The muted clink of chopsticks against plates and glasses against the polished table surface were the only sounds breaking the quiet of his quarters. It wasn't unusual for them to pass a meal in companionable silence, he reflected; but despite outward appearances, the circumstances tonight were hardly usual. Beverly had yet to comment on anything he'd said during the briefing, and he was beginning to wish for a return of their telepathic link so he could divine what she was thinking.

In the alternative, he supposed ruefully, he could simply ask.

"Is the meal all right?" he ventured at last.

"Hmm? Yes, it's good." Dressed in a form-fitting, burgundy boatneck tunic and long tan skirt, Beverly looked casually stunning to him. But her smile was wan as she gestured in half-hearted affirmation with a piece of albacore sashimi. "I'm sorry, I'm not being very good company right now."

"It's all right. Perhaps I should have been a bit less forthcoming after all." Picard sighed and prodded a cucumber roll with his utensils, then took a sip of wine instead. He'd changed out of uniform into more comfortable clothes as well—a favorite patterned olive v-neck shirt and dark trousers—but still felt a tension in his shoulders as he mentally debated the merits of his decision again.

"No, it's probably better that we knew—that I knew. It's just..." She shrugged and raised an eyebrow suggestively at him. "To be honest, it's not exactly what I expected we'd be thinking about this evening."

He relaxed a bit, smiling back at her in apology. "No."

"Not that I don't think about such things frequently," she continued under her breath, raising one hand to massage her forehead.

"What do you mean?"

Beverly glanced back and forth between his perplexed expression and her place setting, then pushed back from the table and held out her wine glass. "If we're going to talk, Jean-Luc, I think I'm going to need some more of this…"

Watching her carefully, Picard obligingly poured them both more of the pinot blanc before relocating to the couch, abandoning dinner. Beverly settled next to him, pulling one leg up on the couch and pressing against his thigh as she angled toward him. He hesitated for an instant, unused to crossing the boundary lines they always kept, but let his hand come to rest on her knee. Even that small intimacy, previously forbidden, caused flash of heat throughout him.

He hoped this conversation would go well. It was going to be hard to concentrate.

Beverly took another drink and stared thoughtfully down into her glass for a moment before speaking. "I admit, Jean-Luc, it's a little bit hard to know what to say about this future you experienced. I had no idea that's what was happening in that time period. Although I do like the notion of having my own ship," she allowed, with just a hint of her usual teasing tone.

He rubbed his thumb over her knee. "Beverly, I am sorry. I didn't want this to affect what was...what is happening between us. But I felt an obligation not to pretend I hadn't experienced it, or to keep it from you…."

"I understand. It'd be a hell of a thing to keep to yourself," she agreed dryly.

Picard smiled, studying the auburn layers of her endlessly fascinating hair, then asked cautiously, "But you said—you've thought about it before somehow?"

"Not divorce, specifically. Of course not." She shook her head, searching for a way to explain, and when she spoke again she sounded distant, distressed. "More along the lines of—everything else that could go wrong. I couldn't stop thinking about everything else that could go wrong." Her voice dropped to a hollow murmur. "You wondered...why I was afraid. That was why." Regret flashed in her expression, and he knew she was referring to Kesprytt, to the night she had turned him down.

He reached up instinctively to touch her face, and she met his gaze for an instant, rose-colored lips parting slightly before she looked away again. "I still don't understand," he admitted quietly.

"Jean-Luc, we almost didn't make it today. Or the last time. Or the time before that. How many times has something like this anomaly threatened us—threatened you?" Beverly gripped her wine glass more tightly and took a deep, steadying breath. "I knew—of course I knew how you felt, after Kesprytt. But it made—a certain sense to me that if we stayed friends, it wouldn't hurt quite so much, if I ever lost you. And I kept telling myself that, but the truth is, I realized it couldn't hurt any more than if I never had a chance to be with you."

Oh, Beverly. He remembered the pain in her eyes that night, realized now that he had seen it too often, without recognizing, many more times over the years—after the Borg, after Celtris Three. Earlier he'd acknowledged he had once hurt her through his actions, which he believed he could control in the future—but he had never truly considered how he could hurt her by the mere fact of their closeness, after all the grief and the losses she had suffered throughout her life, and what they had suffered through together. He had learned, on Kesprytt, how strongly she felt for him, but even with all her thoughts and feelings laid bare, how deeply hidden even from herself had been this fear of loss of those she loved? And what had finally changed, to make her want to risk an even deeper loss, if it meant a closer bond? "The neural defect," he murmured.

Beverly nodded. "When I found that defect, I thought I couldn't afford to waste any more time." She looked up, finally, her blue eyes penetrating. "And then in some cosmic joke of Q's, time itself was almost lost."

"It appears to be back to normal now," he offered, with a faint smile.

"Yes, except for your lovely memento mori future." Her hand shook slightly as she took one more sip of wine.

Picard took the glass from her hand and placed it to one side with his own. Not knowing exactly what to say in the moment, knowing only that words were inadequate to allay an emotion running deeper than rationality, he pressed his lips softly to hers in answer. She sighed, melting against him as he slid his hands along her thigh, up the smoothness of her back, though her long hair, as if through his touch he could convince her that this, all of this—their friendship, their love, their electric attraction—was stronger than the fear. Was worth anything that might follow. Was even worth the risks of pain and loss—

Because the sense of perfect belonging they had found together, had finally found their way to acknowledge after so many years, was so much greater.

Beverly pulled back, tracing her fingers along his jaw, regarding him with a softness in her gaze that set his heart pounding against his ribs. "Do you know," she mused, "when you first told me about the Irumodic Syndrome, that first night, I wondered why you were apparently alone in the future. Actually, I wondered where I was. It seemed wrong somehow that I wasn't there." She offered a lopsided, self-deprecating smile. "Where did things change so much that I felt it was natural for me to assume I'd always be there in your life?"

He didn't answer at first, still trying to control his breathing. He'd always wanted her to be with him, but had never expressed the sentiment in quite so many words—although she'd probably gleaned as much through their link. But as things stood, he'd had no claim on her beyond their friendship, nothing that would inevitably have bound them together in the future. So it had never been an assumption for him...only a faithful hope. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "But if you do feel that way, I would never say no to you being with me."

She smiled, the first true smile he'd seen from her that night. "I know, Jean-Luc. That's why I'm here." She kissed him again. "And I promise I'll be back...but I am going to go now."

"Ah. Your plans," he remembered, blowing out a breath and running one hand over his smooth head. "Of course. Are you sure I can't convince to you stay?"

"I did promise Will I'd be at the poker game tonight. And besides, all those things you said today about friendships, sustaining relationships—they are important," she reminded him. A new thought occurring to her then, she tilted her head at him. "Why don't you come tonight too?"

Picard hesitated. "I don't know. I never have before."

Beverly brushed her hand over the back of his neck, sending tiny jolts of pleasure down his spine. Did she have any idea what effect she had on him? The impish look in her eyes suggested she most certainly did... "Come anyway," she insisted, warming to the idea. "There's plenty of room at the table for you and it will be fun." Her smile widened. "I promise to go easy on you."

"Hmm. You may regret saying that later." Picard considered. He was the captain; his staff needed down time without worrying about protocol or decorum in his presence. So in all the years he'd been aware of Riker's senior staff poker game, it had never occurred to him to ask to join—nor had he been invited. But the invitation was extended now...and he did think it would be nice to try to start to deepen the friendships whose importance he'd just been so vividly reminded of. "Well—if you think I'd be welcome," he said finally.

Beverly nodded, her eyes shining with warmth, and took his hand. "Jean-Luc...you always were."

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