Disclaimer:
The Star Trek universe is the copyrighted property of Paramount, and 
borrowed solely for the use of this story. The story is copyright 1997 
by Ariana (ariana@ndirect.co.uk). All rights reserved. Do not distribute
without the present header and the author's written permission. Please
contact the author if you wish to include this story in an archive.
Archived at:  http://www.alpha.ndirect.co.uk/trek/
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                     With me in your mind
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                by Ariana (ariana@ndirect.co.uk)
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   "Wouldn't you rather be alone with me, with me in your mind?"
	Troi in _The Naked Now_

   How many times had she been in this room in the past year? Once a day 
at least, for her evening break, or even more if she needed to see the 
captain about something. She had come to know this small room just as well 
as she had known the ready-room on the D. There had been a time, a few 
months ago, when she thought she would never get used to the new ship, 
with its dark corridors and diffused lighting. But now that the time to 
leave it was drawing near, she realised the E, too, had become her home.
   "My shift is over, sir," she told him. "Data has the bridge."
   He looked up from his evening snack -- cheese and wine -- and gave her 
a slightly irritated look, as if she had interrupted something. But then 
his expression softened.
   "Your last turn of duty for Starfleet," he said gently. "I hope you 
have enjoyed your time with us." He was already talking to her as if she 
were a stranger, she thought sadly.
   "I have." She didn't really know what to say. She had rehearsed a lot 
of little speeches in the past few weeks in anticipation of the moment 
when she would say goodbye to her captain of ten years, but nothing seemed 
appropriate. So she just smiled and changed the subject. "It's very late, 
sir, you should perhaps go to sleep."
   "Yes, Mother," he answered petulantly.
   She shook her head gently and turned to go.
   "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, unconsciously mimicking her 
usual catch phrase.
   She turned back towards him, surprised.
   "Talk about what?"
   He smiled at her small, familiar face framed in shoulder-length brown 
hair.
   "We'll miss you, you know."
   That admission made her heart sink. There were only two days left, so 
little time to say goodbye to everyone, to say all the things that had 
been held back for so many years. She would probably see them all again 
some day, but that just wasn't the same.
   "I'll miss you, too."
   It was a pity there was no distinction between the singular and the 
plural of that pronoun in Standard. She wanted to tell him she would miss 
him.
   He caught her meaning anyway, and sighed with a slight closing of his 
eyes, as he often did when he was about to let down his shields and reveal 
a weakness in his hull. After all this time, she could read every gesture 
and interpret every barely perceptible sign of a change of mood in him. 
That was, after all, her job. Or had been.
   "I know it's late, counsellor, but would you care for a drink?"
   He indicated the solitary chair opposite him. She smiled and sat down.
   "I suppose I could."
   He got up and walked to the replicator near the bathroom door.
   "A hot chocolate? Or do you fancy something a bit stronger?"
   She was about to say yes to the chocolate, but her eye fell on the 
glass of red wine he had been drinking with his cheese.
   "I'll have what you're having."
   "Ah, well, don't expect too much of it. It is only replicated wine, not 
the real thing."
   He replicated a glass of Bordeaux and another knife for the cheese, 
wondering uncharitably if she would have been able to recognise the real
thing anyway. But this was her last night on duty on board an Enterprise, 
so he felt he should be nice to her. Not that he had any objections to her 
company anyway. Now that she was actually going to leave the ship, he 
realised how much a part of his life she was, and how much he took her for 
granted.
   He placed the glass in front of her and moved the plate of cheese and 
bread toward her.
   "I don't know if you care for Brie, but it does go very well with the 
wine."
   She tasted the cheese and found it edible, if rather stronger than she 
was used to, and watched as he sipped his wine and observed her in 
silence. She also drank some wine and, cocking her head to one side with 
an earnest expression, decided they could do with some conversation to go 
with the cheese and wine.
   "Do you often do this?" she asked.
   He gave a faint smile at that.
   "No, not really. My usual fare is a cup of tea at night, but I have 
some reports to study concerning the Utarod excavations on Lieran III, and 
I just felt like having a taste of my homeland."
   As far as she knew, and as his therapist, she was supposed to know a 
lot, he rarely expressed any desire for a taste or indeed anything else 
from his homeland when he was on board a Federation ship. It was sometimes 
difficult for her to remember he didn't come from the same Starfleet 
background as her other colleagues. He had not grown up with starships and 
starbases in his every day reality, but in an anachronistically rural area 
in a land where they did not speak Standard. Where they drank red wine and 
ate bread with their cheese.
   "You don't often speak about France," she said, unable to resist the 
temptation to apply a professional edge to their conversation.
   "You didn't often ask me," he said simply. "It's so far away now... I 
haven't lived there in over fifty years. In fact, it has been exactly 
fifty years. I was eighteen when I left to go to Starfleet Academy." He 
shrugged his shoulders, lifting his glass to her. "I think I'm getting 
nostalgic in my old age."
   She smiled gently. "You're not old." And indeed, that was what she 
felt. She didn't see him as an old man, but as the captain, the man who 
had always managed to recover from what life threw at him. She knew better 
than anyone how difficult his recovery had sometimes been, what strength 
of character was required to overcome the combined efforts of external and 
internal pressures. And she knew that was entirely up to him. A weaker man 
would have lost his mind years ago.
   Her firm contradiction troubled him. He swivelled his chair to look out 
of the window, not quite daring to push his rudeness to the point of 
getting up, while at the same time desirous to conceal as much of his face 
from her as possible. He had been in a melancholy mood anyway, and her 
presence didn't help.
   "I hate to contradict you, my dear counsellor, but by human standards, 
I'm not exactly what would be termed 'young'. I doubt there is as much of 
my life before me as there is behind."
   They had had similar conversations before, though Picard was always 
reluctant to go to the end of his reasoning. Unlike many of her patients, 
he was willing to talk about death, and she had learned that it was an 
important part of his psyche, a subject he was relatively at ease with. He 
was not afraid of death, inasmuch as it was something he had had to face 
many times. But whenever he mentioned his age, she knew it wasn't the 
perspective of the approaching end of his existence that caused him 
anguish. It was the fact of growing old itself, losing his faculties and 
becoming useless, that terrified him. And Q's timeshifting antics three 
years earlier really hadn't helped. The future the entity had shown him 
then, where his mind was fogged by the senility of Irumonic Syndrome, had 
terrified him far more than he was ever willing to admit.
   She purposefully took his statement literally, and gave him the light 
answer anyone would have given.
   "You'll probably live to be 140," she stated confidently.
   "Now there's a daunting prospect," he said seriously. Disregarding 
politeness, he stood up and walked to the window. He sometimes wondered if 
this window was the only thing on the Enterprise-E that had actually been 
_enlarged_ compared to the D. The thought made him smile. Mentally 
disparaging the unfortunate new ship was an activity that usually brought 
him great comfort, though it was losing its charm now that his memories of 
the D were fading fast. 
   Troi sensed his amusement and it puzzled her. She stood up, taking her 
glass with her, and walked over to see if the source of his mirth was 
visible. He grinned at her as she approached.
   "I was just wondering for the millionth time why the Enterprise has 
shrunk."
   Despite the apparent incongruity of his statement, she smiled too. That 
had been the source of amused speculation for months after they moved to 
the new ship, and she had also heard some more serious complaints about 
corridor lighting and the size of living quarters. Everyone had eventually 
settled in and those who didn't were free to go and enjoy the opulence of 
remaining 60s-style space stations contemporary to the old Enterprise-D.
   "I think I'm beginning to see your point, you know," he said lightly, 
looking around the room in the reduced lighting of the night cycle. He 
didn't elaborate on this statement, but she thought she understood what he 
meant.
   "Well, I'm not leaving just because I don't like the carpets, if that's 
what you think."
   He looked away from the window and straight into her black eyes.
   "Then why are you leaving?" he asked reproachfully, with only the 
faintest trace of amusement in his expression.
   Her heart sank again. Leaving all her friends was heart-wrenching as it 
was, but leaving him gave her a terrible feeling of guilt. Of all her 
patients on board the ship, he was probably the one who needed the most 
help, and she sometimes felt she was abandoning him. Or rather, felt that 
he thought she was abandoning him, which was far worse.
   "I know it must be hard for you to accept..." she started, but then 
stopped as she saw his face close down. The unconcerned mask he usually 
wore turned to look out of the window again. How did this man ever get 
anywhere in his relationships with other people if he shut down so easily, 
she thought with some irritation. But it brought back one of the reasons 
why she should leave, something she decided to tell him about tonight, 
when the time was right.
