Disclaimer: Paramount Studios and the estate of Gene Roddenberry own copyright of all things Star Trek. The original plot is my own as are any characters created specifically for this story.

The door chime required his attention. He swore. He was due to collect Beverly from her quarters in less than five minutes, and he was behind schedule. 'Yes? Come in!'

The door opened to reveal - Ezri Dax - out of uniform, very out of it he noticed, clearly this was to be a social call. He blinked rapidly. This was starting to get confusing. The timing was beginning to get on his nerves. 'Mars colony shuttles', he thought, 'wait for hours, and then two arrive together!'

'Are you busy?' She inquired. 'Well I was just..' She continued; 'Only I'm a bit confused..'

'Ezri, look, I'm sorry, but I'm a bit busy right now. Can this wait?' He rushed past her grabbing his jacket, 'Can you make sure the door is secure when you leave? Thanks!'

He ran up the corridor, and stopped. 'What did I just do?' He shook his head irritably. It was beyond him. He walked on and boarded the turbo-lift to the guest quarters. He was breathing heavily. He tried to smooth down his hair. Pulled on his jacket and checked his appearance as best he could. Stepping off the lift, he strode swiftly to the second door on his left. Pressed the actuator on the door courtesy panel, and waited.

'You all know your orders?' Nods of agreement from all present, 'Good, then dismissed. Commander Riker, I will meet you back on the Enterprise in one hour. Until then you have the bridge. Colonel Kira, good luck and I'll speak to you in 48 hours. Captain DeSoto, you will remain here until repairs are completed on the Hood. Then contact me on the agreed channel and we will arrange our rendezvous. That is all.'

They all filed quietly out of the briefing room, conversation muted. As they left, Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the Federation flagship, the Sovereign Class starship U.S.S. Enterprise, registry NCC-1701-E, sighed deeply. He turned to the window behind him and gazed out at the heavens. How peaceful they looked.

He was by nature a peaceful man. Poet. Explorer. Diplomat. Yet the course fate had chosen for him allowed none of these qualities. He knew that there was only one way for this mission to end. For the Peace Treaty between the Federation and the Cardassian Union to survive, the rogue ship must be destroyed. For the Cardassians would never admit to possession of the ship. Until they were able to use it against the Federation that is. For them to be caught in possession of the ship would destroy the Treaty and could very easily result in a renewed conflict. In which the previously Federation colonies now within the Cardassian border would suffer very badly. The Maquis would mobilize in full strength, probably gaining fresh support and supplies. In short the border region would be bathed in blood. He shivered in revulsion at the prospect.

The door slid open and he gulped nervously. It appeared that there was a change of plan. Beverly did not appear to be planning to leave her quarters that night. She was draped seductively over a couch placed in the centre of the room. Her dress was of a pale blue material, translucent in places. Very interesting places. And it was short. Just below the knee, but split up to the thigh at the left side. As her legs were crossed towards him, this feature presented a very interesting view of her very long legs. He realized she was speaking.

'Are you just going to stand there with your mouth open? Or are you going to come in?' She inquired, adding sarcastically, 'I would suggest the latter, you're causing a draught.' He was about to mention that the climate control shouldn't allow any draughts, but caught himself just in time. Sarcasm, he could recognize. He shut off his vocal operations and managed to gain control of his limbs. He entered the room, and walked over to where she was seated. He waited nervously.

'Well sit down, I won't bite! Yet.' A look of pure terror crossed his face, 'Just kidding, relax for God's sake! Come, sit by me.' She patted the seat next to her. He did as she asked, but sat at the opposite end of the couch. She was not pleased with this action, and slid across towards him. He eyed her apprehensively. There was no escape. 'What's the matter? Changed your mind?'

'No, no, of course not. It's just that, er, well I'm not usually this successful with women and what happens from here is completely new ground as far as I'm concerned. I'm sorry if I appear a bit nervous.'

'A bit nervous', she repeated, 'a bit nervous. You're a bit nervous like a Nausicaan is a bit ugly. And they are most definitely not the prettiest of species I've ever met. Look, just sit back, relax and let me do all the work.' He relaxed visibly. Heaving a sigh of relief he looked across at her. 'So what happens now?' For an answer, she called, 'Computer, a Latin American tune, a tango I think', the music started softly in the background. She stood up and took hold of his hands, and guided him towards her. He realized that she intended to dance. Not a good idea, given his extreme lack of coordination. He voiced his concern. 'You may regret this. Other people have two left feet. I have two entire left-hand sides of my body! I am grossly incompetent at dancing!'

