Elephant Tracks in the Wedding Cake

"This," Admiral Nechayev said, "is heavenly."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow and looked up from his brown study. Elena gestured, smiling, looking at the flowering bushes and beds of brilliant perennials. He'd worked sporadically for a month on this holographic version of the chateau, putting in as many details as he could remember of Maman's garden and adding the arched trellis with red tree roses twining through it. The perfume of the flowers was almost overwhelming until one became accustomed to it.

"Thank you, Admiral. This is home."

"I assumed as much." She sobered somewhat. "Jean-Luc, I want you to at least consider it. We've offered you the Academy before. You would be good for it--good for Starfleet. Now that you're getting married, it would be good for the family. I've had children, and I couldn't imagine having them in space."

After all the official arguments, this. Of course she would wait until the day of his wedding to attempt personal motivations. It spoke of how much Command wanted him at the Academy that Elena had actually attended the wedding. He almost replied that he understood what having children was like, but refrained. The explanation would have taken far too long and been far too personal.

"I appreciate your concern. But I can't make decisions like that unilaterally, and Deanna doesn't care for the idea." He didn't have to bother asking her about it to know, either. She would sense the hesitance in him, the pause he couldn't help but feel at the thought of giving up his ship, and that would be enough to decide the matter in her mind. And she'd already said as much to him in hypothetical discussions of the future.

"Frankly, I'm surprised you haven't requested a move dirtside by now. It can't have been easy watching her almost die that way."

"A year ago, you informed me that the fleet needed experienced captains. Are you saying that's changed?"

Nechayev went tight-lipped; her shoulders sagged, as if she recognized this was her last chance at making him see reason. "Yes, you're valuable as a captain, but looking at the long-term we at Command can see a need for strong leadership at the Academy. Someone with solid principles and a wide range of experience in service. The latest performance reviews of cadets who have served on your ship are consistently better than those of--"

"Admiral, I'll discuss it with Deanna. That's all I can promise at this point. Excuse me, please."

He headed for the trellis, where Will waited for the processional to start impatiently. Data, the best man, stood by as well. Will's French-Canadian girlfriend, Bell, stood with him, twirling some of her straight blond hair around a finger idly. She smiled and appraised Jean-Luc as he came to stand stiffly, hands behind his back.

"Nervous, M'sieur Capitaine?"

"Only if I allow myself to think too much."

"What's taking so long?" Will said. He, Data and Elena were in dress uniform, but everyone else had gone civilian as expected. Bell looked splendid in a sleeveless emerald sheath dress, and in the second row of the chairs spread across the lawn, Natalia looked uncomfortable but pretty in a blue one. The other guests were milling around in small groups, the captains and first officers of the various ships gathered at Starbase 455 all waiting to see the bride appear on the porch. Nechayev wandered to the first row and sat, followed by Bell, and the two fell to talking in low tones, hopefully about nothing serious.

Jean-Luc thought about the pictures Marie had shown him of her wedding to Robert. He hadn't gone home to attend it--the regret that caused was sharper now than it had been before Robert's death. They had married on this lawn, in spring, with all the flowers blooming. Marie had been a beautiful bride. Though Jean-Luc had invited her to his wedding, she hadn't come--the distance frightened her. She'd never been further than the moon and a starbase not far from the Neutral Zone was too intimidating. He wished it would be possible to go home, but under the circumstances it seemed unlikely that could happen any time soon.

He and Robert had played on this lawn. He could picture the door crashing open, Maman flinging her boys to the summer breezes with a carefree laugh, Robert leaping from the top step and making good use of his long legs to jump further than Jean-Luc then losing ground to his smaller, lighter brother who at six already showed promise of being quick on his feet. Tackling Robert and rolling in the grass, and the Mouton boys coming up the road to play ball --

Malia came out of the house and hurried down the aisle runner, her brilliant red dress flapping around her legs. Mama Malia, most of the crew called her. Dark-eyed, brunette and Italian, she flashed Jean-Luc a smile and sat with Natalia. Her son Kenny would be the ring bearer and she'd probably been coaching him. Her husband Ron Ching left a huddle of officers to join her.

"One less woman in the house, anyway," Will said. He smiled sidelong at Jean-Luc. "Bet you never imagined you'd be here at the altar waiting with sweaty palms and a bunch of wedding guests."