   "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," she apologised. "There are many 
reasons... I just feel that staying on the Enterprise indefinitely isn't 
leading anywhere." She told him the official version of her reasons for 
leaving, the story she had told just about everyone on the ship since she 
had first announced her decision. "As a counsellor, I have no hope of 
promotion on board a starship, and I am not cut out or prepared for actual 
command. I've been offered a position as counsellor to a Federation 
Ambassador, which will enable me to use my skills in a way that will best 
serve the Federation." It sounded like something out of an official 
communiqué, but it wasn’t far from the truth.
   "Being a ship's counsellor isn't... doesn't suit you anymore?" He had 
intended to say something quite different, but decided it was too harsh. 
He knew he was being unfair, and that was something he didn’t like to see 
in himself.
   She looked down and sighed as his words made her question her decision
yet again. It was the same regardless of who she was speaking to; they all
gave her doubts.
   "This is a battleship. There's no place for a counsellor here." Her 
voice was gentle and sad. "In fact, my main duty these past few months has 
been commanding the evening shift. It doesn't bother me when we're on 
routine missions, but I don't think I want to find myself in command 
during a battle. And, inevitably, that's what will happen some day." It 
had nearly happened on two occasions, when they were attacked during her 
shift. "It's not that I'm a coward, but that isn't what I want to do... I 
suppose our last encounter with the Borg really clinched it," she added, 
half to herself. "I had thought of leaving before, but there was just a 
point when I thought my only useful contribution to that adventure was 
getting drunk in some 21st-century bar."
   Although he didn't agree with her last statement, he knew she was right 
when she said she didn't have quite so much to do. After the initial short 
period of readjustment, when her skills were in nearly constant demand, 
there had been more emphasis on her rank than on her nominal occupation as 
'Counsellor'. But her rank of Commander was just that, a rank. Unlike 
Beverly, who genuinely enjoyed commanding the ship, Deanna had no desire 
to pursue that direction further. But also unlike Beverly, whose main job 
was vitally essential to the ship, Deanna had seen the duties assigned to 
her gradually shift away from her trained position as counsellor to focus 
more on command. And there were too many 'Commanders' on the ship as it 
was. The situation evidently bothered her a great deal more than he had 
suspected.
   Without giving the action much thought, which was most unlike him, he 
put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a little half hug.
   "I know it's been hard for you," he said gently, in a deep voice that 
was almost a growl or a purr.
   His gesture broke down any reserve she might have had until then. She 
leaned gently on his shoulder, one arm nearly around his waist as she held 
her glass of wine in the other hand.
   "The Enterprise is the only new generation ship to have a counsellor," 
she said. "It was a necessity on a Galaxy-class ship sent out to explore 
deep space with families and civilians on board, but here, there simply 
isn't enough to do to justify having a full time counsellor. The 
counselling needs of the crew can be filled by a specially-trained medical 
nurse, and by starbase counsellors. It means I'm out of a job, but it 
makes sense."
   "I know," he said softly, trying to lighten up the conversation. "I'll 
miss having a therapist on call every hour of the day, though."
   She shifted her position so that she could look up at his face. The 
diffused artificial lighting of the ship shone off his naked pate, 
combining with the starlight to accentuate the deep lines of his face, 
emphasising the contrast between his white skin and the small darkened 
eyes that gazed out at nothing. His expression was grim, his emotions 
still a melancholy tainted with regret.
   "I feel..." she started, unsure how to continue. "I don't want you to 
feel I'm letting you down."
   "I don't think you're letting anyone down. What's important is what you 
want to do. We'll manage."
   His tone was sincere, but she couldn't help but notice the change in 
pronoun and the way he was avoiding her gaze.
   "I know you need help, captain," she said bluntly, for want of any 
better way to put it, "but I don't think I can help anymore." This was 
something she had wanted to explain for a long time, but it was only now 
she found the courage to do so.
   He turned to face her, and placed his other hand on her shoulder as he 
looked her in the eye. "You've helped me a lot already. It would be 
unbelievably selfish for me to expect you to stay on board just because I 
need you. You have been an essential part of my life, and helped me 
preserve my sanity on more than one occasion. I owe you so much that I 
would do anything to make you happy. And if leaving the Enterprise will do 
that for you, then you are more than welcome to go. You will always have 
my blessing and my support, whatever you want to do. I'm only sorry that 
circumstances on this ship have forced you to leave."
   His benevolent emotions were a pleasant contrast to his earlier pain, 
and though the sadness was still present, his gratefulness towards her 
warmed her heart. I'm getting old, she reflected. Being held this way by 
the captain was a lot more distracting than she would have thought.
   "You don't understand," she said. "Even if we were still on the 
Enterprise-D, I couldn't continue to counsel you. I have become so 
involved in the lives of the people on board this ship, especially the 
senior staff, that I no longer have the objectivity required to do my job 
properly. And my potential patients can sense that."
   This was something he had never given much thought to. She moved gently 
to disengage herself from his embrace, and he released her. She leaned 
against the window, and in the night light, he noticed the lines that were 
beginning to form around her eyes. Poor Deanna, he thought as he 
remembered the fresh-faced girl who came to serve under him a decade 
earlier, life on the Enterprise hadn't spared her either. She had been 
through a lot more than she had expected when she first signed on.
   She sensed his concern and an increase in the feeling of regret, this 
time directed specifically at her. His emotions were depressing her, too, 
and she tried to shut them out for a moment, before his mood became too 
contagious.
   "I can't help it," she said, continuing their conversation as if she 
had not noticed his feelings. This was an occasion to broach another 
subject she had long wanted to discuss with him. "I've found it 
increasingly difficult to put my personal feelings aside when it comes to 
counselling my friends. Especially in problems concerning other friends," 
she added diplomatically, looking him significantly in the eye.
   The captain knew what she was referring to.
   "That must be a very difficult situation. I can understand your opinion 
of one of them might be affected by what the other says," he answered 
enigmatically, unwilling to say more until he was sure of what she knew.
   She sighed and shook her head. "I didn't get much out of Beverly, 
either. And then I knew why. Neither of you would even talk about it, 
because I am a colleague and a friend, someone who would be forced to take 
sides." She leaned over to put down her glass on his desk, so that she 
could emphasise her point with her hands. "If I can't even counsel the 
captain on something as important as the break-up of a relationship, then 
there isn't much point to my presence. A military advisor would do," she 
said with some measure of irritation.
   "That was months ago, and certainly not something that should worry 
you," he said in a tone that implied it was none of her business.
   "But it is. Especially as you are one of my most--" she wanted to say 
he was one of those who needed her most, but failed to find an appropriate 
word that wouldn't hurt him "--important patients. And your relationship 
with Beverly is something that you'd been shying away from for years. The 
fact that you actually got involved with her was an essential test of the 
success or failure of my treatment. And I just have to conclude that I 
failed."
   "I didn't realise your job was to make sure Beverly and I got 
together," he said sarcastically.
   "No," she started, but then decided this conversation was going 
nowhere. She placed a tender hand on his arm in a friendly gesture of 
farewell. "I'm sorry, captain, this isn't a good time for this kind of 
conversation," she said. "It's really late, I should go now."
   Picard was startled by her reaction, though he had to admit his own had 
been a bit over the top. He reached out and seized her arm gently before 
she got near enough to open the door. He pulled her around until she faced 
him again.
   "No, wait. I'm the one who owes you an apology. It's late and I'm 
tired, and so I overreacted."
   Overreaction was evidently going to be a feature of this evening, he 
reflected, as she put her hand on his arm again and smiled tenderly up at 
him. His subconscious welcomed the gentle touch with such enthusiasm his 
mind became aware of it. He looked at the counsellor as he had never done 
before -- as a warm, benevolent humanoid with rather pleasing features and 
a desire to help him. The dim lighting combined with the starlight gave 
her black and white features a very dramatic look. The rather irrelevant 
thought occurred that there weren't many people in Starfleet who were this 
much shorter than him, that he would actually have to bend his head down 
to... He dismissed the ensuing thought with well-trained discipline.
   She sensed his admiration both empathetically and from simple 
observation of his face, and his reaction surprised her just as much as it 
did him. His emotions created a fleeting equivalent response in her before 
his self-control re-established its hold. The instant passed and she let 
her hand slip down and his arms disengage themselves from her touch.
   "Perhaps we should call it a night," she said sensibly. 