'Hey, I taught Data to dance! I wasn't known as the dancing doctor in med school for nothing! Incidentally, if anyone else ever finds out about that nickname..' She let the sentence hang in the air before continuing, 'You should be easy after that!' She winced at the memory. Tap dancing he'd been good at. The rest of it.. She shuddered at the memory.

'All right, but don't say I didn't warn you!' With serious misgivings, he took her hand and placed the other at her waist. She swayed her hips to the rhythm. Then at the start of the next bar they stepped forward. In opposite directions. He trod squarely on her instep. She swore and stumbled backwards. Regarding him dubiously, she rubbed her ankle ruefully.

'Ah well, never let it be said that I refused a challenge. Come here, we'll try again. This time watch where you put your feet!' The second attempt was rather more successful. Not being overburdened with any ego to speak of, Bashir was quite happy to let Crusher lead, if only slightly. It gave him the chance to anticipate her next move, and keep his feet out of her way. He began to relax. He was getting good at this. Ambitious too. He let go of her waist and spun her around. She laughed happily, and then it happened..

As she reached the end of her turn she slipped. Julian felt a tug on his arm as she fell backwards. Overbalancing, it seemed, was contagious. He too fell to the floor. Landing on top of her. She was about to sit up when she looked into his eyes.

Their lips met. Gently at first, touching lightly. Bashir felt a small shock pass through his spine at the touch. They wrapped their arms around each other. Their bodies drew closer together. Bashir and Crusher began to lose themselves in the passion of the moment. As they began to explore each other, nervously at first..

It happened.

Beverly's communicator invaded their privacy. She cursed, and reached up onto the table where she had left it. Tapping the dermal sensor built into its face she spoke. 'Yes? Crusher here!'

'Doctor, your presence aboard the Enterprise would be welcome.' Picard. His voice brooked no argument. 'Aye sir. I'll be there shortly. Crusher out!' She looked, regretfully, at Bashir, and struggling, rose to her feet. Holding out her hand, she helped him rise. They stood regarding each other. Each knowing that there was a difficult and dangerous mission ahead for the other. That there was the possibility that this would be their last meeting. Bashir reached for her hand. She spoke first. 'Take care of yourself. I'm not finished with you yet. And I never leave a project half done. So watch your back.'

'You're the one at the sharp end. Keep your head down. I like it the way it is. If you die, I'll kill you.' His attempt at humour failed. Badly. The silence lengthened, becoming awkward. Beverly broke it first. 'Goodbye Julian.' Her voice was low. 'Goodbye Beverly', similarly his voice was hoarse with emotion. 'Crusher to Enterprise. One to beam up. Direct to my quarters please Chief.' She regarded him one last time.

'Energize.' The confinement beam enveloped her, and in five seconds all that was left of her was memories.

'Ensign, set a course for Qualor II, Warp 8', at Will's questioning glance, 'We've been given discretionary use of full warp capability for this mission.' He turned back. 'Engage.'

The Enterprise leapt forward, seeming to stretch into the distance, as the full power of her mighty engines thrust her into warp. Observing from Ten-Forward, Guinan saw the, by now familiar, sight of the stars stretching away behind the ship. Becoming ribbons of light, they seemed to separate into all the colours of the spectrum. Despite her great age, it was a sight she never tired of. Similarly Geordie LaForge, in Main Engineering, for once took a well-earned rest. He sat and gazed at the reactor, its familiar column of blue light pulsing fast as it propelled the ship at speeds once deemed impossible by the world's best scientists. He sighed in appreciation of its inventor's genius.

'Thank you, Zefram Cochrane', he breathed. Lost for a while in his own small world, he started as he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He looked up. Sonya Gomez was eyeing him in a rather odd manner. He cleared his throat nervously, recalling briefly the earlier incident in the Jeffries Tube. 'Yes Ensign, what is it?'

'It's nothing much sir. But I've noticed a slight variance in the phase of the warp field at the present power levels. It wasn't so noticeable at impulse, or even when we engaged low warp speeds. But with the higher tolerances required, the effect seems to be gaining strength. I think it may be the mid range phase adjuster. I might not have got it quite right..'

'Ahem.. You mean, I, might not have got it quite right', Geordie grinned at her as he amended her comment, 'You forget Ensign, I have absolutely no ego to bruise. Less than Data, and that isn't possible.'