"Imagined, perhaps. Never quite believed it, though."

"Of all the time lines and paradoxes we've peeked into, I don't think there's ever been one like this."

"Maybe that should console us that we're actually in the real one?" Jean-Luc smirked, just a little. "Are we going to switch places any time soon? Bell's got that faraway look in her eye, the one they get while designing wedding dresses and coordinating colors."

"You know, I was wondering why you were so insistent on surprising Dee with this--I'm beginning to see the method behind the madness. She wasn't angry?"

"For a few seconds."

"Why barefoot? Why that dress? And how the hell did you get her to agree to wear it? Not that she looks bad, she looks downright gorgeous."

Data leaned forward slightly and spoke over Jean-Luc's right shoulder. "I believe it was the same type of dress she was wearing when they 'met.'"

Jean-Luc knew the android meant a year ago yesterday, when he'd walked into the lounge and found his counselor dejected and trying to drown her sorrows in hot chocolate. Which had led to his attempt to cheer her up, which had led him inexorably and joyfully to the altar. "Did she tell you that, Data?"

"You were seen wandering the corridors with her while she wore it. It is not her usual style of clothing."

"That's true. . . come to think of it, I've never learned exactly why she was wearing it in the first place."

The crowd of people near the steps that led up into the garden from the vineyard parted with attention-getting alacrity, and as Jean-Luc turned he smiled. A familiar Klingon strode up the grass, in full formal Klingon ceremonial dress. Worf halted in front of Jean-Luc.

"Worf, glad you could make it," Jean-Luc exclaimed, exchanging a firm handshake with him.

"You've come a long way for this," Riker exclaimed. "Good to see you again." He glanced askance at Jean-Luc. Unlike the rest of them, Worf had to have been told in advance. Anyone who would come from any distance had, in fact, including a number of admirals. But telling anyone Deanna might come into contact with had been too risky. The trouble with an empath--she could tell when people were keeping secrets from her, and when the secrets had something to do with her.

"It is good to see you both. I am honored to have been invited," Worf said. He regarded Jean-Luc from under his brows. Impossible to tell what the Klingon was feeling at the moment--he wasn't smiling and didn't sound particularly enthused about being there. A very apparent hesitation ensued, and he looked around a moment later. "I hope I am not too late."

"No, we're slightly behind schedule. We should be under way shortly. You didn't bring Alexander?" Jean-Luc asked.

"He was unable to get away but sends his best wishes--he wanted to be here. He has always been fond of Deanna." Worf glanced at Data and acknowledged the android with a nod. "I shall not keep you--where should I sit?"

"Anywhere you please. There are more chairs than occupants." Jean-Luc watched Worf sit stiffly in the front row on the right and glanced at Riker.

"This should be interesting," Will muttered.

"Indeed," Data added.

Jean-Luc sighed and glanced at the house. What were they doing in there? He considered asking, but feared the answer. Or no answer. On the walk from their quarters on the <b>Enterprise</b> to the holodeck on the <b>Lexington,</b> she'd slowly gone from overwhelmingly-happy to serious. He'd expected the opposite--happy to giddy and unpredictable. When they arrived, she'd greeted their friends calmly with a smile, reassured Beverly--who was livid at the thought of a surprise wedding--and hugged people at random. After a few brief conversations, Deanna had disappeared into the house with a handful of women, the ring bearer, and the flower girl; she'd seemed preoccupied. Was she having second thoughts?

If so, there wasn't anything else he could do but find out. The sooner the better.

"You're going in?" Riker asked as Jean-Luc took the first step toward the house.

"If I don't, I have to stand here thinking about whatever it is that's keeping her." He eyed his former first officer a moment. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing," Will said, his shit-eating grin firmly in place.

"Really? What sort of nothing is it that's so damned funny?"

"Oh--I was just remembering something you said once about careers and marriage being mutually exclusive, and how unlikely it was that you'd ever try it."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow. "How long ago was that?"

The grin softened. "Back when I was a brash martinet, and you ran for your life at the sight of anyone too young for the Academy."

"Seems to me you agreed with me--should I share that with Bell, perhaps?"