   He was about to agree, but decided they should be able to behave 
themselves, and that he wouldn't mind some counselling after all. It was 
true that he had avoided talking about Beverly with her, much as he wanted 
to, because he knew the doctor was her best friend. But that didn't seem 
to matter so much now. His thoughts before she entered -- nothing to do 
with excavations on Lieran III -- had been of the depressing kind, 
nostalgic musings on the recent death of a cousin, and he didn't much like 
the idea of being alone to face them again.
   "Why should we? It's daytime somewhere in the galaxy," he said with a 
twinkle of amusement in his eye.
   She laughed, but looked at him suspiciously. 
   "Are you sure you're not a changeling or something?" she said half-
seriously. 
   It was true that his behaviour had been slightly less reserved the past 
few years, possibly a result of the emotional stress he had been under, 
from the death of his brother and nephew to his short-lived relationship 
with the CMO. But she knew Picard too well to ignore that there was 
probably some deeper reason for his change, something he utterly refused 
to discuss. Perhaps if she stayed, she would find out.
   He looked more serious and turned his head towards the replicator, as 
if there was something to see there, although it was just to hide his 
emotions again.
   "Yes... Captain Jean-Luc Picard has been replaced by a lonely old man," 
he said pensively, his eyes returning to her now that he had made his 
embarrassing statement. He gave her a reassuring smile, and mentally 
kicked himself for being so melodramatic. Maybe it was the gloomy 
lighting.
   Troi just stared at him, amazed. There were several ways of 
interpreting this statement, but the one that struck her first was most 
bizarre, and quite unappealing. Or maybe it was just that it should have 
been unappealing... She opened her mind to his emotions to try and 
discover what he wanted, but all she sensed was what anyone could have 
guessed. Loneliness, friendship, and a desire for her company. And some 
faint amusement, possibly at himself or a private joke.
   "Deanna, you'll be leaving the ship the day after tomorrow, so I don't 
think we'll have much chance to talk again. Perhaps I can answer some of 
the questions you have about me now."
   The loneliness she had sensed hit her like a blow. There was no way she 
could refuse to keep him company now. Curiosity, as well as professional 
thoroughness, encouraged her to stay and try to unravel some of the 
tangled threads of his life that had so long resisted her. She smiled as 
he went to sit in his chair, evidently waiting for her to ask some of the 
questions. She followed him to that side of the room and sat down on his 
desk.
   She let her conscious mind process the emotions he was projecting. The 
amusement was reinforced by relief at having agreed to lower his defences, 
but the loneliness was still quite present. As was her habit, rather than 
go into the detail of what her empathy perceived, she simply described the 
main emotion she wanted him to explore. 
   "I sense your loneliness," she started.
   He smiled widely and said, with just a little condescendence, "Yes, I 
sense it too."
   She realised he was teasing and laughed, glad to feel him loosen a 
little more.
   "Hey, don't make fun of me, captain," she said with mock irritation, 
waggling her finger at him. "I know you humans think I spend my time 
stating the blindingly obvious, but my empathy is a great help in my work. 
If you really want to know, I sense a great deal more from you, and in 
variations that change from minute to minute and which only the Betazoid 
language could translate into words. When I'm speaking Standard, I'm 
reduced to obvious statements like 'I feel pain' which I know humans find 
hilarious. There are seventeen words in Betazoid to express the concept of 
pain, and I'm afraid human languages just aren't adapted to the task of 
describing emotions."
   She was sincerely laughing at herself, having in her long years of 
living with humans discovered that her verbal descriptions of her empathic 
experiences were sometimes less than adequate. But the captain thought she 
sounded as if her feelings may have been hurt, if not by him a minute ago, 
at least by some human in the past.
   "I've never doubted your abilities," he said gently, before adding, 
"who finds those statements hilarious?"
   She shrugged her shoulders, unwilling to make any more of this topic 
than had already been said.
   "It doesn't matter," she said, reverting instead to her well-rehearsed 
counselling method. "The point is that, right now, the main emotion I 
sense from you is your loneliness. You have quite often experienced this 
emotion in the years I have known you, but it has become considerably 
worse since we've been on this ship, and you haven't been very forthcoming 
about it." Or indeed willing to come and talk to her at all, she 
reflected.
   "I know, I haven't been a very good patient lately," he apologised.
   "Because of Beverly?"
   He sighed. This was what he had wanted to talk to her about, but now 
that the moment had come, he began to wonder if he really wanted to go 
over that most private subject. He had never been reluctant to discuss his 
other relationships, but the fact that Beverly was his counsellor's 
friend, and very much a permanent fixture on the Enterprise, had led him 
to follow his natural instinct of bottling everything up.
   "I suppose that's a factor," he admitted.
   Troi was relieved by this laconic confession. At least her conjectural 
analysis of his frame of mind this last year was on the right track.
   "Do you want to tell me what happened?" she asked gently.
   He joined his hands and leant his nose on them, a meditative pose to 
think out the appropriate response.
   "I suppose you've guessed most of it," he said finally, looking up at 
her for confirmation.
   "I gather you and Beverly had a relationship before the E was 
commissioned and have since broken up, and that your break up was 
difficult."
   He shook his head with a smile. "No, actually, the separation was easy. 
We just went back to more or less the way we were. Perhaps not quite as 
close because we needed to keep our distance after what happened, but it 
didn't take much effort or indeed, any particular pain. That's what was so 
frightening. It was so easy, as if what passed between us had meant 
nothing." Now that he was actually talking to Troi about it, he began to 
wonder why it had taken him so long.
   She sensed his regret and some pain that belied his statement.
   "It can't have been that easy," she prompted.
   "Well, there were no arguments, no dramatic scenes. We discussed what 
was going to happen when we moved to the E, and decided an onboard 
relationship might prove a tad too complicated." He looked at her 
pointedly. "You probably recall that I have some experience in this 
matter." She nodded her agreement, and he continued. "So we moved to the 
ship and tried to see what would happen if we behaved only as friends, 
like we did on the D. Nothing happened, so we left it pretty much at 
that."
   The counsellor was surprised. Admittedly, her own long-time friendship 
with her former lover Will Riker proved that love could turn into 
friendship. But she knew such occurrences were extremely rare, and indeed, 
Will was the only one of her ex-lovers she had managed to stay close 
friends with.
   "I would have thought Beverly and you would be closer than that. You 
told me you had loved her for years, and she admitted a similar 
attraction."
   This was getting too near the bone for him, and it was only with great 
strength of will that he managed not to get up and pace the room. He 
tugged on his uniform instead, even though the 'stardate 50'-issue 
uniforms didn't crease the way the previous models had; the habits of two 
decades were hard to break.
   "Yes, an attraction, as you say... hardly the basis for a long-term 
relationship, anyway."
   She observed his lowered eyes, surprised by his tone of voice.
   "I thought you were in love with each other," was all she could say. He 
thought she sounded just a bit like a child who discovers its parents are 
about to divorce. Perhaps unconsciously, he had refused to discuss this 
with her because it might shatter some of her illusions.
   "I think we were under the same impression," he said softly. Rather 
than wait for her to prompt him again, he decided to volunteer the 
information she wanted. "I had never really thought it would happen. After 
all those years on board the Enterprise, I think we had got used to 
gravitating around each other, just teetering on the brink of a 
relationship, but never quite having the courage to go all the way. There 
were times, especially the first year, when it seemed she might make the 
first move, and then other times, usually later, when I was the one 
closest to reaching out... In fact, I did once, but she wasn't impressed," 
he added with a grin.
   So far he hadn't told her anything she didn't know, and the nostalgia, 
tainted with some amusement, that she felt from him, showed that, 
retrospectively, he had rather enjoyed the uncertainty in their 
relationship.
   "But things were different when we were on Earth," he continued. 
"Radically different. I don't think we had ever been in a situation where 
we were just reduced to ourselves. I mean, we had always known each other 
through some..." he searched for some way of describing what he meant, 
"...something that distorted and coloured our perception of the other. When 
I first met her, we defined each other relative not only to each other, 
and the attraction we felt back then, but also, very importantly, relative 
to Jack. I was Jack's friend, and she was Jack's wife... and then, she was 
Jack's widow. So for the first few years of our acquaintance, we viewed 
each other as something to do with Jack, and that precluded any intimacy."
   Though the explanation was confused, she thought she understood the 
point he was trying to make.