'Er yes sir', she replied slowly, 'would you like me to go and adjust it? I can see you're busy here.' He eyed her dubiously, memories of the last encounter in that tube still too fresh in his mind to ignore. 'Hmmm. Nah, I'm not busy, let's go.' He stood, and before she could object, strode swiftly out of the compartment.

The door slid open, and he paced grimly into the quarters he'd been assigned. This had not been one of his better ideas. He threw the bag he'd hurriedly packed into a corner. He had the strange feeling he would have little chance to unpack it. It had been a tough couple of days. He lay down on the bed and, closing his eyes, fell asleep almost immediately.

'Yeah, get us a couple of synthales, would you Ben?' Riker glanced up at the waiter, then stopped. Ben was usually a happy, smiling kind of person. Now however, the smile seemed almost forced. He thought he knew the problem. Kicking a chair towards the young waiter 'On second thought, sit down, take the weight off', Ben pulled up a chair and sat opposite him, 'Now what's wrong? And don't say nothing.' Ben regarded him slowly. He knew, from the very fact of the question, that Riker already knew the answer. He sighed.

'It's Ensign Gomez', Geordie blinked, 'Uh, oh'. Ben continued, 'You know she..'

'No, the real problem', Riker cut in, 'You've had women trouble before, this is something else. Now talk!' Ben gave up, 'All right, it's this mission. Maybe you don't notice. You signed up for this, I didn't. The Starfleet personnel are so keyed up lately, it's obviously something big. I'm not Starfleet, I'm civilian. I don't want to die. I'm too young!' He grinned feebly at Will, attempting to regain some of his usual bravado. He failed.

Riker breathed out slowly. He had known something like this was brewing. The signs were there for anyone to see. You didn't have to be Betazoid to know that there was a bad atmosphere around lately. The thought brought him to a stop with a thump. He stood up, giving Ben a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

'Don't worry, we'll be all right, you have my personal guarantee of that', to LaForge, 'Sorry Geordie, duty calls. I'll have to take a rain-check on that drink.' He left the two men talking as he left Ten-Forward, walking swiftly to the nearest turbo-lift. The door slid open and he entered, commanding, 'Deck Eight.' He stood and waited as he sped to his destination. As an afterthought he tapped his communicator. 'Riker to Troi. Deanna, we may have a problem. I'm on my way to the Captain's quarters. Please join me there.' The reply came a second before he spoke again. 'Riker out'.

He waited patiently for the lift to stop. Buried in his own thoughts, he barely noticed the entrance and egress of other members of the crew. He acknowledged their nods in his direction on the fringes of his own private world. After what seemed like an eternity the lift stopped and the doors slid open. He almost missed the opportunity, then, at the last second, gathered his wits and dived out into the corridor.

He stopped. Deanna Troi was stood in the corridor, arms folded across her chest, evidently waiting for him. He approached her warily, all too aware that not only was she aware that he was worried, but she was probably already aware of the reason. The job of Ship's Counsellor meant that very little was a secret from her. Not for long anyway. He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, then motioned towards Picard's quarters, indicating that she should precede him. She smiled, and turned as he followed her down the corridor.

They stopped outside the door to Picard's quarters. They waited. Troi regarded Will curiously. He seemed unaccountably lost. She coughed. He looked at her bemused. 'Your call Will, do we go in?' He sighed, shook his head and pressed the actuator of the courtesy panel. The response was not long in coming. 'Come!'

The door slid open obediently as they stepped towards it. Will stepped into the doorway and stopped. Picard was not alone. Beverly Crusher was sat across the table that Picard was seated at. They were obviously engaged in eating their evening meal together. Will became suddenly unsure of his ground. 'Oh, er, I'm sorry sir. I can come back again some oth..'

'Will!' Deanna was exasperated now, 'What is wrong with you?' Picard stepped in, 'Perhaps you would both like to sit down? Then tell me what I can do for you.'

Will took a large intake of breath, breathed out sharply. Then sat slowly on the remaining empty chair, Deanna having already seated herself opposite him. 'I think we may have overlooked a potential problem. I have just been talking to Ben in Ten-Forward. It sounds very much as if the civilian population of the Enterprise is going to become very uneasy in the near future.' He went on to relate the conversation in detail, taking several minutes, finally concluding quietly,

'.. So it looks as if the crew, who are trained to deal with this kind of situation, are coping quite well. The problem is that there are elements of the civilian populace, who have not been trained to deal with it, who, to steal Ben's phrase 'did not sign up for this'. We may be, for the first time, being asked to justify the Starfleet policy of allowing families on board deep space vessels, to the detriment of the very people the policy is supposed to benefit.

