Scarecrow Ascendant

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Counselor!"

Natalia ran forward, and the familiar head of dark curls turned, revealing the familiar warm smile. "Hello, Natalia. How are you?"

"I'm doing fine -- I was wondering, d'you think I could -- I mean -- "

Deanna Troi waited patiently for her to stop sputtering. Natalia tried to think of a polite way to word the question, now that she'd started to ask it. The counselor didn't make her nervous, but the captain had come out of the lift at the end of the corridor and distracted her.

"I was hoping I could make an appointment with you this afternoon, if you have an opening," she managed. She looked in Deanna's deep dark eyes -- Betazoids had such beautiful eyes, so expressive.

"Is something wrong? We do have an appointment tomorrow."

"I just wanted to talk to you about something else -- career counseling, I guess you could call it. I know you're working on your own advancement with Mr. Data. I thought you would know all the options just as well as anyone, and -- hello, sir."

Picard had stopped at Deanna's shoulder. Everyone knew they were a couple; even if they had tried to hide it, the signs would still have been there. He always had an invisible zone around him, the no-go zone, some of the ensigns called it -- like a floating force field bubble. When people approached it his body would stiffen and he'd go all formal; to what degree of formality depended entirely on the identity of the person.

And Deanna could walk right up to him without him stiffening one teensy bit. That, more than any rumor, told Natalia about the nature of their relationship -- they had the comfort with one another's bodies that spoke of complete familiarity. He would do the same, just walk up behind Deanna, right into her personal space without apparent discomfort on her part. She never seemed startled even when she didn't seem to see him coming. They never touched each other, but they didn't have to -- they just fit together, regardless of any distance between them.

"Hello, Ensign," Picard said, smiling. He had a voice that could make hearts flutter or officers tremble. Natalia had heard some of the levels between the two extremes, while sitting on the bridge at the helm on those rare occasions when the ship went on alert during beta shift. His voice was soft now, and warm, yet still formal.

"Natalia is interested in career counseling," Deanna told him.

"I thought Geordi was your current department head -- though I suppose she does take turns at the helm," the captain said, managing to talk to both of them at the same time.

"I just feel more comfortable talking to you, Counselor. And I guess I just need to talk things out, more than I need advice."

Deanna opened her mouth, but the captain said, "We were just heading to the lounge for lunch. Why don't you join us, Ensign?"

Natalia tried to swallow the enthusiasm before she spoke. "I'd like that, sir, thank you."

She followed them to the lift, watching them talk without speaking -- no other way to account for the vibes between them. The counselor shot him a glance initially, plainly asking why he had extended the invitation. Not in an angry way, just a puzzled, somewhat -- proud? way. And his invitation -- they hadn't been on their way to lunch. She had been coming down a corridor from her office, and he'd appeared to be on his way in the opposite direction. Or maybe they were meeting halfway? But why not meet in the lounge?

"What sort of career questions did you have?" the captain asked while the lift carried them toward deck ten.

"Just that I'm not certain I'm in the right place. The longer I'm on the *Enterprise* the more I learn, and the more I enjoy it -- but I'm having a. . . problem. No -- a difficulty? I'm just not comfortable in engineering," she blurted. "I keep trying, and they just don't like me for some reason. I can't tell if it's just me, or what I do, or how I do it."

"What makes you think they don't like you?" Deanna asked.

"When I'm on duty they don't talk to me. I walk in and things go quiet, even if they're laughing and talking when I get there. I feel so invisible. It makes it worse when we talk in the line of duty -- they keep things so formal and stiff, and it's like they're intentionally being that way, more than they would be." She gathered her wits for a few seconds. "I'm wondering if maybe they think I'm incompetent or something."

Deanna empathized with her completely; she always did, and it showed in her eyes. And though the captain didn't show it, Natalia thought he might be doing it, too, at least a little. "Has it always been this way, or has this been a recent development?" he asked.

They left the lift, and Natalia walked beside them, hands behind her back. "It started right about the time I started helm duty. A week or two after, I think. I've never really gotten to know anyone in there well, but they were at least friendly, most of the time. And it's gotten slowly worse, too."

They entered the lounge. Natalia noticed a bunch of the problems from engineering in a corner. The stares she got made her angry. Deanna took the lead, and Natalia fell in behind the captain.

He really captivated a lot of the female crew. Natalia had heard the comments and then experienced first-hand the reason why. That fateful day months back when she'd gone to the gym to play tennis, she and Sekila had stopped at the equipment desk for racquets and watched him walking in, and neither one of them had recognized him. There was something about him, a presence, a dignity, that made him more noticeable. He had reminded Natalia of a panther, deadly grace coiled in wait for a reason to strike. As he had moved through the complex toward the weight room, he'd acknowledged those around him with the bare minimum of attention, save an annoyed glare at a hapless lieutenant stumbling across his path.

Sekila had double dared her to see how far she could get with him. And then Sekila had gone off to play tennis, and Natalia had dared herself. After all, it was just some older man, and she could chicken out without much trouble. She was a nameless, faceless ensign. If nothing else, she'd get a closer look at him.

He was worth the closer look, she'd thought. Older -- he was that, but at this point in her life with her career yawning out ahead of her like light-years of unexplored space, anything long term was out of the question anyway. When he'd actually spoken pleasantly to her, she'd felt a surge of encouragement -- and then Deanna had come in, and the next thing Natalia knew, she'd fallen on the floor in shock and goggled up at the captain like she was about to get kicked off the ship. The good humor he'd shown did little to reassure, until much, much later, after she'd thought it through. And then he'd come into engineering and smiled at her there, and then he'd put her at ops during the sim. It mystified her a little, but she liked it. Maybe he wasn't exactly playing favorites, maybe it wasn't just because she'd walked up and almost flirted with him, but he'd noticed her in some fashion, and she'd gotten her chance at bridge duty. Ever since, too, when she'd seen him around the ship in passing, he would look at her with recognition and occasionally a smile. Once in a while he would actually speak to her.

They got their own food; in peak hours, that was necessary. She usually ate down in one of the mess halls on a lower deck. The lounge had much better ambiance, and consequently stayed packed around mealtimes. As they carried their trays into the dining area, Deanna glanced at her, amused by something, and Natalia realized for the umpty-trillionth time that the counselor knew everything people around her felt, and that she'd probably sensed the remembered emotions from seeing the captain the first time in the gym. No doubt she had sensed the same things from Natalia before, however, so Natalia sucked in a deep breath and thought of her tomato soup, how it smelled and how it tasted. Deanna wouldn't tell anyone anything that might embarrass, anyway, even if she weren't bound by whatever rules counselors followed. She was too nice for that. She was probably also used to women ogling the captain with more than the little warm fuzzies Natalia had indulged in.

Deanna chose a table near a window, sitting with her back to the stars. The captain sat across from Natalia and snapped his napkin open, then picked up his fork. "Do you suppose the helm assignment might be making them jealous of you?"

"Some of the others have had assignments elsewhere. Batris does a turn at the helm every so often on gamma."

"Are those some of them, in the corner behind you?" Deanna asked.

"Yep. Most of them. They stared at me when I came in."

"Why, do you think?" She looked pointedly at the captain and back at Natalia.

"Oh. Well -- if that's all it is, I can live with it. I just don't want them to be pointing fingers at me and saying I'm no good in engineering." She dumped the little dish of oyster crackers into her bowl and took up a spoonful of soup, and hesitated when the captain started laughing quietly. "Sir?"

"Nothing, Ensign. As you were." He took a bite of his salad and exchanged glances with the counselor.

"He's not used to ensigns who aren't intimidated by him," Deanna said. Her smile said she was teasing him; she had a gentle way of doing that with anyone, Natalia had noticed. And the captain seemed to enjoy the tease just as much as she did, though he scowled at it out of general principle.

"Where did you start out on your first ship, Captain?" Natalia asked. She didn't expect the startled look. He sat up a little and let his fork drop slightly. Then he looked at Deanna as if chiding her about it.

"I can't remember exactly. Has it been that long?"

"Like I would know," she chided right back at him. "I'm sure it will come back to you. Probably when you're not trying to remember it. Maybe if you thought about the Academy and worked forward?"

"So where are you from, Ensign?"

Natalia chewed her lip and tried not to laugh at the obvious evasion. "Fleet housing in San Francisco. We moved to a public suburb when I was older."

He and Deanna asked more questions, and Natalia talked about her family and the Academy, forgetting about the pips on their collars. They asked about her ambitions and even talked a little about their own, but not a lot. The captain finally remembered what he'd briefly forgotten and brought it back into the discussion, to her surprise -- she'd thought he might be simply dodging the question.

They finished lunch and began to rise. Suddenly the captain and counselor were back in full force -- just a straightening of the shoulders, a distancing of the eyes, and they were off. Natalia followed along to put the empty dishes where they belonged.

They hesitated outside the door in the corridor. The captain's cool expression warmed slightly with the addition of a faint smile. "Ensign, one more thing -- perhaps the next time you feel a little insecure about your performance, you should remember that the only opinion that really matters is your commanding officer's? Neither Mr. LaForge nor Mr. Carlisle have had anything negative to say about you. I think you're doing quite well."

"Thank you, sir, and thanks for being kind enough to invite me -- I enjoyed our conversation. Even if you made me do all the talking."

He blinked, then a more genuine smile broke through the formality. "I'm sorry, I suppose I've gotten tired of hearing my own history over and over."

"I know what you mean. I've repeated mine a few hundred times in the last month alone. There are so many people on board -- I just wish I'd get a second chance with some of them."

Deanna knew all about that; it was a major part of their sessions. Her eyes mirrored Natalia's pain at the confession. The loneliness rose too quickly and too strong. Natalia swallowed, managed a wavering smile, and said good-bye. Her feet carried her as far as the first corner before she realized she'd just raced off without being dismissed. Whirling, she looked back in horror, but they were gone.

In the distance, she heard the captain's unmistakable laughter. Natalia grinned and headed for the lift. She rode to engineering with a light heart, until she stepped off and it hit her -- she'd just eaten lunch with the captain. In full view of the rest of the low-rankers in her department.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched into main engineering. Who gave a flying fart what they thought? As long as the captain thought she was doing well, the rest of them could go eat worms.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The lift opened on deck eight. Jean-Luc felt the eyes of the lieutenant they left inside on the back of his uniform and ignored it. His own eyes fell on Deanna as she led the way down the corridor.

"Ambassador Telor'set would like us to keep security to a minimum," she said over her shoulder. It startled him from his observation of her tangible assets. "It would make the Adnalons nervous to have so many weapons present."

"It makes me nervous knowing they've just finished their own civil war," he replied, stopping just inside the door. "I can't help but wonder if the Federation isn't pushing this too fast, simply because of the Adnalons' relative peace with the Romulans and their proximity to the Empire. The fighting on Adnalon may be over, but the hostilities may still be present among certain segments of the population, and if there's a chance -- "

Deanna had turned to look at him, and quite unexpectedly her smile caught him right in the heart. She tilted her head, knowing perfectly well what he'd just felt. "Captain?"

"You're killing me. You know that, don't you? I'm going to be the first starship captain to die of a constant state of arousal."

"It'll make all the other captains jealous if you do." She frowned a little. "What's got into you? Jean, you're supposed to be on duty. You aren't taking one of those ridiculous stimulants, are you? You've been doing this all morning."

"Oh, please, not you, too. I wanted to shoot Glendenning for mentioning those. I"m not *that* old and decrepit." He sighed and rubbed his neck. "You're neglecting me again, that's all."

"You fell asleep, Jean-Fish. And as amusing as you can be in that state, you aren't much fun as a sex toy." He'd long since become accustomed to her teasing, always backed by such obvious affection that he couldn't possibly take offense -- and becoming her sex toy had been one of his wiser choices.

"You could have gotten me to wake up with minimal effort. You're good at it, actually."

"Not when you need the sleep." She raised an eyebrow. "You're not supposed to take advantage of your rank to grab a quickie when you're ostensibly on duty, either, so think of something else. Cold showers, Romulan battles, whatever it takes."

"You think I haven't tried? What good am I going to be if all I do on duty is leer at the counselor's backside? Dammit, Dee, I have self-control, but there are limits."

Even he heard the ragged edge in his voice. She sighed and rubbed the side of her head thoughtfully. "Jean, do you hear what you're saying?"

"Yes, unfortunately." Shaking his head, he laughed dryly. "I sound like a pouting tyrant, don't I? You'd think I was an oversexed kid. I honestly don't know what's got into me today. Forget it, I'm sorry. I'll just go to my ready room and sit with a lapful of ice cubes for a while." He turned to leave, his forward motion arrested by a tug on his waistband.

"Maybe you ought to sit here with a lapful of ice cubes first. Unless you want a whole new set of rumors to start about the size of the captain's log."

He glared at her. "Don't tease me unless you're planning on doing something about it."

Dragging him by the front of his jacket, she backed him up against the desk and removed his communicator, putting it with hers at arm's length. She ordered the computer to secure the door calmly as she worked on unfastening his pants. "I'm only doing this to keep you from jabbing someone in the back in the lift, so don't get your hopes up for a repeat performance," she said, dropping to her knees.

His hands went white-knuckled on the edge of the desk with the first tight, wet suck. Her tongue moved down the underside, followed by her mouth as she pulled more of him in and proceeded to give him firm, unwavering pressure, her hands stroking his inner thighs. As aroused as he already was, it didn't take long. She closed her eyes and concentrated on his pleasure, some of it mirrored on her face; it only made it more pleasurable, seeing her enjoy it so. The urge arose to see her body, to bury himself in her and do all the things that would make her laugh, moan, or writhe in his arms, but he tightened his grip on the desk and surrendered, leaning backward slightly and gasping. He cried out softly when he came; she held on to the backs of his thighs and rode with it, letting him come to a panting stop.

She put him back together again while his breathing slowed, then stepped close, putting her arms around him. This would be why she'd removed communicators -- she liked being held tightly, after. He kissed her neck and did so, trying not to muss her any more than necessary. He wished it could have been more than relief. Another hunger, nearly the equal of the one she'd just dealt with, sprang up -- the heart fire raged through his body, and all he wanted to do now, for as long as possible, was to hold her close this way. He knew she felt it too. Her arms tightened, and she kissed the soft spot just beneath his left ear.

Her hair smelled like spring rain on roses. When she moved, he loosened his hold on her and said, "Thank you. I'll make it up to you, ma petite."

"Honestly, the lengths you go to just for a blow job." She laughed silently, the tickling in his chest proving it, and stepped back. The fire died away slowly, the last flickers glowing in her dark eyes when she looked at him. The consolation at this point was that it would always return, always be as strong -- even so, he disliked cutting it short this way. Affixing his communicator in its proper place, she studied him critically and straightened his uniform. "I don't know what's gotten you this tense all of a sudden. How did you ever manage without me?"

"Not nearly well enough, chère."

"Off with you. I'm going to fix my makeup." She reclaimed her communicator and headed for the bedroom. His comm badge chirped -- good timing for once in his life, he thought happily.

"Bridge to captain."

"Picard here, what is it, Data?"

"Sir, the *Tenebra* has just come within transporter range, a day ahead of schedule. The ambassador is ready to beam aboard." So much for timing.

"I'll be in transporter room three in five minutes. Picard out." He waited, reluctant to leave without Deanna, and she looked askance at him when she came out with a fresh coat of lipstick. Which distracted him briefly in thinking about where she'd left the last application, but there were other problems afoot. "The other ambassador is about to come aboard. I thought you'd like to meet her with me?"

Deanna slumped a little. "We may as well get it over with, I suppose. Remember, she's going to know we're hajira the instant she sees us."

"I realize. As you say, may as well get it over with."

They rode the lift down to deck nine, and entered the transporter room in just under three minutes. Deanna looked around in surprise. "There's no one here."

"This is room three. They only man one and two, under normal operating conditions. Show me you've learned something about transporters, Commander." He stood behind her and watched her stare at the controls and wring her hands.

"You had to make me beam my own mother aboard for my first solo effort, didn't you?"

"I won't let you disintegrate her. Check the panel, the bridge should be feeding you the coordinates -- there, you've got it."

Deanna gained a little confidence and finished the sequence, then keyed in for transport. The familiar shapes of Lwaxana and Mr. Homn appeared, along with her luggage. Another visit, another shimmering exotic dress for Lwaxana, this time a teal with a long over-the-shoulder train that floated behind her.

"Oh, Little One! Don't tell me you've taken up transporter operation as a new career -- I thought you were taking classes so you could order others to do that." She hurried forward, and Deanna went around the console to meet her. Jean-Luc watched the two embrace and wondered again what twist of fate had resulted in Lwaxana Troi's daughter turning out to be the sort of woman he'd want to marry.

Lwaxana stood back and stared at Deanna. Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. Then she beamed rapturously. "Oh -- you are! Who is he? Someone new?"

Jean-Luc gripped the edge of the console and stiffened, raising his head slightly. When Lwaxana looked at him, quite casually, the joy drained from her face. Obviously, she'd seen the telltale signs, whatever they were, of hajira. It was almost disturbing that it was so easy for Betazoids to detect. At least they rarely crossed paths with other Betazoids.

"Mother," Deanna said wearily.

"Jean-Luc," Lwaxana said, her flat tone making him glad he'd opted for transporter room three. This sounded dangerous, and the smaller the audience, the better. She looked at Deanna again. "You had a choice in this, yet you chose another Starfleet officer."

"Mother!"

"All I want is for you to be happy, Deanna," Lwaxana cried. She took her daughter's hands. "That's all. Every time you pick an officer he leaves. If you would just *listen* to me and -- "

"Lwaxana," Jean-Luc exclaimed, trying not to sound belligerent. It still came out too harshly. "I'm not going to leave her."

"Jean-Luc, I'm sorry, you're a very dear man and it's quite plain to see what's happened -- hajira is something rare and beautiful, and I can see why you would love Deanna -- who wouldn't? But she needs -- "

"Mother, why do I have to accept every man you decide to marry but you can't accept my choice?"

"You're a daughter of the Fifth House, and there are responsibilities -- "

"I know! You tell me about them all the time. I'm perfectly aware of them, thank you," Deanna exclaimed.

Lwaxana hesitated, studying her daughter anew. She glanced at Jean-Luc. "You, of all people. What do you really want, Jean-Luc? Someone to keep your bed warm, in your old age?"

"No, he isn't like you." Deanna's cold tone shocked Lwaxana almost as much as it did Jean-Luc. She was being too defensive. Since they'd found out last week that there had been a last minute substitution of ambassadors and her mother would be on board, she'd been nervous about this initial meeting but hadn't expected negativity. He wondered what she'd told Lwaxana in her last few communications, and why she hadn't said anything about engagement. Sometimes her behavior could be just as inexplicable as her mother's.

"Dee, that wasn't very polite," he said quietly.

"Neither is Mother!" Deanna put her hand over her eyes for a moment. When she looked up, she seemed calmer. "I'm sorry. But that isn't why, Mother, you know better than that. This isn't just another fling. He's asked me to marry him."

"But what happened to -- "

Deanna made a frustrated noise and tossed her head. "What's wrong? This isn't like you -- I can't believe you'd protest this much. I thought you'd come off the transporter and embarrass both of us with how happy you are that I'm finally getting married."

"Darling, you're upset -- maybe you should show me to my quarters, and we'll sit down and have a chat about all this." Lwaxana patted her daughter's arm and smiled beseechingly.

Deanna looked at Jean-Luc, just as beseeching -- what he could do, he had no idea. A future mother-in-law was truly a new and intimidating prospect, and doubly so since it was Lwaxana Troi. He stepped down and smiled thinly. Then his eyes met Deanna's, and it was as though a wall between them disintegrated; her fear and hurt at what her mother was doing became plain.

"No," he said, keeping his composure. "I will show you to your quarters. Deanna has duties to attend to, and she'll -- "

"You see how he is. Always keeping his feelings on the inside, never letting them show -- what kind of husband would he make?"

Jean-Luc kept the faint greet-the-obnoxious-diplomat smile in place, firmly. Luckily he had prepared himself for the worst, and though rejection hadn't been the top contender in the list of possible reactions, he'd thought of it, too. "You won't even give me a chance, will you? I'd think that as long as we've known each other, you'd give me that."

Lwaxana measured him with a sobriety he'd rarely seen. The unexpected skepticism remained. "For as long as we've known each other, you haven't taken me seriously."

"I've taken you very seriously, Ambassador. I realize that what's developed between your daughter and I is probably just as surprising to you as it's been to me, but it's not temporary. If you can't accept that there's not much I can do about it. I won't let it affect my relationship with Deanna, however."

Lwaxana inclined her head slightly. She looked older, he realized -- more lines in her face, and a tiredness she hadn't had before. "You're a very determined man. I can respect that. But you're making a mistake in underestimating me, Jean-Luc Picard."

"Mother, the only mistake here is yours. Stop treating me like I can't make my own decisions. Tell me why you're so against this and get it over with," Deanna exclaimed.

"I just believe you should marry someone more your type -- someone who could give you a home, and children."

Such a flippant assessment rankled -- who was she to determine what type of man was best for anyone? Irritation begetting carelessness, Jean-Luc exclaimed, "What makes you think I can't do those things? I may be older than she is, but I'm not dead. I have every intention of having children."

The confession brought both sets of black eyes around with a snap. Deanna almost ran forward and hugged him. He hesitated, then held out a hand, encouraging her. She matched the compromise by walking instead of running and taking his hand instead of leaping into his arms. Her joy, rendered palpable by eye contact and the warmth of her hand in his, caught him up and filled his chest until he could barely breathe.

"Every intention," Lwaxana exclaimed, crossing her arms. "I've heard some pretty good intentions before."

"What is your point, Lwaxana? Just what is it about me that you find so deficient?" It came out with less force than it might have, thanks to Deanna's happiness. If he'd known the promise of children would do this to her -- had she really thought he wouldn't want any?

Lwaxana's insistence didn't waver. "She's my daughter. My Little One -- you don't know how I've worried, having her traipsing around the galaxy on this ship of yours. You get into so much trouble, and now you want to be sure you keep her here. I know there have to be rules against fraternization, her father was in Starfleet, after all. I know her career is important to her right now and it shocks me that you would endanger it this way. She deserves much more than simply being the captain's trophy wife."

Jean-Luc took one step before Deanna, clinging to his arm, stopped him. Lwaxana took a step backward, eyes opening wider, and one of her hands fluttered to her chest. He swallowed rage and managed calm, rational sentences. "I have no intention of depriving her of her career, or of anything else she wants. She is with me by her choice, not by any manipulation on my part. I'd think you would at least try to accept that for her sake."

She backed another step and studied him skeptically. Sighing, she cast a forbearing smile Deanna's way. "I suppose you could do much worse. Such a solid, strong man, so wrapped up in his need for privacy. And look at him -- he's so stiff, so formal -- just look at the way his body rejects me. There couldn't be any better proof of hajira. He's so attuned to you, Little One, his body talks to yours in its own language."

"Why don't we take you to your quarters, and we'll talk again later, once you're settled in?" Deanna asked with gentle but firm insistence.

"Of course, dear," Lwaxana exclaimed, turning to Homn, who had stood patiently without a single reaction to anything. Of course, being with Lwaxana for years, he'd probably already seen it all and then some. "The luggage, Mr. Homn, if you would. Lead on, dear captain."

Jean-Luc, a little startled that she hadn't insisted on burdening him with the suitcase full of rocks and anvils she normally brought, led on, quite forgetting that he still held Deanna's hand until he felt her laughing silently as they entered the lift.

"Hell with it," he muttered, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She only tightened her grip on his fingers, for once not lecturing on the psychology of personal and professional boundaries.

Homn and the luggage filled the lift only halfway, surprisingly, so when it stopped on the next deck for passengers Carlisle and a lieutenant from science division came on board. Carlisle looked startled by the ensemble gathered inside, then grinned a little when he noticed Deanna's hand in the captain's.

"Commander Carlisle, this is Deanna's mother, Ambassador Lwaxana Troi. Lwaxana, this is Lieutenant-Commander Ward Carlisle, my second officer. And Lieutenant -- I'm sorry. . . ."

"Renquist," Carlisle filled in. "A pleasure to meet you, Ambassador. Welcome aboard. I hope you enjoy your stay with us."

"Thank you, Mr. Carlisle. I always enjoy my visits to the *Enterprise.* It's always such a pleasure to -- "

Jean-Luc had the distinct feeling he'd missed some crucial exchange; Lwaxana's abrupt silence and the fierce grip Deanna had on his hand meant something, he was positive. The lift stopped again and Carlisle and Renquist excused themselves politely. The next stop left them on a different section of deck eight. For once, Lwaxana said nothing on the walk down the corridor to the door of her guest quarters.

"I hope you find everything to your liking," Jean-Luc said. "I know this ship is more spartan than the last *Enterprise,* but -- "

"Where will you live?"

Lwaxana's uncharacteristic seriousness startled him yet again. Deanna moved closer to him as if afraid of the answer. "Live?"

"You can't fly around the galaxy forever, you know. This is hardly a place fit for raising children." Lwaxana gestured out at the stars. "This isn't a home, it's a fish bowl."

"I don't think this is the appropriate time or place to discuss this, and it's really not your concern."

"Not my concern? Where my grandchildren, the heirs to the Holy Rings of Betazed -- "

"Please, Mother, just stop. We haven't even gotten married yet, and we're certainly not going to have children right away. There's plenty of time to consider these issues." Deanna rested her cheek against his shoulder. "Why don't you get settled in, and I'll come by later this afternoon and we'll take a tour of the ship? We can catch up on everything then."

Lwaxana relaxed and beamed at her daughter. "All right, dear. Go do your officer thing, and we'll talk later."

Jean-Luc let go of her hand as they left the guest quarters. "I have a bad feeling about this mission, Dee."

"She just needs to recognize that she shouldn't antagonize you any more. You have more control over the situation than before, you realize."

He stopped in a junction of thankfully-empty corridors. "What?"