   "We lost touch after Jack died, and then a decade later, she suddenly 
popped up as the Chief Medical Officer on the Enterprise... It turns out she 
had some idea of catching up on lost time," he informed her with some 
measure of bitterness. "But our positions on board the Enterprise didn't 
make a relationship advisable either. This time, it was Starfleet that 
gave us positions incompatible with our personal feelings. Whenever I 
considered her, I had to consider her first and foremost as the Chief 
Medical Officer under my command, just as she had to see me as the 
captain. But it was quite different during the court martial, and 
afterwards. There were no ranks or people to come between us. It was just 
Jean-Luc and Beverly and a tangled web of feelings and desires to 
unravel."
   He looked up and smiled. "It would make a very romantic story if that's 
where it ended."
   "It still sounds pretty romantic to me. Why did you separate?"
   "It was just as I told you. We decided it wasn't wise to pursue a 
relationship on board the Enterprise." He shrugged his shoulders and let 
out a weary sigh. "You see, there wasn't much to tell after all."
   The explanation was disappointing at best, but seemed to fit in with 
what she already knew. Beverly hadn't been very forthcoming, but had said 
just enough to inform her they had had an affair and that she wasn't 
particularly broken up about it.
   "We're back where we started," concluded the captain as he finished his 
wine. "Do you want some more?" he asked as he got up to fill his glass at 
the replicator.
   "No, I haven't finished." She raised her glass to prove it.
   He placed his empty glass inside the replicator and ordered a glass of 
Bordeaux. The device scanned its slot and, finding the glass it had 
replicated a few minutes earlier, proceeded to fill it with wine.
   "I'll end up thinking this is what the real stuff tastes like," he 
remarked as he sipped it. "Are you sure you don't want anything?"
   "No, really, I'm fine."
   Having exchanged these civilities, they both fell silent. He settled in 
his chair again, and seemed lost in deep thought for a moment. She read 
the anguish his thoughts provoked, and more intense regret. 
   "What makes you so sad?" she asked gently.
   "Nothing... everything. It just comes over me occasionally, and tonight, 
it's been worse." He sipped the fake wine. "I suppose it's because of that 
fellow Antoine dying. I didn't even know him, except that he was a cousin 
of mine."
   She nodded. He had at least told her about this, and although it had 
happened a few months ago, before their encounter with the Borg, it made 
sense that thinking about his cousin would trigger a depressive mood. 
Especially considering all the other reasons he had to be depressed.
   "Talking about Beverly didn't really help," he added.
   "Because it makes you feel even more lonely?"
   He looked up at her and his lips slowly shaped into a smile.
   "I don't know why you think you're such a bad counsellor," he said, 
placing a reassuring hand on her knee. "You certainly have no problem 
identifying the source of my moods."
   "Identifying problems isn't the only thing a counsellor is supposed to 
do. I'm also supposed to help people solve them. And I'm not so sure I've 
done that."
   Her mind brought up the relatively recent memory of Beverly, tears in 
her eyes, as she said "He was like a man possessed... I don't know what 
would have happened if Worf and Lily hadn't been there...". Their latest 
adventure with the Borg just confirmed Troi's worst fears. For all her 
efforts, she had not managed to make him accept his assimilation, and he 
had given in to the basest desire for vengeance, even at the cost of his 
crew.
   He wasn't sure if she was thinking of the Borg or not, but he thought 
she was blaming herself unnecessarily. "You have helped me more than 
anything," he said, removing his hand from her knee to hold her left hand. 
"I've told you before, I owe you the most precious thing anyone could give 
me: my sanity. You helped me overcome my experiences with the Borg and the 
Cardassians, and so many other occasions, and I know I'm not an easy 
patient, because I do tend to want to internalise things. But you're not a 
failure... My actions are determined by my own decisions, and no amount of 
therapy can stop me from making mistakes. That applies just as much to 
Beverly as... to the Borg." He was reluctant to recall that incident, 
which caused no end of shame when he thought of what he had been about to 
do.
   Along with his feelings about the Borg, she felt his concern for her 
again and smiled, daring for once to tender a gentle caress on the side of 
his head. He put down his glass and it seemed for a moment that he might 
try and catch her hand, but she had already withdrawn it. He released her 
other hand and leant back in his chair.
   "When Beverly and I first got together, I remember thinking 'This is 
it'. I thought, and I know she thought, that this would finally be the end 
of all the loneliness, that terrible fear of growing old alone. You once 
explained to me that what my subconscious is most terrified of is not 
dying, but growing old." He smiled weakly. "It isn't even a subconscious 
fear... I'm perfectly conscious of what terrifies me, and it isn't growing 
old. It's growing old alone." He was looking away from her again, down at 
the dull pattern on the carpet. "I think that was what was worst about the 
end of my relationship with Beverly. I just realised that I'd blown my 
only chance of changing that. It's something that did occasionally occur 
to me, but it's got worse recently."
   The waves of pain from him tore at her heart and brought tears to her 
eyes. He was capable of shielding some of his emotions from her, 
particularly since his Vulcan mind-meld, but when he didn't, his feelings 
were devastating in their intensity, and she wondered that he had 
preserved his mental balance at all. The effort to conceal such feelings 
must demand considerable energy.
   He was quiet for a moment as he battled the repressed emotions. She 
felt his mental shields rise up again and her heart sank.
   "Don't shut me out," she asked, again reaching out to place a gentle 
touch on his cheek. "Please, let it go."
   As she expected, the full force of his pain was nearly unbearable, and 
she asked herself how she could ever have imagined she was capable of 
helping this man. Involuntary tears escaped from her black eyes as she 
brought up shields of her own to protect her mind.
   "I have experienced what it is to grow old in the love and comfort of a 
family," he said finally. "And it pains me beyond belief to know that it 
will never happen in my real life. I don't have any family anymore, not 
even estranged relatives, no one I can rely on to take care of me in my 
old age. When Starfleet finally decide I've outlived my usefulness, I'll 
have nowhere to go." He too was crying, though his voice sounded calm and 
weary. "I suppose I could retire to my family's pseudo-Normand house with 
its view on the Pyrenees, and live there with my regrets and memories I 
had much rather forget...".
   Troi resisted the temptation to console him with anything but words. 
"You might still meet someone."
   He shook his head. He didn't seem to think that was likely. "I don't 
think I have another twenty-five years to make up my mind to woo someone 
else," he said with a self-mocking smile.
   "You still love Beverly," she said tenderly, leaning towards him.
   "I love the idea, yes, but I don't think I'm cut out for loving real 
people."
   "I know you're capable of great love," she said, remembering the 
intense affection he had had for Neela Daren a few years earlier.
   He smiled again and finished his wine. "You may not realise this, but 
in all my life, and that's quite a few years... longer than you've been 
around, for a start... I've never actually had a long-term relationship with 
someone. Most people eventually break down and live with someone, but I 
never did." His smile widened at the idea. "Mind you, I can't imagine any 
of the people I've been involved with would have put up with being the 
'captain's mate' for any length of time, anyway. I don't know how other 
captains do it... Well, I do, actually, they just choose the right sort of 
person for the job, as it were."
   He observed her tear-stained face and, putting down his glass again, 
reached up to place his hands on her cheeks, gently brushing the remaining 
tears away with his thumbs. He was rewarded with a little smile that 
narrowed her wide black eyes.
   "Dear me, I'm not a very jolly companion tonight, am I? I should think 
you'll be rather glad to leave the ship after this!" he exclaimed good-
naturedly, his earlier sadness apparently forgotten. Reaching out for his 
feelings, she found him to be in a slightly happier mood, and it comforted 
her.
   "I don't think you're going to drink this, are you?" he said, picking 
up her still half full glass. She shook her head with an apologetic 
expression, and he grinned. "Not to worry, I guess it's an acquired 
taste." His leg brushed hers as he leaned over her to get the plate of 
bread and cheese, but she didn't pull away. Her gaze followed him as he 
put the glasses and plate into the replicator to be dematerialised.
   "Do you want anything else?" he asked politely. An unwelcome thought 
arose in her mind that made her smile, but she just asked for a hot 
chocolate.
   "Good, one hot chocolate coming up. Hot chocolate," he ordered the 
replicator. "And tea, Earl Grey, hot." He wondered vaguely what would 
happen if he didn't specify "hot". Maybe it would give him iced tea. The 
thought had never occurred before.
   That last command filled Troi with an intense nostalgia of her own. It 
might be the last time she heard that voice saying those words.
   "Anyway, I shouldn't be depressing you with my miserable personal life 
on your last day of duty," he said, handing her the mug of chocolate. 