But this is all from a very limited perspective. I don't have any real evidence that this is an endemic ship-wide condition. Perhaps Deanna..?' He turned to her for an opinion. She clasped her hands together, leaning forward, in the manner that had become habit to her. Clearing her throat, she began, 'Captain, firstly, I must say that this is the first I have heard of this specific problem. I can't say I'm surprised however. I have been feeling a strange preoccupation pervading the ship for the last few days now, but I was unable to discover the source. Commander Riker's information provides that source. The question remains what to do about it?

There seem to be two main options. Firstly, address the problem by briefing the entire ship on the plan for the forthcoming events. This could, if feelings are running as high as I suspect, cause either a riot or a panic. Neither of which, with the best will in the world, Worf's teams are prepared or trained to deal with. Secondly, we can brief the crew, and leave it to them as to whether their families remain or disembark en route to Qualor II. Obviously, in situations like Ben's we would have to brief the individuals, as they have no family aboard.

A tough choice. On balance I recommend the latter.'

Picard pursed his lips, and regarded the pair of them thoughtfully. Long an opponent of the policy in question, he had privately held the fear of just such a circumstance occurring. Now the beast was awake and growling for attention. He knew that a decision had to be made. Would the crew operate efficiently if they were worried for loved ones? Conversely, would they take comfort in their proximity? Making his decision, he nodded.

'Thank you both for bringing this to my attention. I accept your recommendations unquestioningly. I fully concur that the civilian population should be informed of the situation, and of the inherent dangers. I also agree that it is not our place to advise them, but that of their serving family member, or members. Counsellor, I would like you to advise all non-Starfleet personnel without a family member aboard of the situation, and keep me posted as to opinions. Will, your job will be to brief the serving personnel, and obtain a full manifest of those whose relatives wish to disembark. We were able to borrow the Ganges from DS9, and would therefore be able to transport a limited number of people by shuttle and runabout, without significantly affecting our timetable. Obviously if large numbers of people are involved, we will have to put in to Starbase for disembarkation of those who wish to do so. Prepare a contingency plan should this become necessary, and liaise with Counsellor Troi. That's all.'

He smiled, 'Now would either of you like some supper? Beverly and I were just about to eat. Some split pea soup to start?' Riker grinned, 'A very kind offer sir, but I must decline. A certain ensign would be most put out.' He stole a glance at Deanna. She had a huge grin plastered over her face, and he realized that once again the ship's grapevine was operating at its usual efficiency. Beverly however wasn't quite so subtle. 'Still chasing Tess Allenby, Will? I would have thought she was a bit young for you. I mean, there must be at least ten years between the two of you..' Her voice tailed off as she suddenly found two pairs of amused, and one pair of mildly bemused, eyes regarding her. The old phrase about people in glasshouses suddenly found its way into her thoughts. She coughed, and abruptly changed the subject.

'How about you Deanna?' With difficulty Deanna stifled an almost overpowering urge to giggle. 'Um, no, thank you. Worf has promised to show me some of the sights of Qo'nos. On the holodeck that is. In fact I'm a little late. So if you'll excuse me?' She stood, and once Riker had made his apologies, they left, sharing an amused snigger at the hole Beverly had managed to dig for herself.

'Geordie?' LaForge groaned. He liked Data, he really did. Honest. His timing, however, was one aspect of Data, which really was beginning to get on his nerves. Here he was, in Ten-Forward, off shift. He had just left Ben, who was in a decidedly better frame of mind than when Will Riker had left. Lieutenant Richards, from Stellar Cartography, had a lot to do with that. Now he had just managed to psyche himself up to, yet again, ask Christie Henshaw out on a date when Data's famous lack of finesse had reared its ugly head. He closed his eyes for several seconds, however on opening them again he was disappointed. Nothing had changed. Data was still there, regarding him in his usual bemused fashion.

'Hi, Data!' The android beamed back at him, totally unaware of any sign of distress in his friend. 'Geordie, Commander Riker, and the others asked me to find out if you wanted to join us for our regular poker game tonight?' He sighed. Well, Christie didn't seem that interested anyway. Why not?