Riker scratched his nose and contemplated the ground. "You know, we should get this show on the road. I think some of the admirals are looking restless."

Smiling grimly, Jean-Luc headed up the aisle, putting determination in his stride and sending a few guests sidling out of his way.

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

"Deanna, just let me go out there and tell him to call it all off and let you do it the right way."

"No. I want to do this. . . ." She looked up from the bouquet of red roses and orchids and met Beverly's gaze solemnly. "I'm just trying not to cry."

Beverly sighed and put her hands on Deanna's shoulders. "It wasn't fair of him to do this to you. You should've been able to plan your own wedding."

"It isn't that, Bev--not at all. It's -- " She hesitated, open-mouthed, and shook her head. "I'll only start crying if I try to explain. I just feel too much, it's so overwhelming. If you knew. . . if I could show you how much. . . . I need to just go with it, and get through it, and when it's over and everyone's gone I can collapse."

"You want to do it but something's holding you back--is it because it won't be a Betazoid wedding?"

"No. It's--I don't want to talk about it. Let's just do it. This is just jitters, just nerves, just my wedding and everything is just like I'd expect it to be, considering who I'm marrying, but it's. . . ."

Beverly waited, gazing expectantly into her eyes, while the spring breezes shifted the curtains against their right arms. The sound of someone laughing in the distance reached them. It sounded like Will, obviously in high spirits about something.

"I'm marrying Jean-Luc Picard," Deanna whispered.

Beverly went wide-eyed, then began to laugh, disbelievingly, backing away and holding her stomach. "Dee! You've been sleeping with the man for months and you've just figured that out?!"

Deanna flopped down on the side of the bed, set aside her bouquet, put her head in her hands, and began to sob. Beverly touched her shoulder, but she waved her friend away and ducked her head, giving in to the gut-wrenching wails.

"I'm going to give that man a piece of my -- "

"Don't," Deanna cried. "Don't you d - dare, if you d - do anything I'll never speak to you ag - again--"

Beverly gasped--it took a moment but Deanna realized that someone had come in, a very familiar someone. She heard Beverly's pumps cross the floor and leave the room, and the bed sagged a little more, and Jean-Luc's arms were around her.

He let her sob, holding her head to his shoulder and brushing her hair out of her face. When the sobs abated and her stomach twitched rather than heaved, and she could breath a few times before the telltale hitch in her intake of air made itself known, he pulled her back further until she lay cradled in his arm like a child, looking up at him.

"Change your mind?"

He was so calm--the calm of the captain, she realized. He wasn't allowing himself the luxury of being Jean-Luc yet. Though the smile he gave her was warm, it wasn't her lover's smile. It took her through years of memories, snapshots of all his moods, the highs and the lows--the brief glance and slight smile of acknowledgment of a fellow officer and friend, bright fascination at a discovery of a solution to a puzzle, humor, irritation, pain, embarrassment, affection, pride--she knew this man well. The one commanding officer to whom she'd felt such loyalty that she'd turned down one promising post after the next.

"No. . . sir," she whispered.

Bemused, he turned his head--then his hazel eyes softened, and he sighed. His fingers brushed her cheek. "I know you're afraid, otherwise you could tell I'm frightened, too. You're keeping us all in suspense out there. If I don't borrow on the captain's nerve, I'll be drinking or swearing, or both."

She closed her eyes and gripped the front of his black jacket. "I'm marrying my captain. I don't know how to feel. My captain, my commanding officer, my--"

His hand closed around hers, pried it from the jacket, and raised it to his lips. "Your Jean-Fish. You're feeling the way I felt when I proposed to you, aren't you? Remember? All the roles colliding and overwhelming you. I understand, Dee. I know this is light-years from traditional, for both of us, but it's the only way I could see it happening. The bird and the fish get married. But if you tell me you want to call it off--"

"No, don't," she cried. His body called to her--she needed to feel him, the way she'd needed it so long ago--had it only been a year? Only a year, since she'd come to that crossroads where she'd reached the point of no return, the point of confronting him or taking a different path that led her off the ship. She had decided on the latter, he'd changed her mind.

As if he'd read her need, he held her as she craved, chest to chest, and she rested her chin on his shoulder.