"You have control." Deanna smiled serenely. "Once she fully understands that you're her only hope of having grandchildren, she'll have a vested interest in keeping the peace. She doesn't quite realize that yet. I startled her into silence in the lift with it. She was intent on saying something outrageous, and I suggested that if she had any interest in establishing a peaceful relationship with the father of my children, she needed to be careful not to embarrass him too much. Just now, she was starting to fish for more information, to test you further on whether you were serious about children or not."

"I'm beginning to see where you get your deviousness." He sighed and chewed the inside of his cheek. "I should have known it would come to this, from her first visit to the ship -- I should have known there would be something that would link me inextricably with Lwaxana Troi. It's just the way my life seems to work."

"Although I'd bet you didn't think at the time that eventually you'd pick up where Wyatt Miller left off."

Jean-Luc looked at her, quite relaxed in her uniform and smiling with a fondness she didn't normally show in the corridors, and wished he dared follow up on it the way he wanted to. "Wyatt Miller was an undeserving fool. You would have been completely wasted on him."

"Whereas you are much more deserving and would make better use of me?"

"Absolutely. In fact, if we don't get to the bridge within the next five minutes, I'd say making use of you again is a distinct probability."

She kept her distance, walking apart but next to him toward the lift. "You *are* taking one of those stimulants, aren't you?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Natalia finished her half-shift in engineering without difficulty, though the others still gave her the cold shoulder. With several hours to kill before beta shift, she went to the quarters she shared with Kasey Benbo, changed into loose-fitting sweats, and headed for the gym as she usually did when she worked split-shifts.

Working out always gave her the release she needed from the stress of always being on the outs with other people. Since group sports were usually impossible, thanks to her few friends being occupied elsewhere, she had taken up running and weight-lifting, the latter out of conscious emulation. If it worked for the captain, why not? And the weight training seemed to be having a visible effect. Already her arms seemed less puny, and it gave her an overall feeling of being fit. Endorphins, Dr. Mengis had said -- physical exertion facilitated the release of certain chemicals in the body which led to a healthier physical and mental state overall.

She stretched thoroughly and ran first, for the cardio portion of her workout and to loosen up. The track had a lot of people on it; she went at her own pace, letting the others race along haphazardly. Her regimen had been carefully planned out with the doctor, unlike some of the others, who seemed more intent on playing games than pursuing serious fitness.

The weight room always seemed to be empty when she got there. She knew there were usually people in during the day, and more came later in the evening, but there seemed to be a gap right about the same time, every time. Handy for her. The girls seemed less likely to weight train than the guys, and she hated some of the comments the men made.

"Ensign Billings, please report to the equipment desk in the athletics center," came a quiet page out of thin air. Natalia wrinkled her brow -- that Billings person always seemed to be losing his or her communicator. Of course, people tended to take them off in the gym, so she supposed it was possible.

She finished programming the weight machine she frequented and looked up casually -- and the captain walked in. He often did while she was there; he probably disliked a crowd while working out as much as she did. This was one of the few places she crossed paths with him regularly, and usually he came and worked without much more than a glance and slight smile in acknowledgment of her presence. He nodded, she nodded, and he settled on his usual machine, six down from hers.

She realized she'd forgotten to pick up a towel from the replicator down the hall and knew she'd need it, so she jogged out to get it. A small group of people stood in the hall outside the weight room. She ignored them until, on the return from the replicator with her towel, she noticed them staring at her and turning away quickly. Walking casually into the weight room, she waited, then leaned, peering around the edge of the door. The group seemed to be all female, all dressed out for aerobics -- the next class wasn't for another hour. They were looking through the long window, peering between the slatted blinds, which Natalia realized had been very carefully angled to conceal the fact that people stood outside. As long as they didn't move around too much, they could stand there undetected as long as they wanted. And if they were caught, well, easy to look like just a gaggle of aerobics participants waiting around.

Natalia thought it through. Funny how Ensign Billings always got a page right before the captain showed up, wasn't it? Options. She could tell the captain and have the satisfaction of watching him blister their ears, or at least deliver the Glare of Death, but then she'd be more of a pariah than she already was. She could bust up the ring herself with the threat of reporting it. But there wasn't anything wrong with loitering in a gym corridor, and they could always deny it. No good options. This required further consideration.

She glanced at the captain and an idea began to form. Returning to her machine and punching a few buttons, she muttered, "Damn thing." Picking up her towel again, she moved down a few machines closer to the captain, who had already worked up a decent sweat and paid her no attention. She began her own routine -- shorter and less strenuous than his, but the delay in starting and her effort to pace herself with his familiar routine made them finish at about the same time.

He glanced at her as both of them stood and mopped their faces. "You know, you could be a little less obvious about ogling me," he said. It was nearly a perfect deadpan, but he was letting a small smile give away the game.

"Sure, I could hide out in the hall and peek through the blinds." She grinned. "Teasing me won't work, sir. I know better than to ogle -- I really don't like the thought of having a headstone that reads, 'killed by her counselor.'"

It made him guffaw and shake his head. "I haven't done my job properly. You're supposed to live in mortal fear of me, you know."

"I do. But Daddy told me once that good captains don't show fear in the face of danger. I'm supposed to be one someday. Might as well get a head start."

He gripped the ends of the towel around his neck and thought for a minute. "Natalia, it seems to me that too many times cadets see the stereotype of a good captain as something to work towards. I think that's an error -- you don't become a good captain by trying to do all the stereotypical things, like showing no fear, or ruling your ship from the bridge like a tyrant. You become a good captain by learning the rules well enough to know when you can justifiably break them. And by working to maintain a balance between friendship and professionalism -- being too familiar with other officers can be detrimental, but not being familiar enough with them is also a mistake. Don't think you have to build walls between yourself and your fellow ensigns, whether they're pursuing command or not."

Pausing in the act of wiping her neck, Natalia stared at him, almost dropping her towel. "I'm not trying to build walls -- just the opposite."

"Trying too hard can be just as bad as not trying enough." He smiled sadly, as if remembering something he regretted. "Don't you find it odd that, of all the people on this ship, you feel most comfortable with the two biggest loners?"

"Who?"

"You enjoy talking to Counselor Troi. You seem to have no trouble talking to me. You complain of having no one else on the ship to talk to."

"But. . . Counselor Troi isn't a loner."

"You're fixating on a side issue to avoid the real one, Natalia."

Natalia laughed -- she couldn't help it. "You sound just like the counselor."

"Probably osmosis -- I spent enough time in her office over the years. You should never judge things by their appearances. It's the nature of a counselor to be friendly and approachable, and to develop that persona as assiduously as a captain develops a command demeanor."

He started for the door, and she matched his pace. "You really think I'm trying too hard, and that's all the problem is?"

"Just a suggestion. I couldn't say. I've never been around to -- "

They came into the hall as the group of women broke up and flowed around them, most of them chatting a little too loudly about frivolous things. The captain hesitated, then shook his head and turned left toward the front of the complex. Natalia slowed and stared at the blinds, through which most of the weight room was visible.

"Ensign?"

She turned to him, keeping her expression neutral. "Sir?"

"What was that group in here for? The aerobics rooms are on the other side of the complex, and this is the long way around." He stared at the blinds and sounded wary and slightly angry.

"And the next class isn't for another half hour or so, I think." Natalia smiled at him. "You might want to add closing the blinds to your routine, sir."

He looked perilously close to swearing. Then he sighed and smiled ruefully. "Should I be flattered or annoyed?"

"Computer, location of Ensign Billings," Natalia said.

"There is no Ensign Billings on board the *Enterprise.*"

Natalia giggled. "Be flattered, sir."

"Who the hell is Ensign Billings?" he exclaimed as they strode out of the hall into the main foyer of the complex. Natalia hesitated and glanced across at the person at the equipment desk.

"Hey, Rhonda -- just a word to the wise? Ensign Billings died in the line of duty. Stop paging him."

Rhonda went a little pale, her eyes sliding to the captain, and turned away to busy herself with some parisis squares equipment. Natalia grinned at the captain. "Don't worry, I don't think you'll have any more onlookers. I wondered why Billings kept getting paged to the equipment desk every time you showed up."

The captain appraised her for a long moment, then gave the thin-lipped smile he used whenever he didn't want to reveal much. "Thank you, Ensign Greenman. Have a good evening. And. . . if you wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention this to anyone."

"Who would I tell? I'm the friendless one, remember?"

He sniffed. "Not entirely, Ensign."

She watched him enter the men's shower room, then turned to go in the women's, smiling to herself.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jean-Luc sat down at his desk in his quarters and checked messages. Deanna caught him at it, coming out of the bedroom in her pink robe and stepping up behind him to massage his shoulders. He turned off the console without listening to any of them and bowed his head.

"Don't stop on my account," she said, pushing her thumbs under his shoulder blades. "Do you want me to leave?"

"I told you not to ask me that question, in any context. None of them are really important. Tomorrow's soon enough. Between the war of the ambassadors over dinner and Ensign Billings, I'm too tired to think about anything anyway."

"My mother isn't sure whether she can have fun with you or not, so she had to find some other outlet. Who's Ensign Billings?"

He snorted and put his face in his hands. "I don't know whether to tell you or not. You'll just laugh at me."

"I don't laugh at you, Jean-Fish. I laugh with you. Let me guess -- an admirer lusting after you in the gym?"

"Much worse than that. A code word. And you are laughing at me -- you already knew, didn't you?"

"I occasionally do aerobics in the evening class, you know. You're not the only senior officer who people pay attention to, and it's not so unusual on a ship this large with a crew of mostly humans. You put a bunch of people in a confined area for any length of time, and things like that will happen. Especially when such famous personages as the magnificent Captain Picard wander the halls in sweaty exercise clothes."

"This could be all I need to make the case for a private captain's gymnasium. I think I'll start working out on the holodeck. And you're not going to tell me what else goes on that I don't know about, either, are you? Not that I really want to know." He tried to relax into her hands. She gave up finally and tugged his sleeve.

"You need more than a shoulder rub. Take it off, Jean."

He followed her into the bedroom, stripping as he went, and she disappeared briefly into the bathroom. She returned with a bottle and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm beginning to think you're not the same old man I knew. Face down on the bed, and don't get your balls in an uproar. Or do I have to bring out a picture from my cousin's wedding? Mother -- "

"Don't."

She gave the satisfied smile of the woman triumphant, and climbed on the bed when he'd done as she asked. "Arms at your sides. This won't hurt, much. Though I think I could find more pliable bulkheads."

The oil seemed to burn his skin in a line down his back. "What are you putting on me?"

"It'll help. Give it a chance. Did dinner really stress you that much? You *did* work out today, didn't you?"

"Being confronted by a bunch of onlookers in the gym was a little unsettling, and it won't help the mission to have our own ambassadors at each other's throats. I'm sorry, Dee, but your mother is determined to drive me mad, one way or the other."

"Stop it. I shouldn't have said anything. Just relax," she murmured, moving her hands up and down his back slowly. "Focus on your breathing. Computer, play Saint-Saens symphony number three in C minor, low volume."

"Where did you learn so much about music?" The trickle of horns, woodwinds and strings began slowly and picked up tempo as the melody evolved. "Every time I turn around you've come up with something different."

"Old cliche -- music soothes the savage beast. It can be good therapy." The balls of her hands seemed to be making headway in coaxing tension out of his back.

"You are good therapy," he rumbled.

She made her way down his spine and continued down his legs, where he hadn't realized any tension resided, yet she found it in his calves. Her fingers seemed to know where the pressure points in his feet were.

"Acupressure too?"

"It can be useful. For me -- enough of the petty jealousy, already. I saw that flinch."

She worked quietly down his other leg. Her fingers burned trails and forced tension out of the muscles. He waited until she settled astride his hips and worked in earnest on his shoulders and neck to resume the conversation. "Why did you think I wouldn't want children?"

"It would complicate things immensely. It's already so complicated. We already have so much to think about -- if I'm really pursuing command, having a child would be the last thing we should do."

"If you really wanted to, there would be a way."

"Over, Jean."

He rolled on his back and watched her as she began at the top of his head and massaged her way down slowly, closing his eyes as the motion of her fingertips and the heat of the oil sunk in. "Oh, God. Where did you learn to do this?"

"I've had full body massages before. I'm not as good as I could be. There's a trick to deep muscle massages I couldn't manage without training."

"If you decide to take any courses, sign me up as your practice partner. I should be angry that you haven't tried this on me before, but then you'd stop. You know, if you'd just started doing this years ago as a regular part of our counseling sessions, I might have been a little more cooperative."

"Shut up, Jean-Fish. Memory lane is closed for the night. The exclusive captain's massage parlor is open for business, but we have a no reminiscing policy."

Her hands traveled down his neck. She stopped, then started at his forehead and worked her thumbs over the bony ridges of his eye sockets, down his nose, and across his cheeks.

"Am I too conservative?"

"What are you talking about?" She caressed his face in sweeping arcs of her palms, rubbing up and away from the eyes. "Don't tell me you're taking something Mother said seriously?"

"If I were anyone else, would our leisure time be spent the same way?"

"Are you deliberately trying to provoke me? This is a ridiculous thing for you to ask -- I have no desire for you to be anything other than yourself."

"Equilibrium, Deebird. Is there anything you haven't done that you might have otherwise?"

"Maybe a few things, but nothing of any great consequence. You could say I've replaced them with pursuits I find more enjoyable." Her salacious smile provided a good clue to which ones.

"I knew it. I'm nothing more than a living, breathing sex toy to you. Oh, the humiliation of it all. Years of hard work to rise to command a starship, and all of it to end up as a gigantic dildo."

"A gigantic dildo with an overcharged battery and a stuck 'on' switch. What's gotten into you, Jean-Luc? This isn't like you. I wouldn't complain, if I knew this was something harmless, but you've been radiating sexual tension all day -- you don't do that on duty. I know it would satisfy your ego to find you've suddenly got the libido of a twenty-five-year-old, but something's not right."

He opened his eyes at last while she worked on his chest muscles and arms. The way she was sitting astride him, she knew exactly whereof she spoke. "I don't know. Honestly, I have no clue -- and I really don't want to go to sickbay to ask. The last thing I want is to go down in the logs as complaining I didn't get enough sex."

She avoided meeting his eyes -- probably a wise thing. Picking up his left arm, she massaged down it to his fingers. "I even checked on the possibility of similar behavior among Betazoid couples who are hajira -- I'm almost afraid to extrapolate, since neither one of us is really Betazoid and telepathic, but there's not enough there to extrapolate from. Not even when the woman is in phase."

"Do you know what you would be like in phase, considering your human half?"

She switched arms. His body felt limp, for the most part. Her slight movements against him as she kneaded him into jelly kept him from being too relaxed. "I'm too young, and no, I don't know. I'm reasonably certain it wouldn't affect you. Maybe *you're* in phase? You know, that would explain this."

"Now you're being ridiculous." He watched her work her fingertips into his palm. "Maybe you're really half Deltan and it's pheromones."

"Touche. And that's another thought, but we don't have a Deltan crewmember. What did you eat today?"

"Nothing you didn't see. I had the usual for breakfast, we ate with Natalia at lunch in the lounge -- oh, I did visit hydroponics, and sample some of B'nai'gar's latest acquisitions."

"Which were?"

"Ratarrigian. Several kinds of fruit -- very sour, and nearly rock-like."

"You probably didn't bother to ask if he knew whether they had any unusual affects on other species?"

"Ratarrigians are a recent addition to the Federation. He might not know. He did make the effort to ensure they wouldn't be poisonous." Jean-Luc paused, then tensed suddenly. "They were part of the appetizer course for dinner. Most of the fruits and vegetables were from hydroponics."

Deanna placed her hands flat on his chest and bowed her head, letting her hair fall around her face. "Computer, where is Lwaxana Troi?"

"Ambassador Troi is in Ambassador Telor'set's quarters."

"Oh, Jean," she moaned. "I should have known. All that fighting. Poor Telor'set probably doesn't even realize -- "

"I'm sorry," Jean-Luc said, failing miserably at containing his laughter. "It isn't really funny. Wait a minute -- didn't you eat any of them?"

"I missed the appetizer course. I had a late appointment. And shame on you for not even bothering to notice."

"I knew, believe me, but I thought you might have gotten some just the same. You know, it might wear off faster if I just gave in. Or not. I'm not certain which I'd hope for." He brushed his fingertips across her knee and slid his hand up her thigh, the satin robe slick under his palm.

Saint-Saens ended at last, and she sat up again and slowly peeled off her robe. Hands on her knees, she let him get a long look at her, straightening her shoulders and showing off her body. He stared, barely able to breath for the rising heart fire between them.

"You're killing me," he whispered. Her sly smile and the mischievousness mingling with the desire in her dark eyes told him that it was a very good day to die, indeed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Natalia hated Kasey every morning, like clockwork. She covered her face with her pillow and tried to not hear the humming. Kasey loved stupid folk tunes from her homeworld, one of many Earth colonies, and nearly all of the tunes had repetitive, annoyingly-simple melodies. In the interest of good roommate relations and because Kasey tolerated her late night study sessions and moodiness, Natalia put up with it.

Once her turn in the bathroom came, she rushed through getting ready, slipped her single hollow pip in place, and raced out the door. Breakfast in the mess hall took too long. She made it to engineering two minutes late. Outside the wide window, the warp core sent regular flickers of blue light into the interior of La Forge's office; as if bowing to that unchangeable feature, he'd hung a brilliant blue and white painting of a nebula on the wall opposite, and the glow of warp energy made it seem there might be a pulsar somewhere in it. She wondered if there might be an intentional trick of paint that did it.

She stood at attention in front of his desk. "Sir, I'm sorry I'm late. It won't happen again."

The engineer blinked -- his implants looked almost natural, even if they were an odd color, until one noticed the mechanical movement of the pupil. "Have a seat, Ensign. It's no problem -- I didn't even notice, really."

She sat stiffly. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"It's come to my attention you're not quite comfortable on duty, Natalia. Is there something wrong?"

"Not really, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary anyway. I guess the other ensigns in engineering just don't care for me that much, and it causes a little tension between us sometimes." A little -- that was a politic way of putting it.

"I like to consider my engineering staff a team." He put down the padd he'd been holding and folded his hands on his desk, leaning forward. "I'd like to resolve this difficulty. And frankly, Ensign, I'm a little disappointed that I heard about this from the captain before I heard it from you."

Natalia gaped at him. "Sir -- I didn't tell the captain! Not that way -- he was just being friendly, and I was really trying to talk to the counselor about it, to see if I could find a way to -- "

"Calm down, Natalia. He didn't approach me in any official capacity about it, but he did mention that he'd seen you in the lounge and that you seemed upset because of some tension between you and some of the other engineering staff present. He wanted to know if there was anything I thought he should be aware of. I've known things aren't quite what they should be, but I try to let people sort out personal problems on their own when it doesn't affect their performance on duty. What I want from you is your honest opinion -- is this something that will sort itself out, or do I have to start talking to the others?"

She watched his lips moving in a daze. Almost hypnotized, she shook herself and paid more attention to the words. "I can sort it out, sir. It's really just me. They don't have problems amongst themselves -- I'm just an odd duck, that's all. I always have been."

LaForge smiled with more warmth than usual. "You don't look like a duck."

"I'm a duck. I don't do small talk well enough to have a lot of friends or get dates. I just didn't do well in school so far as social stuff went. All the other girls turned to swans, and I just waddled along, not tomboyish enough to hang out with the guys and not girlish enough to shop and paint my nails with the girls." She sighed. "And I have the bad habit of sharing my personal trials and tribulations without much prompting. Sorry."

"That's all right." LaForge sat back and thought for a moment. "Actually, I know where you're coming from. I was a pretty odd duck, too. You just have to learn to roll with the punches, that's all. It'll get easier."

Natalia had never been alone in his presence before for this long. She endured a little more of a pep talk from him, trying to keep her eyes on his face politely and failing. They kept drifting down, to his gold turtleneck collar, to the desk, to the dark hand on the black shining surface -- the thick fingers she had seen dance across consoles daily for the last ten months. His fingertips were lighter than the backs of his hands. Masculine, short nails. She found herself imagining what his touch would feel like against her skin and shivered, cold bird feet making tracks up her back. Her stomach twinged, rebelling against breakfast.

"Natalia, are you with me?"

"Yes, sir." She raised her gaze and used that bravado she'd worked so hard to acquire to look him in the eye. "I guess I'm just a little tired -- my roommate snores a little too loud."

"Just remember I'm here if you have concerns. It's my department. You seem to like to keep to yourself, but if something's affecting your performance I'd like to know."

"Thank you, sir."

She left engineering and headed for Deanna's office, several decks and sections away. The counselor's office was smaller than La Forge's, with just two chairs facing the desk and the same basic spartan decor; she'd brightened it with a soft pastel watercolor hung on one wall and a vase of flowers, tall red lilies this time, sat on a corner of the desk. Deanna smiled at her just like always, and Natalia noticed a piece of paper in front of her, turned so Natalia could read it.

"Good morning. I'd like to do a brief review of goals before we get started," Deanna said. "Since this is our fifteenth session, it's time. Take a look at what you wrote down, and tell me whether you think you've made progress or not."

Natalia looked at the list without picking it up. She remembered the goals well enough, actually, though she hadn't seen the list since her initial appointment. Paper had been the chosen medium, because padds were so easily altered. Her three goals, written in her broad left-handed scrawl, were plainly legible. "I think I've done better at being more outgoing. I know I've done better with talking to my commanding officer -- I just left Mr. LaForge's office, in fact. The third one I don't know about."

Deanna waited a while, giving her time to talk, but showed no surprise when she didn't take it. "Where would you like our sessions to go next? Since you're doing better in the professional realm, we could begin to work on the third goal more extensively, don't you think?"

"I think we should. I need to get it behind me. I think it's related to my other difficulties."

"That's an interesting observation for you to make. You insisted when you started counseling that the difficulties you have with co-workers and the trouble you've had with depression were two separate issues." Deanna steeped her fingers and placed her hands on her desk. "What made you change your mind?"

"The captain said maybe I was trying too hard, and I think he's right."

The counselor tilted her head and looked confused. "When did he tell you that?"

"Last night in the weight room. He said I shouldn't try to intentionally build walls between myself and others. I don't think I was, really, but it made me think about how I must appear to other people." Natalia smiled a little. "So where to start?"

"Why don't you tell me why you think you became depressed?"

"Isn't that a little obvious?" Natalia picked at a jagged edge of the nail on her right pinky. "I guess you're trying to start me from the beginning, aren't you?"

"Maybe I just want you to start. It's all right, Natalia -- you can let yourself feel whatever comes up. This is a safe place. The door is secured, and no one can harm you here. So tell me why you think you're depressed."

Tears threatened, and the choking feeling gripped her. Natalia looked at the wall, at the bare space alongside the painting, focusing on the plain gray surface without blemish or pattern. It would have been easy to blank out, plead off, and go back to work, but what Deanna had said in her first session came back to her -- repression. She'd denied there was anything to repress and in successive sessions refused to follow Deanna's lead in talking about it. Maybe it was time to give it a try. Maybe there was something to it.

"All I ever wanted was to be an officer," she whispered. "Ever since I was old enough to have some idea of what Starfleet was. I wanted to be just like Daddy. Just like my Uncle Telly, and Uncle Wallie -- they were so composed, so calm about everything, so in control -- I wanted to wear the uniform and have my own ship. I wanted to be captain, so I could live the stories I've heard. I used to walk around the neighborhood looking for captains when I heard another ship had come into dock. Uncle Wallie was the only captain I've ever really met, and he died -- I only met him a few times. He used to send me messages every once in a while. Just to me -- I felt so special. I had messages, me, from a great starship captain, with my name on the top -- I used to write my own to my fictional niece back home, and make up these great adventures to tell her about. I still read Uncle Wallie's messages once in a while but it's not the same any more. I see now that he was only being polite to me. They really weren't all that affectionate. He never really knew me, because he was always gone. Like. . . Daddy. I was -- he -- "

Deanna waited patiently while Natalia sorted through it some more. "When it happened, I was ten years old. Daddy was on duty. I was walking down a street thinking about Uncle Wallie and the last message I got from him, when I saw *him.* He was in a uniform -- he wore it just to get into fleet housing without arousing suspicion. He wasn't really ever Starfleet but I didn't know that until much later. And all those counselors kept trying to tell me I didn't do anything wrong, and trying to make me feel things I didn't feel -- I just wanted them to go away. I told them what they seemed to want to hear and drew pictures for them, just like they wanted. They said I was okay and I went back to school. I didn't really have problems until I got to the Academy -- then I kept having these panic attacks, not really associated with anything, just out of the blue. I'd be walking through the grounds and suddenly just want to run for my life in any direction. And I felt so much more comfortable studying and reading, and I couldn't seem to find anything to be interested in, other than studying. I made friends but they didn't seem as open with me as they did with each other. It -- I --"

"Were you jealous?"

"Yes." Natalia began to cry. She hated it -- all those times she'd burst into tears, and her mother had rushed to hug her, only managing to make her feel smothered. All those times in the middle of the night alone in bed, when she wanted comfort and had no one to do it. The friends who stopped hanging around and looked at her funny, just when she needed them the most. All the opposites in her life. Needing but not having, having and not needing -- it wasn't fair.

"What happened to you when you were ten years old?"

"It's in my records," she blurted, ignoring the handkerchief Deanna pushed across the desk.

"I want to hear your version. Please."

"Can't we just talk about depression?"

"Have you ever done any gardening?"

Natalia looked up at her in surprise. "What?"

"My mother loves flowers. She has beautiful gardens, always has, and as a child I used to work with the gardeners sometimes for the fun of it. There's a particular kind of weed on Betazed that's almost impossible to kill. It has a very long root that reaches deep into the soil, and spraying only kills the top of the plant and a few feet of the root. Eventually the deepest part of the root begins to grow again. The only way to get rid of the weed permanently is to dig, sometimes making a huge hole and moving a lot of dirt, until you find the very beginning of the root and pull it out."

