The following evening Peter let himself into Beverly's quarters with the code she'd programmed for him that first day. Her quarters were quiet, everything neatly ordered.

"Bev?" he called out. When he didn't receive a response, he moved easily towards her bedroom, with no compunction that he would be invading her privacy or that he wouldn't be welcome. He glanced around her bedroom and noted the dress neatly laid out on top of her duvet, the shoes squared up next to the bed. The sound of running water caught his ear and he cracked the door to the ensuite slightly. "Beverly?"

"Sorry, I'm running late," she called out to him. "I checked in on sickbay when I beamed back on board and got pulled into something."

"I'll wait for you out here then."

"I'll try not to be too much longer. Grab yourself a drink if you want. There's an open bottle of wine in the fridge, or whiskey in the cupboard above the replicator."

He moved out of the bedroom and easily located the whiskey and two glasses. He downed one shot, shuddering slighting as it made its way down his throat, then poured another and relaxed back against the sofa cushions. His thoughts moved from Beverly to the man who had occupied so much of her time and energy, her life really, for over a decade.

It wasn't that he didn't like Jean-Luc Picard. Professionally, he liked the man just fine, admired and respected him. Just as he'd admired and respected Jack Crusher. The difference being that he'd met Crusher, spent time with him. He'd seen how he'd loved and cared for Beverly.

Over the past several years, whenever he'd talked to Beverly and suggested getting together, asked about meeting the new man in her life, Beverly had found some excuse to brush him off. He and Beverly had met up, spent time together, but just the two of them. He had the unshakable feeling that Beverly, his friend, was the Captain's dirty little secret. That feeling had only become a certainty once he'd met the man and gotten a rough understanding of his relationship with his CMO.

He relaxed his head against the back of the sofa and mentally reviewed the scene that he'd walked into the last time he'd beamed up to have dinner with Beverly in the ship's lounge, the day after the Enterprise had arrived to provide assistance. That night he'd buzzed at her door twice before using the code she'd given him the day before just in case.

Giving up and more than a bit worried, he'd wandered through the small apartment style layout and quickly located her in the bedroom, sitting on the side of the bed looking shell shocked and despondent. She'd been just out of the shower and even though she was already late for dinner with him, she'd made no effort to get moving as he'd sat beside her on the bed. It was so unlike her that he knew immediately that something was wrong.

"What is it, Bevy? What has you sitting here like a tragic Cinderella?" he teased, pulling at the towel wrapped around her.

"Very funny…" she sighed, her lips twisting into a deep frown.

"Seriously, Beverly. Tell me what's wrong."

He remembered now that she'd hesitated for a long moment, something she didn't do often with him. Then finally, "You remember Melora?"

"Name sounds familiar. Isn't she the friend from-"

"New York. We attended command classes together at the Academy. She was more suited to life planetside. She's at headquarters now. We haven't seen each other in a few years, but we keep in touch. Catching up, gossip, that sort of thing..." Her voice was flat, relaying the information in a monotone which unsettled him.

"Are you going to tell me what she's said to make you look like you've lost your best friend?" he asked when she'd fallen silent. She scoffed softly and her teeth snagged her bottom lip in a sign of agitation.

"Senior staff at any posting is always a target for gossip, some exaggerated, some true. The senior staff of the flag ship…. Well, we're basically public property. Especially the Captain."

"Ahhhh…." Understanding and apprehension replaced his look of confusion. "And what gossip did Melora pass on about the great Captain Jean-Luc Picard? I'd have thought he'd be above reproach, immune to busybodies?"

"He's taking leave, apparently several months," she'd said without inflection, giving off that same vibe of rote recitation.

"I thought he wasn't the type."

"So did I…" She shrugged helplessly in response.

"And where is he headed, Beverly?" He thought he knew the answer, but asked anyway.

"Apparently back to Ba'Ku." There was a long pause as Peter moved towards her. She inhaled deeply, the only real outward sign of her distress.