"We've been here I don't know how long, and so far, I've done nothing but 
blather on about me. I must really like the sound of my own voice." He 
grinned absently, as if remembering something, but didn't share his 
thoughts with her. It was something Q had said, and he didn't want to get 
her started on his feelings toward the entity or lack thereof. "So, is 
there anything you would like to talk about?"
   "No, I don't... or how about Q?" she said innocently, unaware of the 
thought that had just passed his mind.
   "No, I meant something about you."
   "I don't have anything to say about me," she lied, "and anyway, we've 
already discussed me quite enough tonight."
   "I don't think so," he chuckled. "I know why I wanted your company 
tonight, but I'm a bit puzzled as to why you accepted my invitation."
   It occurred to her she didn't know why he wanted her company, but she 
decided she might not care for his answer, were she to ask. She suspected 
anyone would have done to alleviate his depression. As to her own motives, 
they were probably not unlike his own. If Data had engaged her in 
conversation first, she would probably have stayed with him, on the 
bridge. Anything rather than go back to her quarters to mope.
   She decided honesty was the best policy.
   "Maybe you're not the only lonely one," she admitted in a low voice.
   He was genuinely surprised by her confession. She felt his surprise, 
mixed with pleasure, some affection, and the underlying current of anguish 
that was a nearly permanent fixture of his emotional frame of mind these 
days. The mixture was something unmistakably Picard that she could never 
have described in words.
   She smiled. "You didn't expect that, did you?"
   "I must admit, it never occurred to me you might be lonely. Though it's 
pretty logical when you think about it. We're none of us very successful 
when it comes to relationships," he said.
   Though he didn't specify, she guessed the 'we' covered the senior staff 
of the Enterprise.
   "It's true," she said sadly. "I often sense loneliness from my close 
friends."
   "That must be fun. I imagine it isn't always easy to be an empath with 
such a jolly crew."
   His tone was light and she laughed. 
   "Actually, it isn't that bad," she explained. "For instance, Will isn't 
particularly lonely. He always has some girl to think about. And I don't 
sense anything at all from Data, whatever his emotions are."
   "I still think there's some kind of curse on the Enterprise," he said 
more seriously. "Will included, we none of us seem to be capable of 
finding the love of our lives."
   Troi breathed in the scent of her chocolate and thought about that.
   "It's true, we're none of us very lucky in love, are we?" she said 
rhetorically. "I think Geordi is hopeful something might happen soon, 
though. It turns out Leah Brahms is recently divorced."
   "Leah Brahms? Wasn't she one of the designers of the Enterprise-D, or 
something? Or am I thinking of someone else?"
   "No, that's her. It's a long story, but Geordi fell in love with her, 
and it turned out she was married. But now she's free again, maybe she and 
he might meet up again. He's hoping to catch her, as it were, when we 
return to Earth."
   "That'll be quite a while." He seemed to think about something. "I 
wasn't aware of this thing between them... Wait a minute, is her name 
Leah?"
   Deanna nodded with foreboding. She knew what he was thinking about now.
   "So that's who he was married to in the future Q showed me," he said 
thoughtfully. 
   He looked up and noticed her mournful face.
   "Hey," he said, placing his hand on her knee again. "Don't worry about 
that. We already know there are a lot of things in that future that won't 
happen."
   "I know," she said in an unsteady voice. "But I can't help worrying. I 
often think about it."
   In the future he had seen, she had died in her late thirties. If that 
was her destiny, she only had a couple of years left to live.
   "I sometimes wonder if I was wise to tell you all what Q made me see.
But I thought you had a right to know."
   She placed her hand on his.
   "Of course we did. You made the right decision, even if it is sometimes 
a bit hard to deal with. It's just that Geordi's destiny at least seems to 
be on track. His eye implants are just as you described them and now 
there's a chance he might indeed marry Leah. And so far, my destiny is 
following what you saw. Worf and I never did get very far in our 
relationship."
   "It wasn't destiny, Deanna. It was just a conjectural projection of 
what our future might be, based on Q's knowledge of us. We already know 
there are a lot of things in that future that won't happen. For a start, 
Beverly and I are separated, it's true, but we never got married, and her 
name was definitely Picard in that future. Also, that was the Enterprise-D 
Will was commanding, not the Enterprise-G or whatever will be in service 
in twenty years' time. And I'm pretty sure Data didn't have an emotion 
chip."
   She smiled at his attempt to console her.
   "I know. I've thought about that, too, but I can't help feeling 
superstitious."
   "You should just live life as it comes. I for one am sure you'll live 
to be 140," he said, echoing her earlier remark.
   Her smile widened, spreading to her large eyes.
   "There," he said soothingly. "You're much prettier when you smile."
   He was sincere. He had always been aware that she was a pretty woman, 
though he had never been attracted to her himself, at least not 
consciously. For one thing, though he would never have admitted it, he 
didn't think she was very bright. Her diffident personality didn't suit 
his tastes, and the fact that he was usually at the business end of her 
social interaction meant he had never really got to know her. But he had 
new respect for her now she had decided to leave the Enterprise. After 
all, she was only the second of the original senior officers, after Worf, 
to take this decision. On other starships, a captain could expect to have 
his entire senior staff reshuffled every five years at most, as they were 
transferred or promoted, or killed, off the ship. The reasons she had 
given for her departure also made him realise he had underestimated her.
   "Now, now, captain," she said teasingly. "I thought a commanding 
officer wasn't supposed to make comments like that to someone under their 
command?"
   "Ah, but, I'm not your commanding officer anymore, am I?" he said with 
a rare sly smile. "In fact, since you finished your shift, you're no 
longer even a member of Starfleet."
   She laughed and looked down at her Starfleet insignia.
   "No, I suppose I'm not... Maybe I should take my uniform off."
   "Now, there's an idea," he said with a twinkle in his eye. The emotion 
her suggestion provoked in him hit her so suddenly she blushed violently. 
It also made her laugh.
   He withdrew the hand on her knee and joined her in her laughter, though 
he was looking a bit rosy himself. 
   "Sorry... I didn't realise you were reading me quite so closely," he 
managed to say.
   She sensed his embarrassment and it made her giggle even more. 
   "I... I don't normally react... I mean..." she didn't know what to say.
   He got up and leant against the nearby wall, putting some distance 
between them.
   "It's just as well I'm not your commanding officer anymore..." He looked 
at her, his face contorted in a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. 
"I'm sorry about that... but it was a rather interesting idea."
   That set her off again. She was by nature prone to giggling fits, and 
though she had grown very good at controlling them, she knew anything he 
said now would just make it worse.
   "Well, this has turned out an interesting evening," he said, gingerly 
rubbing his neck in a nervous gesture.
   She clapped her hand over her mouth as her whole body shook.
   "No, please... don't say anything more," she pleaded as the laughter 
redoubled.
   Her good humour was contagious and he gave up trying to resist his own 
mirth. Relaxed by the laughter, he moved back to his desk to get his tea, 
and settled beside her on the tabletop. Her giggles were bringing tears to 
her eyes again, and she was gasping for breath.
   He put his hand on her shoulder with some concern, though he was still 
smiling.
   "Are you all right? Do you want me to get you a drink of water?" he 
asked.
   She shook her head and drew a few deep breaths.
   "Oh dear, I'm going to get hiccups now," she gasped. "I'm sorry, 
captain, it's just nerves."
   "Just nerves, yes, of course," he said in a humouring tone, as if he 
didn't believe that for one minute. It sounded as if he wanted to remind 
her what had brought on the attack.
   "Don't!" she said, slapping him on the thigh as she resisted a new 
giggle. "You're just making it worse."
   "Ow," he said unemotionally. "You watch it, young lady."
   She was over her fit and breathed in a bit more evenly.
   "Anyway, where were we?" she asked.
   "We were talking about the Enterprise curse," he reminded her.
   "Oh yes, right. Did you want my professional opinion on that?"
   "No, but go ahead."
   His remark threatened to bring on another giggle. She took in a couple 
more deep breaths to calm herself completely. 
   "I think the strain of our work is partly responsible for that. We are 
all people who place our duty above our desires. Our lives are entirely 
focused on this ship. We can't have durable relationships with people who 
don't live on the Enterprise, because we wouldn't have enough in common 
with them to keep the relationship going."
   "Shore-leave romances," said Picard. "I've had plenty of those in my 
time, and you're right, they don't work."