"Afraid," she blurted. "What if it ruins everything? What if I can't be a wife and an officer and--"

"We've come in a circle. You had the same raging doubt last year. Seems to me you said it was impossible, yet somehow we've managed to have a solid working relationship and convince JAG of it. Are we going to re-enact the whole scenario right down to the part where I shout at you and immediately feel horribly guilty about it? Open your eyes, Deebird."

She obeyed, and found his only centimeters from hers. His heart was in them this time, and hers joined it. They whirled together in the heart fire for a few moments and slowly came back to center, settling, breathing. He smiled again. This was the man she knew better than any other. The only one who had taken her into his arms and kept her there, without sacrificing the other things he held most dear, but who would do so if it became the only way to keep her.

"All right?"

"Yes," she said, and heard calm, felt calm, felt the solid presence of him against her chest and the warmth of his love. He was so confident of what he was doing--just as confident as he'd been a year before. "Thank you. I don't know what's got into me--nerves, and excitement, and the thought of--I'll have to re-do my makeup but I'll be down in a few minutes."

His palm felt warm against her cheek. "You're sure about this? If you have any doubt, at any level, you need to speak up."

"Doubts about you, no." She couldn't keep her eyes from dropping. "Myself, yes. I feel. . . inadequate, suddenly. A little silly for it, too. I know better."

His thumb rubbed her chin. "Ma cher, it's nervousness, nothing more. Yes?"

"Oui."

An exaggerated throat-clearing from the hall intervened. "Hey, not like I've been eavesdropping, just came up to get things moving. We have some restless pips outside."

Deanna pressed her cheek to his and got up, watched him smooth wrinkles from his jacket, and took his hand in hers briefly for one last reassurance; he nodded and leaned close to whisper, "Commander, get to your wedding already, and stop making the groom crazy. Don't make me pull rank again."

"Yes, sir." She giggled. {What does Jean-Luc Picard the sewing machine repairman do?}

He winced and shook his head all the way out of the bedroom, and she heard him laughing on the stairs--his Maman's favorite rafter-shaking laugh. Her heart soared. The gift of his laughter.

Beverly came in, bumping into the door and staring after him. "What just happened? Or are you going to tell me--now, there's a happy bride! What did he tell you?"

"Help me with patching up my makeup? I'm in a hurry."

They hurried through the touch-up and went down, finally. The ring bearer and flower girl stood near the front door impatiently shifting from one foot to the other. "Are you ready?" Deanna asked.

Kenny nodded, so vehemently that a lock of his carefully-combed black hair fell out of place. He looked so cute in a smaller version of the black suit Jean-Luc wore, holding the pillow with the rings tied to it. Sarah Carlisle, the second officer's daughter, seven years old and much more at ease with the situation than five-year-old Kenny, smiled at her, bobbing a little at the knee and setting her pink dress swaying around her thin legs.

"Jean-Luc actually wanted them in it," Beverly murmured, grinning. "I'm beginning to think you've hypnotized him."

"Malia's a good friend, and Kenny likes his Uncle Captain. Sarah volunteered. Computer, begin the processional," Deanna said. That old standby, Pachelbel's Canon, started to play instantly, at low volume at first, then louder. Beverly opened the door and peered out.

"They're seating themselves. Hang on, Kenny, I'll let you know when you go," she said, holding the boy back with a hand to his forehead. He wriggled and stamped--and growled.

Deanna looked down at him in surprise. "Kenny, why did you do that?"

He shrugged and fidgeted. "I'm the ring bear."

Deanna and Beverly regarded each other with delighted surprise. "That's not what--didn't your mother explain what you were supposed to do?" Deanna asked.

"Yes."

"Did she say growling was part of it?"

"Bears growl," Kenny said with the confidence of someone who knew bears. One of his favorite bedtime stories featured bears, Deanna knew from babysitting him for the Chings, and he always insisted that she growl while she read it to him, just like Daddy did. Because of course that was the way it should be.

Beverly giggled. Deanna tilted her head and grinned. "Kenny, tell you what--when you get up to the front, I want you to give Uncle Captain your best growl. Impress him with what a good ring bear you are."

"It's time, Kenny, and remember to walk nice and slow like Mom told you," Beverly said, opening the door to let him through. He dashed to the top of the steps and stopped, then marched slowly down them and performed a rigid goose-step down the runner between the chairs. Deanna watched the little boy with a knot in her throat, through which her breath burned.

