They entered the lift and Beverly didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved to find it empty. She turned to face the doors as Jean-Luc requested their destination. The familiar whir filled the silence in the small capsule.

Her fingers itched to trace his ears, his jaw, the back of his head. He stood slightly in front and to the left of her, avoiding eye contact. She furrowed her brows at his sudden shift from intense solicitousness to professional distance. What are you playing at now? she wondered.

It took every ounce of willpower Jean-Luc possessed not to look at her. He mentally recited his command codes for the past five years—in reverse chronological order—in an attempt to distract himself from Beverly's closeness.

For years she'd kept him off-balance with a smile, touch, or gesture. If he was going to determine how she really felt, he needed to do the same to her. She was far too good at masking her emotions – he needed to provoke a genuine response. So he stood ignoring her, and waited.

"Jean-Luc, I…" Beverly's voice trailed off when he failed to turn.

What the hell? Beverly wondered as she continued to stare at the back of Jean-Luc's head. The lift will be arriving any second. "I think we need to—"

"Computer, halt lift."

Jean-Luc kept his face neutral as he turned to regard her. Works every time. He'd employed the same psychological trick he'd used on countless recalcitrant cadets and junior officers, and got the same result.

Damn! Why'd she open her mouth? She suddenly felt five years old – the impulse to confess to something, anything, was nearly overwhelming.

Jean-Luc watched the emotions play across Beverly's features. Here was the response he was looking for – emotions hitting too fast and too hard for her to successfully hide them. He took a step closer.

Beverly's heart hammered in her ears as he approached. She gasped when she brushed against the bulkhead. His eyes searched her – she could feel them sifting through her soul, touching her desires, her fears. She could hardly breathe in the whirlwind of emotions assaulting her. Lust, apprehension, desire, love, fear, lust… definitely lust. And fear.

He closed the gap. He needed her to focus entirely on him, and on what he was about to say.

Beverly trembled as he brought his hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes. The touch was so warm, so gentle, so easy to fall into. And what would be so wrong about that? She opened her eyes.

"I cannot escape you." Jean-Luc's voice rumbled in her chest. "The thought of losing you—somehow hurting you—turns my blood to water." He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. "But you already knew that."

"Damn you, Jean-Luc!"

Beverly pushed past him and prowled the lift like a caged panther. He watched as she angrily wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm. She spun on him and only the bulkhead's confining presence kept him from backing away.

"I didn't want this!" She stood toe-to-toe with him.

"Beverly, I—"

"I tried to stop loving you, to leave you," she turned, walked away, and spun back, "but, God help me, I couldn't."

"You don't—"

"I do! This," Beverly gestured at the space between them, "this is too risky, too intense, too—"

"Wrong?"

The apprehension in his eyes sucked the anger from her body like air from a balloon. Beverly reached out, grasped his hand, and pulled it to her chest.

"No," she whispered. "Not wrong. Never wrong."

"Then—"

"Damn it, Jean-Luc!" Beverly was on the verge of tears. Nothing made sense. Nothing was going the way it should. Nothing would be the same after this moment. There was only one option.

She leaned in and kissed him with a burning passion that threatened to obliterate both their souls.

Coming up for air and panting slightly, she said, "This isn't going to be easy."

He smiled. "With you? I wouldn't have it any other way."