   "On-board romances don't work that much better. Even on a ship like the 
D, where we were given an opportunity to raise families, it was difficult 
to establish a relationship with someone on the ship. As senior officers, 
we had a choice between subordinates, at the risk of being accused of 
nepotism and favouritism..."
   "Yes..." he agreed thoughtfully. That was exactly what had happened 
with Neela.
   "Or else, we could try getting involved with fellow officers, but that 
strains professional relationships."
   "I suppose it wasn't easy being involved with Worf," he prompted.
   She shrugged her shoulders.
   "It wasn't meant to be," she said simply.
   "And what about Will?" he asked.
   "Captain, Will and I will never get together again. We've known that 
from the start, and though I'm not one hundred percent sure what Will 
thinks, I think that's fine."
   "Deanna," he said in a soft voice that sent involuntary shivers down 
her spine. "My first name isn't 'Captain'."
   "No, sir," she said mischievously.
   He couldn't think of anything to say just then. Aside from anything 
else, she had brought her face a bit too close to his, and it seemed to be 
interfering with his ability to think clearly. He turned away to get his 
tea, which was behind him.
   "Poor Will. At least he's trying to find someone," he said. "I thought 
he had something good going with Lieutenant Cathely, but I gather the 
curse kicked in."
   "Yes, she transferred off the Enterprise." A thought suddenly occurred 
to her. "I didn't know you paid such attention to the ship's gossip," she 
said with a delighted smile.
   He leaned a bit closer as if to confide some great secret. "I happen to 
have two of the ship's biggest gossips sitting in the chairs below me. I 
reckon they redesigned the bridge specially so the counsellor and first 
officer could have private conversations without the captain getting in 
the way."
   That made her laugh again. She leaned her shoulder against his in a 
affectionate gesture.
   "This poor ship... Where are things going if even you are making fun of 
it!" she exclaimed.
   "It's reading all the messages on the public computer files. I thought 
the ship was beautiful until I read what the crew thought of it. Then of 
course, the minute someone pointed out its defects, I found myself looking 
around and thinking 'Yes, the corridors are rather dim, and the bridge is 
two sizes too small...'."
   "A ha, so that's how you form your opinions... after you've read everyone 
else's on the public messages," she teased. "And there I was under the 
impression it was all original thinking."
   "I never hid my belief in government by consensus," he said, delighted 
at her teasing.
   She laughed again, as much at the unusual situation she was in, sitting 
on the captain's desk, as at the strange conversation she was having with 
him. But her laughter stopped short as she felt his lips pressed softly to 
the corner of her mouth. It was as if a bolt of electricity coursed 
through her blood. Without a word, she slipped off the table and tried to 
get away, but she was moving as if in a trance. This couldn't be 
happening, part of her mind told her, while another said it didn't matter. 
It did matter, went the argument, this was wrong. But his hands reached 
out for her as she hesitated. 
   "No... it's all right," she heard his voice say, its velvet tones barely 
above a whisper.
   She obeyed, letting the nearly imperceptible touch of his hands on her 
arms draw her back to his side, as if it weren't the touch but some 
unknown force bringing her to sit on the table again. The emotions in the 
room were intoxicating, the suddenness of it all exhilarating and 
frightening. She caught her quickening breath as he placed her on the 
desk, and she slowly turned her face towards him, her feelings in turmoil.
   But Picard wasn't an empath, he was just a human male with aspirations 
to being a gentleman, and a rather embarrassed one at that. Interpreting 
only her initial reaction and limiting his analysis to it, he got up 
himself and tugged nervously at his uniform, determined to behave as if 
nothing had happened. It did occur to him that he would have difficulty 
fooling an empath, particularly as he was in no state to even try and 
shield her out. But he was going to give it a try anyway, the thought of 
her actually leaving far worse than the thought of the effort.
   "I don't think that table was really designed for sitting on, it's very 
uncomfortable," he said gingerly, trying unsuccessfully to hide the 
huskiness of his voice. He noticed her mug was empty. "Do you want another 
one?" he asked.
   She fixed her black gaze on him, and he was puzzled by what he saw 
there. His kiss had been innocent enough; he was aiming for her cheek as 
an impulsive gesture of affection, or so his conscious mind said. But the 
feel of her soft skin under his lips, his sudden awareness of her scent 
had made him realise what he really wanted from her. And he couldn't 
accept that he would be so base as to desire her, of all people. Her 
reaction was logical.
   But now he wasn't so sure she agreed with him. Her lips parted to 
better cope with her uneven breath and his eyes followed their sensuous 
shape and focused on the white teeth they revealed. The thought of her 
soft mouth on him, kissing his own, caressing his skin, made his head spin 
and also, rather disconcertingly, made her draw in a sharp breath, as if 
he had touched her with his thought. He dragged his mind from her face and 
tried to concentrate on what to do next. The soft sound of her breath was 
just audible above the hum of the warp engine, and seemed to be giving him 
pretty precise instructions. But he didn't dare... it would be wrong. At 
least, that was what his mind told him, while his instincts said her 
message was obvious and he should just take her word for it.
   Not for the first time in his life, his mind won out. He took her mug 
and went over to recycle it in the replicator. He watched the mug 
dematerialise, and tried to calm himself down. He wasn't having much 
success, and when he felt her arms around his waist, his ego gave in with
relief to what the id clamoured for.
   Deanna's mind was open and focused on his, and she felt the breakdown 
of his repressive superego, though she did not analyse it in such Freudian 
terms. His relief and desire washed over her and fuelled her own passion. 
Her hands on his stomach pulled at his uniform's tunic, but in the 
opposite direction than he usually did, her fingers working to get 
underneath the thick material and touch his skin. He passively accepted 
her gentle fumbling, glad that she seemed ready to take the lead. He 
gasped softly as she reached her goal, separating the three layers of 
clothing from his trousers, and running her hands upwards on his skin, 
delighting in the silkiness of its texture and the springiness of the hair 
on his chest. Leaning upwards, she placed her lips on the small band of 
smooth skin between his hair and the collar of his undershirt.
   With a sigh of pleasure, he unfastened his jacket and undershirt, 
turning around towards her as he tried to discard them. Her hands didn't 
leave his skin as he moved, caressing his sides and back as she pressed 
against his front. The top two garments being disposed of, they parted 
just long enough for him to pull off his vest, and then his arms went 
around her small frame, and he lowered his mouth onto hers. The pleasure 
he felt as he tasted her tongue sent a violent tremor through her, and one 
of her hands came up to the back of his head to pull him closer. She felt 
his hands explore her body over her uniform as his tongue explored her 
mouth, and gave up the conscious effort to link with his mind, relaxing as 
she let her instincts and the stimuli of his body and emotions take over.
   They had to part for a moment as he unfastened the top of her jump-
suit, and he gave her a brilliant smile as his large hands eased the 
garment off her hips. His smile made him look so happy she couldn't help 
resuming their kiss, even though he was still trying to undress her. Their 
combined efforts managed to rid her of her undershirt, and he ran his 
hands over the soft material of her shift, the only part of her uniform 
she had chosen herself. The pliable frame of the bra pressed against his 
chest as her hands pulled him hungrily to her. 
   His emotions were rapidly becoming too much for her, and she gasped as 
they brought her to a first silent climax. He laughed in surprise as her 
body tensed in his arms, delighted at her responsiveness. Placing his 
hands at the lower end of the shift, he lifted her up. She squealed with 
delight as he carried her to the other end of the room.
   He deposited her first on the desk. She didn't like that idea too much; 
bad enough that they were going to go through with it right there in his 
office, but she could think of at least one more comfortable place. She 
was too aroused to protest, though, as all that mattered to her right then 
was for them both to satisfy the desire that possessed her mind. In fact, 
Jean-Luc needed to get access to take her boots off and remove her uniform 
completely. Once that was done, he picked her up properly, one arm 
supporting her back and the other under her knees. Deanna was well used to 
her lovers being able to carry her, but it was an unusual experience for 
him. Although in a rub he was probably capable of lifting Beverly, the 
fact that Deanna was a good few centimetres shorter than him made it seem 
more natural. Considerations of height and weight were forgotten as he 
laid her down on his couch and unfastened her underwear.
   Just the feel of his hands on her body and his desire in her mind were 
enough to increase her heart beat and shallow her breathing again. Her 
face was flushed, her eyes closed as she bit her lip and groaned under the 
sensations. He watched in amazement as her body buckled under the strength 
of an orgasm brought on by emotions alone. She threw her head back in a 
silent cry of pleasure and then, opening her eyes again, reached to pull 
him to her. "Come," she whispered. He didn't resist, flattered and excited 
by the look in her half-closed eyes.