"I'm so glad we're recording this," she whispered, trying to sound as amused as she'd been moments before.

Beverly almost laughed. She watched Kenny's progress, and sent Sarah out with her basket of flower petals next. Once the girl was under way, Beverly gripped Deanna's wrist. "I don't believe it's finally here--I'm so happy for you, Dee, this is such a beautiful wedding, and you look positively radiant. He did a good job planning it. I just hope. . . . It <b>is</b> what you really, really want, isn't it?"

"He wouldn't have done it if he hadn't known I'd want it. It was just jitters, Bev. I'm fine now." She smiled at her maid of honor --Beverly was nearly as radiant as a bride herself, and looked wonderful in the simple off-white dress she'd chosen. Not a blousy peasant dress like Deanna's but a belted knee-length one with a broad collar decorated with embroidered roses stitched in yellow. Her hair had been styled loose and full over her shoulders, framing her face. Judging from her emotional high, which continued in spite of her brief fits of anger on Deanna's behalf, she'd have that smile for a long time to come. Had to be Tom Glendenning. The captain of the <b>Phoenix</b> had been wearing a contented little smile of his own, when Deanna had seen him briefly earlier.

Perfect. It was all perfect, Beverly was so happy, Will was performing the ceremony at his own suggestion--this could be the forging of the new group dynamic between old friends. The end of that slightly-off, slightly uncomfortable edge their interactions had had all year.

"My turn," Beverly said. "This is it. See you up front." She took her own bouquet from the table near the door, slipped out and began a graceful march up the aisle.

Deanna watched and swallowed nervousness, stropping her bare feet along her calves and holding the bouquet in one hand then the other to rub her sweaty palms on her thigh. She surveyed the crowd--oh. Worf had made it.

And as Beverly reached the halfway mark, another latecomer came up the steps and quietly found a seat along the left side of the chairs -- Admiral H'nayison. The only Betazoid present.

Anxiety rumbled in her stomach. They hadn't met the Admiral in person yet, not together, not as hajira--the phenomenon wasn't obvious over subspace and they hadn't mentioned it to him. It was, after all, no one's business but their own. Jean-Luc disliked that Betazoids could tell it existed. H'nayison would see it when she went out for the ceremony, without fail. How he might react made Deanna twist inside with sympathy for Jean-Luc, and with fear. What if the admiral resented that she hadn't said anything in any of the reports? They'd just been granted a reprieve from JAG surveillance--what if H'nayison took it as a deliberate concealment of something that influenced their professional interactions? How many times had she almost said something and refrained because Jean-Luc had been there? She hesitated to mention it while discussing troublesome away missions or some small crew difficulty caused by misunderstanding of the relationship between counselor and captain--it already pained Jean enough that they had to report to H'nayison at all. She should have said something and let Jean-Luc suffer a little more than usual.

Beverly reached the front and took her place on Will's right, to the left of the trellis, and the music changed to the traditional wedding march. The guests rose from their seats and turned. Deanna took the bouquet in both hands, swung the door open with a nudge of her foot, and put on a cloak of dignity and serene grace.

Beverly had mentioned her own wedding had gone by like a blur, and that she'd spent the time floating in a netherworld of suspended time while another part of her spoke the words and smiled and shook hands. The detached state Deanna found herself in seemed similar. She reached the front in no time, though she knew she'd been walking slower than Beverly, her skirt floating around her, the eyes of everyone present on her. She took Jean-Luc's hand and avoided his eyes as agreed--the last thing they needed was an abrupt shift into their own private nirvana in the middle of the ceremony. She looked instead at his shoulder, smiling, and listened from her limbo as Will spoke the traditional Starfleet service.

Beverly had to nudge her when it was time for the exchange of rings, passing the wedding band for Jean-Luc to Deanna as she took the bouquet. Deanna glanced up as she slipped the band on his finger. Luckily, he was paying more attention to their hands. His entire focus was on the ceremony--it was the only way he was getting through it. The emotions he was keeping under tight wraps were distracting, and only compounding her own difficulty in keeping her composure. The further along they got, the less detached she was becoming. Shock wearing off, probably. Being the counselor or the commander in this setting wasn't possible. In this dress, in this yard, she'd always been his cygne--and this was her wedding.