Natalia gulped and rubbed her eye. She reached for the handkerchief at last and twisted it slowly. "I'm afraid sometimes and I don't know why. It hurts. Like I don't have anything in my chest but the pain -- I can't breathe, sometimes, just standing there looking at a panel in engineering. Trying to talk about what happened the way you want me to makes me more afraid -- I don't want to."

"Natalia, do you want to move forward, or not? You've been coming to see me for months. I think you're ready to start talking about it, otherwise I wouldn't be giving you this push to do it. I know it's frightening -- it will get better. Trust me. What do you remember first about the incident itself? Not the counselors or your parents. What's the first thing you remember, after you met him on the street?"

"His hands," she whispered. The memory of La Forge's hands on his desk superimposed itself. "He had clean nails. The palms were a lighter shade, almost pinkish. He touched my face -- he was so gentle. He offered me a watermelon warp core -- that was my favorite candy. He said he had a dog with a litter of puppies, and wanted to know if I wanted one. I knew four pips meant a captain -- he told me his name was. . . ."

There was a stain on the floor in front of the other chair. Natalia wouldn't have noticed it unless she'd been so intent on finding a distraction. The lines were faint, the liquid had been clear or so light that the utilitarian grayish-red fabric didn't show it well. It had to be recent.

"His name was?" Deanna's question brought her back.

"I don't know."

"Natalia," Deanna chided.

"He said his name was Calloway. Daddy admired Captain Calloway. I felt safe with him. I wanted to make friends with him, invite him home to meet Mom and impress her. I wanted to be able to tell Daddy all about it. I didn't know Captain Calloway wasn't that young, or what ethnic background he was. I didn't know enough to see the things that would have told me he was -- "

She hugged herself and bowed her head, knotting herself tightly and closing her eyes to dam up the tears. To her surprise, Deanna didn't come put an arm around her, or otherwise try to comfort her.

"You were very young. Why are you being so hard on yourself?"

Natalia sat for a long time in the blankness that always came. The gray curtain fell. She sat on one side with her pain, and her voice and ability to discuss her feelings sat on the other. This was the way she'd learned to cope when they'd coaxed her, trying to get answers. Counselors had told her parents that she might have to seek help again; she'd avoided it since the end of the ordeal with the courts and the media, and after they'd moved from fleet housing to a different suburb of San Francisco so she could get away from the notoriety. They hadn't published her name or picture anywhere, but locally the gossip spread, making it impossible for her to leave the house without getting pitying looks. She just wanted to be normal. No counseling, no mention of it in passing, no acknowledgment that she was anything but an average girl.

The distant feeling faded, quite gradually. She began to feel silly for wasting Deanna's time. She couldn't look up, however; the rising frustration at the interference of the blankness with her session, and other feelings she couldn't name, choked her.

"Look at the chair next to you."

Deanna's voice fell into the silence just as Natalia was about to excuse herself. The request was so unusual that she obeyed out of curiosity. It looked just like the one she sat in, only empty. "What about it?"

"I want you to pretend that ten-year-old Natalia Greenman is sitting there. She's just gotten home from a session with her counselor. What does she look like?"

"Pigtails," Natalia said, finding that she remembered well enough. "Long arms and legs, and skinny. Short. My mother called me Nat the Gnat."

"Is there anything you wish you could tell yourself at ten years old?"

Natalia's eyes prickled. She stared open-mouthed at the empty chair, mostly because it was the safest place to look. The other counselors hadn't tried this with her.

"Go ahead and say it. Close your eyes and imagine her sitting there. Think about how she feels and why, and tell her whatever comes into your mind."

"I can't -- this is silly," she blurted. "It's just an empty chair."

"Tell yourself the truth -- you won't. You *can* -- you have my permission to say anything here. You can even get mad at me. Many people do. Just tell yourself the truth while you're in this office, from now on, no matter how uncomfortable it gets, and things will get better. Okay?"

Deanna's voice, so velvety and calm, seemed to wrap around her like a quilt. Natalia opened her mouth to breath, her nose too plugged to do so, and rubbed her lips with the handkerchief. "I'd tell her not to worry."

"Talk directly to her. Forget I'm here. Take your time and imagine you're in her bedroom back home, if you have to."

At the mention of it, her old room formed in her mind. She pictured herself at ten on the bed, kicking the bed frame, listening to her father and mother in the kitchen talking in low voices she couldn't hear from down the hall -- from the concern in their voices she knew she was the topic.

"It's all right, they're just worried about you -- they don't think you're bad." The first sentence was the hardest, the most awkward. But once she said it, something inside loosened. She pictured herself again, at the mirror in the bathroom, staring at her reflection with tight angry voices echoing down the hall. Staring at her own red eyes and thin face, hating. The droning voices of adults who showed no compassion, the weeping her mother did behind a closed door, the overwhelming hugs good-night and sudden bed checks late at night when Mom woke from a bad dream and had to come see for herself that her daughter was safe. Society was supposed to be more advanced than this. Sexual predators were supposed to be extinct. From the statistics, which they claimed were lower than any previous century, predators weren't so easily done away with. They were rare enough that the appearance of one made headlines, however.

Natalia imagined her ten-year-old self, and her throat tightened. The words tumbled out in fits and starts. "They don't hate you for letting it happen -- they're angry at the man, not you. They're angry at the authorities for being so slow. They're mad because Daddy has to leave soon and he doesn't want to go and leave you when they know you're afraid and you don't want to leave your room and you don't want to see the counselor and -- Karen didn't know how you felt. How could she? She's only ten too, just like you, and there's nothing she could do about what happened -- she doesn't even know the words to use to talk about it. Uncle Telly was right. It's not your fault, not what happened or anyone's reaction to it, nothing about it was your fault and everything you did was okay -- "

When the words stopped coming, when Natalia finally realized she was speaking through a rain of tears and her short nails were digging into her palms and tearing the handkerchief, she began to sob uncontrollably. She hadn't cried that way in a long time. The sobs slowed after just a few minutes, dwindling to whooping gasps for air, and Deanna waved another handkerchief under her nose. She looked up as she took it and realized the counselor had come around to lean on the desk in front of her.

"You're an extremely intelligent and sensitive person, Natalia," Deanna said warmly. "There's a lot of emotion locked up inside, however, and you keep it to yourself. You came to me for help -- I'm glad you did. I'd like to help you. Will you keep letting me do that?"

"Yes." The word had no force or emotion, and very little air -- funny how 'yes' could be said with so little effort, and 'no' had to have more motivation. But she was so tired, her eyes hurt, her chest felt tight as usual whenever she let herself think about things too much.

"I'd like to see you again tomorrow, at the same time. I know we usually go a few weeks in between, but you've taken a big step today in trusting me with your tears. Your real ones, the ones you never show -- there are many kinds of crying, you know. We don't often share the most private kind with others. Thank you for sharing it with me."

She waited, and Natalia gulped and ventured a smile. Probably a really weak one, but the counselor rewarded it with an affectionate one.

"Why don't we quit a little early, just this once? Find a quiet place and just think about what happened in this session. We can talk about it tomorrow. I'd like to hear what you think, but you'll need a little time to think it first."

"Thanks." Natalia stood, feeling weak and odd, then smiled again at her and left the office. She wobbled to the nearest lift and asked for deck ten. It stopped once, too soon to be ten, and she didn't take her hands from her face, just continued to rub her eyes and lean against the wall. A person had come in and stood on the other side of the car from her. She peered at the panel near the door when the lift stopped again -- deck eight. The person left and another entered. No, two others.

"You said you -- "

"Lwaxana," the captain chided softly, then he said, "Computer, deck seven. Ensign, is everything all right?"

She didn't want to move her hands from her eyes but did so anyway, one of them going to her mouth automatically. She couldn't do it. One glance at his concerned expression and she had to turn away, into the wall of the lift to hide. As it was the sobs pent up in her wrenched her gut into a knot. She couldn't handle falling apart in front of the captain, her commanding officer -- she was supposed to impress him, not turn into a bawling kid.

The woman gasped. "Oh, my dear, what's the matter? Why are you feeling so terribly unhappy?"

"I'm all right," Natalia whispered. The wall felt rough on her forehead. "I just need to -- "

"You are most certainly not all right! Someone's hurt you -- Jean-Luc, how could this happen aboard your ship?" Gentle hands tugged on Natalia's arm.

"Computer, hold the lift. Ensign?"

Natalia heard undercurrents in his voice she couldn't readily identify, but he was calling her to duty. She stood upright and rolled her shoulders back. "Sir, I'm fine. A little upset at the moment, but nothing's happened, and I'm on my way to my quarters to make myself presentable for my next duty shift."

Her eyes fell on the captain's companion at last -- dark eyes, like Deanna's. A shockingly-blue long dress, like she was on her way to a dinner party. The older woman frowned and took Natalia by the shoulders. "Dear, you're very brave, but you can't lie to a Betazoid. There's something very, very wrong."

"Ensign Greenman, this is Counselor Troi's mother, Ambassador Lwaxana Troi of Betazed." He met Natalia's eyes over the worried woman's shoulder, his mouth twisting in grim amusement. "Lwaxana, this is Ensign Natalia Greenman -- one of your daughter's patients. I suggest you respect her privacy. Deanna's protective of her patients, you know."

Lwaxana rounded on him. "She should be more protective than this! This poor child -- "

"I'm fine, Ambassador, thank you for your concern," Natalia said.

"Well!" Lwaxana dropped her arms to her sides and stood back. "I suppose if you really want to keep all that bottled up inside you, that's your choice, but it's unhealthy and not at all --"

"Ambassador," the captain interrupted, putting a bit of hardness in his tone. He told the lift to resume, and a moment later Natalia left the ambassador and captain behind, relieved that she didn't have to be trapped in that space with what sounded like the beginnings of a disagreement.

Natalia reached her quarters and was washing her face when it struck her -- the patient tone he'd taken with the ambassador, the grim acceptance of her behavior -- of course. She was like a mother-in-law. A telepathic one at that, with apparent disregard for privacy. Though, Natalia supposed, Mrs. Troi might have observed how upset she was just as easily by simply looking at her, the way the captain had. And Deanna had said once that more intense emotions tended to be more readily detectible to her. But still. . . .

Natalia glanced at her red-eyed reflection in the mirror over the sink and shook her head. "Poor Captain Picard."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I don't allow patients to suffer, Mother."

"Yes, you do!"

Deanna stared at her mother, fork held vertical to her plate. Jean-Luc, after his initial comments, had been silent for the past twenty minutes of the debate, which had just circled around yet again to the same point. He wondered idly how many suitors Lwaxana had intimidated into retreat, just to see if she was paying attention -- he knew most of the times she'd claimed to read his thoughts in the past had been nothing more than teasing, but her actions in the lift had been suspect. She'd seemed too wrapped up in the ensign's emotions. If she were as acutely curious about whether he meant to have children as Deanna said, she might have been trying to pick up some of his thoughts unobtrusively, possibly picking up the ensign's in the process.

"I'm not going to argue about this any more," Deanna announced. "It's pointless. You're not being reasonable. My patients and their lives are none of your business, and you know that -- you're just fighting with me to be difficult."

"I wish you would stop referring to me as 'difficult.' If anyone here is difficult, it's you! Anyone could see how upset that poor girl was." Lwaxana looked at Jean-Luc and gestured at him impatiently. "Even he saw how upset she was. I want to know why no one is doing anything to help her!"

"She's being helped, Lwaxana. I've learned not to question my ship's counselor when it comes to her methodology," Jean-Luc said, ignoring the implied slight. "Let her handle it however she sees fit. It's her duty, and I've no doubt that she's doing it well."

"You and duty! Is that all you ever think of? Little one, please don't do this -- it's just not going to work. You need someone who thinks of you first. All he ever talks about is work, work, work. When will he find the time for you?"

Deanna glared at her mother -- Jean-Luc fervently hoped he never saw her that angry at him. "Mother, you don't want to make me choose between the two of you. If you would stop and think for a while, you might see past your emotional reaction to this, and understand that we've already taken all these things into consideration. He's gone to great lengths and made too many sacrifices to be with me. I know exactly where I stand with him, and I like being there. I won't let you take it away from me, for any reason."

"But they always leave -- officers always leave, and then you're left to pick up the pieces!"

Her gaze dropping, Deanna sighed deeply. "Not all officers leave."

Lwaxana gestured with her hand as if dismissing all of it, then pressed her fingertips to her brow -- an entirely familiar gesture. The more time he spent with the two of them, the more small similarities he saw. Lwaxana said, "You can't understand a mother's point of view. I can't expect you to, I suppose, but it's just so heartbreaking to see you making choices that might result in -- "

"You of all people should know by now that the pain that may happen is one of the risks you take -- I don't understand you right now. Why are you so intent on giving me a headache? All I wanted to do was have lunch and discuss things calmly with you."

Jean-Luc couldn't help smiling a little. The emotional war between mother and daughter reminded him of his own wars with his father, years ago. He rubbed the backs of his knuckles over his lips thoughtfully, having long since abandoned trying to eat his half-finished lunch.

"What's so funny?" Lwaxana exclaimed. "You think this is *amusing?*"

"No, not at all -- I was just wondering what your mother must have been like."

Lwaxana sat up straighter, on the verge of outrage. "What does *that* have to do with anything?"

"These things happen in cycles. My father didn't see my point of view, either. He wanted me to stay on Earth and tend the family business with my brother. Maman told me once that he had similar battles with my grandfather, over other issues. I simply find it interesting to see the pattern in other families."

Lwaxana stared at him, then at her daughter. "You don't feel like a lab specimen when he talks that way?"

"He doesn't mean -- "

"This is not right, Deanna. I tried to see it your way. I know you're hajira, I know you love each other, but -- "

"Why are you so worried? How many times have you been married?"

"You're my daughter. It's different -- you've never been married. Learn from your mother's mistakes. I've been trying to understand, but it's just more of the same -- why can't you find someone more like. . . ."

Deanna held her head in her hands. "That's the real problem, isn't it? It's not that he's unsuitable, it's that he reminds you of Daddy, who was also an officer -- who never came back, that last time he left."

"Your father was a warm, gentle, caring man who loved us -- "

"Mother, he was a different person with us. That's the way Starfleet is. You never saw how he was around his fellow officers -- he always came home to us. We didn't go see him."

Lwaxana rose imperiously from her seat and pointedly looked around them at the otherwise-empty dining room. "Jean-Luc doesn't appear to be on duty at the moment, but he might as well be. And you say I shouldn't be worried!" She sailed out of the room in full parade, sleeves flapping slightly at her sides.

Deanna stared into her soup, her expression desolate. "Four steps forward, eight steps back."

"She makes no sense to me. She loops back around to cover the same ground over and -- Well, maybe there is some sense to it. You've done the same thing before. But I can't say anything that helps -- she doesn't respond the same way you do."

"She doesn't know you well enough to hear what you really say to her." Deanna smiled at him, losing a little of the weariness. "We do speak our own language, in a way -- we know each other that well. She feels first and thinks later, and in matters this personal, she feels more than usual. It's clouding her perception."

Jean-Luc studied her a moment -- his fiancee, his friend, his counselor. A daughter of the Fifth House, as well, though he knew that side less than the others. He'd thought very little about the ramifications of that.

"Am I really that poor a prospect for you?"

"Mother doesn't know what would make a good prospect. She approved of Wyatt out of duty to tradition, and she never said much about anyone I've been with until now." She got up and took her dishes to the recycler, then her mother's.

"Incredible how parents can have double standards, isn't it?"

"Are you referring to her former passion for you?" Deanna draped her arms over his shoulders and rested her chin on the top of his head. "She does appreciate even the attractive men she doesn't fall in love with. You were one of her first choices when she went into phase, remember."

"That doesn't say much for me, considering she shortly thereafter fell for a holographic bartender." At least it amused her for a moment or two. He fell to thinking further afield of Lwaxana, about Betazoids in general and Deanna in particular. Her closeness relaxed him like nothing else could; the weight of her elbows and the light pressure of her chin were eclipsed by the warmth of her presence.

"Dee, why are you being so impatient with her? This isn't like you."

"She's all the family I have left. In spite of how she can drive me crazy without trying, I can't imagine not having her as a part of my life. I was about to come up with a message to tell her about us when we found out she was coming. I wanted to surprise her -- I thought she'd be overjoyed that I'm finally getting married, and I know she's always liked you. She's not jealous or angry -- she's afraid. I can't get her to tell me why. I'm afraid, too, because it's looking like she's just not liking the idea, and I might end up having to choose between you. I don't know if -- "

"Ma petite, don't think that way." He took her hands in his and kissed them, one palm at a time. "This will work itself out."

"You're being extremely patient with her. I appreciate that." She sighed and kissed the top of his head. "Another few hours to travel, and we'll be busy enough that Mother will have a distraction from her worries. Maybe she'll see enough of us working together that she'll relax and start to think about it, and then she'll realize how silly she's being."

She sensed his movement before he made it, and stood back as he got up to send his dishes into the recycler after hers. "Regardless of what she does, it's not going to change my mind, Deebird. Come with me, I've got something for you."

"You aren't just luring me in for the kill, are you?" she asked as they left the room. "You'd better be avoiding that fruit. The last thing we need is a tense captain on a diplomatic mission this close to the Neutral Zone."

"You know better than to bother asking. You also said you wouldn't tease me about that."

"You knew better than to believe me."

The door to his quarters barely closed before she jumped at him. Laughing, she wrestled him in a drunken circle, pinning his arms while he fought without real intent of breaking free. He twisted in her grasp and took advantage of her whimsical turn of mood to get the kiss he had wanted off and on all day, grabbing a fistful of her hair. She broke away before they could get too caught up in it.

"Stop that."

"Why does that sound completely unconvincing? And no, I am not taking anything or eating anything unusual. I just felt like it." He held her face in his hands, studying her features with his fingers. "I've looked at this face nearly every day for years. How blind I've been for so long -- every time I think about all you've done for me, what you've helped me through, the pain you suffered with me. . . I can't imagine being without you. I can't imagine not feeling this way."

Fond wistfulness touched her smile and lit her eyes. "It happens to me, too. I look back at the times we talked about missions and crew difficulties, and the occasions on which you actually comforted me -- all you did was put a hand on my shoulder. Somehow that said so much, just that simple touch and the warmth with which it was given. Now when I look back at it, I see it with completely different eyes -- I can't help but view it through the heart fire. I know that it wasn't there when it happened, yet my memories are all colored by my love for you. It's not such a bad thing, I think."

"No. Inaccurate, perhaps, but if you look at it another way -- poets claim that love transcends time and even death. 'Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.' Should it be so surprising that it transcends the past?"

"Dylan Thomas again?" She wrinkled her nose. "He's so incomprehensible sometimes. I like Elizabeth Barrett Browning better."

"What do you like about her? I don't think I've read any of hers yet." He wasn't prepared for her to quote a poem, but she did, resting her hands on his shoulders.

" How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death."

He rested his nose alongside hers, still holding her head, enjoying her closeness enough that he was willing to forgo looking her in the eye -- which could prove distracting anyway. "That last line verges on depressing. I have a better one. 'Out of my deeper heart a bird rose and flew skywards. Higher and higher did it rise, yet larger and larger did it grow. At first it was but like a swallow, then a lark, then an eagle, then as vast as a spring cloud, and then it filled the starry heavens. Out of my heart a bird flew skywards. And it waxed larger as it flew. Yet it left not my heart.'"

She laughed, briefly, sending joy spiraling around inside him. "You've been reading my Gibran. But it never became a swan."

"But you will always be that regardless, ma petite."

"Why are you doing this right now? It's true I don't have appointments because I rescheduled most of them around my mother's visit, but it's still alpha shift." Her hands met at the back of his neck, proving that it wasn't a complaint.

"Maybe I'm afraid she'll actually convince you I'm a horrible person and I'm trying to convince you otherwise? Or perhaps I'm feeling a little battered by her onslaught and having you near helps the recovery." Or maybe he just felt like it, but she'd pitch him out the door if that were his only reason. Although, he was fairly certain she needed the warmth and support at the moment, which was perhaps why she hadn't sent him on his way anyway.

"I'm so sorry. I wish she wasn't doing this to you. I wish you could have met my father. He would have liked you very much." Her words played along his face, trickling down his neck, her lips brushing his skin like moth's wings. His lips drifting down her cheek, he felt the catch in her voice as well as heard it.

"He must have been a fine man. I'd bet you're very much like him."

"I miss him, still, and never more than when Mother's being this way. He could handle her so well -- I don't remember much, I was so young, but I remember how soft his voice became when she was upset and he tried to soothe her. It was so easy for him." Pulling away, she regarded him with wide, glittering eyes. "You remind me of him, just in how gentle you can be, sometimes. Like what you're doing now. I feel much better now, Jean. Thank you."

He knew he should let her go and do something more official, and she knew it too, but neither one moved. Kissing her forehead, he chuckled. "I guess you really will have to call security to get me to let go this time."

The computer interrupted them; they stared incredulously at each other when deLio said, "Bridge to captain."

"Yes, deLio?" It was enough to loosen his grip. She backed away, smiling, then rubbed his lips with her thumb -- lipstick removal, apparently. He tried to catch her in his teeth and missed.

"There is an incoming subspace communication for you, sir, from Dr. Crusher -- she asked to be routed to Commander Troi if you were not available."

"Put it through to my quarters. Thank you, deLio." Taking the chair behind the desk, he faced the monitor, distracted momentarily when Deanna sat in his lap. They locked gazes for a moment of consideration, then he resigned himself to it and put an arm around her waist.

The screen winked to life, and smiling Beverly became wide-eyed, staring Beverly. "Isn't that interesting? I ask for either-or, and get both."

"Hello, Bev," Deanna said, behaving as though she weren't sitting in her CO's lap with her fingers wrapped around his just out of sight of the monitor. "I've been waiting for a reply to my last comm -- is this it? I like the softer curls, by the way. Much better than the kinks from your last message."

"Anything to keep you from calling me Dr. Poodlehead. Hello, Jean-Luc. Is it my imagination or a trick of subspace, or are you both exhausted? You've got lines around your eyes, like you haven't been sleeping. And don't tell me why, either."

"It's a Lwaxana kind of mission," Jean-Luc said. "Currently she's not knowing what to do about her rebellious daughter, and taking it out on everyone else."

"She's being more erratic than I've seen her," Deanna said. "I've been sensing some mixed feelings toward me. Mostly frustration that I'm not doing what she thinks I should, and worry about my being with Jean."

"What could you possibly do to get on her bad side?" Beverly propped her chin in her hand. "She really doesn't have a right to complain about your love life -- hers sounds like more of a carnival ride than yours. Unless this has something to do with traditional responsibilities?"

"Mother isn't sure what to do now that she's getting what she always wanted. She'll sort it out."

Beverly blinked at them and sat up. "Okay -- hold it right there. As I recall, there's a couple things she's mentioned she wants from you. Which thing are we talking about here -- or things?"

Jean-Luc leaned, reaching into the gap between some books on the second shelf of the bookcase behind him. "I can only vouch for one thing. I thought you told her already, Dee."

"I almost did, but it's not really something you can just send a message about." She didn't look down or otherwise react when, under cover of the desk, he slipped the ring on her finger. He had refused to replicate one, and it had taken a few weeks to make its way out from Earth; one of the ships they'd rendezvoused with recently had brought with it a few packages from home for various crew, and Marie had come through in her usual efficient way. He'd been planning to give it to Deanna more privately, but knew she'd want to show off for Beverly.

Beverly leaned closer and glared at them. "Come on, spill it. There's an impish glint in your eye, Jean-Luc."

Deanna held up her hand with amazing nonchalance, glancing at the band for the first time herself; her right hand closed on his thumb. "Surprise?"

Beverly laughed and spun around in her chair. "All right! I won!"

"Won?" Jean-Luc looked up at Deanna suspiciously. She looked as startled as he.

"I bet Will you'd be married in less than a year. It's been -- holy cow, it's been almost ten months? That means it's been about seven months since the last time I saw you in person. So details already -- please tell me he didn't just point at you and say 'engage.'"

Deanna opened her mouth, then glanced at him and shut it again. "No, actually. . . . He managed to do something a little worse than that. The details defy rational description."

"Oh. Which means you won't even try."

"He'd probably drop me on the floor if I did."

Jean-Luc shook his head and grimaced. "Three words, that's all."

"That's all?" Deanna grinned and patted his shoulder. "Okay -- archeology, Romulans, and. . . Vash."

"You're kidding," Beverly shrieked. "Let me guess -- he went on leave, got captured, and Vash got him into all the trouble."

"Not exactly, but close enough." Jean-Luc smiled and silently thanked Deanna for not mentioning showers and tents. Her fingers found the back of his neck. "Dee came to the rescue, believe it or not. Which reminds me -- security rotation next month."

"Thanks for telling me," Deanna said dryly. "For once. I really didn't appreciate the way I ended up in zero g maneuvers -- if you'd told me ahead of time I wouldn't have eaten a big lunch beforehand."

"Complain to Data, it was his idea. I think you ought to take the cadets from your group with you. I'm sure they're just as upset about that."

"I'm still here, you know." Beverly's amused tone made both of them turn at the same time. "You're too cute. But don't you ever talk about anything but work?"

"At the moment, work is a welcome distraction. You could tell us how *you're* doing, Beverly," Jean-Luc said.

"Same old thing. Though you might note that Mr. Haymore got a transfer -- you can now feel completely comfortable about visiting me, any old time. I'm jealous. You've seen Will at least three more times than me, and here we're all floating back and forth in the same sectors."

"We just haven't crossed paths at the right times. And not all of Will's visits have been fun," Deanna said. "Just the ones after he decided to not throw temper tantrums or sulk."

Beverly sat quiet for a moment, and her expression made Jean-Luc nervous. She'd talked to Will. It was the only explanation for the grim awareness in Beverly's eyes. Then she smiled again, though not all the grimness left her expression.