   Her hands gripped the muscles of his upper arms, nails occasionally 
digging into his taut flesh as his shoulders tensed and relaxed with the 
movements of his body. She seemed to be saying something in Betazoid, and 
the small piece of his mind that was still capable of rational thought 
wondered why the translator hadn't picked it up. But her sighs fired his 
passion in the same way his desire fired hers, the combinations of 
emotional and physical pleasure pushing them both to the point where each 
pursued their own goal. //Imzadi, haleshk vidar// rang a thought in his 
mind, a telepathic plea for more that would have surprised him were he not 
so anxious to comply. She subconsciously sensed the urgency of his 
feelings as he neared the point of physical release, and, combined with 
the reaction of her own body, it was enough to push her to her limit and 
into the inevitable unconsciousness that followed.
   She woke up a moment later and opened her eyes. The first thing she saw 
was the model of the _Stargazer_. She moved her gaze around the room, to 
the door, her jump-suit in a pile beside the desk, his clothes spread out 
in front of the replicator. Then she looked down at her feet and noticed 
with amusement that she was still wearing her socks. He hadn't quite got 
around to taking his trousers off, either, and they covered his leg to 
mid-thigh, giving him a slightly less than dignified appearance. But then 
her eyes followed the contour of his body to his naked hip, the strong arm 
around her waist, the smooth shoulder and the hollow of his neck. Her 
former captain's small hazel eyes were fixed on her face, his expression 
and feelings, following what had just happened, inscrutable.
   Then, realising she was awake, he smiled widely and, lifting his hand 
from her waist, brushed away the sweat on her forehead, replacing it with 
a tender kiss.
   "I must say, that was a pleasant surprise," he said gently.
   She returned his smile.
   "Which part?"
   She thought he was referring to her Betazoid reactions to his love-
making, but he shook his head, leaning back onto the cushion at the end of 
the couch.
   "The whole thing. I didn't expect that to happen."
   "Especially here?"
   He chuckled quietly.
   "Especially here. Q was right, I have changed."
   She was too tired for the moment to ask what he meant.
   "All right, here comes the typical Terracentric question: is that a 
usual Betazoid reaction?" he asked.
   She reached out to stroke his face.
   "Yes, it is," was all she could say.
   He leant over to kiss her again.
   "Thank you," he whispered.
   He turned onto his side and rested his head on his hand as he had been 
doing when she woke up. He idly ran his other hand through her hair. She 
noticed the marks she had left on his shoulder and put her lips on them as 
if to kiss them better.
   "Beverly will be wondering what happened to you," she murmured.
   He strained to look at his shoulder. "I don't think she'll wonder at 
all. She'll know exactly what happened." He grinned at her. "You're very 
passionate." He reflected that this little woman had had a Klingon for a 
lover. He could see why.
   She lay back on the couch and they let a few moments of silence go by, 
his hand gently stroking her upper body.
   "Did you think about this? I mean did it ever occur to you we might do 
this?" she asked.
   "It must have crossed my mind once or twice." He gave her an amused 
look. "Probably something to do with your uniform at the time," he said 
ruefully.
   She laughed. "I never sensed anything from you. It never occurred to me 
you might find me attractive."
   "I was about to say the same thing, actually. But I don't see why you 
thought that. You're very pretty," he said sincerely.
   "I'm not your type, though, am I?"
   "And what's my type?" he asked innocently.
   "Tall, slim, with a thin face and a strong personality that won't let 
you get away with anything," she told him.
   "Hmm. And what is that analysis based on?"
   "Observation."
   "I doubt you observed enough of my 'type' of woman to conduct a 
scientific study of the subject," he said, rather bothered by the idea he 
might be attracted to women based on flimsy pretexts like size and 
looks... though it had often occurred to him that he liked women with 
strong personalities.
   "Let's see... Vash, Beverly and Neela. No, I don't suppose those are 
enough examples. It was just a hunch," she said with a shrug.
   "I should perhaps say at this point that I probably don't conform to 
your standards of aesthetics, either."
   She looked him over. He was right. In her opinion he was an extremely 
ugly man. Short, old and bald with little piggy eyes was how she could 
have described him, though her respect for him as her commanding officer 
had always brought her to dismiss what he looked like. That his voice and 
manners leant him a considerable charm was undeniable, but she liked 
strong, passionate men. "With more muscle than sense," said her mother's 
voice in the memory of some half-forgotten conversation.
   "I like men with hair on their chest," she said, unwilling to admit how 
far he really was from her ideal lover.
   He automatically looked down at that part of his anatomy and his face 
twisted into an amused grin.
   "I suppose that's a start. You'll probably think I'm harping on the 
same subject a lot, but I would have said I was a bit old for you."
   "I'm not feeling very young myself," she said wistfully. "I suppose you 
find that funny."
   "I didn't think it was funny when I was your age, either. But my big 
worry was losing my hair... obviously," he said, passing his hand on his 
bare scalp.
   She watched the gesture and observed his face. He could have been 
handsome in his youth, she reflected. Her appraisal of him was largely 
influenced by her dislike of his baldness, but taken separately, his 
features could be rather pleasing. His eyes were quite nice. The pleat of 
his eyelids would be considered attractive on a great many worlds and 
their pale colouring, with hues ranging from dark grey to green, was a 
true reflection of his complex and varied soul. Just then, his eyes were 
at their most interesting, expressing as they were a great deal of 
tenderness for her.
   "I'm glad to know some part of me meets with your approval," he said 
with a grin.
   "There are actually quite a few parts that suit me," she said with a 
sly smile, running a gentle finger along his brow.
   Though he told himself he shouldn't give in to idle male pride, he felt 
-- and looked -- extremely pleased with himself. It earned him another 
kiss from her. He returned the gesture and they kissed quietly and slowly, 
locked in a tender embrace.
   When they broke the kiss, she pulled herself up on one elbow. 
   "I can't believe this," she murmured softly, stroking his forehead with 
her hand.
   He slid his arms around her and pulled her half on top of him for 
another, more passionate kiss. His hands ran down her body to her hips, 
but she pulled away slightly.
   "I must be entering the Phase," she whispered to herself.
   He smiled, though her recovered empathy sensed some disappointment.
   "Is that a 'no'?" he asked good-naturedly.
   She kissed his forehead.
   "It's just a silly thought." Her words were soft breaths on his skin.
   He swallowed hard and let out a big sigh.
   "All right, tell me about it," he said, since talk seemed to be what 
she wanted to do.
   She hesitated, and then lay down beside him again, her head in the 
hollow of his neck.
   "We really shouldn't stay here. Data will be wondering what we're up 
to," she remarked a propos of just about nothing.
   He nodded. "Not to mention that we'd have a difficult time explaining 
what's going on if he decides he needs to see me about something." 
   Neither of them made any move.
   "What's all this about the Phase?" he asked. "You're a bit young, 
aren't you?"
   "Yes, but... oh, never mind."
   He did mind a bit, but didn't let it bother him too much. He looked up 
at the bookcase above the couch, instead, though it wasn't a very exciting 
view.
   "I think I have a thing about the original command crew of the 
Enterprise," said Deanna suddenly.
   That made him laugh.
   "I suppose you could put it like that. It could be a very interesting 
occupation, I'm sure."
   "What?"
   "Trying out your colleagues," he said with a slightly awkward grin. 
   "Is that what you think I'm doing?" She was laughing too. "Well, maybe 
you're right. I'd better tell Geordi and Beverly to keep out of my way 
tomorrow, in case I feel like completing my collection," she said 
teasingly, happy that he seemed sincerely unconcerned by her remark. And 
indeed, he was also rather happy to find how unconcerned he was. It wasn't 
very flattering to think of himself as part of a collection, but somehow, 
it didn't matter just then. It minimised what had happened between them 
and gave it a certain level of insignificance. It's just sex, mon petit, 
he thought to himself.
   But he thought over her last sentence and realisation dawned.
   "Data?" he said with unconcealed surprise.
   "Don't, please," she pleaded seriously. This was definitely not 
something she wanted to discuss.
   He shifted his position to lean over her and caressed her body in a 
casual way she did not expect after what she had just revealed. The truth 
was that he didn't want her to feel rejected just because of what she had 
said. Even though, the truth be told, it did bother him a bit.
   The feel of her skin against his did away with his reservations. He was 
about to kiss her when she placed a warning finger on his lip. He could 
tell, based from recent experience, that she was getting aroused again, 
but she had a better suggestion to make.