". . . kiss the bride," Will said, and she realized that she'd somehow gotten through the vows without remembering a word she'd said. She brought her startled eyes up to meet Jean-Luc's and spun into another kind of limbo. They stared at each other for a moment, and then moved together as if they'd practiced the coordinated movement beforehand. His hands closed on her arms, sure but gentle; in his usual measured, graceful way he met her halfway. Her fingers caught his elbows automatically and she glimpsed one of his heartbreaking, toe-curling affectionate smiles just before he kissed her.

How lightly their lips brushed--it would have passed for chaste, if not for the look in his eyes. They got caught in the look for a moment, making silent promises to each other. He was right, the roles were colliding, and her rational self wasn't adjusting swiftly enough to compensate for the shift. Her husband. The impact of the realization was one she'd sensed in other brides, but still it hadn't prepared her for the depth of emotion it brought about in her.

Will's hand on her arm startled her, as he leaned in to give her a bristly peck on the cheek, laughing as he did so. She stumbled back against Beverly and found herself in a hug.

She wandered in a trance through numerous congratulations. Data hugged her, Worf almost tore her dress with his armor--he scowled at anyone who dared to laugh as Beverly carefully disentangled the snagged muslin -- several admirals shook her hand, Tom hugged her and thanked her quietly in her ear for her advice. . . . She began to feel separate again, like she was watching herself from a distance while she greeted and shook hands and exchanged lighthearted remarks with people.

Eventually the crowd dwindled as people left for the reception aboard the <b>Enterprise</b> and the continuation of the festivities. "Deanna," Jean-Luc said, and she turned from watching Data and Will leave with Bell to find they were standing alone on the lawn. "Are you all right? You look dazed."

"I am--Jean, this is--it's over?"

He soberly studied her face. "This wasn't a good idea, surprising you this way. Beverly was right."

"No--I think it would have been the same. I'm feeling too many things at once, that's all, and it's overwhelmed me. Can we sit down for a few minutes? I'm feeling a little light-headed."

He guided her to the chairs and sat her down, taking the chair next to her and putting an arm around her. "Better?"

She edged closer, made the transition to his knee, and settled in his lap. The maneuver must have met his approval; he pulled her close within the crook of his arm, shifting his leg to provide better support. He rested his other arm across her lap and patted her thigh. When she rested comfortably with an arm around his shoulders, she took his hand.

"It really happened. I'm really married--I didn't say anything stupid, did I? I don't remember--"

"Poor petite, I've made it all the more difficult, haven't I? I should have given you more time. But I usually can't surprise you, and you usually love surprises."

She took a deep breath and gathered her wits, using the warmth of his hand over hers as an anchor. She looked at his face and lived the realization over again--this was her husband. This warm, familiar face belonged to her husband now. That he'd been clueless enough to pull a surprise wedding only delighted her further, contrary to what Beverly had expected her reaction to be. It only proved conclusively that she'd found the real man behind his facade. Only a man. . . .

"Actually, if I think about it--I prefer the surprise. It didn't give me the chance to work up a real case of wedding nerves."

He rolled his eyes and slumped a little. "If that wasn't real wedding nerves, perhaps it <b>was</b> a good idea. You scared Beverly to death. After all we've been through trying to convince our friends we really aren't crazy, that one crying spree nearly undid it. Will actually raised both eyebrows when the music started. I think he was beginning to assume it wouldn't happen."

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't stop it. She kept asking me what was wrong. I was trying not to answer, and I couldn't think--I didn't think of borrowing on the officer in me for this, it's such a personal thing--thank you for reminding me of it. I did say everything correctly, didn't I?"

"You sounded fine. A little giddy, but it's your wedding after all."

"I'll have to watch the recording later." Things were coalescing at last, and her mind spun back down into reality. Smiling, she remembered a few more details now than before. "What did you think of your ring bear?"

"Ring--was that what he--oh, merde, I thought he'd gone Klingon! Where did he get that idea? The first four rows of guests laughed at it--he stopped dead and actually bared his teeth at me."

"He was practicing before he went down the aisle. It was so cute I couldn't 'bear' correcting him."