"You must have a tough time keeping the lines drawn between professional and personal."

"It's not been that hard. We've done very well, I think." Deanna's hand tightened on his shoulder, where it had been for most of the conversation.

"Maybe you ought to worry about that."

"What are you talking about?" Jean-Luc blurted.

"While I was aboard right after Galisi, I never saw you touching each other -- certainly not the way you are now. I'm probably going to catch hell for it if he finds out I said anything, but last month when our ships were at a starbase at the same time, I saw Will -- some of the things he hinted at made me think he was worried about you. I asked him outright and he said he'd had a couple bad run-ins with you, which Dee told me about, but that everything was okay now -- except he doesn't think you behave much like lovers. It makes him worry about both of you. You know we all want the best for you two. He's usually pretty perceptive about things, and it made me worry, a little. But your messages have all sounded upbeat and normal, so I blew it off."

Deanna's hand across Jean-Luc's mouth prevented the angry outburst he almost made. "It's no one's business how we behave. I can't believe Will's that oblivious -- doesn't he think that maybe we'd be a little shy about showing any sort of affection when he's around, after his little fits? Not to mention he'd just start teasing us about it. And we're not exactly teenagers, you know."

Beverly shrugged. "Some good points -- but I didn't think of them, either. Do you always get away with shutting Jean-Luc up that way?"

"I don't usually have to, but he was about to swear at you, or Will, or both."

"Both," Jean-Luc said, then bit her finger. She yanked it away from him and scowled. Again, Beverly's laughter drew their attention. She looked at them fondly and shook her head.

"So when is the wedding -- and where?"

"Don't know yet. It wasn't something I thought much about at first."

"Or he might have settled for unwed bliss," Deanna said. "I think at this point I'm open to just about anywhere but Betazed -- if Mother's behavior continues, that combined with the discomfort rampant nudity would cause a major portion of the guest list is enough to make me ignore my heritage."

"She must be giving you a worse time than usual -- I'm sorry, Dee. I thought for sure she'd be leaping for joy about you getting married." Beverly glanced away from them, at some point in the air between her and the monitor. "Although. . . ."

"Hell," Jean-Luc growled. His ire abated somewhat at the return of Deanna's hand to the back of his neck. He felt tired, and old, and was surprised to hear the feeling echoed in Deanna's voice.

"Someday we'll stop hearing that disbelief in people's voices."

"Sorry. It's just that you have such different personalities -- Dee?"

"I just realized -- I have an appointment," Deanna exclaimed, startled. "I'm late. I'll talk to you later, Bev." She hurried around the desk and out the door without a backward glance.

"Was that escape?"

Jean-Luc sighed and leaned forward on the desk. "I don't think so. She wouldn't run from a live conversation with you."

"I didn't mean to imply that I thought you weren't suited for each other. It's just not that obvious, at first."

"At first? How long have you known about us, Beverly?"

"Subspace isn't the same. I'm not there to see it -- all I have is what the two of you tell me. And Dee doesn't say much. She's very protective of you." That surprised him. He'd imagined Beverly would be the only one Deanna would confide in -- well, then again, perhaps not. Beverly's eyes burned with questions, and from the set of her jaw and the way she crossed her arms on the desk, she hoped she'd get some of what she'd been missing.

"I know it's hard to believe, and I have to admit that I was surprised myself, at first. But it works -- I can't tell you why or how. Everyone asks how -- I only wish there were some pat answers to the questions we've heard."

"I can imagine. Probably from officers who'd love to emulate what you do themselves."

"Other officers don't have the advantages of long-term professional association and her empathy. We've gotten to the point that we can tell which role the other is wearing without a single verbal cue. Still, that isn't all there is to it. There's no way it could be so simple as that. I can't explain it."

"I can see how it might happen, actually. Both of you are very deliberate about nearly everything you do. You'd have to have incredible self-control to pull it off -- you've got that, always have, and the more I think about it I can see where Dee must have it, too."

Jean-Luc smiled at the thought of how easygoing Deanna appeared to be most of the time. "You'd have to think about it, wouldn't you? She never seems to exert much control in public. That's a very deceptive facade, however."

"She said she was challenging Command School classes," Beverly said, a little incredulous. "I encouraged her to take the bridge test, but I never thought she'd go this far. I know she's got the guts -- it's the bulk of the general technical knowledge it requires and the things she has to do to catch up that I can't see. I couldn't do it. I can't imagine her doing it, either."

"She's doing better with her assignments all the time, mostly because she's finally confident about her ability to learn it all. I couldn't have pictured her doing any of it just a few years ago, yet she's actually gone so far that she can walk through engineering naming parts of the warp engines without resorting to 'thingamajig.' I thought Geordie's implants would pop out when she summarized the function of the warp core in technical terms."

"But why command, why now? Why, when she's engaged to you and it'll only cause conflicts? She won't tell me when I ask. She's always been so dedicated to counseling. I can tell she's determined to stay with you regardless of any other considerations. I don't understand her motivations for what she's doing -- it makes no sense. Just tell me, this once -- I just want to understand it and I won't tell her you said anything." Beverly eyed him, skeptical. "She isn't doing it just to please you, is she?"

The suggestion irritated him. She'd made it before, too, though this time she wasn't doing it quite so obnoxiously. "Not entirely. It certainly wouldn't please me if it were her only reason. Has she ever told you why she joined Starfleet in the first place?"

"You aren't going to tell me she *always* wanted to be a captain, are you? I don't think so."

"Ask her about it some time, only don't mention you heard it from me. I think she'll admit it now."

Still suspicious, Beverly shook her head. "Deanna and I have talked about anything and everything -- I find it hard to believe she spent all those years claiming she didn't want command, especially after the few times she actually had to in a crisis, and now she's actually pursuing it."

Staring at his distorted reflection in the desktop, he thought about the trials Deanna had shared with him and how reluctantly she'd said much of it. "She's an extremely private person, when you get down to it."

"Are we talking about the same woman? The one who can whip all her clothes off and walk through a crowded room with nary a blush?"

"That's not what I mean. How many times has she told anyone anything about her father? How many times have the rest of us reminisced about the Academy and she hasn't said more than a few words?"

He watched the wheels turn. Beverly's blue eyes demanded more. "Being private has something to do with pursuing command? She was always perfectly happy with counseling."

"Happy, yes. There is no such thing as perfect. Do you know what she does, when she settles in for the night -- what she's done every night, for years?" He hesitated, rubbing his chin with a thumb. "She meditates, sometimes an hour or more when it's been a bad day -- meaning a lot of stress around her, or in her appointments. I come in sometimes and find her sitting cross-legged on the floor with tears running down her face. It's nothing, she says. Nothing unusual."

"But you don't think so."

"Do you think it's easy, experiencing the angst of relationships turning sour, day in and day out, for years? How do you think you would feel about your chances at a happy relationship, if so many couples who were once happy march through your office radiating all kinds of negative emotions? You and I have lived through a few bad relationships -- she's lived through more than two hundred, she estimates, the majority of which were unsalvageable. People often wait too long to seek help. How would you feel if you could sense the pain of every patient you had?"

Beverly frowned, then tilted her head, bemused. "She's never shown any indication that it bothered her. I suppose I imagined she was like me -- you have to learn to objectify, to a degree. Unless you distance yourself from a patient somewhat it becomes too hard to treat them. You're saying she can't do that?"

"She can. She does it all the time. She also distances herself from me, every day -- slides in and out of her different roles as easily as changing shoes." He looked at her intently. "She still senses emotions, however, like we see light and hear sounds -- she's learned to ignore it as much as she can until she needs it. She adapted to make the rest of us feel comfortable. But negative emotions can be loud -- the war almost did her in, Beverly. You remember the wounded and the evacuees we helped. She had to deal with all of those, too, plus the ones who didn't have physical damage but needed help dealing with the loss of friends and family and battle trauma. She was on the verge of quitting when I found her in the lounge and started to talk about something other than work."

"The war ended long before the two of you got together."

Deanna's silence on these things was becoming more understandable. He almost quit talking, thinking that perhaps preserving Dee's privacy should be paramount -- but Beverly's intense concern and curiosity would wear on Deanna too. He wondered briefly if Deanna's abrupt departure hadn't been escape, after all. "She won't tell you these things herself? Not even hints?"

"I've asked. Now that you mention it, though -- she's never said two words to me about how the war affected her. About how it affected everyone else, yes." Beverly looked pensive for a moment. "In fact. . . there've been a few times she's completely clammed up about how she feels. She'd never talk about her patients or give hints at how sessions affected her, but there were times she suddenly became a bit of a recluse. Mostly. . . ."

Jean-Luc could almost hear the pieces fitting together in her mind. He let her think, while her eyes became more and more distant. Then her eyebrows rose slightly and she focused on him again. "This may sound completely off topic, probably because it is, but -- no. I can't ask you that. Forget it."

"Ask me what, Beverly? I don't have to answer, you know."

"That's why I don't want to ask. I don't think you will." She smiled briefly, sheepishly. "Although, nothing ventured, right? How much have you told to her about why I transferred?"

"I told her the truth. Never in counseling -- she never came to me as she used to do when she sensed something was amiss. I never went to her, though I thought about it. I told her, before, to clear the air. She was afraid she would lose her friendship with you."

"I'd be lying if I told you it was easy to hear about you two." She hid her eyes behind her lashes and rolled her shoulder as if easing tension. "I knew, sort of, about how she felt -- I knew there was some sort of attraction. Every once in a while I'd catch her in an unguarded moment, and she'd have that lost look in her eye, like something was missing and it was killing her inside to not have it. I asked her a couple times and let it rest because she would pass it off as nothing but leftovers from an intense session."

"Is there a point to this?"

Her eyes opened in surprise. Settling down, she pressed her lips together and glanced away and down. "Have you told her you were considering retirement before you got together?"

His turn to avert his eyes. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he tried not to react to that too emotionally, internally or otherwise. "Yes. Beverly, she knows me better than I know myself. And in spite of that, she stays with me."

"Why did you stop considering retirement?"

"Because she challenged me. Not directly, not verbally, but just having her with me and working with her, and seeing it actually becoming feasible -- I can have both. I could feel it from the beginning, just a hunch at first, but I knew it would work. I felt. . . not young again. I spent some time feeling very old, in fact. But I had more energy, more motivation than before. We saved each other, actually."

He picked up the dagger that usually sat on the corner of his desk, turned it in his hand slowly, and put it down again. Glancing back at the screen, he saw questions in her eyes she wouldn't voice. Shrugging uncomfortably, he reviewed what had been said so far and tried to guess what might help her understand.

"She'd been avoiding me for a few days. I realized that I missed her, and when I found her she'd been sitting alone and dejected because she felt like a complete failure. She reached the end of her energy and motivation to continue, and without you as a support system, or Will, she felt completely alone. The confrontation with Will six months before had burned that bridge irrevocably, in her mind, and though he patched up the friendship there was still an underlying anger there. She was trapped between you and me, not wanting to damage your friendship by pursuing me -- not to mention she wasn't sure how I would respond. She'd started applying for jobs elsewhere already, and then it caught up with her that she'd be leaving and not seeing me again -- I came so close to never knowing how she felt. I almost didn't go looking for her. I thought it was the stupidest idea I'd ever had in my life. The only thing that made it possible was knowing that she'd let me down easy."

Beverly blinked and averted her gaze. The corner of her mouth acquired a sardonic twist. "You thought she'd shoot you down. Whatever happened to the old Picard charm?"

"She's an empath. She already knew too much about me. More than she's ever given voice -- more than I ever allowed myself to believe. In the face of that, any cheesy lines I could come up with would fall flat."

Her bemused expression bordered on the comical. "I guess it really was a relationship whose time had come, wasn't it? It's tough for me to believe you never noticed the look in her eye. She slipped a few times, you know. That was what I was building towards -- she even caught herself, right in the middle of that reception for Admiral Nechayev. Remember when you asked me where she'd gone? She and I were standing with drinks in hand when you walked in. I made some snide remark about how much starch you had in your underwear -- you looked like someone stuck a rod up the back of your jacket when you were dancing with Elena and so obviously didn't want to. Dee didn't say a word, and when I looked at her she had this absolutely wretched look on her face. She flinched when I asked if she was all right, claimed she didn't feel well, promised she'd stop in sickbay -- but I checked the logs and she never did."

The reception had taken place not long after Riker had left the ship for his own command. Jean-Luc felt his face turning to stone, to cover his reaction. He stared again at the shiny surface of the desk, not seeing much other than the blackness.

"Jean-Luc. Don't look like that."

"I have to let her fly," he exclaimed. "She's been grounded for so long. Someone should have encouraged her more, a long time ago. A pretty face isn't necessarily a handicap, but she's more than that -- do you know how many men shake their heads at me? Anyone who looks at her thinks she's small, pretty, soft and sensitive, like a hothouse flower or a butterfly. She's all those things, but that isn't all she is. Who said that command was only for those who wear their strength on the outside? Since she's started trying, she's managed to impress all of us -- deLio would follow her into hell if she wanted him to. Who said that command only works for women like Shelby?"

"You feel guilty because you didn't see it sooner, don't you? That's why you're doing this."

All the air ran out of him, slowly. Shouting at her would be so easy. "I'm tired of this, Beverly. Tired of explaining this to people who haven't deduced that I'm not favoring her -- I'm harder on her than I've ever been before. She wants it that way. She'd kick me if I wasn't. The only help I give her is treating her just as I would any other officer. It's not guilt, or pride, or projecting my own goals on her, or her desire to please me. It just is. We work, we're together, and there's nowhere else I'd rather be than where I am right now. I'm not doing a damned thing to coerce her in any way, and I'm starting to resent the implication that I am."

What was that, sadness? Angst? Her eyes seemed to glitter. "I'm sorry I brought all this up. I guess you must get your fill of explanations when you talk to Command -- are they leaving you alone these days?"

"Monthly reports, like clockwork. Not so terribly excruciating as they were. Eventually it will become obvious to H'nayison that it's not going to deteriorate."

"I'm very happy for both of you, Jean-Luc. I may still wonder how it works, but it's enough for me that it does." She glanced at someone or something out of his field of view. "I need to get going, too. Give Dee a hug for me, and let's get together soon at a starbase or something?"

"I'll check the *Valiant*'s course and see where we can make it happen. It's good to hear from you -- I'll try to do better about keeping in touch."

"You do that." She shook her head disbelievingly, yet again. "Thanks for trying to explain. I think I can see things a little more clearly now. Good luck with the mother-in-law. And by the way, Jean-Luc?"

He looked askance at her. "Beverly?"

"You have lip prints on your head." She grinned evilly and reached for the control pad on her desk. The monitor reverted to the Federation logo. Groaning and muttering curses, he marched into the bathroom and wiped the lipstick off. He sighed -- at least it'd only been Beverly.

Jean-Luc returned to his desk and pondered for a while, then opened a channel and hailed the *Lexington.* Something told him it would be best to do it when Deanna was out of the room. When Will's face appeared Jean-Luc smiled. "Hello, Will. Good to see you."

"Likewise. How's everything on the big E these days?"

"Relatively stable at the moment. I just talked to Beverly -- she says you owe her for a bet you lost."

Thank the powers that be for small favors -- rather than lose the smile, Will broadened it to a grin. "Congratulations, Jean-Luc. Don't worry, you'll get no hassle from me. I'll be at the wedding with bells on -- actually, with nothing on, right?"

"Not if I can help it. Lwaxana's actually contributing to the cause -- the way she's reacting, Dee's ready to abandon Betazed for good. Lwaxana is aboard for the Adnalon negotiations. Command has an interesting idea of effective diplomatic relations, I'd say. She and Telor'set get along like. . . well. Maybe it will work out." Jean-Luc saw a blur of movement in the background, on the periphery of the monitor's range, and noted that Will was sitting in his quarters. "Trying on the kinder, gentler fraternization policies for size?"

Will glanced behind him, chuckling. "Bell, come over here and say hi, now that you've made your presence known."

From what Jean-Luc could tell as the woman moved into view and sat in Will's lap, she was tall, slender, graceful, and just short of well-endowed. Straight blond shoulder-length hair, probably not natural -- her skin tanned well, obviously. She had laughing eyes the color of toffee and wore shimmering dark pink lipstick, just the right shade. A summer girl, in sciences blue.

"Lieutenant Christabel Sumners, Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Bell's a nurse and studying to be a doctor."

"It's an honor, Captain," Bell said. Her low voice had a slight French burr. It'd probably been the first thing Will had noticed about her -- it reminded Jean-Luc of a certain holodeck simulation Will had enjoyed, once upon a time.

"Un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Lieutenant."

She laughed, in a strong, straightforward way. "Le plaisir est le mien, Capitaine. And before you ask -- I'm Canadian. My grandmother refused to hear anything but French at home."

"Jean-Luc just informed me he's engaged."

Bell made a face. "That means you lost your bet with Beverly. Not so bad, except she'll gloat, and she gets insufferable about it."

"You know Beverly?" Jean-Luc asked.

"I do, but only because I hitched a ride out here on the *Valiant* to report for duty on the *Lexington.* Before they left me off on a starbase to wait I managed to wiggle into the medical department's weekly poker game a few times. Congratulations, Captain -- I'm looking forward to meeting the lucky lady. Between Beverly and Will, I've heard quite a bit about her."

"I'm almost afraid of that." Jean-Luc blinked and came to attention -- a familiar jolt of anger heralded the opening of the door, and Deanna swept into the room. She blazed past on her way to the bedroom. "Dee?"

"MY MOTHER!"

Jean-Luc looked at the screen. "I think I'll have to call back some other time."

"No problem -- we'll see you later, possibly at a funeral. Sounds like bloodshed is imminent," Will said. "Good luck." The screen flicked back to the usual insignia, then went dark as Jean-Luc turned it off.

Deanna didn't give him the chance to follow her. She burst out of the bedroom again, pacing a furious circle around the table. "She's gone mad! I don't understand!"

"Slow down and breathe, cygne. Come here and sit."

She stopped circling and obeyed, settling in his lap once more, only this time curling up in his arms. Humming, he waited for her to find her way back to calm. When he felt most of the tension had left her body, he said, "Ma petite, what happened? You left because you sensed she was up to something, didn't you?"

"You need to come with me," she said, weary and resigned. "Jean -- this is something I need your help with, but it requires a great deal of discretion and tact on your part. I had Natalia at a very crucial and vulnerable place, on the verge of dealing with severe childhood trauma, and Mother meddled in spite of my insistence that she leave her alone."

Jean-Luc groaned, a knot of anger forming in his chest. "Why is she doing this?"

"I think I understand, finally. Come on -- we have to go, we don't have much time to deal with this before we arrive at Adnalon, and it can't wait."

Deanna got up, and he followed her out of his quarters. She put her hands behind her back and slid into counselor mode, all remnants of her ire vanishing rapidly. "Natalia feels very comfortable with you, doesn't she?"

"Apparently. She isn't afraid of me, certainly."

"Are you comfortable with her?"

"I have no reason not to be."

"You're fond of her. She reminds you of Meribor, doesn't she?"

"She doesn't look anything like Meribor."

"You know what I mean. You've been kind to her, and she looks up to you -- the fondness is mutual."

"What's your point? You'd better not ask me to play counselor again."

"I was thinking father figure. You've gotten a lot better at it, you know. Would you feel comfortable just sitting with Natalia while I deal with Mother? Once Mother's calmed down, I'll come back and deal with Natalia. I don't want to leave either of them alone very long, and something tells me you wouldn't want to try coping with Mother right now."

Jean-Luc halted just short of the lift. "Natalia isn't suicidal, is she?"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't do that to you. It's only that I've brought her to a sensitive place -- it took months to get her to open up willingly, and she could so easily close herself up and turn away from me. She needs someone to keep her distracted from dark thoughts until I can work with her. Someone to comfort her, just by being there. It would be enough. I also need your help getting her door open."

"She's locked herself in with Lwaxana? And you left them alone?"

"No, she locked herself in her quarters and won't respond to my attempts to contact her. Mother's in her quarters -- she's furious with me for threatening to lock her in, but I had to do something to get her to stay put. My command codes aren't overriding Natalia's lockout."

"What the hell did your mother do, exactly?"

"She somehow picked up on what Natalia was working on in counseling and understood it to be something she's going through now. She didn't understand they were old memories, not fresh ones. I can't go into much detail without violating client confidentiality, but I'll have to make a formal report -- she involved another crew member. We'll discuss it later."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow at the unusual situation, irritation and curiosity demanding more answers, but he accepted her judgement. She took him to one of the cabins on deck ten, in a windowless section in the interior corridors. A wide-eyed girl with short brown hair standing in the hall turned to them, hugging herself and shifting her weight from foot to foot. Deja vu -- uncertain person waiting outside cabin door wherein depressed patient of Deanna's awaited. This had better not turn into another ordeal like the one they'd had with Shelby, he thought, frowning. If this weren't one of his crew. . . .

"Kasey, isn't it?" Deanna said. "Would you mind giving us an hour? Natalia isn't doing too well at the moment. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"Sure, Counselor. Um -- the door's locked. I've been trying to get in -- she must have done something to keep me out. The lock code isn't working. She's okay, isn't she?"

"She'll be fine."

The ensign looked searchingly at Jean-Luc, backed a step, and excused herself. She jogged off and disappeared around a corner.

Deanna glanced at Jean-Luc. "Troi to Ensign Greenman. Respond, please."

No response. Jean-Luc tried overriding the door lock, got an uncooperative response from the computer, and sighed. Tapping his comm badge, he said, "Picard to Ensign Greenman. Get this door open, on the double."

It opened, a few thumping noises later. In spite of the red-rimmed eyes and rumpled uniform, minus the pip, Natalia tried to look halfway professional, coming to attention. "Yes, sir?"

"Come with me, Ensign. You have some explaining to do. You've been ignoring Commander Troi's instructions -- insubordination will not be tolerated, and I don't appreciate being summoned to crew quarters just to open a door." He turned on his heel and marched away.

{Jean!}

{She's an ensign, I'll deal with her as such until you come for her. I'll be in my ready room. I refuse to sit in her quarters. She'll deal with it.}

{Be careful, Jean. Don't grouch at her. She's fragile at the moment.}

Jean-Luc heard Natalia's hurried footsteps as she caught up with him. Deanna joined them in the lift briefly and departed on deck eight without a word. He said nothing, hardly looked at her -- she seemed to vibrate with discomfort when he did glance her way -- and, when they reached the bridge, ignored the curious looks as they crossed it to his ready room. Once on familiar turf, he could deal with this rationally.

"Have a seat," he said, pointing at the chairs as he passed his desk. In the back of the room he replicated some tea and brought it with him as he sat down. Finally, he looked at her and realized she was pale and wide-eyed, her mouth set in a short, straight line. "Relax, Ensign. Have some tea."

Her hand shook when she took the cup from him. Pressing her lips together, she held the tea in both hands and looked down at it, then sipped carefully as if being graded on spillage reduction. She normally had a controlled demeanor, but today she might best be described as 'coltish' -- off balance and not seeming to know where to put her limbs. Her pale yellow hair was the most composed thing about her, and that was probably due to its straightness and shortness.

"Natalia. It's all right. Lwaxana Troi was only trying to help -- I apologize if she upset you. She can be a little overwhelming, at times."

"You're not angry at me?"

He watched her try to look at him without crying. She really was that fragile -- she hadn't appeared the type to fall apart so easily. Although, everyone had their breaking point, and she *was* still a green ensign.

"I'm not angry. You're not being written up for anything. The counselor was extremely concerned, however, and didn't feel comfortable leaving you alone -- and you locked the damned door so well she couldn't get in. You're lucky she respects your freedom of choice enough that she didn't resort to using a transporter. How *did* you lock the door that way?"

"I yanked the wall panels and removed part of the impeller. The mechanism itself is pretty simple. The control works, but the door won't move." With the threat of official punishment removed, she seemed to relax somewhat, but her voice still sounded tight and her swollen eyes still glittered too wetly.

"I'm not going to let you get off easy again. If I didn't have my own history of run-ins with Lwaxana, I'd probably be less tolerant this time."

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

---------------------

"See that it doesn't," the captain said, leaning back and sipping his tea. His forbidding glare softened considerably.

Natalia sipped too and actually tasted the tea this time; her first try had been too hot for her liking. She couldn't keep her eyes off the floor.

"The counselor will be here shortly to take you to her office. You shouldn't be so upset about what happened. Everything will be all right, Natalia."

She could only manage a nod. The softness in his voice was new, coming from him -- the sort of tone someone would use to soothe a child. The sort of tone she'd heard so rarely years ago. She wished she had. Her mother had sobbed. Her father hadn't been able to talk much to her about it; he had been out on duty when it happened, and when he came home, most of the time his voice had been too tight to allow affection through. The counselors came close but usually sounded condescending at the same time.

The captain merely reassured. The ten-year-old she'd spoken to in the empty chair would have wanted to climb in his lap and cling to him, rather than run away as she'd wanted all those times in counseling. He was giving her just enough warmth to soothe, and just enough distance to make her comfortable. If she spoke, if she looked at him, she knew she'd come undone completely. She couldn't do that in front of the captain of the ship -- of the *Enterprise* -- the hard work, the pain she'd endured to get there, it would all go to waste if she blew it.

A short silence ensued. She wondered if he was allowing it on purpose, or if he really didn't know what to say. The quiet was almost unbearable.

"I hope I didn't cause any trouble with the ambassador," she said at last, trying to steady herself. "I saw her in the corridor and said hello, and the next thing I knew she asked me if it was Mr. La Forge who hurt me. I tried to reassure her but we were standing -- there were people -- she really wasn't being unpleasant, not at all, she was concerned and trying to console me and being so sweet about it but all I wanted was to run away and hide. And the more frightened I got the more insistent she was."