   "We should really leave," she said.
   "You're right," he admitted, pulling away. "I don't think they had all 
this in mind when they designed this couch."
   "Who knows what they had in mind," she said naughtily.
   He laughed and pulled up his trousers and underwear in a rather 
inelegant gesture. He then sat up, and knocked his head against the 
bookcase. They both burst out laughing again.
   "You're really not seeing me at my best," he remarked, rubbing his 
head.
   "That much is certain," she agreed as she put on her underwear. He was 
too busy wondering how he would explain this particular bruise to take 
offence at her remark, which was kindly meant anyway. She moved over to 
him and, kneeling up to reach the spot, kissed the place he had hurt. The 
skin under her lips was unexpectedly soft. He turned his head to look at 
her face.
   "I'm sure that will make it better," he stated.
   She grinned and gave him a kiss on the cheek before heading for the 
bathroom, stopping to pick up her uniform as she went.
   He was fully dressed when she came out, and looked so much like his 
usual authoritative self that she hardly dared to look him in the eye. He 
was also struck by the return to her professional appearance, and they 
both wondered how the other was going to react. They were acutely aware 
that what had just happened was as wrong as could be, wrong because of 
Beverly, because of their patient-therapist situation, because there were 
thirty-one years and no real love between them. 
   An uncomfortable silence ensued.
   Then he reached out to her. If they parted now, like this, they would 
never be able to look each other in the eye again. As it was, they didn't 
seem to be able to right now. But if the silence was broken, if they could 
negotiate this hurdle adequately, it would be easier to accept what they 
had done and let life continue as normal. He buried his fingers in her 
straight hair and stroked her cheek. She responded by turning to kiss the 
heel of his hand. The thought of what those hands could do sent an 
involuntary shiver through her. She looked at him and smiled.
   He placed a chaste kiss on her smile and leaned his forehead against 
hers.
   "We don't have to part now," he purred in a half-whisper.
   She thought about going back to her quarters alone, to spend the night 
weeping over the Enterprise and the depressing state of her life, as she 
had for the past week. Her mind and body reminded her of what they had 
just shared and yearned for more, for his company on this her second to 
last night on the Enterprise. Tomorrow night would be easy. There was 
going to be a big party for her in the mess hall, and she would probably 
stay up all night chatting with her former colleagues before her 
departure. But tonight, it was just her and the fact that she had just 
turned a page in her life. From now on, she was no longer Starfleet.
   She put her arms around him, hugging his warmth as she battled her 
indecision. She tried to think about Beverly, how much this would pain 
her, but her selfish desire was too strong. She wanted the comfort of his 
arms too much.
   "Why are we doing this?" she whispered, her lips brushing against his 
neck.
   "Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît pas," he said, unsure 
of what the translator would make of Pascal's words. Not that this was a 
matter of the heart per se.
   The exchange had solved nothing, but they hugged gently and parted 
slowly. They placed themselves in front of the door, opening it with a 
single step forward.
   "Captain on the bridge," announced the Ensign sitting at Ops. Her 
completely white skin and blue-black hair rang a vague bell with Troi. She 
must have gone over her application file with Riker. On second thoughts, 
the memory became more precise. There had been some argument about the 
woman being allowed to wear her traditional hat with her uniform or not. 
The Ensign had evidently got her way.
   There were only three other officers on duty, including Data, and the 
viewscreen was off. For all his complaints about other areas of the ship, 
Picard approved wholeheartedly of the new bridge. It was more practical 
and didn't require him to stand up to be seen by his viewscreen 
interlocutors.
   "Counsellor, captain," said Data by way of greeting. 
   "Commander." They both acknowledged him and headed for the Turbolift.
   Data stood up as they went past.
   "Counsellor, could I talk to you... before you leave," he said 
hesitantly.
   Troi paled, a reaction that didn't escape Picard, knowing what he knew 
now.
   "Of course, Commander. Perhaps tomorrow morning. It's too late 
tonight."
   He seemed about to press her for a time and place, but evidently 
thought better of it.
   "Of course," he said with a rather unpleasant smile.
   When the two had disappeared into the Turbolift, the android settled in 
the command chair again, and performed the "Picard manoeuvre" on his 
tunic.
   "Coterni," he said to the Ensign. "I think this bridge is small enough 
for us to know when the captain is here."
   "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," said the woman, returning his smile as the rest 
of the night staff laughed and resumed their work.
   The Turbolift swished gently down towards the deck of the senior 
officers' quarters. In the light of the mural map, Deanna's face had a 
tragic quality, the frown mark on her low forehead accentuated by the 
unidirectional glare. She was looking absently at the ship's diagram, 
letting its simplified shape capture her gaze and calm her thoughts. He 
observed the curve of her eyebrows above her large black eyes, the soft 
hollow of her cheeks and the well-defined shape of her full lips. She had 
lost some weight, he noticed, his eyes running down her slim arm and 
crosswise to her bust, its shape partially blurred by the thick uniform. 
She had a very shapely body, he remembered appreciatively. She was quite a 
big girl for someone her size and it would be a pity if she lost too much 
weight.
   Thoughts of Beverly and Data were depressing her mood. She was really 
good at making a mess of things these days, she reflected. Perhaps it was 
the fear of her possible impending doom that was pushing her to act 
impulsively. But it was bringing her nowhere, just spoiling her 
relationship with her friends. What would Beverly think of her when she 
found out? This has got to stop, she told herself.
   They silently stepped out of the lift at their floor and walked along 
the corridor. They reached his apartment first. By then she had decided 
she should reject his offer, and he had decided not to reiterate it. But 
the proximity of their lonely brown and grey quarters dampened their 
resolve.
   "Deanna," he started. He would not offer to spend the night with her 
again, not after she had apparently rejected him. But he did not like the 
idea of staying in his quarters alone, to mull over the evil of his 
reprehensible behaviour or wallow in the regret that he had not been given 
an occasion to behave worse. He wanted to seize the occasion, and did not 
require any exhortation from Horace to realise now was rapidly becoming 
all he had. Carpe Diem.
   She sensed what he wanted and anticipated his movement, slipping her 
arms around his waist. His arms tightened around her and his lips found 
hers again, his passion renewing her latent desire. If she went with him, 
there was no doubt she could have more of this. She did not need to be 
alone tonight, they could part just as well in the morning. All she had to 
do was let him lead her, and she could be loved for just one night. She 
returned the kiss just as passionately and felt his delight at her 
response. Her hands slid under his top layers, relishing the warmth of the 
smooth skin on the small of his back. It was hard to resist his powerful 
emotions in her mind.
   But resist she did. She had to. Her hands left his back and pushed very 
gently at his sides, a soft hint she hoped he could take. Jean-Luc felt 
the touch and understood its meaning. He needed no more precise 
instructions to break the kiss and let her go. She pulled away, her 
resolve weakened by the renewed disappointment he washed over her. 
Trembling, she leant against the door frame.
   "Deanna," he repeated, and continued more hesitantly, visibly searching 
for words. "What we have... shared tonight is something I will always 
cherish." He took her hands in his. "I don't often have a chance to let 
myself be quite so vulnerable... especially with someone I know so well. I 
know who... what is stopping you." He leant down and kissed her hands 
tenderly. "But there should be no regrets... We can't undo what is done, 
and I for one am rather pleased you let me lower my guard." He breathed in 
deeply, voluntarily struggling to bring his body under control.
   She smiled, unwilling to acknowledge what she still felt from his. 
"You're right. It was a unique experience."
   They stood in silence in front of the closed door. He was still holding 
her hands, she was still breathing unevenly.
   He looked up at the computer command sensor above the door. "Computer 
release door lock," he ordered.
   The door obediently opened, but they didn't make any move. He took a 
timid step nearer, though they were already well within each other's 
personal space.
   "Would you care to come in?" he said, his husky voice barely above a 
whisper. He could barely believe he was so desperate as to ask her three 
times. It finally broke her resolve. The tone of his voice was nearly as 
exhilarating as the sensation of his emotions. He observed her flushed 
face and let go of her hands to run his fingers through her hair again. Oh 
what the hell, she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck. Might as 
well go all the way. Their lips met and his relief coursing through her 
was already reward enough for her illogical decision. //Jean-Luc// 
projected her mind. It was so good to have a lover she could connect with, 
a lover she could use all her Betazoid senses with, whose mind she could 
enter, taking full advantage of her heightened emotional state. //I want 
you so much.//
   
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