'Yeah, sure Data, lead the way!' Data regarded him. 'Why, have you forgotten it?'

LaForge scrutinized Data's face carefully, suspecting the trial of yet another humour subroutine. But, as usual, the face that regarded him was completely guileless. He smiled, shook his head, and walked towards the door. Data still somewhat confused, followed.

He stepped through the door into his quarters, deep in thought. So engrossed in his introspection that he barely realized that anything was different. He crossed to his bedside, throwing contents into the bag. No tidy packing this time. He was acutely aware of the time constraints he was working within, and that any delay.. He stopped. 'Julian, what's wrong? Where are you going?'

Dammit! Less than a second before everything had seemed clear. He had decided to go. Had even got Kira's permission, citing the perfectly reasonable argument that the front-line defence was where the surgeons were most likely to be of best use. He could be near her. They could work together, talk together. Be together.

Now.. He hated new variables. They confused things. Ezri was a new variable. But, did he hate her? No. He shook his head irritably. He had totally forgotten the one person who knew him better than anyone else on the station, possibly the quadrant. His best, closest friend. Ezri Dax. He swore quietly under his breath. Then slowly the fog receded.

She regarded him with concern. This was not the dashing, happy, fun-loving doctor that she had come to know and, yes, to love. Not that she would ever have admitted it, least of all to him. This figure had a solid serious set to his jaw. The grim expression seemed to her, totally alien. He spoke, 'Ezri, I..' She stood and touched her finger to his lips.

'I know', she breathed, turning away quickly, 'let's get you packed.' Turning away before he could see the pain in her eyes. He grabbed her arm, and pulled her around, and on impulse kissed her full on the mouth. No questions were asked. They both knew they might never see each other again. He hefted his bag onto his shoulder, whispered 'Goodbye Ezri', and walked out.

On his way to the transporter pad he met Kira and Odo. They stopped speaking as he approached and turned towards him. 'Good luck Julian.' She regarded him slowly. This was a new Julian. 'Thank you Colonel, and to you.'

'I have never understood the human concept of luck. I do however, understand the concept of common-sense', Odo smiled, 'Keep your head down Doctor.' 'You too Odo', Bashir smiled grimly in response.

At the pad he was surprised to find it deserted save one. Chief of Operations, Miles O'Brien. He glanced up from the console as Julian entered. Stopping what he was doing, he stepped around the console, and shook Bashir's hand. Bashir cleared his throat. 'Chief.. Miles.'

'Julian. Get back quick. You know how soon my racquetball game goes rusty.' Grim faced. 'Yes, of course.' He was turning away and had just stepped onto the pedestal when a thought struck.

'Miles, before I go, one last request..' O'Brien held up his hand. 'I'll take good care of her.' Bashir turned on the pedestal.

'Energize.'

Beverly gasped. It couldn't be. But there he was, his back to her, calmly attempting to send not only Will Riker, but also Worf, Data, and Geordie, to the poorhouse. Judging by Worf's expression, he was not being entirely unsuccessful either.

'Julian?' He spun round, 'Beverly', he turned back to the table, 'er, call', and pushed all his chips to the centre. The others folded swiftly. 'Thank you for a most invigorating game. But I think now would be a good time to bow out gracefully.' He gathered his mountain of credits, and left the room. Behind him he heard the door slide open and a voice call after him. He stopped. The footsteps approached. He felt her presence behind him. Yet fear prevented him from turning. He waited. She spoke.

'Why?' Confused, he did turn. The question 'Why what?' Rose to his lips, but died, as he realized that they both knew what she meant. And that meant she knew the answer before the question was even broached. 'I need to be here.'

'Why?' He grew angry, 'Do I have to spell it out for you?' He groaned, 'O.K. here goes,

One, the coming conflict will cause casualties. I am a doctor, and the best place for me to be is on hand to help deal with those casualties. The medical staff on this ship is fine for normal circumstances, but you tell me, in an emergency can you really cope comfortably?

No! The hell you can!

Two, I am a spare part on DS9. They need me for the odd illness, and occasional sprain, nothing more.

Three, I need the exp...'

'Julian, you were in the thick of the Dominion War, experience is one thing you do not need… now… the real reason', spoken quietly. He looked up into her eyes, and finally admitted it, to her and himself. 'I needed to be with you.' The reaction was not what he expected. She pulled back slightly. 'We need to talk!' She turned away, and beckoned him to follow. Confused, he did.