He said nothing, and still she couldn't look at him. Especially not now that tears were bubbling up. Swallowing twice, she inhaled sharply. "I excused myself and started for the nearest lift, and then Mr. La Forge came out of it with Batris and Rogharth on their way to astrometrics. The ambassador demanded to know what he'd done to me -- I almost died. I just talked to him this morning about what's been going on between me and the other cadets in engineering. He thought she was talking about that and couldn't understand why it would upset her. I panicked but I couldn't say a word -- I just stood there like a complete idiot staring at them, and then Counselor Troi flew around the corner and started arguing with her mother. I apologized to Mr. La Forge but he looked at me like -- I thought I was out of engineering for good, and off the ship -- s-sorry, I'm sorry -- "

It was too hard -- too much to cope with all at once. Shouldn't have tried an explanation. Should have toughed out the silence. She hated crying this way, and hid her face, ducking away from him and curling up on herself, still cradling the tea in her hands. Knotting the muscles in her stomach, she tried to contain it before she began to sob again. Then again, why bother? It was too late anyway. Now he'd know she was really a weakling, masquerading as a future officer. She'd be gone for sure. Concern was one thing, but he was still the captain, and there were limits.

The last thing she expected was a hand on her shoulder. She almost jumped out of the chair. He stood looking down at her, sympathetic and holding out a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry, Natalia. If I'd known you already thought you were in for dismissal, I wouldn't have been so harsh. Geordi is aware of what to expect from Lwaxana. She's been aboard before. I'm sure he didn't take it personally. You will not be held responsible for Lwaxana's tactlessness. Give me the tea before you drop it."

She looked down at the cup, and realized she'd already spilled some on her leg though the stain didn't show on the black material. "I'm fine," she gulped.

He took the cup anyway, placing it on the desk, which he then leaned against. "No, you're not. That's quite all right. No one is fine every minute of every day."

"Captain's ready rooms are not appropriate places to be not all right."

"Don't tell me what's permissible in my own ready room, Ensign."

Flinching, she sobbed once more. "I'm sorry."

"Quit crying, already. I'm not your counselor."

It should have sounded harsher than it did, but his soft tone cushioned the impact. Natalia wiped her face with the handkerchief and did her best. When she resettled herself in her chair, she found him watching her with the serious concern he'd shown earlier, arms crossed. It wasn't the dubiousness she'd gotten from the few other officers she'd had to tell in the past. He wasn't looking at her as though he thought she should be kicked off the ship. Again, she was almost completely undone by it. She tried to think ahead and cover more professional issues.

"Mr. La Forge didn't do anything, sir," she said. "That was an incorrect assumption for her to make. She must have picked up an image from my thoughts -- I was thinking about my session with the counselor earlier, trying to get ready for tomorrow's appointment. Counselor Troi said to think about what happened in today's session -- I was remembering what the man who molested me looked like. He just happened to be black, too."

The captain raised his head, and his eyes widened. A long pause ensued. At last he sighed, and said, "Thank you for the reassurance -- though it was unnecessary. I've known Geordi long enough that I would assume that to be Lwaxana's mistake. I would also trust that if any such thing did happen aboard my ship, you would come to me directly."

It caught her flat-footed. She'd just given it away to him, when she really hadn't needed to, and startled him -- and now what he would think! "I just didn't want you to think he -- I've caused so much trouble already. I should've just shut up and done my duty. This never would have happened if I'd kept my mouth shut about everything. I shouldn't have told the counselor -- "

She would have kept burbling madly if she hadn't glanced up and been arrested by the ire in his face -- he shifted uneasily and resettled his arms. "Ensign, you're trying my patience. If Starfleet operated without regard for the mental well-being of a ship's crew, it would fall apart. I'm interrupting my schedule to sit here and keep you from sinking into depression, and here you have the gall to give me a guided tour while you're doing it."

Natalia clenched herself around a sob, transformed it to a weak, hiccuping giggle, shrugged uncomfortably and reached for her tepid tea. "I'm just a weak little ensign, sir, please forgive me."

He tipped his head back and winced. "Hasn't anyone bothered to tell you that groveling is grounds for being assigned to cleaning the quantum torpedo tubes with your toothbrush?"

She wished there were some way to express the flood of gratitude -- he wasn't doubting her! He wasn't thinking she was deficient because of the incident! She grasped at the distraction he provided, her words almost tumbling over each other. "My copy of the official *Enterprise* handbook was one of the first things I lost when I switched quarters. Wish I hadn't -- there was probably a picture of you in there somewhere. It took too long for me to figure out I shouldn't chat idly with guys in the gym without finding out their rank first." Her stomach muscles convulsed a few times; she'd been holding herself in so tightly, and now the relief loosening her up resulted in a few spasms as the tension ebbed.

"You should replicate another copy. You might find out by chapter two that you should be respectfully quaking in your boots instead of bantering with the captain. How old are you?"

"Twenty-three. I took a year off from school, so I was a year behind most of the others. Mostly for my mother's sake. She claimed it was out of concern for me, but she was the one who was afraid. She took me traveling with her, when Daddy wasn't home and I wasn't in therapy." Now she babbled again like a brook, but it was easier -- so long as she didn't wander into recollection of the incident itself, the details surrounding it were old hat. Still giddy with the thought that he actually cared enough to not simply order her to shut up and wait for the counselor, she couldn't help it.

The captain stared at the floor a moment, then looked up suddenly as if remembering she was there. "You talk about it so candidly."

"I can do that. I was ten -- it's been a long time. Counselor Troi saw it in my records and met with me shortly after I came aboard, to assess whether or not I needed her help. I told her I didn't. Ever since the counselors all backed off, I wanted to forget it as much as possible, to get my mother to quit being so paranoid and go back to being herself. And then a few years later, Daddy died. I went to the Academy after that against Mom's wishes -- she hates that I'm in Starfleet. But it's all I ever wanted to do, my whole life, and I won't give it up. The counselor says that I've built up defenses and that I'm suppressing anger and pain -- I didn't believe her. I thought the way I started to feel as I got older was unrelated to it, that everyone just saw me as a bookworm, an odd duck, as my grandmother would say. But you said I shouldn't put up walls intentionally -- I was a little mad about it, but then I remembered the counselor said once that things that make us mad without a real good reason are like symptoms of something we're not facing, and the more I thought about it the more I realized you were both right. My walls are intentional but subconscious, like she says. So when she asked me this morning to start telling her about what happened, I did it this time and was unlucky enough to bump into you and the ambassador after I'd been crying."

She saw the dismay on his face, the look that said she'd gone too far, and bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I know I tend to keep talking endlessly about myself -- it's another one of those things I really ought to stop doing, it puts people off. But I wanted -- I just get so nervous, and -- I'm sorry. I'm so stupid -- you're the captain. I shouldn't bother you with this crap. I shouldn't pretend that you'd want to hear it, even if you're being so nice to me." Her voice started to crackle and waver again, as her stomach muscles tensed once more.

"I am responsible for the welfare of every person on this ship. Do you think I wouldn't be concerned about you? Especially since you did me the favor of killing Ensign Billings."

"Oh," she blurted, grinning in spite of her wallowing. "I studied the Picard Maneuver -- you're not supposed to be able to sneak up and surprise me that way."

"That's not the Picard Maneuver. It's the Troi Maneuver, and it's much more versatile. Every time she uses it on me I'm just as surprised as the last. But if it keeps you from turning into whatever you keep trying to be, it serves its purpose well. This isn't the Ensign Greenman I've met."

Now he was giving her back her footing in rank. She wished she dared give him a hug, but knew that wouldn't be welcome or appropriate. "Counselor Troi said I had some pretty good coping mechanisms. I can usually work around the bad feelings. Thanks for snapping me out of it, sir. This has been the worst day yet, for this sort of thing. I'm really not planning on making a habit of it." She sipped cold tea. "What is this?"

"Chamomile. Probably cold. Would you like another?" he asked over his shoulder, taking his own empty cup into the alcove where the replicator was.

"Only if it's some other kind. It tastes a little weedy -- it's one of those herbal things, isn't it?"

He brought out two more cups, and the steaming liquid was darker this time. She tried it, blowing on it a little first, and found it tasted much stronger. "That's better."

"Earl Grey."

"Thanks. And by the way, I think we're even, now. Fictional ensigns and personal demons cancel each other out. Someone told me that was in the handbook. So if you want, I'll just scurry belowdecks and go back to being a mere ensign again."

"Are you trying to retreat into a comfort zone?"

She smiled timidly, glad that he smiled, too. "I was giving you an out. I know this isn't exactly normal -- I know I'm behaving very badly. I'm sure you have more important things to do than try to keep me from bawling like a pitiful fool."

He drank tea thoughtfully. He'd returned to the same spot, leaning against the desk instead of sitting behind it, and seemed less intimidating because of it -- that may have been intentional. He'd been taking lessons from the counselor. "You were subjected to extraordinary pain as a child. You can't help but be influenced by it. You've compensated admirably -- making it through the Academy and the command program, and onto the *Enterprise* for your first tour of duty, wasn't easy. I can respect that, Natalia. Today you took some necessary steps toward inner peace -- you shouldn't let what happened to you convince you to close up and ignore the problem again, and that's why you're here. Can you seriously believe I'd let a perfectly good weight-lifting partner suffer?"

"I thought I was supposed to be quaking. You make it too hard to do that."

"It's not exactly unknown for people to make friends once in a while, you know."

"How many of your friends are my age?"

"You phrased the question incorrectly." Setting aside his cup, he adopted a wry, resigned expression. "If I worried about age differences in making friends, I wouldn't have very many. Rank is the real barrier to friendships between co-workers when the disparity is this extreme, and you don't seem to see it as one."

"I'm better at hiding panic than I thought. Except for today." Sipping more tea, she thought about how much her father would've liked him -- he probably would have enjoyed serving under him, aboard the *Enterprise.* She wished that could have happened, and almost teared up again at the thought.

"I asked your age because you don't seem so young as other ensigns. That may be another factor in your difficulty making friends. You're very serious, and I've noticed that though many of the other new recruits are serious enough on duty, they can be very. . . unserious, off duty."

"The counselors will tell you that trauma makes a kid grow up too fast, in some respects. And I've always been a quiet kid anyway. I asked for books for my birthday while other kids wanted toys. Plus I was an only child -- the youngest in my extended family, too. All my cousins were grown by the time I was old enough to talk. I was surrounded by adults all my life."

"Troi to Captain Picard."

"Yes, Counselor?"

"I'd like to bring my mother to see Ensign Greenman -- she'd actually like to apologize to both of you."

The captain put his hand to his head, smiling a 'here we go again' and shaking his head. "That would be fine. We're in my ready room."

"We'll be there shortly. Troi out."

"Are you sure you're ready for that?" Natalia asked. He opened one eye and stared at her.

"You're still not quaking, Ensign."

"My boots fit too tight, sir."

He glared, in a cross, bemused way that somehow told her he was more amused than angry. "I hope you don't try this sort of tightrope-walking game between overly-familiar behavior and friendliness with very many officers. There are those who would nail you to the floor for it."

"Only you and Admiral Dayson, sir. It's pretty obvious who will and won't appreciate it. I miss Admiral Dayson. He took me under his wing. I wouldn't have done so well at the Academy if not for him."

"Is he still teaching? I've heard good things about him from some of the younger officers." The annunciator interrupted, predictably. "Come in."

Deanna, the composed counselor as always, preceded her mother into the room. The ambassador appeared to be in need of a good fidget. Her eyes darted around anxiously.

"Natalia, you've met my mother? She'd like to talk to you for a minute. How are you?"

"Fine, sir. I'm sorry about the door -- I wasn't trying to keep you out. I only do that when I really want privacy. Kacey's a real sweetheart most of the time, but she gets too maternal when she sees me crying. I didn't want her to start replicating teddy bears and chicken soup again."

Amusing Deanna wasn't hard, but she stifled it quickly and raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that damaging Starfleet property is against regulations?"

"I didn't damage anything. It works fine when I put the impeller back together. I'm sorry I didn't answer your comm signal. Guess that'll put me in your logs as a hostile patient? Wouldn't be the first time."

Her eyes went dull -- probably sensing Natalia's dislike for her experiences with previous counselors and sympathizing. "We'll talk about this tomorrow. Mother, you had something to tell her?"

Lwaxana came alive, moving swiftly to the other chair and turning to take Natalia's hand; she appeared to realize it bothered her and let go again, folding her hands in her lap. "I'm so sorry, dear. I honestly thought you'd just been through some horrible tragedy -- I thought no one was doing anything to help you, and I didn't understand why. You were so upset and you reminded me. . . ." A brief, affectionately-aching smile flickered across her face. "I'm a mother. I can't help that. And you looked like you needed a mother, dear, so very much -- oh, now, don't cry."

"Ignore them. I seem to have very poor control once I start crying. I can't seem to stop. Ambassador, I appreciate your concern, honestly. But the pain is an old one that I've ignored a long time, and bringing it up again made me remember too much all at once. You thought it was Mr. La Forge because I'd met with him earlier, and I got my imagery a little mixed -- the rapist had black skin, too." While she spoke, Natalia looked down at her lap, then up again as she finished to suffer the curse of brutal honesty and having loosened up her lips. Lwaxana's eyes flew open wide, and for a moment it seemed she would leap to embrace her.

"Who would do that to a child?"

"It doesn't matter any more who," Natalia said, mimicking the soft tone the captain had used. "I'm all right. It's very kind of you to express such concern for a complete stranger, and it's -- it isn't something I'm used to. People usually look at me like I'm a castoff from some failed experiment when they find out I was a rape victim. I guess they can't figure out how to react to it. It gets worse when they find out I was just a kid when it happened. It doesn't bother me to talk about it unless I actually remember it, with all the emotional baggage and the images attached -- I try not to bring it up because the people around me can't look at me the same way again."

The ambassador smiled, although a few tears rolled down her face. "You're such a brave little thing. So open and respectful. I don't understand -- why would you subject yourself to Starfleet? It's such a hard, hard life to live, it's so dangerous."

Natalia spun through all the arguments with her mother and shook her head. This was too much deja vu. Lwaxana may not look like Melissa Greenman, but she could have been reading scripts she'd written. "Life is either a great adventure, or nothing. My father died out here, but he also had some wonderful adventures. You sound like my mother. She accepts my choice now, but she worries that the Borg will come and steal me away. But I had to leave home -- I wanted to be something more than just another person on the street. I wanted to be like Daddy, and my uncles. And I had to leave to find myself -- when I was ten, I let other people tell me how I felt about what happened to me and why, and now I want to learn how to feel for myself and decide why for myself. My mother can't handle my pain along with hers, so I couldn't let her see it. Since I'm so far from home, I can live with it now, look at it and decide what to do with it, because I know she won't be here to suffer it all over again."

Lwaxana stared at her, frozen in place, an odd glitter in her eyes. Natalia could have kicked herself. She'd done it again, talked too much out of nervousness, and she had no idea now what to do -- instead of the overwhelming gush of sympathy like before, Lwaxana appeared to be shocked. Natalia looked up at the counselor and did a double-take -- Deanna stared at her mother in an uncharacteristic show of incredulity.

"Mother, we're due to arrive at Adnalon today. Perhaps you should meditate for a while to prepare for the mission?"

"Yes, yes," Lwaxana muttered. Brushing Natalia's arm with her fingers, she rose and glanced at the captain with another odd look, then swished from the room, the blue flowing fabric of her dress shimmering around her. Natalia gaped after her.

Deanna caught the apology in the making, dropping a hand on her shoulder. "Natalia, it's all right. Do you want to talk about it? Or are you comfortable waiting until tomorrow?"

"I can wait until tomorrow. I'm fine. I didn't mean -- "

"Don't worry about my mother, she'll be fine. I suggest you go put your door back together and leave it that way, and work out a better arrangement with Kasey than forced lockouts. Either that or come up with better explanations for locking out the counselor."

Natalia blinked. Of course she would know when she lied! "I didn't -- you -- sorry. . . ."

"Just don't do it again," she said firmly, showing some of the unsettling toughness Natalia remembered from the war games.

"I -- it won't happen again. Even if I do think my career is over and I may as well go out flaming."

Deanna wavered somewhere between counselor and something else Natalia couldn't name. "You know better than that. Commander La Forge wants to talk to you now, in his office. Don't be afraid of him."

"Yes, sir." Natalia balled the handkerchief in her hand and stood, turning to the captain. "And thank you, Captain, for. . . lecturing me on protocol. I'll start wearing looser boots."

He raised an eyebrow, the picture of composure. "Not too loose. Dismissed, Ensign."

Natalia caught Deanna's surprised expression out of the tail of her eye as she left and hurried across the bridge. She made it to the lift safely and waited until it was well under way to fall to the floor on her stomach and scream, just once. She lay panting for a few moments, got up, ran her fingers through her short hair, shook out her arms, and strode from the lift down the corridor toward engineering and the chief engineer's office for the second time, curling her fingers to press her nails into her palms.

It was a damn good thing she'd stopped keeping a diary a long time ago. Dear Diary would have curled its pages at the day she'd had.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jean-Luc let Deanna stare at him while he tried to sort out too much information. These things seemed to hit him at the most inopportune time -- they had a briefing in just a few minutes, and all he really wanted to do was sit down with her and talk this out. Natalia had presented him with a lot of things to consider, and not all of them related to her problems.

"Boots?" Deanna asked finally.

"It's a long story. Does it appear to you that your mother might have misgivings about your current career path?"

"I can't believe she hasn't just come out and told me." She sounded on the verge of tears. "All this nonsense about you -- "

"Perhaps she's picked up on the fact that you didn't start to show an interest in command until I came into the picture, and is finding any excuse to see me as unfit to counter my influence? She's not the only one who's thought you're only doing it to please me. Beverly's accused us of it from the first. And your mother's quite aware of what your reaction would be if she confronted you on career issues directly."

She dropped her hand from her forehead and looked at him sadly. "I'm sorry, Jean. All I want at the moment is a hug."

"If I can entertain weepy ensigns, I can hug weepy commanders. Come here, ma petite. Don't step on the curtain on your way back here."

"An order to pay attention to that little man behind the curtain? The magnificent Oz unveiled?" She came to lean against him. "Someday we're going to lose track of all the metaphors and be incapable of communicating. Thank you for talking to Natalia. She felt much better about everything by the time she left. I didn't know she thought she'd lose her career -- I thought her fear in the corridor was due to the way Mother was attacking Geordi."

Jean-Luc found her spine through the layers of uniform and rubbed fingertips down the ribbed overtunic, tracing from vertebrae to vertebrae. "Batai wanted to be a musician. I didn't understand that, either, at first."

It took her a few moments to switch gears -- the abrupt conversational jump wasn't unusual when they were pressed for time and had too much to discuss. He had re-oriented them on the more pressing topic, but he'd added the component of historical reference, referring to a fictional son in a fictional setting that had had real impact on his life.

"I've been in Starfleet for years. I've been at your side in more danger than my father ever ran into -- why would she suddenly -- oh, Jean. It's my fault."

"And why is that, cygne?" Her hair smelled faintly of lily of the valley; she'd found the perfume he had gotten her. Like so many other things about their relationship, gift-giving had become a quirky ritual. Small surprises turned up in random spots. She'd taken to putting little fish symbols on the bottoms, and he used little swans to identify his gifts to her.

"It's my fault because I told her all those months ago that I was looking into positions on Betazed. I didn't promise anything, but it must have got her hopes up. And then the last few messages I sent her I talked about the coursework I was doing. She sounded positive about it -- she's always been so supportive, once I got through the Academy. She really does want me to be happy, but I guess she worries for my safety more than I thought. I never knew she was so afraid -- she must have been hiding her feelings from me."

"And from herself, most likely. Sublimating fear is becoming a habit for me, too. So you give her the hint you were coming home where it's safe and sound, and then you tell her you're pursuing command. And then you surprise her with an engagement to a career officer into the bargain, so that even if you decided not to continue in Starfleet yourself, you're committed to following me around. You gave her rein to run away with her hope and yanked the bit until her mouth bled. No wonder she's been so erratic."

"You and horse metaphors." Her hand crept up and drifted along his shoulder, her thumb brushing his neck. "At least we know what we're up against, now. But Jean -- she's going to ask. What exactly *is* my goal? We say command, but what will happen to us? It's been one of those things we do but never discuss." Apparently it worried her, but she hadn't asked about it -- that or the issue of children. She'd been keeping her concern to herself, probably afraid of his answers and trying to reason out her own. An indicator of how important these two things, career and family, were to her, and how awry she'd seen other people's arrangements go, via her attempts to help them patch up relationships. As he'd tried to explain to Beverly, she didn't come away from counseling entirely unaffected. Being an empath complicated detachment.

"Your path to command is significantly different. There are those rogue few who manage to rise through the ranks in unorthodox ways, and you're one of them -- you have the psychology of a commander down pat, and the rank, but little actual command experience and gaps of necessary information. I imagine you'll have a lengthy stay in the first officer's chair, once you've gotten enough basic operations background to make a go of it."

"But. . . this isn't some small science vessel or diplomatic courier. Data -- "

"If you're about to suggest you'll have to go elsewhere, think again. You won't get to first officer without proving you're ready for it. You're getting closer. Data's not going to stay put forever. Loyal as he is, he's not terribly sentimental about staying here for years on end." He rubbed the base of her skull with his thumb and kissed her hair. "I argued with Command and won before. Stop turning to stone -- I can almost hear the reasons you're coming up with for why we wouldn't work as first officer and captain. We don't have time for the argument. I believe in you, even if you don't. I know you *can* be capable enough to meet my standards. And there are other options open to us, Dee, if that one doesn't fit right."

She made a soft, incredulous noise. "That's probably why I'm trying. Every time I hit a gap in my confidence, you hold me up until my feet hit the ground again."

"But you're the one doing the walking. You'll reach a point where you walk and then run without my help. That's when we'll know you're ready, in here." He tapped her chest with a finger. "In the meantime, we'll just keep packing information in your head."

"First officers stick their necks out more often than counselors. Mother's going to scream."

"She means well."

Her arms slipped around his neck and he felt her laughing, quietly, her smile out of his line of sight but easily imaginable -- she was the anti-Cheshire cat, her grins often invisible but no less detectible to him. "You actually found common ground with my mother. Does that frighten you yet?"

"It means I won't have to use grandchildren for leverage -- if she'll ever shut up long enough to actually talk *to* me instead of *at* me. Balance, Deebird. We have to be somewhere in five minutes."

She moved away, re-establishing their professional distance. He let go slower than usual. His hands ran along her arms, forcing her to keep backing away until his fingers drifted apart from hers. They allowed a silent exchange of eyes to eyes, testing themselves against the heart fire and finding equilibrium, a joint effort they'd learned to use when there was no time for meditation. Then she straightened and became an officer.

"The briefing, sir?"

"After you, Commander."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I know Mrs. Troi was being outrageous and that you didn't tell her anything -- she's telepathic. She must have -- "

"I have to tell you something, Commander."

La Forge looked at her more directly, returning from his musing. "Yes, Ensign?"

"The ambassador wasn't just being crazy. She picked up some things from me telepathically that led her to believe you had done something to hurt me. I'm sorry."

The engineer inclined his head slightly as if not sure he'd heard her correctly. "Do you often walk around imagining someone hurts you?"

"You said if there was anything that might affect my performance, you wanted to know. After all this, I think you need a better explanation. I know you're aware of my appointments with the counselor. She's been very patient with my denial for months on end, and I finally admitted that what happened to me when I was ten still has an affect on me. I was very upset afterward and saw the ambassador briefly in a lift, and when she caught up to me the second time, she was very kind, if over-exuberant about it, and very concerned that no one was doing anything to help me. She didn't know it happened when I was ten and that I'm dredging up old emotions and memories to deal with them as an adult. She thought. . . ." Natalia glanced down at her folded hands in her lap and took a moment to compose herself. No tears. No crying. No sobbing. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

"The rapist was also dark-skinned, and she must have picked up some of the imagery -- when I was here this morning, when I drifted away slightly, I was looking at your hands. They're all I remember of him for some reason. My mind superimposed a little, and she didn't know. She was trying to do something she thought everyone else should be doing. I thought you should know."

"I'm. . . sorry," he said, trading the command edge for sympathy. "I had no idea."

"I was scared speechless -- afraid you would think I was making unfounded accusations, and that I'd be off the ship the next starbase we stopped at."

"I can see how you would think that. But Natalia, even if I thought you were making things up I'd have wanted an explanation. I wouldn't have just given you the boot without asking for one. You have a lot of potential, and I'd hate to see that wasted on a misunderstanding."

Natalia smiled and rolled her eyes, fighting tears. "I wasn't thinking very much today. I was feeling too much, and it happened so fast -- she just swooped down on me out of nowhere and hugged me, and I'm not comfortable with that anyway. And then she wanted to know why the captain was so brusque with me in the lift about it. . . she wouldn't let me say anything! She just kept interrupting, with comforting things and commentary about how the captain really needs to soften up -- I don't understand where she's coming from. I had to wonder why she'd think that."

La Forge grinned, chuckled and shook his head. "Why do you think she wouldn't?"

This was interesting. The commander had worked with the captain for years, yet he agreed with Lwaxana's perception of him? That couldn't be. The ambassador had made the captain sound like a cruel tyrant. "You think he needs to soften up?"

There -- she'd done it again. The captain had warned her, and she'd tripped merrily into inappropriate behavior. La Forge's grin dwindled. "Ensign, have you spent much time on the bridge during alpha shift?"

"No, but he's been there a few times during beta when there's an alert. And I've seen him a few times around the ship."

"But you haven't talked to him much -- he likes to run a tight ship, Ensign. The ambassador doesn't understand Starfleet, or what it takes to command a starship."

"She should have some idea. Counselor Troi's father was an officer."

This was turning bad. She should have kept her mouth shut. La Forge's expression became one of surprise and, oh so slightly, suspicion. But how could she withdraw now?

"How did you know that?"

