Arkady was with the New York police officers when they opened the door of the bungalow. Right away he smelled a familiar aroma - the stench of death. At the same time, he saw the body of Max Albov lying in the middle of the living room, a neat round hole in his forehead. His skin had a greenish tinge, and his body was already beginning to bloat.

"Phew!" The policemen and Arkady all held their noses as they entered the bungalow. One of the Americans quickly examined the corpse and began to speak into his microphone.

"Caucasian male, age approximately thirty-five to forty years. Thinning blond hair, no distinguishing marks. Bullet wound to forehead was obvious cause of death. Dead for approximately..." he coughed, obviously struggling not to vomit, "...five days."

All Arkady could think about was Irina, lying there in her hospital bed, their child cradled snugly within her womb. He'll never hurt her again. The Russian felt immense relief wash over him. Suddenly he couldn't wait to tell Irina that Max was dead.

Then another thought occurred to him. Irina claimed that she had no memory of the period of time that had elapsed between her kidnapping in Moscow and her rescue by Mark and Lisa. Could she have shot Max herself in self defense and subsequently blocked the traumatic incident from her memory? If so, could she be charged with his murder and forced to stand trial? Desperately he attempted to push the thought from his mind.

The body was removed and taken to the medical examiner's lab, and Arkady returned to the station with the Americans. "So that was the man who attacked your wife," said one of the policemen, a man named Cooper.

"He'd been obsessed with her for many years," Arkady replied. "When we returned to Moscow four years ago and he was exposed as an art smuggler, I thought that we were finally rid of him. Unfortunately, I was wrong."

As Arkady got to know the American policemen, he began to feel a warm camaraderie with them. Contemplating the fact that he'd always wondered what it would be like to live and work in the United States, he found that the idea now appealed to him more than ever before.

Will and Deanna were relaxing in bed after a particularly passionate lovemaking session. Deanna's head lay on Will's shoulder, her long black hair cascading over his arm as his fingers traced slowly up and down her back. "I've been thinking, Imzadi," Will murmured. "You and I have loved one another for a long time now, and I think it's about time we made it official."

Deanna gasped. "You mean..."

"Deanna Troi, will you marry me?"

"Are you sure you're really ready to give up all the other women in your life, both human and alien?"

"They're nothing to me, Deanna. Every time I've been with someone else, I was secretly wishing that I was with you. Soren..." He sighed. "It's true that I developed strong feelings for her within a relatively short time, but in retrospect, I realize that what I really felt was compassion for her situation and a desire to help her escape from it. At the risk of sounding selfish, when it ultimately failed, I was relieved instead of devastated. Relieved that I wouldn't have to leave you, after all."

"Oh, Will..." Deanna felt her throat constrict, making it difficult to talk for a moment. "I really liked Soren and tried to be happy for her sake, but the whole time, I just had this awful feeling that I was about to lose you forever."

"You'll never lose me, I promise." Will chuckled. "But you still haven't answered my question."

"Well, maybe if you were to ask me properly..."

Will untangled his naked body from the sheets and stood beside the bed, waiting for her. She stood beside him, and he knelt on one knee. "Deanna Troi, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Will Riker, I'll marry you."

Arkady was glad to see that Irina was awake the next time he visited her in the hospital. She turned away from the television as he entered the room. "He's dead, sweetheart." He took the few steps between the door and the bed. "He'll never hurt you again."

"I know." Her voice was calm. "I saw it on the news."

He sat in the chair beside her bed and took her hand. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm all right! Why should I not be? I'm glad he's dead, after what he did to me. Aren't you?"

"Of course I am, darling." He didn't mention the fact that the gun she'd used to kill him had been found and dusted for fingerprints. No point in worrying her about that right now.

Several days later, she was released from the hospital. On the previous night, he spent a good deal of time making sure that everything in the motel room was arranged so that she'd be as comfortable as possible, and that morning, he went to a department store and bought her some new clothes to wear back to the motel and for several days afterwards. The clothes she'd been wearing when Max had kidnapped her had been ruined and had to be destroyed.

Although thrilled to be taking her back to the motel room, he felt a bit nervous as he arrived at the hospital. The physician had assured him that she was perfectly healthy, yet he was still very concerned that there may be lingering effects from the physical and emotional trauma she'd suffered.

She laughed as he came through the door. "You look just like a teenage boy coming to pick up a date for a high school dance."

"I'm just so very happy to be taking you away from this place."

"As I am to be leaving it."

"I know you are."

She shed her hospital gown and donned her favorite of the new outfits he'd bought her, and they left the hospital hand in hand.