Jean-Luc laughed--he felt such a joy that the little things weren't touching it. "He must have misheard me when I asked him if he wanted to do it. Children," he said, shaking his head.

Pressing her palm against his, Deanna turned his hand over, flattening hers against it, revealing the wedding band that had joined her engagement ring. True to theme, he'd had it engraved, but with leaping fishes--so small that it seemed nothing more than a pretty pattern, but they knew it for what it was. It went with the engagement band with its tiny swans. His own band had the same two symbols, flying swans and leaping fish, in an alternating pattern.

"Inside out, Jean-Fish. Completely."

His slow, deliberate kisses down her neck and bare shoulder were his answer. "A question, ma petite. Why were you wearing this dress that night when I found you in the lounge?"

Thinking about it brought her the rest of the way into reality. "Why do you think I wore it?"

"I have no idea. You'd never worn anything like it before, that I can remember."

"You really like me to wear this type of dress, don't you?"

"Yes, but--you couldn't have known that. I didn't know myself until I saw you in it."

She put her nose against his jaw, just beneath his ear, and inhaled. The combined scent of his body and his cologne, sharp and masculine, felt like home. She thought about that fateful night that seemed so long ago, and the things that had led her to the lounge that she'd never told him about. There were so many things she'd never shared with him, for one reason or another, and this was one of the more uncomfortable ones--but he would know if she hedged. He'd asked her directly, for some reason, and she couldn't lie to him--not Jean-Luc, who had trusted her with uncomfortable, sometimes humiliating things he told no one else. Not her husband.

"I wore it for you."

He flinched. "But. . . that was before. How -- why?"

She should have known he'd want details. "I did some research. Looked up your home town, and went for French countryside, the simplest style I could find. Comfortable, easy to remove."

He went from husband to captain at warp nine, glared up at her with his eyes gone flint, and asked in a low, threatening tone, "What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't. I felt, and as much trouble as I've gotten into before by just going with my feelings, I couldn't help it--until I got to your door and I realized I was about to commit professional suicide. I even stood there a moment longer, except it struck me that I could get you into trouble too, and then I turned around and walked all over the ship. I was so ashamed of myself, but as long as I was in public I could draw on my professional demeanor and not cry myself into total despair. I was in the lounge because I was afraid to walk by your door again. When you sat down across from me, I was terrified. It was so hard to not let you see that. I thought you could hear my heart pounding from across the table."

"Why the hell didn't you just come and talk to me? That's what Counselor Troi would have said for you to do--be honest," he exclaimed, only half-shouting. "If it got to the point of confrontation--you knew better than that. You have more sense than to think it would have worked."

Deanna couldn't speak for a moment. He'd gone cold, and she was sitting in the captain's lap. Not where she should be. But when she started to move, he tightened his arm around her and kept her there. For a few moments she was that frightened woman of yesteryear, terrified and daring to act as if nothing were wrong while sitting across from the man she'd intended to seduce.

"It wasn't planned," she gasped finally. "It wasn't like that. Months of feeling the way I did--Jean-Luc, you told me you understood unrequited love. Do you see how I might have suffered a moment of insanity and nearly succumbed? I couldn't talk to you. I was afraid of what you would say. Honestly, would you have suggested a transfer, for the sake of professionalism? I wouldn't have been the first."

His mood turned abruptly as it often did when his thinking changed direction. And then he was laughing, shaking his head, looking at the sky and at her. "Why am I angry? Deanna Troi, voted most appealing crew member to watch walking in corridors, wanted to seduce me. And I'm not sure what I would have done if you'd come to discuss it with me--that would depend on how you approached me. If I'd suggested a transfer and you sensed that wasn't what I wanted, would you have said anything?"

"I don't know. What would you have felt, at that point?"

"Let's see. . . . " He closed his eyes. "So what brings you here to talk to me, Counselor?"

He'd gotten better at imagining his way to emotions just to play games with her empathy, and apparently he wanted to play the role. As long as he wasn't angry, she supposed. And the way he'd pulled himself into his old role intrigued her--he sounded exactly as she remembered he had pre-relationship.

"I need to speak to you about something, Captain. Something very. . . uncomfortable."

"Well, then, perhaps you should have a seat. Something to drink?"