"Captain Picard told me." At the rising shock in his face, she forced herself onward. "We ate together in the lounge yesterday, with the counselor. We were talking about why we joined Starfleet. The counselor said she originally thought about joining because of her father, and the captain said he was an officer."

Some sort of realization dawned over his face, unexpectedly, and the smile that appeared next held a hint of amusement and understanding. "Well, that explains it, then. You know, I haven't seen you Friday nights. You do know we've got a departmental pool tourney going on?"

"I know. I hear the others talk about it."

"Pool's a good excuse to relax and let people get to know you. Why don't you join us tomorrow night? We could teach you how, if you don't know. It's really simple geometry practice."

Natalia almost gaped at him. This wasn't orders, it was an invitation from her department head, who had paid very little attention to her thus far -- stupid to refuse it. "What time? I have beta shift on the bridge."

"Oh, that's right. But you could rearrange your helm schedule. Wouldn't take much, just a request to Carlisle. He'd accommodate you, I'm sure."

She agreed, in a slight daze, and was dismissed to assume her duties in engineering. Natalia stared at the panel a moment before she was able to reorganize her thoughts to work. But she kept drifting back to the conversation, trying to decipher the puzzle.

Something important had just happened in Commander La Forge's office. She was positive of it. But what?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jean-Luc followed the magistrate -- or so the translator rendered it -- into a large room decked out in drooping crimson and purple swags. Odd combination, but Data had remarked that the Adnalons could see a different segment of the spectrum than humans, so possibly it made perfect sense to them. There may even have been properties of the fabric that weren't detectible to him that made the effect stunningly beautiful.

Doghli<click> gestured at the long table spread with an array of platters of multicolored foods, garish as the curtains. He blinked his round yellow eyes, snapped his blunt black claws together, and bowed. "Most noble, please partake as you wish. We have made precaution to ascertain nonpoisonous nature of all."

"Thank you, most noble," Jean-Luc said, smiling pleasantly. He glanced at Deanna, hovering off his left shoulder; they'd had their share of non-poisonous but nonetheless surprising encounters with alien food. deLio stepped forward on his right, getting his attention with the movement and holding a tricorder, his dewlapped face solemn as always. "My security chief would prefer to check, just the same, if that would not offend? Paranoia is his duty."

"No offense will be taken. We understand, most noble, and acquiesce." The magistrate stepped back with a sweeping wave of his arm, dangling sleeve passing over the table making near-collisions with what looked like sauce-laden roasted meat. One platter held a slightly-charred creature cooked whole, complete with eyeballs. No worse than visiting Qo'nos, Jean-Luc supposed. At least nothing was moving.

deLio scanned, nodded, and the handful of officers came forward. Carlisle and Data were still on the ship, but Gomez, the gamma shift ops man, had been selected to accompany the team. He had less experience, and this away mission was his sixth. The other three were security, and the entire team wore small palm-sized phasers in wrist holsters, out of respect for Telor'set's wishes and Jean-Luc's cautiousness. With a flick of the wrist the weapon would fall neatly into the hand. While they weren't powerful enough for a sustained firefight, they were effective enough for protection in a pinch until beamout.

Taking a small plate of food, Jean-Luc joined Doghli<click> at the window. The gardens below, which they'd just walked through and in which the ambassadors, Federation and Adnalon, still wandered, were elaborate and full of brilliant rainbows of plants. The magistrate had explained in passing that, if watered with a non-toxic dye, the plant life here could be turned any color without ill effect. Lwaxana had been fascinated by the idea and demanded a more extensive tour, despite the magistrate's insistent encouragement to come inside with them. Telor'set seemed so infatuated with Lwaxana that he'd gone along with her. Two security officers tagged along like animated puppets, jerking to and fro in trying to keep up with Lwaxana; so were the Adnalon ambassadors, who often seemed unable to avoid colliding with her.

Deanna returned to her adopted position on Jean-Luc's left, holding a plate of the most vegetarian -seeming items she could find, quietly munching on something crispy. He didn't have to look to know she was there or what she'd selected. If her presence weren't palpable, Doghli<click>'s reaction would have told him. The sauroid waved a three-fingered hand in her direction and nodded, which seemed their equivalent for a smile. The serrated frill around the back of his skull turned a deeper shade of purple.

"Most graceful, a possibly-intrusive question?"

"You may ask," she said. 'Most noble' seemed the translation for an honored male; 'most graceful' appeared to apply only to Deanna and Lwaxana, and probably was therefore a female equivalent.

"You grow more of the head covering than the others. Is this choice or tradition?"

"Both. It does not stop growing. I have to cut it if I do not want it longer. Humans have the same choice. Most Betazoid and human females tend to prefer it longer than the males. We curl it or shape it as we wish -- for decorative purposes, like your tattoos." She pointed at his arm. He had elaborate twisting black tattooing on his greenish-yellow hide, which now had been obscured by the billowing green sleeves of what he'd called a negotiation robe.

"Interesting. Your master perhaps determines how you wear it?"

Deanna reoriented herself so she could see the Adnalon more clearly, putting herself in Jean-Luc's view. "Please rephrase -- what do you mean by 'master?'"

Doghli<click> twisted his head left, then right, his frill blushing bright blue. "When we wish young ones, we choose a master or mistress of house. Traditional ceremony for a coupling includes the decoration of one another's bodies, to please."

"Then the answer is no. We choose for ourselves, though it's not unusual for someone to alter their appearance in consideration for a master's -- or mistress' -- wishes."

Jean-Luc studied his plate and selected a blue glob. "You mentioned that you had entertained a delegation of Romulans not long ago. Do the Romulans make appeals to you often?"

"We hear from them occasionally. They are neighbors. Our system is no strategic importance to anyone, and we have little resources interesting. They have not approached since before the war began three passes ago." Unlike most other races, Adnalons reckoned their years by the passing of a gas giant roughly the size of Jupiter as orbits brought the planets close; apparently, a pass was the equivalent of six Terran years, due to the differences between orbital velocities and the length of the orbits of the two planets.

The Romulans tended to avoid this sector entirely, judging from known flight patterns of their ships. Since the Adnalons inhabited three systems in a network of space stations and two terraformed planets in addition to the habitable worlds, the eighteen-year war had raged across open space, and apparently the Romulans found no reason to venture into the battle zone -- it would have been a waste of resources, as they would have been caught up in a battle from which they would not benefit, or so the Adnalons said. There were probably other, unknown considerations, Jean-Luc guessed. The magistrate's assessment of Adnalon space having no strategic importance wasn't necessarily true, from the Federation's point of view. Likely it also wasn't true from the Romulan's point of view, either, though Adnalon space was farther out in the Beta Quadrant than the Federation had previously ventured.

"When they approached you the last time, were they offering a treaty similar to the Federation's offer?" Deanna asked.

For the first time, Doghli<click> hesitated and seemed at a loss for words. Deanna's eyes remained focused on him, waiting patiently, but Jean-Luc noticed her grip on the plate shifted slightly, tensing.

{Jean, watch him. Watch the hands. The color of the frill.}

The hands, beneath the cover of the long sleeves, were moving. The faint rasp of claw against claw barely audible. The edges of the blue of his frill were growing darker.

{What does it mean?}

{Uncertainty and fear. Something's not right.}

"We discussed a treaty, but no decisions made. The Romulans ask too much. They wish us to merge -- we are peaceful, they are not. We know this as all in area know this." Doghli<click>'s frill blushed midnight blue.

{Fear. He's terrified.}

Jean-Luc kept a smile pasted on for appearances and looked out the window, considering. All had been going as planned; the meeting with the heads of the various Adnalon factions, which now constituted their government, had taken place in a building at the far end of the garden. Neutral territory -- the factions were comprised of a number of houses, and some part of their treaty with each other required that all meetings concerning their civilization as a whole be held on common ground. The Adnalons had shown every indication of being excellent candidates for Federation membership. They had technology on a par with the Romulans, and claimed an ability to defend themselves well enough if they had to. It was true, their territory had no real resources to speak of. The civil war had been fought over some internal crisis unrelated to materialistic concerns. Religion or clan, or possibly racial -- there were several species of Adnalon, judging from the variety of frills and skin colors. During the last pass the war had ended, and the factions united, officially. After initial contact had been made by a Federation vessel exploring beyond the reaches of the Federation or the Empire, they'd applied for membership.

But the very fact that they remained independent of the Empire bothered Jean-Luc. Now that the *Enterprise* had cruised through Adnalon space and seen part of their fleet, he knew the Empire could take over these sectors without much difficulty. Their ships, despite their boasts, would be no match for warbirds.

"I have had many encounters with the Romulans, myself," he said casually. "They can be deceitful, and difficult to deal with. There are exceptions. We have been at peace with them for some time now, but there has been an increase of activity along the Neutral Zone between the Empire and the Federation, and it's of concern to us. I find it encouraging that you have not experienced problems with them. Was the Romulan delegate Tomalak, perhaps? Or possibly Sela?"

He didn't expect a reaction to the names, just an easing of tension that might lead to casual mention of who *had* visited, but Doghli<click> actually snapped his claws together and sidled a step, a brief flare of red appearing amid the blue. "Sela?" he blurted, snapping his beak shut on the word while more colors played rapidly along the frill ridges.

Deanna stiffened -- he felt her tension. She must be projecting it. She stared out the window. "Jean," she whispered, suddenly falling out of her role into fear.

In the center of the garden, in an open paved courtyard near an elaborate stone fountain, the security guards and the ambassadors, Federation and Adnalon both, were being held by a ring of the Adnalons with high spiked frills. All ten of them had weapons. As Jean-Luc took seconds to assess the scene, one of them took the comm badge and phaser from a lieutenant, tossed the items into some tall yellow shrubs, and strutted around the captives. The other security officer already lacked the badge, and presumably the phaser.

"I am sorry sorry sorry -- " Doghli<click> dropped to the floor and held his hands over his head, clicking and grunting so quickly the translator couldn't keep up.

Jean-Luc inhaled sharply. "deLio!"

The security officer was at the window with them in a flash. He sized up the situation in the garden and used his tricorder. "There would appear to be only ten of them -- no others concealed elsewhere in the garden. An inhibiting field has been put up over this area that will prevent our transporters from operating without the aide of the communicators to provide a fix on our location. Interesting, since the Adnalons do not use transporter technology and would not likely know how to subvert it."

"And they removed their communicators." Jean-Luc glared at the clicking magistrate. "What do the Romulans want? What is this? They could have simply attacked our ship -- you could have given them permission to do that."

"Apparently Sela wants you, Captain," Deanna said. She'd regained her composure but fear still lurked in her eyes. "The attempt at Zanzibar was suspect -- we never did uncover anything in the dig that might have been of interest to them. It must have been you. Which means you cannot go out in that garden to negotiate."

"Negotiate? Are these people likely to do that, if they have only one goal?" deLio asked.

"There aren't any Romulans out there. Allies, yes -- am I correct in assuming, magistrate, that these are members of a different faction, one not represented at the meeting? You're still undergoing civil difficulties, aren't you?" Jean-Luc's questions had no impact; the sauroid rocked, hands still on his head.

"Most noble, will you help us rescue our people?" Deanna asked. "The Romulans must have made their treaty with the other faction -- are you afraid of reprisal, or are you actually cooperating with this effort?"

"Too many question," Doghli<click> exclaimed.

Jean-Luc kneeled in front of him. "Are you part of this deception?"

"I did not wish it. I wish you had not come at all, I wish I had could warn you -- " He returned to his frenzied clicking for a moment and steadied himself. "I have nothing. Others in my house will not help you. The spikes and the Romulans would retaliate and we have no alliance with your Federation, you would not protect us. We want no more fighting."

"Could the Adnalons in the garden be persuaded to give up the hostages? Is there anything we could tell them that would convince them to side with us?"

Doghli<click> wagged his head woefully. "They will be fearing. Spikes live on outermost colony -- they are the first to be overtaken if Adnalon space is invaded. They were that fearing that they allied themselves with Empire. They do not believe the Federation would be able to protect them. Most noble, I am to inform that you are to surrender self to them and they will release ambassadors. If you do not do so now they will kill them."

"Magistrate," Jean-Luc paused to steady himself against angry outbursts, "why didn't you warn us of this?"

"They would have heard! Outside they would have heard, and killed all -- if they kill a member of my house it will start another war. My house would all die! We are too weak from fighting last war! This house is mine, they will not come inside against agreement, but if you do not go out they will kill them. We could not prevent their presence outside, the terms of our agreements with their faction are so. I could only comply or die. I wanted all of you to come inside, I could protect you -- my house wants alliance with the Federation. Sorry sorry sorry. . . ." The magistrate banged his head against the wall, breaking chunks out of it with his frill, which had turned black.

Jean-Luc left the room, the away team tailing him down the broad corridor. No sense in trying to dissect the magistrate's alien motivations for allowing this to happen; it was fairly obvious everything he'd done made perfect sense to him. At the moment recovering the ambassadors and his officers became the priority, and there wasn't time to discuss the nuances of Adnalon culture. The Romulans were involved. Federation intelligence hadn't hinted at the Adnalons' rigid way of thinking.

Mendez said, "They outnumber us. What can we do if there isn't a way to transport?"

"We could have extra security beam in outside the field," deLio said. "Reconnoiter on the garden area and overtake them."

"There's no time," Deanna said. "They're very determined and set on one course of action. The Adnalons see things in dichotomies -- Doghli<click> saw no other options than what he told us. He was very clearly convinced he did all that he could do to protect us. The longer we wait, the more people die, and there are only four of them."

"deLio, Mendez, take two people and flank the gardens," Jean-Luc said. They reached the bottom of one of the long swooping ramps ending on the ground floor; Adnalons didn't appear to use stairs. "Work your way through the shrubbery until you're close enough for maximum efficiency of the phasers. Heavy stun." He stopped behind a lattice that ran the length of their end of the garden and filtered the yellow-white sunlight into an area filled with furniture. Before he could finish giving orders, Deanna dodged through furniture to the open gate in the center of the lattice and ran into the garden itself. Something clattered along the tiled floor as she left -- her phaser. Jean-Luc's heart leaped into his throat, rendering him speechless.

{Get the hell back here, Commander!}

She either ignored him or was too caught up in whatever she was doing to hear. Their ability to communicate by thought in words had an extremely short range, and she already ran beyond its boundary, leaping shrubbery and racing toward the group in the center of the garden. Jean-Luc watched through the lattice, fuming, then caught himself and sent deLio and Mendez out as planned.

She approached the hostile Adnalons, arms outstretched, slowing to a walk. The impulse to dash out there himself almost overwhelmed him. She'd obviously done this to prevent that necessity, however, and as several of the sauroids aimed their weapons at her he stifled panic and focused on the mission, on his officer being too heroic for her own damn good. One of the spikes came forward and pawed her roughly, obviously looking for weapons. He found nothing -- not even the communicator. She said something to them --

Something didn't make sense. The sauroid responded, his long jaw moving, and then she replied to that. She had to still have her communicator to translate, but where had she hidden it? He had to go out there.

His motion toward the gate halted by a shout from Lwaxana, he peered again through the lattice, dropping the phaser into his palm. One of the spikes had struck Deanna in the back, throwing her roughly into the hostages. Lwaxana embraced her tearfully. The group huddled in a small knot and lowered her to the ground. She rolled, sat up, then the huddle tightened around her, the two Adnalon ambassadors sitting apart and looking on, blue-frilled and fidgeting. While the spikes conferred and one of them began to shout for Picard, Deanna took the hands of the security officers, and Lwaxana gripped her arm and Telor'set's hand. A pained expression on her face and tears streaming, Deanna stared in Picard's direction and tapped her chest where her badge had been.

Jean-Luc tapped his comm badge. "*Enterprise,* can you get a transporter lock on the away team?"

"Data here, sir. We have transporter lock on all members of the away team."

"That's a false reading. The ambassadors and two security officers no longer have their badges. There are five people at Deanna's coordinates. Emergency beamout, her signal first, followed by the rest of us sixty seconds later. Engage."

She had indeed managed to hide the communicator. The hostages vanished in a swirl of particles. A moment later, the transporter pulled him away, as he watched the spikes mill around in confusion and begin to shout.

The instant the transporter let him go, he stepped off the pad. "Bridge -- yellow alert. Take us back to Federation space, warp three. Chief deOrda, where is the rest of the away team?"

The L'norim transporter chief looked up from his board. "The counselor was coughing up blood. I transported them directly to sickbay without delay."

Jean-Luc noticed then the spatter of red across the floor. His breathing stopped momentarily; he left the transporter room, inhaling at last as he reached the lift. deLio shadowed him, and Mendez, the other security officers apparently having been dismissed when he wasn't paying attention to them. A moment passed in the lift as he turned on the sharp edge of panic. He felt a sudden stab of pain in his chest and the distant throb of anxiety -- she'd let go, now that they were all safe, loosened her control that kept fear and pain secondary to duty. Taking a deep breath, Jean-Luc pushed down his reaction to it.

"Bridge." deLio stared at the doors, calm and apparently relaxed. Mendez cleared his throat quietly. Another long moment of composure-gathering passed. Jean-Luc tapped his comm badge. "Picard to sickbay -- how is Commander Troi?"

"Mengis here, sir. She appears to have swallowed her communicator. We are preparing her for surgery. There has been significant damage to her esophagus and larynx." As the doctor spoke matter-of-factly, Lwaxana's hysterical tones could be heard in the background, lambasting one of the medical staff, apparently. Telor'set's husky baritone rose and fell a few times as he tried to calm her.

"Thank you, Doctor. Let me know when she's out of surgery and able to receive visitors. Picard out." He wished he could sag against the wall of the lift and laugh off the tension -- swallowed it? It wasn't funny, it hurt her and probably tore the inside of her throat up, but laughing and crying accomplished nearly the same thing, and laughing didn't give him red eyes -- and on another level, it really *was* funny. He hadn't thought of the mouth as a possible hiding place.

"An excellent strategy, sir," deLio said. "Removal of the hostages with no discharge of weapons. Negotiations with the more agreeable factions of the Adnalons may yet be possible, if the Federation so chooses. By sending her unarmed, you minimized the danger of her simply being shot rather than becoming another hostage."

Jean-Luc eyed the security chief. "Why do you assume she went on my order?"

"She did not hesitate. I have noticed that in some of the command simulations we have been running for her, she often does when there are many possible ramifications of her actions."

"I didn't hear an order," Mendez said.

"Commander Troi is Betazoid. I have noticed on occasion that she has apparently communicated with the captain telepathically."

Jean-Luc stiffened, trying to remember occasions where deLio might have ascertained that bit of information. Then the red alert klaxon went off.

The lift doors opened; he moved slowly onto the bridge, gaining momentum as he went. Data rose and surrendered the center seat to him.

"We are tracking a fleet of ships, sir," the android said. "Six Romulan warbirds. They are overtaking us. I have ordered our velocity increased to warp seven."

"ETA to Federation space?"

"Approximately twenty minutes, sir. I take it the negotiations did not go well?"

Jean-Luc took his seat and composed himself. "Not one of our better experiences, Data."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Natalia remained at her station with her focus on the status of the engines, specifically the injectors and the antimatter-matter ratios. The pulse of the warp core became a throb nearly as fast as her heartbeat.

Red alert meant the diplomatic mission hadn't gone well. Behind her Commander La Forge rapped out orders in his all-business command voice, keeping tabs on all systems. At her right, Batris stood overlooking the main console calmly. He glanced at her, ventured a tight smile, and returned to scrutinizing the board. Like most good engineers, he tended to be too caught up in specs and theories. Largish nose, short straight black hair, angular features -- definitely vulky. Though he was human, he could've been Vulcan with minimal prosthetics. When the ship went on alert especially -- he usually went solemn and unemotional.

Briggs hurried over. Running her fingers through her short blond hair, she glanced across the console as if afraid of what she'd find and looked up at Natalia. "How can you be so calm? This could be *it,* it could be *war.* The Adnalons aren't far removed from the Neutral -- "

"What good would it do to panic?" Natalia asked.

"Greenman! Watch the phaser relays," the commander called.

Natalia turned on her heel and went to the appropriate console. She brought up the latest readings. "All systems functioning to spec, sir."

"Batris, prepare to reroute power to shields when we need it. Briggs -- "

The first officer's voice interrupted. "Commander La Forge to the bridge."

La Forge looked around then headed for the door. "On my way. Batris, you're in charge. Greenman, fill in for him."

The specific assignment startled. Taking Batris' place at the main console, Natalia ignored the stares from Briggs and Pleasance. Batris ordered Briggs to monitor the phaser relays and the shields, put Pleasance on the intermix readouts, and waited for orders.

When they stood down from red alert fifteen minutes later without further incident, Natalia let out a sigh and leaned on the edge of the console. Batris smiled at her again. "Glad that's over with."

"So am I. Wonder if we'll ever find out what it was about?"

"Probably not," Pleasance said. He swaggered over to Briggs -- the two were obviously lovers, had been for a few months now. Natalia didn't care for him; the blustering bulky type had never appealed to her. Rodney Pleasance had been on the football team at the Academy and had an ego the size of San Francisco. Good-looking, yes, but he knew it too well.

"The mushroom crew, that's us," Denise Briggs said. "In the dark and eating shit."

Natalia glanced at Batris. He wasn't a command trainee, and obviously felt uncomfortable when La Forge put him in charge. It didn't happen often, but when it did, these two ensigns seemed to take the opportunity to indulge in teasing and idle chatter, and occasional irreverent remarks.

"You're on duty," Natalia said. "You should pay more attention to your post. We could go back to red alert in seconds."

Pleasance mumbled something and Briggs laughed harshly. "Got that right." She reached up around Pleasance's thick neck and kissed him, open-mouthed.

"Man your posts," Batris exclaimed.

The couple remained lip-locked a few moments longer. Natalia couldn't believe the arrogance -- Briggs wasn't this way when Pleasance wasn't around. They parted at last. Smirking, Pleasance went back to intermix and Briggs turned around.

Beta shift engineering staff arrived on time, but Batris remained. Natalia decided to do the same, though her relief took her place at the console. La Forge returned to engineering almost half an hour later. "Everything all right here, Batris?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You're dismissed. Greenman, what are you doing here?"

"Could I speak to you a moment, sir?" She met Batris' hazel eyes intently.

"I'd like to speak to you also, sir," the lieutenant said reluctantly.

La Forge jerked a thumb toward his office and preceded them into it. He crossed his arms after he sat down. "Well?"

Natalia looked at Batris. He glanced at the floor, then forced his eyes up to meet the commander's. "Sir, I've been having some difficulties with Pleasance and Briggs. It's not been anything you could write them up for, just some chatter when things are quiet and you leave me in command. But we'd just stood down from a red alert, and it wasn't just chatter this time. Pleasance left his post and was kissing Briggs, which distracted her from her own duty station. Ensign Greenman and I both suggested they return to their posts, and Natalia pointed out that we could be back on alert any time, but they were slow to obey and disrespectful."

The commander didn't react right away. After a moment's consideration, he looked at Natalia. "Do you have anything to add, Ensign?"

"No, sir. Lieutenant Batris summed it up pretty well."

"Thank you for telling me. I'll get back to you on this later. Dismissed." La Forge turned and brought something up on his console.

On the way into the corridor, Batris slowed and glanced sidelong at her. "Want to grab a bite to eat? I'm starved."

Natalia did a double-take and smiled. "Sure. I'm buying."

He laughed, even though it was probably the most tired joke in the book, and matched her pace on their way down to the lift. "So what's the deal with the captain?"

"What?" she blurted, veering away from him. He touched her arm, snatched his hand back, and put his hands behind his back, shrugging nervously.

"Hey, don't get all excited. I've worked with you long enough to know better than to believe idle gossip, but there's usually some grain of truth they extrapolate from. You ate lunch with him the other day -- aren't very many ensigns around who get that kind of attention. Sure, he plays pool in the tournaments, but he never asks any of the rest of us to lunch -- and you haven't been to the tournaments, even."

"I don't know. He's just nice to me -- I don't think he'd treat anyone else any differently, if they'd quit pissing in their shorts and treat him like a real person off-duty. It's not like he stops being the captain, he's still very much that. How could he not be? I was talking to the counselor in the hall, and he came up, and the next thing I knew we were eating lunch. We just talked about careers."

The lift carried them to deck ten while they talked. Batris watched the readout winking at them. "That was some altercation in the corridor earlier with the ambassador."

Natalia eyed him warily. "I don't think I'm that hungry, after all."

They stood in uncomfortable silence until the lift opened. Batris met her gaze, eyes begging. "Look -- I'm just trying to make conversation. I'm sorry if that was a sore subject. I wasn't trying to be nosy, really, it's just the only thing other than engineering -- Can we start over?"

She didn't answer. Whatever the answer was, it stuck in her throat.

"Natalia, please?" He ran his fingers through his hair and left his elbow sticking up in the air. "I'm no good at this. You know me, I live in engineering and at the pool table."

"You were one of the ones who got caught playing pool in engineering, weren't you?" The lift closed and started to move again. They ignored it. "Is that why you were so reluctant to say anything to the commander, you have a prior record of trouble making?"

"I guess so. Thanks for the nudge. I'm just no good at taking control."

"It takes practice, like everything else. I've just had an earful of how to do it, that's all. I don't think Commander La Forge will hold your mistakes against you, either. I've noticed they give you second chances on this ship, if it's obvious you're doing your best. At least you didn't have an ambassador trying to -- "

The lift opened on the bridge. To her eternal dismay, the captain walked in. He glanced at the two of them and smiled faintly, but looked preoccupied.

"Good evening, sir," she said. Batris seemed nervous, shifting his weight subtly.

"Good evening, Ensign. Lieutenant." The greeting seemed to bring him out of preoccupation. "Sickbay."

Natalia wanted badly to ask if everything was all right, and wondered if the counselor had been on the away mission with him and encountered some mishap. Diplomatic missions seemed to be the sort of thing she'd be included in. It could be any other crew member, however, she supposed -- he'd probably visit one of them just out of professional concern, if not friendship. But Natalia tucked her hands into the small of her back and stood at attention, keeping her eyes focused on the floor, somewhere around the toes of his boots.

