction?"

Guinan scoffed, "You don't think she's scared, too? You honestly mean to tell me that in all your years as a woman, a mother, a lover, a healer, a human, you haven't ever felt nervous at the thought of the nature of a relationship that was important to you changing?"

Beverly broke eye contact at the question, swirling around what was left of the blue liquid in her glass. "I just… I don't want to cause any more damage."

"Well, that brings me to my third and final point," Guinan leaned forward in her seat, folding her hands on the table in front of her, "How do you think distancing yourself from her is going to do either of you any good? She obviously wanted to talk to you when she showed up at sick bay. Counselor Troi needs a friend-" the ginger opened her mouth to argue but Guinan continued despite this- "somebody other than Commander Riker. As their doctor, you should probably be concerned by the number of chocolate sundaes she's dragged him in here for in the past two weeks." Whatever Beverly thought she was going to say was replaced by familiar, fuzzy images of Deanna Troi smiling through bites of ice cream. "Whether she wants you in her life platonically or romantically, she wants you, Beverly."

Beverly sighed. It wasn't that she didn't want to see Deanna again – she did – it was just that the assumption that Deanna had any interest in her after what happened in sick bay seemed a bit outlandish, even for Guinan. In fact, if Beverly hadn't retained the little sanity she was left with, she might have gone so far as to say the entire situation was Guinan's fault. After all, it was she who planted the seed at the masquerade… 'What about a woman?' my ass. The doctor winced at this and shook her head, then downed the rest of her wine.

No, the blame fell solely on Beverly, and it wasn't fair to Guinan, or Deanna, or herself to deflect it, however tempting that may have been. Despite the magnitude of Beverly's reservations, circumvention was no longer justified. And then it hit her: for the first time in thirteen days, she knew exactly what she had to do.

"Thanks for the wine, Guinan," Beverly stood up suddenly and hurriedly shrugged on her coat, "and the conversation. I owe you."

"Oh? How about a year's worth of free consultations with my favorite doctor?"

"You know those are always free," the ginger smiled over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

"You come tell me when you think of something better," Guinan raised her glass, which Beverly hadn't realized was still full, "Until then, Doctor Crusher."

Deck eight's hallways were straightforward and forgiving, unlike the monstrosity that deck twelve had been. It was the door to the counselor's office that presented a challenge for the doctor; somehow her feet had become frozen to the ground just a few meters away. The plan was simple, she had thought. All that was really required of her was an apology. An apology… and a talk. Beverly was beginning to detest talks, which could only be indicative of the emotional strain the entire situation was putting on the woman who had once been pressed to control her big mouth. Suck it up, Bev. God knows you've been through worse… But is it too soon? It couldn't have been more than an hour and a half ago that I- A more comical thought then generated a smile accompanied by a pleasant little warmth that melted the ice around her feet and got her started towards the door: Never mind. She'll track you down again if you don't get to her first.

Beverly stepped over the proverbial threshold into the overwhelmingly purple office. Deanna was seated in front of her personal computer, arms folded, looking up expectantly at the doctor. Her face was blank, if not harsh, but most of all, it was familiar. It was the same expression that Beverly had taught her to use when she played poker. Will had taken the liberty of coaching Deanna through the rules of the game years prior, but when she complained to Beverly of her frequent losses it became clear that the trouble lied in her inability to present a truly effective poker face. It was during the next game the pair attended that Beverly realized why none of the other crewmembers had bothered to clue her in: the Betazoid could already read their emotions. If Deanna upped the defense, they had no chance of winning. Beverly practically ruined the next month of games until Data managed to spot Deanna's tell and break the streak.

"Oh. Doctor Crusher."

Beverly twitched slightly at that. She knew that a taste of her own medicine was well-earned, but the delivery stung all the same. "Deanna, don't-"

"You're lucky I don't have any appointments scheduled, or I might have asked you to leave," the brunette interjected matter-of-factly. "What do you want?"

Beverly took a deep breath, but the words still tumbled out of her mouth so quickly that she nearly tripped over them, "Deanna, I just want to apologize. I shouldn't have bombarded you with all of those- those feelings, because I knew what could happen, and I did it anyway, and it nearly killed you, and-"

"I want to hear you say it," the counselor interrupted, standing to move towards the doctor. Her demeanor was odd – almost confrontational, but not at all threatening. Her arms were still crossed. It was probably the wine talking, but for a moment Beverly wondered if Deanna was really getting off on this whole 'role reversal' thing.

"What?"

"I want you to tell me what you're feeling, Beverly. Not what's going through your head. I want to know what's in your heart," Deanna's face adapted an unexpected small, encouraging smile. It's not the wine, Beverly thought, relieved, just Deanna's way of scaring me shitless… not that I don't deserve it. "And I definitely don't want to hear anything about valves or arteries." Deanna then held out her hand with a gleam in her eye before adding, softly, "I know it might be hard, but if you don't tell me I might explode. Literally."

Every reservation that had previously plagued her was washed away with the feeling of her friend's hand in her own, and for a moment she wondered how she could have been so stupid to avoid Deanna. To deprive herself of emotional intimacy – romantic or not – for thirteen days. Deanna led her to the obligatory psychologist's couch (which Beverly usually made a point to avoid sitting on but in the moment felt comfortable in knowing that she was more than just a patient) and scooched up close next to Beverly.

"Deanna, I think I lo-" The ginger shook her head with a shy smile; she could feel her cheeks turning pink already. It had been a couple of years since she'd said that to anyone – romantically, at least. When was it even supposed to be said? Certainly not in a therapist's office. Slow down. "I know that I like you."

Deanna nodded, "I know that I like you, too, Beverly. I always have." The counselor was being overly patient with Beverly, which she appreciated but found slightly embarrassing. In many ways it made the situation seem elementary and she already felt like a schoolgirl as it were.

"But I think that the masquerade may have stirred up some emotions that weren't… there before. Or, maybe I didn't realize that they existed, and," Beverly broke eye contact. She knew Deanna could read her without it, "I just wasn't sure if you felt the same, or if acknowledging these feelings would somehow negatively impact our current relationship. I don't want to lose you, Deanna, and I'm afraid I almost did in sick bay, and… I guess what I'm trying to say is that thirteen days was enough. I was an idiot to avoid you. Frankly, I don't really care if you feel what I feel for you, I just want my best friend back."

Deanna gave Beverly's hand a knowing squeeze. "Beverly, I'm so sorry I didn't reach out to you sooner. If I had known how much that dance affected you, I would've-"

"You have nothing to apologize for," Beverly returned the squeeze. "I missed you."

Deanna grinned then and stood, pulling Beverly up with her and wrapping her in a hug. "I missed you, too."

The embrace, however satisfying, was cut short by the chirp of Deanna's combadge. It was Will: "Counselor Troi, you're needed on the bridge."

Deanna pulled away from Beverly with an apologetic look and tapped the small device, "On my way." For a moment Beverly swore she was pulled back in time to that night in the holodeck: blue eyes searched black, wherein lied more questions than answers. The air around her felt thick and hazy – like a dream. It could have made her sick again if it wasn't for the profound sense of calm that accompanied Deanna's gaze. The tension only faltered when she grabbed Beverly's hand and gave it another squeeze with a grin, "Arboretum. Nineteen hundred hours?"

"Yes, perfect," Beverly replied, and with one more parting squeeze of the hand Deanna turned to leave. Beverly knew that the Betazoid could feel her excitement. She knew she could feel everything. And this time, the doctor made sure that it was all lovely.