"Oh, Bevy…. Do you want me to challenge him to a duel?" he asked lightly, coming to sit beside her on her bed and pulling her head against his shoulder. "Phasers at dawn?"

"You might be overestimating your abilities, Peter and despite how irritating you can be at times, I'm rather attached to you." She'd then tried for a smile which didn't quite succeed. She'd just looked so… fragile and he remembered wanting to get up and hunt down that arrogant, pretentious piece of -

A noise from the bedroom brought him back to himself and moments later Beverly slipped into the main room where he was waiting, slouched on her couch. She was fastening an earring as she came. He could see the glint of a necklace in one clenched fist.

"You found the whiskey?"

"Yes. I got you a glass. Do you want one before we go? Bit of Dutch courage." He saw a moue of distaste flit across her features.

"No, thank you. I haven't been feeling well." She handed him the necklace as she sat on the edge of the sofa beside him. She turned and presented him with her back then reached behind her and twisted and piled her hair on top of her head and out of the way.

"Something you picked up on the planet?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't had time to check the scan from yesterday. I'll look at it first thing tomorrow."

"See that you do."

"Yes, Peter," she answered obediently but he knew that she'd rolled her eyes at him. He finally finished fiddling with the tiny clasp and deposited a soft kiss on her nape before releasing her.

"So?"

"So…" she parroted, collapsing against the corner of the couch. His eyes narrowed as he inspected her. She looked gorgeous in a light blue strapless affair that hugged her body then flared out at the lower hips and covered her all the way down to her feet. She had a wrap draped over the arm of the couch. He hadn't thought she'd actually venture out exposing that much skin. The entire look was very modest, very demure and sophisticated, very Beverly Crusher. Not very Bevy Howard, he thought sadly. She looked very professional and put together… and also very fragile and careworn.

"Are you alright, Beverly? We don't have to go tonight."

"Oh yes we do," she snapped at him. "There is no way I'm hiding in here, Peter."

"Why not, Beverly? You don't have anything to prove. Not to him, not to anyone."

"That's not the point," she huffed. "This dinner is an important part of the conclusion of the peace talks and the negotiation of the treaty. Everyone will expect me to turn up… and you too. And after the trouble I caused inspecting the perimeter yesterday… I need to be there. It's expected."

"And you always do what's expected of you…" he drained the whiskey in his tumbler and poured another generous measure.

"Not always," she replied defensively. "I've made enough waves lately, Peter. I'd like to fly under the radar until the Captain goes on leave," she breathed out in a stressed tone. "Peter," she asked, eyeing him warily as he tossed back the drink he'd just poured, "how many of those have you had?"

"Probably not enough," he answered honestly. She seriously thought about cautioning him to slow down but understood that he needed to decompress after a mission. So much of their work, but especially his, brought back very bad memories that were never more than half buried anyway. "So what do you want to do then?" he murmured, running a finger up and down her upper arm.

"Nothing, and neither do you," she added sharply. "He has every right to move on with his life. I ended our relationship…. This time…" she added on sadly. "In fact, given the state of things between us, it's probably for the best."

"That doesn't make it any easier though, does it?" Mutely she shook her head in response. "So, stiff upper lip?"

She shrugged in irritation. "I just want to make it through the evening. There are rumours and speculation all over the damned ship, Peter." Her voice caught on his name and he pulled her close, arm around her shoulder.

"Well, let's give them something else to talk about then."

"Peter… I know you. I know what you're thinking…"

"Excellent. It'll save me from having to explain."

She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes, but Peter was simply satisfied to see something other than grief in her eyes.

"Protecting me again, Peter?"

"Always, my love. Why change a habit of a lifetime? Chin up…. There's a girl," he said, gently cupping her jaw. "Shall we go put on a show then?" he asked, extending his hand towards her.

"Would it stop you if I said no?" she asked, shaking her head.

"Absolutely not. Let's go make a statement." He stood and then reached down to pull her onto her feet.

Long fingers trailed down her bare arm and he turned a soft seductive smile her way. All perfectly choreographed, they'd had occasion to play this game before.