"Everything all right, Ensign?"

She raised her eyes. "Yes, sir. We were just going for dinner. Something about being on alert makes you hungry, I guess."

"Strange, it always has the opposite effect on me." He paused, noting the readout. "You've overshot deck ten."

"Maybe the computer realized the captain's destination was a priority," she said.

He chuckled, surprising Batris, and said, "Still wearing those tight boots, aren't you?"

"Haven't had time to change them, sir."

The lift door opened. He paused on the threshold and glanced at Batris. "Be careful, Lieutenant. See you at the pool table." He strode off and let the lift close.

"Wow," Batris exclaimed. "That was. . . different."

"In what way?"

He shook himself out of it and gave the computer deck ten again, and grinned. "You're too quiet, you know that? I wouldn't have guessed you could talk to the captain like that -- or anyone else, for that matter. What was that about boots?"

"Um. . . that's a long story. Maybe some other time."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jean-Luc strode into sickbay. Mengis came out of his office at the same time and greeted him, unsmiling as always. "The commander is in the intensive care ward -- for privacy, not out of medical necessity. Her mother and Ambassador Telor'set are with her."

"I'm sorry if the ambassadors got in your way. I would have been down sooner, or sent Commander Data to handle them, but we had a rather urgent crisis. How is the commander?"

"It was a short, simple process to repair the damage. She should speak as little as possible for the next twenty-four hours, but she should be well enough to return to duty tomorrow." Mengis' green eyes looked vaguely accusing. "I sincerely hope this does not become a trend."

"The circumstances were unusual, Doctor. I believe she was merely trying to hold it in her mouth."

"Don't let her try it with a phaser." Mengis led him into the ward, in the rear of sickbay around a partition, and left him there. Lwaxana stood near one of the beds next to Telor'set, both of them watching Dr. Selar peering down Deanna's throat and scanning. Deanna wore one of the blue sickbay robes, but was sitting up.

When Jean-Luc approached, Lwaxana went on alert but hesitated when he held up a hand. "Ambassadors, my apologies for the disastrous way this mission unfolded. I have just spoken to Command -- there was nothing in the briefings we received that might have indicated something like this could happen. The matter will be given further investigation." As he spoke, Selar closed her tricorder and left swiftly, probably too aware of the impending storm.

"I can tell you exactly what the problem was -- those horrible creatures were working for the Romulans," Lwaxana exclaimed. "Honestly, Jean-Luc, what were you thinking, sending Deanna out there unarmed and all by herself?"

She would have continued. She poised herself to do so, ready to gesture and scold, but a hoarse throat-clearing from Deanna brought Jean-Luc around -- he waved a finger under her nose. She snapped her mouth shut and glared at him. "You're not supposed to talk," he said firmly. "So don't. You're just as bad as some of the ensigns around here for disrespecting Starfleet property."

{I didn't swallow! He hit me on the back -- it hurt!}

"I can believe it hurt -- what the hell were you doing? You should have waited for orders, not raced out there like a loose cannon. I'd expect better from you! Explain yourself, and it'd better be damned good, Commander!" The snappish scold made Lwaxana jump -- he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He realized that he'd just demanded something that should have been done without the ambassadors present. Deanna's face settled into stony, furious lines and she crossed her arms. As he turned to ask the ambassadors to leave, she interrupted his train of thought.

{Federation security was at stake -- the Romulans would have tortured you for whatever they could get from you, and Sela would have satisfied whatever grudge she's holding against you. They probably believe the Federation is preparing for war, and they wouldn't be far wrong. My mother and the others were about to die -- she told me they were preparing to shoot hostages as we were preparing to outflank them. Any future negotiations with the Adnalons were at stake, if shots were fired. I knew you would see what I was doing and order transport. If I had made the suggestion, you would have considered it.}

Her last sentence angered him anew. "You should have given me the option to consider it! This is still my ship, it was my mission, and for all you knew I had further orders to give that might have had the same result -- you will observe the command structure of this vessel, Commander, or you will find yourself a new posting. Is that clear?"

She looked at her hands, folded in her lap, and nodded slowly. {Very clear, sir. But if I hadn't done it, people would have died. I sensed the fear from Lieutenant Franklin, and some pain -- they'd grabbed him and dragged him out to shoot him. My appearance distracted them from that action. You were prepared to sacrifice yourself. I saw a possibility to save all of them, and you, and took it. I was prepared to accept disciplinary actions for my decision when I made it. I'm still prepared to do that.}

Lwaxana distracted him from a response by grabbing his arm and spinning him around -- the waning shock in her face was being replaced by anger. His scolding had apparently been all she'd heard of the conversation. "You leave my daughter alone!"

"I'll thank you to stay out of this, Ambassador -- how I run my ship is none of your concern," he snapped, pulling his arm away from her. He glanced at Telor'set, and wavered. "I'm sorry, I should have asked you to leave the room before beginning this discussion -- "

"I'm glad you didn't! Now I can see exactly how callous and -- Deanna! Really! I -- " Lwaxana flushed and glared at her daughter. Jean-Luc glanced back and forth, and took a step backward out of the way, as if the stare-down in progress might actually incinerate him. Lwaxana's expression cooled somewhat after a few moments.

"You impress me, Captain." Telor'set's gruff voice startled Jean-Luc, coming from over his right shoulder as it did. "I did not know humans could be telepathic. Interesting."

Caught off guard, Jean-Luc crossed his arms and mustered patience and calm. Finally he faced Telor'set. The ambassador smiled sympathetically. "My people are somewhat telepathic ourselves. I had wondered -- although I understood that Counselor Troi was an empath."

"I'm not telepathic, by any stretch of the imagination. She is an empath, but. . . for some reason, she still manages to make herself heard."

"So do you, Captain." Telor'set's smile broadened. He had eyes nearly as dark as a Betazoid's, and toffee-colored skin. A faint ridge over his brows and down his nose marked him as a native of Halii. His black clothing was suggestive of a uniform, almost, simple and utilitarian. "I heard you try to call her back, on Adnalon -- faintly, but even so, an impressive feat."

"I didn't hear it," Lwaxana exclaimed, interrupting whatever silent conversation she was having with Deanna.

"You were concentrating on your daughter, I believe." Telor'Set smiled indulgently at her.

"It's past the dinner hour," Jean-Luc said. "If you wish, we could -- "

"The ambassador and I already have dinner plans, but thank you, Captain. Lwaxana?" Telor'set gestured at the door.

"You're just trying to distract me -- Jean-Luc, you see now why I'm so concerned -- "

"Why do you think this is the first time she's been in danger? It certainly won't be the last. But it's her choice, Lwaxana, not yours. I understand your concerns, honestly, and I share them -- but neither one of us has the right to tell her what to do." Jean-Luc marched up to her and looked her in the eye. "Do you hear what I'm saying? If she can get over her fear, then we should at least try to put ours aside. Shouldn't we?"

Lwaxana leaned away from him and stared in shock.

"And while I'm at it -- leave my crew alone? Please?"

She stared a moment longer, then smiled slightly -- a Deanna kind of smile, the one that denoted amused understanding and forbearance. "I *am* sorry about that, Jean-Luc. It won't happen again. And you're absolutely right. It was a little shocking, that's all -- one minute Deanna was coming home, and the next she was thinking of plunging right back into Starfleet -- and then when I saw you it seemed so logical to think that it was something she was doing for you. You would approve of something like that. But I guess that doesn't make much sense -- you can't have two captains on a ship, can you?"

She smoothed his uniform, then plucked his communicator off his jacket. "How in the world did you get one of these all the way down your throat, Little One?"

Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna as he took the comm badge from Lwaxana, in time to catch the furious glare. "They taste better with chocolate sauce, you know."

Deanna snatched the pillow off the biobed and lobbed it at him. He caught it and put it back. When he turned again, he saw Telor'set had taken Lwaxana by the arm and the ambassadors were on their way out of the room.

{I couldn't let you do it, Jean. Not as long as there was so much at stake. Not when I saw a better way. You would have tried to talk to them, and they wouldn't have listened.}

He smiled in grim appreciation of the point, looking her in the eye again, and leaned against the edge of the bed. "You scared the hell out of me again. I should be extremely angry at you right now. I should write you up -- "

Her hand gliding down the back of his neck stopped him. {Then do it. How many times have you been written up for something?}

"Not many. Though there was that court-martial -- deLio thinks I ordered you to do it, telepathically. He thinks it was my idea."

{If I'd given you the information I had and made my recommendation, would you have let me do it?}

"I would have had to -- if you were that certain it would work. Bloodless and simple, if terrifying. How much information did your mother give you?"

{The spikes were honoring their agreement with the Romulans to a fault. They had agreed to kill all of us once they had you in custody. The warbirds were to destroy the ship, so it would appear you had been lost with it. Doghli<click> honestly wanted the treaty, and the spikes knew it -- they took advantage of their own internal treaties to gain the information necessary to make this happen. Adnalons honor all agreements that way, regardless of ramifications -- Mother and Telor'set were finding that out as they talked to the Adnalon ambassadors. Their war was begun by one faction dishonoring an agreement in some small way. The spikes believe Romulan propaganda about the Federation. The Romulans took advantage of this to form their own agreement with them and guarantee their cooperation.}

"Just to get me," Jean-Luc muttered.

{The *Enterprise* has always proven to be one of their most challenging adversaries. Being rid of it would be a positive step toward eventual victory.}

"Not to mention we would have been destroyed in Adnalon space. The claim could be made that the Adnalons destroyed the ship. It would turn the Federation against the idea of a treaty with them. Then if hostilities occur between the Federation and the Empire, the Adnalons, as fearful of conflict as they are, would gladly sign a treaty with the Romulans for protection -- more propaganda would be all they needed to foster the idea that the Federation would attack simply because one of our ships had been destroyed in their space and we believed them to be enemies." Jean-Luc shook his head. "The Romulans would have had the space without a single battle. As it stands, we may yet find a way to meet with the Adnalons and at least sign a non-aggression pact. Having one less enemy in a conflict is always preferable."

He glanced up at her again. Reaching up to hook a finger in the collar of the robe, he tugged at it and noted the redness down her throat and chest. "All right?"

She nodded and slipped off the bed. {I'll change clothes. I'm supposed to eat soft foods until the soreness is gone, so I'll be a really boring dinner partner between that and being nonverbal.}

"Never. And I can understand what you're saying perfectly well, even when you don't speak a word." He caught her left hand. "Did you look closely at it?"

Her pleased smile brought out dimples. {You had to do it, didn't you?}

"Marie said she had to explain what she wanted several times to the jeweler." He rubbed his thumb over the platinum band on her ring finger. The intricate pattern, when examined closely, would prove to be tiny swans in flight. "I hope you don't mind that it isn't sparkling with gemstones, but I wanted something you could wear all the time. I could just picture you knocking a stone loose on a mission and calling down the entire crew, department by department, to look for it."

{That's what sensor sweeps are for.}

"Mmm. What if we beamed down to a world covered with diamonds?"

{Let me change, Jean-Fish. I'm hungry.}

{Need help?}

{With which, the changing or the hunger? Though you could probably help with both simultaneously.} She copped a feel on her way past him to get a uniform from the replicator in the corner.

{Now look what you've done. Brat.}

He sighed and waited, thinking distracting thoughts and pointedly not watching her. She came back to him, the officer once more, and crossed her arms. She even had her communicator on. Jean-Luc smirked and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand wearily.

"Why did you think to put it in your mouth?"

{Convenience and control over it. Tucking it anywhere in my clothing might have meant discovery. The communicators are designed to survive being submerged or rained on. I knew it would work just as well as a transponder -- it didn't do too well as a translator with the speaker muffled by my mouth, but that didn't matter. They might have figured out I still had the communicator if it had.}

"You realize what you've done, don't you?" He tapped her chest lightly. "You've got it. You didn't hesitate to do what you thought should be done -- you carried it out without delay once you had it figured out. You violated procedure, but you saved lives in doing so. You would have done it even if your mother hadn't given you all that information, because of the lives at stake. If you hadn't broken the rules the situation would have taken a turn for the worst. Don't look like that, Commander. You're supposed to say, 'I know, Captain,' and pretend you knew all the ramifications of what you were doing, right down to what might happen to political relations between the Romulans, the Federation, and the Adnalons in the distant future."

{Is that what you do? Just do the best you can and claim you knew all the ramifications afterward?}

He held up a finger to his lips. "Don't give away trade secrets, even telepathically. Let's get something to eat."

They reached his quarters without incident. He took the lead in getting dinner for them, making a chocolate milkshake the most prominent part of her meal. She smiled blissfully every time she sipped; the coldness probably soothed the residual ache in her throat as he'd intended. The silence resulted in his thoughts backtracking through the day to the morning's chaos.

"Natalia speaks so matter-of-factly about what happened to her," he said as he put down his glass. "It shocked me. She told me the whole story of what happened in the corridor, too, and just dropped the fact that she'd been raped into conversation as if it were the most normal thing to happen. Her mother's reaction makes more sense to me than hers."

Deanna took another draw on the milkshake and regarded him solemnly. {Victims of child molestation are rarer these days than they were in the past, but the symptoms remain the same. Repressing the feelings that way is the usual method of coping. It can take years to heal completely. Natalia was unfortunately the center of scandal -- it happened in fleet housing, and the man masqueraded as a starship captain. The fallout didn't help her. Finally, when all was said and done, she buried the whole experience and tried to convince her mother to forget about it in the attempt to regain the life she'd had before.}

"Is this something that will affect her performance on duty? You've been counseling her since she came on board almost a year ago. It took that long to break through?"

{She hates counselors. Doesn't trust them. The counselors who tried to work with her when she was ten made the mistake of underestimating her intelligence. They treated her like she didn't understand what they wanted, simply because she wouldn't speak often or for very long. She decided the incident no longer had any effect on her life, and nothing anyone could do would convince her otherwise. I've had to be more subtle with her than with other patients, and it's been very difficult to get her to trust me. You've helped her tremendously, Jean.}

Jean-Luc glared at her across the table. "I scared her half to death! She nearly dumped her tea all over my ready room."

{That's not what I mean. She talks about you in her sessions. You've been a friend to her when she felt she had none. Just the few short conversations here and there, just the acknowledgment of her presence in the weight room -- you gave her the gift of simple respect as a fellow human being. You never asked intrusive questions, or wondered why she was so quiet, or asked her why she spends so much time alone. Others have. You let her tease you, just a little, and you keep the line between friendliness and professionalism drawn firmly but gently. You have no idea what impact that had on her. She opened her door for you because she has so much respect for you -- she thought her career was over, so my orders were nothing, and she didn't want to talk to me about it. Plus she may have feared I'd brought my mother with me.}

"Incredible." He sighed, trying to reconcile it all. "I never imagined -- all I did was be a little friendlier than usual. She didn't seem intimidated, and she never said or did anything out of line. In fact, she seemed so comfortable talking to me that it made me almost forget how young and inexperienced she is. She mentioned an Admiral Dayson -- she had a similar sort of relationship with him, she said."

Deanna nodded and picked up her spoon. She sipped tepid soup and grimaced, but kept sipping. {There's a letter in her file from him. He refuted the claim of the counselor at the Academy that she should be removed from the Command program. She stopped going to counseling when the counselor demanded that she tell him about the rape -- you can't demand that from her, she either gives it up on her own or she shuts you out. Admiral Dayson was once Captain Dayson, who had a security officer and friend named Bennett Greenman. He'd known Natalia all her life. He knew she could make it if someone believed in her.}

"She calls herself an odd duck. Ever hear the story of the ugly duckling?"

Deanna nodded again, smiling serenely. {I'm beginning to see a pattern. You keep mending wings, don't you?}

Forehead in hand, he sighed and leaned on his elbow. "She came to me, Dee. She kept coming back. I haven't done anything."

{There's something else -- have you ever looked closely at her personnel file?}

"Should I have?" He watched her suspiciously, uncertain if he wanted to hear anything else about the ensign.

{Her mother's name is Melissa Keel Greenman.}

Jean-Luc gaped at her for a few moments. "She's. . . Walker's niece?"

{She knows you were her uncle's good friend, and even though she didn't know him well, connections are important to her. Her father had a select few captains whose careers he admired most, and you were one of them -- he'd listened to his brother-in-law talk about you and he followed your career. It's why she wanted this posting. She fought tooth and nail to excel so she could get it. You're the only one of the elite list her father admired who is still a captain.}

He picked up his napkin and dropped it in his plate. "Why are you telling me all this? Isn't this violating confidentiality?"

{You asked if her performance would be affected. I'm telling you that if she is allowed to continue, if she remains in counseling, it won't. I'm giving you reasons why. She's strong-willed and motivated, and she looks up to you. Whether you like it or not, she's chosen to emulate you. But it's more than that, now -- she considers you a friend. She's a Starfleet brat and grew up surrounded by officers of all ranks, so she knows how to look beyond the pips. I want to drive home to you that you cannot allow what you now know about her to change your behavior toward her. She trusted you -- she doesn't trust anyone with that part of her life because she knows it changes people's perception of her. She must have seen that you wouldn't judge her unfairly because of it. Don't forget that she gave you her story without hesitation. It was a gift that she's learned has a high price attached when she tells the wrong person.}

"She trusts your mother, too, then." Anything to get the focus off him.

{It was already too late with her. And Mother did something right, believe it or not. When she came to apologize Mother refrained from hugging or touching her while she talked to her. Natalia's boundaries are out of proportion -- she hates too much physical contact. A combination of the rape, plus her mother's smothering attempts to comfort her, plus the fact that she's one of those who simply don't care much for it. That may be part of why she's comfortable with you. You're another who needs his space.} Deanna put down her spoon and looked at him through her lashes, lips curling. {Though you've gotten more cuddly than you used to be.}

"Only in specific company, chère. Very specific." He picked up his dishes and reached for the ones she'd finished with. While he discarded them the computer twittered for attention.

"Carlisle to Captain Picard. Sir, we have an incoming transmission from the *Lexington.* Captain Riker would like to speak to you specifically."

"Route it through to my quarters, if you would. Thank you." He turned the monitor on the desk around and pulled over a chair, and Deanna brought hers forward as well. When Will's smiling face came up, he immediately started to laugh.

"Well, there you are. Congratulations on the engagement, Dee."

Deanna opened her mouth, then closed it and frowned at Jean-Luc. He shook his head. "Sorry, Will, but she can't talk. I think she'd thank you if she could."

"What, you scream at your mother so hard you lost your voice?"

Jean-Luc hesitated, trying not to laugh and covering his mouth under his hand by rubbing his upper lip thoughtfully. "No, she. . . had a minor mishap on an away mission this afternoon. Lwaxana's settled down, for the moment anyway. She seems to have taken a liking to Ambassador Telor'set." Deanna was looking question marks at him. "I was talking to Will earlier when you screamed through the room. You know he's got a blond in his quarters?"

Her eyes widened, puckish innocence in her smile, and she leaned closer as if trying to peer around Will into the background. He laughed again and turned to someone out of range. "Bell -- perfect timing. She can't talk, but you can get a good look at her."

The summer girl was back, and settled in his lap again. "Deanna, hi. I'm Christabel Sumners. Sorry to hear about the voice."

Deanna shrugged and waggled her fingers at the screen. {Mengis said as little as possible, not completely silent.}

{Won't it hurt?}

She pointed toward the bedroom and went that direction. Bell blinked. "Wow, I didn't expect her to run from me."

"She's not completely unable to talk -- I think she went to gargle painkiller or something."

"What happened?" Will asked.

"Without specifics -- we had a hostage situation. They removed communicators and set up enough of an inhibiting field to prevent our getting a lock on them. She stuck her communicator in her mouth and sacrificed herself to join the hostages. One of the terrorists struck her on the back. We all got out without a shot fired, but she was spitting blood in the transporter room."

"Ouch! Surgery?" Bell asked.

"Dr. Mengis asked me to make sure she doesn't try a phaser next."

"You didn't!" Deanna had returned and caught his last comment. She sat down and slugged his shoulder. "I'm never going to get to tell any of the good stories, am I?" Her voice sounded a little jagged, but more or less normal.

"You could tell him about Counselor Rutherford's theory of the correlation between ship type and the captain's sexual performance." Jean-Luc knew she would enjoy that, seeing as how the Intrepid-class *Lexington* was less than half the size of the *Enterprise*.

Bell fell off Will's lap, screaming and laughing. While somewhere out of sight she thumped the floor loudly and brayed, Will shook his head slowly and tolerated the smug amusement he was getting via subspace. "Thanks a lot, Captain."

"Actually, Tina's theory was about the correlation of ship type and penis size," Deanna said. "But Jean's version is nearly as effective. One could assume that larger ships are capable of delivering more firepower -- "

"Thanks, Deanna, but I think I can take it from there," Will said. Bell got up and struggled with her chair briefly before winning out and settling with an arm around his neck.

"We really have to get together," she exclaimed. "I like you already."

"Beverly will want in on the fun, too." Jean-Luc shot a dubious glance at Will. "Poker? We could manage a day at Starbase 455 when we drop off the ambassadors. Pool seems to be the game of choice here lately, but it's not quite the same."

"He keeps complaining the cue is too short to be of practical use," Deanna said.

"Doesn't your throat hurt yet?"

"Sorry."

"You look tired, but you sound all right," Will said. "I just thought I'd call and see what happened -- I've not heard you shout about her quite like that before, Dee."

"Thanks for the concern. It's not the first time she's interfered with one of my patients, but I hope it's the last. Are you a doctor, Bell?"

"Nurse, going to be a xeno specialist. Will says you're going to be changing your career, too. What made you think to do that?"

Deanna tilted her head thoughtfully. "Someone convinced me that dreams only have to be believed into existence, and that believing isn't as hard as we make it."

A pregnant pause passed between them. Will scratched his beard with a thumbnail. "You dream of having your own ship?"

"We'll see about the ship -- right now just making the effort is enough of a challenge. I stopped dreaming for a long time because I didn't believe enough. But sometimes when you reach the end of a road, you find that it's really the beginning of another journey. Sometimes it's the journey you thought you were on from the beginning but got distracted by a detour."

"Okay. This is more metaphor-speak, isn't it?" Will turned to Bell. "They do this, both of them. This is one of the less confusing ones."

"I understood it. I think."

Jean-Luc listened to Deanna do most of the talking; she finally claimed soreness, and they terminated the connection with promises of finding a time and place to meet for poker. He found as he stood that his body responded sluggishly -- tired. Too much tension in one day, for too many reasons.

Deanna preceded him into the bedroom, silent again, going into the bathroom -- she gargled again quietly, then stayed inside, probably getting ready for bed even though it was still relatively early. She looked as tired as he felt. They traded places after he'd stripped, her robe brushing his hip when he passed her in the door.

He emerged to find candlelight dancing on the walls and ceiling. She'd lit two pillar candles, one on each side of the bed. The ones he'd given her last month -- the light scent of gardenias hung in the air. Sitting cross-legged in front of the pillows, she brushed out her hair. She'd put on a simple chemise, white with a low neckline.

Flipping her hair over her right shoulder, she worked with her eyes closed. He watched the curve of her neck and thought of swans in the water, pale as moonlight and silent. He sat in front of her and touched the backs of his knuckles to her cheek, drawing a smile -- the private one she kept for him. Just a slight movement of the lips, almost shy, almost demure, with just enough mischief to fall short of either.

The red line ran from her throat to just below her collar bone. When he traced it with a feather-light touch of his finger, she tossed her hair back and set aside the brush. She took his hand and held it up to her lips.

"You should sleep," he whispered. "The magnificent Oz bellowing at you didn't help matters, I imagine. Poor chère."

Rolling her eyes, she sniffed. {Oz can blow smoke all he likes. Once Dorothy knows it's all nothing but pyrotechnics and illusion and blowing off steam, she can be pretty nonchalant about it. Except on a professional level, where she panics briefly and wonders if she's not in for a court martial.}

"The old burrhog would have realized the situation for what it was eventually. I'm proud of you, Dee, in just about every way I could be, but further demonstrations can wait until you're rested. To bed with you."

Without protest she moved to get under the covers. He snuffed the candle on his side even as she put out the one on hers. The complete darkness startled him a little; she'd shut the viewports. He lay on his side and bunched the pillow into a comfortable position under his head. Reaching out slowly, he found her hand in the void, palm to palm, without hesitation or uncertainty. The heart fire flowered between them, unseen but more real than the physical sensation of her skin to his.

She hadn't meditated, and she needed to; he needed to relax as well. This would have been one of those sleepless nights for him if not for her presence. Without a word they drew together and sat in the heart fire of hajira. No dancing tonight, at least not yet. In the silence and warmth they'd learned to build just for this purpose, he let go of the anxieties and fears. Natalia's difficulties, Lwaxana's fears, the terror of watching Deanna charge into potentially-fatal circumstances. . . and her fears, for him and for her mother. For the future, still nebulous and elusive. They shared those fears in the fire until they fell away in a swirl of ashes.

When they were whole and renewed once more, she danced a few steps closer and they embraced. Soaring in whatever inexplicable mental state they had achieved for a moment, they parted -- she was too tired. He could feel dark strands of her weariness threaded through the fire. Settling into the realm of the physical again, Jean-Luc settled on his back and welcomed her into his arms. She curled herself against him with her head on his shoulder, bringing him the familiar sensation of her hair against his neck. Her contentment overlapped his. They called this the embers, the restful sense of lying in the surf of a warm ocean with the constant surge of tranquility and love flowing around and through them, and tonight it was what was needed more than anything else.

His fingers traced random patterns along her cheek into her hair. She found it soothing and reciprocated by running her open hand up his chest and curling it around his neck to massage the base of his skull and play with the remnants of his hair.

{Inside out, mon petite cygne.}

{I love you, mon cher poisson. Even though you're a fine one to talk about regulations and breaking them -- prime directives, fraternization policies -- those are just for other captains, right?}

{Rules exist to be broken when necessary. You're lucky I came along -- you needed to learn how to break rules.} He smiled and kissed her forehead. {The proper way, that is. This is proper, having you here. My end of self-abuse, my swan.}

She put her finger up his nose briefly, demanding sleep, and settled her hand against his chest. He patted her hip and relaxed into the beginnings of sleep, knowing if he didn't beat her to it, she'd keep him awake with the snoring she insisted she didn't do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Natalia woke to the computer's pleasant voice rather than Kasey's humming, for once, and was informed additionally that her appointment with the counselor had been postponed, rescheduling to be determined. Concern followed her through her morning rituals and refused to go away. Had the counselor been hurt, after all?

She contemplated trying to contact her, but refrained. Breakfast in the mess went by in a blur. She was in a corridor somewhere on deck twelve by the time she realized she'd been wandering at random lost in thought.

Deanna was the only counselor she'd ever trusted. More than that, she was a friend, someone she'd cry about if --

"Computer, location of Counselor Troi."

"Counselor Troi is in her quarters."

Did the computer mean counselor's quarters, or captain's quarters? "Computer, what's the room number for the counselor's quarters?"

"080103."

"Okay, computer, what's the room number for Counselor Troi's quarters?"

"080101."

"Gotcha. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Natalia blinked, shook her head, and wondered if the computer weren't getting friendlier as time went by. She headed for the lift. Deck eight, sector one, cabin one -- had to be captain's quarters. Probably had a great view forward, looking out at the stars.

A good six meters down the corridor on deck eight, sector one, the rational part of her brain slapped sense into her -- what was she doing? This wasn't right. Dumb Natalia. Bad Natalia. Turn around and leave, Ensign, and let the commander be. Especially when she's in the captain's quarters.

She pivoted. A door opened nearby. She kept walking, casual as she could, and jumped when he spoke from right behind her -- how had he managed to be that quiet?

"Good morning, Ensign. Aren't you a little lost?"

She slapped her hand over her mouth. Her cheeks had to be going supernova. Why did he always show up -- what was she thinking? She'd been the one to come here in the first place. Why wouldn't he be near his quarters?

The captain stopped and seemed mildly concerned by her flustered state. "I didn't mean to startle you. Something wrong?"

"I was, well, worried, a little. You were going to sickbay last night, and this morning my appointment was postponed until further notice -- I wanted to see if she was okay. Is she? I mean, she's not -- "

"No, she's quite well. She simply isn't supposed to speak, by doctor's orders. It makes it difficult for her to ask uncomfortable questions of her patients." He smiled and glanced at his door. "She'd probably appreciate a visit from you, if you don't mind waiting for her to write things down. I think she's still a little concerned about what happened yesterday. She didn't want to cancel your appointment."

"I don't want to be a nuisance -- I guess it's a little late for that, isn't it?"

He sniffed. "Trust me, compared to some of her higher-ranked patients, you're a pleasant change of pace. Which isn't to say your problems are any less problematic -- you just seem to deal with them with a little more level-headedness than some I could mention. Go on, she's up and around. You wouldn't be disturbing her."

When she seemed rooted to the floor, he put a hand on her shoulder and actually guided her to the door, giving her a gentle push through when it opened. She stopped and looked around, agog. The captain's quarters! And there were really big viewports, not like her little screen that simulated a window. Table, chairs, a desk -- shelves with books and all kinds of things, from knives to odd objects she couldn't identify -- souvenirs? Her little cabin could fit in here with room for her next door neighbor's.

The door had closed behind her -- he'd obviously gone on to the lift. Should she say something? Where was Deanna?

The door to the bedroom opened, and Deanna came out in uniform. She didn't seem surprised to see her. Smiling a welcome, she gestured at the chairs and went to the desk, where she picked up a padd. Natalia relaxed -- this was better. She could focus on the counselor and forget where she was.

She sat and Deanna squeezed her hand, then wrote something and passed the padd to her. 'How are you feeling today?'

Natalia laughed. "Like you can't tell. I feel better. I know this isn't an appointment so I won't sit here talking for an hour about stuff, but -- yesterday may have been a roller coaster of a ride, but it helped me a lot. Even your mother. I'd like to talk to her again. D'you think I could do that, or is that too presumptuous?"

Deanna's stylus whipped across the small surface. 'I think Mother would love to see you again. She felt very guilty about what happened. I was about to go spend time with her -- she's probably the only person on board I can talk to without speaking and this is driving me crazy.'

"What happened to your voice -- or is that none of my business?"

She thought a little harder about that, and scribbled again. 'One of the problems with Starfleet -- you sometimes have to do things that seem really silly. I swallowed a comm badge.'

Natalia held her breath for a few seconds to stifle laughter. "Um -- that isn't standard procedure or anything, is it?"

Deanna put the back of her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes, shoulders shaking -- trying not to laugh. She shook her head and wrote, 'Very much not standard. Got yelled at for it. Was for a good reason however. Don't recommend keeping equip. in body cavity, unless necessary.'

"He yelled at you?"

The disbelief sobered Deanna somewhat. She thought more, and took a little more time over her response. 'He is still my captain. I don't allow it to hurt my feelings when he is angry -- he had a right to be. You are very curious.'

Natalia chewed her lip. "I guess I haven't thought about it before, how hard it must be. When I see you with him it's always when you're off duty in passing or in the lounge like the other day. I can tell how close you are. I can't imagine what it must be like when you both know the other person might get killed on a mission -- going on a dangerous one together must be twice as hard." She smacked her hand up her forehead. "What I ask of you -- never mind. The captain warned me once about overfamiliarity, I don't think I should make him repeat it. Something tells me he'd be less nice about it the second time. I'm sorry, Commander."

Deanna looked at her for a while, then wrote slowly, erasing and rewriting a couple times. 'You need to learn how to balance professional and personal relationships. Even the simple friendships can become difficult in Starfleet. You need to cultivate more friendships with others your age, as well. I do not want you to think that you have to avoid the captain or me completely -- I can safely say neither of us would want that. I can also safely say that, if you come to a point at which you need someone to talk to about your career path again, the captain would be willing to lend you an ear. He doesn't do that for everyone, Natalia. He simply doesn't have the time. But he knows you have potential and he also likes you as a person.'

"I. . . ." Natalia swallowed a few stray tears. "I guess you know I really like him. After hearing everything about him at the Academy, and what some of the admirals have said, and the stories from Daddy and Uncle Wallie, I imagined him being a completely different person. Then I made an ass of myself in the gym and he was so nice about it, and he's been nice ever since -- I don't see how people could think he's such a walking stiff."

Deanna patted her arm and wiped the padd, and started over. She smiled as she wrote. 'Everyone changes over time, Natalia. He's no different. When I came aboard, he had a stiffness and formality that many found intimidating; he deliberately distanced himself from the crew. Since then, all his experiences in space have influenced him, and he's found his balance between being a starship captain and being a man. Being in Starfleet is like that -- it will change you, subject you to stresses and force you to cope with the unimaginable. It challenges you in directions you never imagined and makes you rethink your priorities on a regular basis. He still has a formal command demeanor. I doubt that will alter much. It serves him well. Just respect the boundaries he sets and you will do fine. You have done well to this point, just don't allow yourself to get carried away and take things for granted. He does not make allowances for me -- if anything he's harder on me than he would be, to work against the appearance of favoritism. He will not make allowances for you because he likes you personally.'

"I understand that. I got carried away today, because of everything that happened -- I tried to apologize for it and leave but he -- "

Deanna gripped Natalia's hand, took the padd, and wrote, 'He understood you were under extreme duress. I did explain a little of what you were going through and he knew you well enough to see that your behavior was unusual. What's done is done. Don't overanalyze things. Just focus on your duty, and develop your friendships off duty, and relax.'

"Be myself, in other words. When I figure out who that is I'll do that."

Rising, she wrote, then handed Natalia the padd and turned for the door. 'Let's go find my mother.'

"I had a date last night," Natalia blurted, standing up to follow. "I think. Maybe. I had dinner with Lieutenant Batris. It felt. . . ."

Deanna spun about and raised both eyebrows. She smiled, took both Natalia's hands and squeezed them, her happiness for her plain in her eyes. Natalia smiled, and felt an unusual urge -- Deanna raised her arms encouragingly. Natalia stepped into them and hugged her tightly for the first time.

"You've made a beginning," Deanna whispered. "You have a right to be so happy. I'm proud of you, Natalia -- have you ever heard the story of the ugly duckling?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jean-Luc stopped outside the guest quarters and had a sudden crisis of indecision -- should he even try? Was this a stupid idea? He touched the annunciator before he could decide that it was.

The door opened, and Lwaxana called, "Oh, come in, dear."

This really was a bad idea.

"Don't worry, Jean-Luc. I *am* decent and quite alone."

This was an excruciatingly bad idea, but he forced himself inside -- better that than standing in the corridor with her yodeling endearments for the rest of deck eight to hear. She reclined on the sofa near the viewports, eating leafy objects from a large platter.

"I wish you wouldn't pry like that," he said, not unpleasantly. He'd resolved to avoid losing his temper.

Lwaxana raised an eyebrow. "I didn't have to, dear. You're so predictably upset by nudity. Though I'm certain you enjoy it well enough -- don't you?"

Her mischievous expression put him on edge. He set his jaw and forced a thoroughly-mercenary smile. "Under certain circumstances, I do. I have no inclination to enjoy it publicly, however, nor do I care to discuss it with you. We have other business."

She stopped chewing and looked up at him, then sat up and put her hands in her lap, in the folds of the gold robes she wore. Tilting her head, she studied him critically. "What business would that be? I thought you spoke your piece quite succinctly in sickbay."

"You and Deanna are similar in some respects -- one of them being the ability to mask issues beneath other issues. You sent us round in circles for two days reciting reasons you don't care for the idea of her marrying me -- you capitulated too quickly in sickbay. I don't trust it. I don't have the patience to wait for you to get around to bringing it up again." He came forward slowly, committed to his plan now. Glancing at the platter on the sofa next to her, he finally identified the leaves -- Deanna had mentioned oskoid was one of her mother's favorite foods.

"Have some. It may be spicier than you like. Deanna's a dear, but she does keep getting the recipe wrong. The replicator had it so bland that you might as well eat the cushion off a chair. You *have* had oskoid, haven't you?"

At least she wasn't being so frivolous. He leaned and took one, noting that it was spicier than he'd had it before, but not as bad as some Klingon dishes he'd eaten. Taking a chair nearby, he waited for her to respond to his challenge. She watched him eating the oskoid a bite at a time as if expecting him to burst into flames.

"I suppose, if she *has* to go through with this, it's fortunate that she chose a hajira. At least there will be that. Though it probably isn't quite the same as it might have been with a Betazoid, or at least another telepath." Lwaxana picked up another rolled leaf and held it in her fingertips daintily.

Jean-Luc had the distinct feeling he was being baited. He ate the last bite of his oskoid slowly, considering.

"You've never had a hajira, have you?" he asked quietly.

"That's none of your business, dear," she said amiably, nibbling. "It looks different on you -- I found it quite surprising."

"Ever had an imzadi?"

She frowned at him. "What do you know about imzadi?"

"That's none of your business, dear." He leaned back and crossed his arms.

Lwaxana flicked her fingers in a dismissive gesture. "You can't make such an implication. If she's been honest with you, I'm sure you know better than to imagine you're imzadi."

"So explain to me what hajira means, to a Betazoid."

"You wouldn't understand."

{Try me.}

He wasn't sure if she'd heard it. But if a Halii could hear him shouting at Deanna, she should certainly hear him 'speaking' -- Halii weren't strong telepaths. He'd thought Deanna was the only one who could hear him, and that somehow the emotional bond had facilitated it, but perhaps through practice it had come to the point that he could broadcast more coherently, at least in close proximity.

"Really, you couldn't. I know you feel that what you have is special and wonderful, I'm sure compared to what you're used to it is, but there are -- "

{Jealous?}

"Jean-Luc! How could you suggest such a thing? Of course I'm not jealous, don't be silly!" She lowered the oskoid she'd been nibbling and glared at him.

{Is it so hard to try to accept me for what I am, Lwaxana?}

She stared, the hand holding the oskoid drifting down into her lap. "You aren't supposed to be able to do that. I would know it if you were telepathically inclined, dear captain, and you're every bit as mind-blind as my last husband."

{So you see I refuse to conform to your low expectations.}

"Not that it matters to me," she continued, as if she hadn't heard. "I want my daughter to be happy. That's all that really matters. I'll admit I got my hopes up when she said she might come home, and when she started going on about command, I thought it might take a little longer -- she was so tired, and I thought she'd try the coursework for a while and decide against it after all. Command must be so difficult. Sending people out to be killed, over a few parsecs of space or a border or to uphold some regulation -- she's not the sort of person who could do that. And then she greets me with you -- I should resign myself to it, I know that now. You were quite right. I do hope you can forgive my hysterics and bring her home to visit once in a while, you and the children, of course. You'll always be welcome. Though I doubt you'll show up very often, you're so uncomfortable with Betazoid ways."

Jean-Luc began to smile, though it likely was a grim, cold one. Mother and daughter really were similar, in some key aspects. Their mannerisms differed, their demeanor, their goals and priorities -- but in this one thing, they were alike. Both of them had a way with subtext, and were capable of using it quite deliberately. Deanna had been right -- Lwaxana didn't understand his variety of subtlety. Or, perhaps, she chose not to, demanding that he make the effort to understand hers.

He propped his elbows on his thighs and steepled his fingers between his knees. She accused him of being unfeeling. She'd done it repeatedly, in and around all her other accusations. That had to be the real message she was sending, and all the rest had to be secondary or simply static. She could cope with her fears for Deanna's safety, as Dee had said. Grandchildren were really an issue, but that came under the general heading of unfeeling -- hard-hearted people didn't like children. She'd been surprised by his being agreeable to them, then regarded him with skepticism. She'd accused him of wanting someone to do nothing more than warm his bed. All the hints were there for him to put together.

He battled rage -- they shouldn't have to prove anything to anybody, it was no one's business but theirs why they were getting married. One would think their motives were obvious. He was tempted to leave, let her think what she would, but Deanna loved her mother -- there had to be a consensus between them that ran deeper than surface peace. With an empath in the equation there could be no hiding discomfort, or worse, enmity or hatred.

"Why do you think I don't love her?" he asked quietly.

"Did I say that? I know you do, dear, that's really a stupid question. But she needs more than that -- she's such a warm, tactile person. You can't even hold hands without feeling that you're making a great sacrifice." She munched on her oskoid diffidently. "A woman needs affection all the time, not just in the bedroom. You probably don't realize that -- "

"You don't seem to realize that she's a willing participant in this. We're both officers, Lwaxana. She's a psychologist. Ask her to explain to you the reasons why it's impossible for us to race around the ship clinging to each other like teenagers."

"Don't patronize me, Captain," she exclaimed, her tone unusually hard-edged. "Even I know better than to expect that, especially of you. But we were sitting in a private room, quite out of view of your precious crew, and you *still* sat there stiff as -- "

"I hardly think affectionate displays are appropriate while you're fighting with her! And you've made a point of trying to embarrass me any way you possibly can, every time you've come aboard. How the hell do you expect me to relax with you around?" He caught himself and bowed his head, rubbing his temples with his thumbs, cradling his forehead in his hands. "Case in point. I don't think badly of you. You're just. . . not. . . ."

"You're far too serious for your own good. Lighten up -- you'll feel better."

He snorted quietly, incredulously, and ran his hands down his face. "Sometimes that helps, Lwaxana, but sometimes. . . . Look. We have to find a way to get along, for her sake. The last thing she needs is turmoil at home. She gets enough of that on the job."

Her laughter interrupted him. "Oh, you are such an officer. So terribly set on observing propriety -- trying to come to an agreement with the mother-in-law-to-be, to maintain the order of things. We must all play our roles, and stay in our rank and file. Will the children receive promotions for their birthdays?"

His jaw dropped, and the furious shout died slowly and painfully in his throat. "You think I'm that cold?" he grated. "You think she would have any interest in me if I were? I can't believe you don't know better than that."

Their eyes met. Hers lacked the warmth he was used to seeing in Deanna's, as well as a host of other emotions -- she stared at him. Was this all a test? Her calculating gaze made him more angry yet.

"What do you want from me, Lwaxana?"

"What do you think I would want from a man who wants to marry my daughter? I want her happiness, above all other considerations, and I know she does want children, she always has -- "

"That isn't the real issue. You already know she'll have them." He stopped short of demanding that she simply get to the point.

She reached for another oskoid and tilted her head away from him, eyes lidded. "If it lasts that long. She's had her fair share of lovers, you know. That she's finally decided to marry one doesn't mean -- "

"If you had bothered to stop overreacting and talk to her, you might have learned that we've been together for almost a year already. Stop thinking of her in your terms! This isn't some whimsy -- she's not like that."

Lwaxana almost dropped her oskoid. "Then why hasn't she said anything to me before now? Why -- oh, Little One," she sighed, shaking her head. "I don't understand."

"To be honest, I'm a little surprised myself that she hasn't told you. She's not been sure of how you would handle it, I think, and there has been an uncertainty -- it takes time to find one's footing in a relationship. It probably took more time for us than it might have because we've been so busy with work." He looked up at her from the floor again, finally, and saw that she'd settled into a less confrontational posture. "Please don't ask me to explain how it works. It does, and I wouldn't have proposed if I didn't think it would continue to work. It's not easy -- I can't pretend that it ever could be. I don't know what direction we'll be taking, whether she'll give up her career or I will, or both of us, or when. That isn't important at the moment. Whatever does happen, it won't be something that splits us apart."

"Well, I certainly hope it won't." She'd started out looking mildly surprised, then settled into the more tolerant expression she'd been wearing a lot over the past two days. Settling right back into skepticism, putting up with his good intentions and refusing to believe they were anything but. Which they weren't, but --

He guffawed suddenly, looked up at her, and tapped the center of his forehead. "I want you to see something. Pay attention, this is your one and only opportunity."

"What are you talking about? There's nothing on your head."

{Pay attention, Lwaxana. Look in my thoughts. Just this once, and never again.} Forehead in his palm, he closed his eyes and remembered last night, sitting in the heart fire with Deanna -- it was safe enough, with no sexual energy but plenty of fire and love. She wanted proof. This was the only thing he had left to give her, the place where all the fear and uncertainty fled and only the reality and solidity of love remained. If that was what it took, so be it. If she walked away still disbelieving he could honestly claim he'd done everything in his power to convince her he had more than good intentions. She wasn't appreciative of the sacrifices he'd made for Deanna -- she likely didn't completely understand them. Someone who wasn't career Starfleet wouldn't understand. All that was left to him was the heart fire.

The sound of the platter of oskoid striking the floor brought him out of it. He looked up to find her fleeing the room in a flurry of gold fabric. Rising from his seat, arms crossed, he waited patiently until she returned. She looked only slightly flustered -- she'd made a quick recovery.

"Can't take the heat?"

Lwaxana laughed -- it occurred to him that he hadn't heard her laugh that loudly or freely until then. She pressed her fingers to her lips then swept forward, arms out, hands raised as if in benediction -- but she stopped short of making contact and clasped her hands against her chest. Then she held out one hand, her half-smile more amused than overjoyed. He eyed that hand, then shook it firmly.

"Truce," she said. "Welcome to the family, dear. I hope you don't mind if I don't call you son -- "

"Not at all. In fact -- " He propped his chin in his hand and backed a step. Too close for comfort. "Strange universe, isn't it?"

"That's okay, dear. I'm actually becoming accustomed to the thought of. . . well. Sometimes these things need a little more time." She dropped her gaze, which was making him feel more than a little uncomfortable, and smiled. Hands clasped in front of her, she turned slightly away. "It wasn't really necessary to show me that, Jean-Luc. She's done as she pleases before, regardless of what I want. She always will."

"You're her mother. You're very important to her. I told you, I don't intend to deprive her of anything she wants. She's been afraid that your disapproval would drive what little family she has apart -- I can't do that to her. I don't have family left at all, just my sister-in-law. I know what it's like to have conflicts drive you apart for too long. She already has to live with my regrets. I don't want to cause her regrets of her own. . . or you, for that matter. I don't intend to take her away from you, Lwaxana. I hold no grudges against you." He sighed and allowed a rueful smile. "You are what you are, and I am what I am -- Deanna wouldn't want either one of us to change simply to keep the peace. But we don't have to change -- we only have to agree to respect one another for who we are."

Lwaxana winced and began to cry, but brushed her tears away with her fingertips and raised her head, beaming at him. Then her expression turned, making his discomfort more acute than before. "Are you sure you really wouldn't rather have a more mature -- "

"Yes. Quite."

She subsided, looking him up and down critically. "I suppose I can't fault your taste, can I? Tell me, Jean-Luc, what does 'ma petite' mean?"

"It means. . . oh. Well. It's French, for. . . 'my little one.' I hadn't thought about that."

Waving off his concern, she chuckled. "At least it's something we have in common. That dear little girl, the one I was so worried about -- Natalia? Is she all right?"

"I would guess so. If not, she will be soon. Deanna has her well in hand."

"I thought you were doing rather well with her, actually. I didn't believe you had it in you -- maybe, just maybe, you'll make a good father after all."

Jean-Luc clenched his teeth. "If you will excuse me, I have -- "

"Duty. I know, dear." She sniffed, then her smile dwindled. She gripped his arm lightly. "I did mean a truce. I'll try. Really."

He sighed, almost groaning. "If you try *too* hard everyone will wonder what's wrong -- they'll probably think you're angry at me. But I appreciate it."

"Diplomacy is all about cooperation and compromise, ma petit."

"*Don't* call me that!"

"What else am I supposed to call you? My French little -- "

He rushed out and ran into Deanna soundly -- she stared at him and stepped away, almost colliding with Natalia, whose eyes fairly popped out of her head. He'd slipped up and forgotten Deanna could sense what he was doing. Of course Deanna would come to find out why he'd caused a surge of remembered heart fire. She'd been with Natalia, so of course she'd bring her along. And he'd put Natalia in the situation himself, by pushing her on through to see Deanna with the intention of reassuring both of them. What a classic Rube Goldberg device he'd engineered!

"Hell," he blurted, dodging around them.

"What -- " Deanna croaked, clapping her mouth shut and staring at her mother. She had suffered from her lengthy conversation with Riker and his new girlfriend last night; she'd awakened to a ferocious sore throat. Anything above a whisper hurt her. He hesitated, glancing at her apologetically, and turned away.

"Don't run off, Jean-Luc," Lwaxana called joyfully. "We're going to the holodeck -- would you like to join us for a mud bath?"

He spun and realized he'd fallen into a defensive stance, as if about to battle hand-to-hand. "No, I would not!"

"What happened to diplomacy, ma petit?"

Deanna made an odd squeaking noise and took Natalia's arm. Possibly for reassurance, possibly to protect the ensign from fallout. Jean-Luc held his breath and counted silently backward from twenty -- ten wouldn't be enough. Diplomacy. Cooperation and compromise. He glanced at Deanna, and slowly, deliberately, grinned.

"Got a bucket of water?"

Her eyes went big as deck plates. She laughed, though it must have hurt judging from the way it sounded -- like frogs being tickled to death. Gripping Natalia's shoulder, she leaned on the ensign and tried to stifle her amusement. Lwaxana scowled, harrumphed, and marched forth down the corridor, brushing past him. Deanna took the confused Natalia with her, still giggling convulsively, and Jean-Luc followed them. There was no point in avoiding them; they'd get off on a different deck anyway, before he reached the bridge. He'd have time to recover from whatever indignity he suffered en route.

Deanna's laughter built up inside. Jean-Luc felt it rising to new silent heights as they reached the lift and waited for it. {Mother's not afraid -- what did you do?}

{Basically the same thing you did. Just ran unarmed into a dangerous situation and trusted myself. Thinking it through some more as I talked to her, it occurred to me that she saw me as competition, in addition to the belief that I won't stay with you. I had to convince her I wasn't trying to steal you from her. Think about how much grief she's given me in the past -- would she have any reason to believe I'd ever want to see her again, even for short visits to Betazed?}

{I've been such a scarecrow -- where was my brain? Why didn't I realize that?} She glanced over her shoulder at him, still holding Natalia's arm.

{We've had too many things to think about, ma cher. Vive le metaphor. Let's see, your mother needed the courage to let go of you again and trust me. I needed to figure out how to win your mother over, so I must have been the scarecrow, as well. And you were also Dorothy -- home would be your mother and I, and the goal was finding a way to keep home together. And Natalia -- she's the tinman. She had to find the heart that was already there -- or at least repair it. You were right, the metaphor can be nearly universal.}

She smiled faintly at him. {I was actually thinking you were all three being scarecrows. You all knew better. You just had to slow down and open your eyes to realize it. And I'm a scarecrow and a lion -- I had to find confidence in my abilities, too. More overlapping roles, Jean.}

The lift opened. They surrounded Data, who looked a little surprised to see them together. He was obviously returning from his ritual morning dog-walking. Holding on to his squirming terrier, he greeted all of them by name, quite properly, and shot a puzzled look at Jean-Luc.

"Welcome to Oz, Mr. Data," he said, just to see the look on his face. Of course, Natalia's bamboozled expression was almost as priceless.

Lwaxana scratched the dog's head. "And your little dog, Toto, too." She winked conspiratorially at Jean-Luc -- how the hell did she know about the Wizard of Oz? Had she caught the bucket of water reference, too? He glanced at Dee -- oh, no. Obviously, from the feigned innocence on her face, she'd provided her mother with an explanation.

Data cocked his head. "How did you know my dog's name is Toto, Ambassador?"

Deanna laughed, squelched it quickly, and buried her face in Jean-Luc's shoulder, shaking like a leaf -- he leaned against the wall and shook his head slowly.

Where was that curtain when he needed it?