"No, thank you. I have the feeling I know what you're going to say, but I have to tell you--I have. . . a problem. I've managed to fall in love with one of my fellow bridge officers."

"I see." His tone, his manner--she could even picture how he was sitting behind his desk in his ready room, hands together, legs crossed, perhaps a cup of tea close at hand and a concerned expression on his face. "If you'll excuse my saying so, Counselor, but--I believe you've done that once already. As I recall it caused no difficulties with ship operations."

"As ship's counselor, I can tell you that this would have an impact--and I don't believe he would appreciate. . . I'm sorry. I simply can't stay aboard."

He paused--he hadn't expected her not to reveal the identity of the person. But she wouldn't have unless pressured into it, had she actually confronted him this way. "Counselor," he began, collecting his thoughts, "I don't like losing valuable members of my senior staff, and least of all one with whom I've worked so long and so well. If it were a promotion, or a better position elsewhere, or a change of career, even, I'd feel better about this. I'm afraid I don't see what you mean by having an impact. I realize that you've taken the bridge test, but as counselor you're not exactly in the chain of command."

That was an accurate response for him to make. Eerily so, and he sounded the epitome of the concerned captain she knew so well. It made it easy to respond as counselor, and to put herself even more into the role she would have played had this scenario taken place. But what she would say next became difficult. She closed her eyes, thought about her emotional state during that week leading up to her aborted seduction, about the things running through her mind for days on end, and what she would have done if she'd confronted the captain this way. At this point in the conversation, she would want something that would serve several purposes at once, make her point succinctly while informing him that she recognized and admired him as a captain. Something that would allow him to recover quickly, and hopefully salvage his respect for her as a professional.

"Captain, I've always admired your dedication to your career. I've learned a great deal from you about what it takes to be an officer -- the sacrifices one must make, the self-control one must maintain. I've done the best I could to emulate those traits because I'm all too aware of mistakes I've made. . . I can't stay because I want to avoid making another mistake. At this point, the most important thing to me is maintaining our friendship and the respect I know you have for me. I can't stay because the officer I'm referring to is you."

Damned if she didn't feel just like she really was sitting across his desk, saying those words, with him sitting up straighter--he was shocked. He was role-playing this to the hilt. She opened her eyes and looked down at his face.

Stiff. Being in his lap was like sitting in a chair, almost. His face, though his eyes remained shut, froze in an expression somewhere between that professional diplomatic neutrality he wore to official functions and a wonderment he reserved for archeological finds. His emotions seemed to be following suit --bemusement, near-panic, a scramble for composure, fear, and the attraction she had anticipated.

"Counselor. . . ."

When he didn't continue the breathless appeal, she said, "You'll have my resignation on your desk by the end of the day, sir. I'm sorry it came to this. I have enjoyed my time on the <b>Enterprise</b> more than I can tell you. And before I go, I want you to know that working with you as a counselor has been the most rewarding experience of all. If only all my patients had your resilience and--I'm sorry. I'm starting to babble. I'll just be--"

"No. Don't go. Deanna, I had no idea you felt this way. It's--difficult to comprehend. Is this why you've been avoiding me?"

"It's become increasingly difficult for me to concentrate on my work. I think it would be best if I left the ship now, before it gets worse. Perhaps I'll take a sabbatical for a while, consider my options. I've had several positions offered to me over the last year, one of them might still be available."

"Deanna--" He'd started a spiral of rising fear--more fear than before, and desperation. A little. . . hope?

"Sir, why--" She couldn't do it. Not her captain in the ready room--not Captain Picard. "I'm sorry. Good-bye, Captain."

It was getting more difficult for him now to stay in the scenario. Or was this an honest reflection of what he would have felt? But none of what he felt made it into what he said, at least not until his voice broke. "Before you go, Counselor, I've been meaning to ask you something. I've been trying to think of how to approach this, without--well. I wanted to avoid this very thing. I thought if I said anything you might leave the ship. I thought. . . ."

As he finished, she found herself as stiff as he, in surprise. Jean-Luc opened his eyes and looked up at her slowly. "I thought you would never be interested in an old fool," he said. "And I still wake up some mornings wondering when I'm really going to wake up and find out you've been nothing but a wet dream."

She laughed breathlessly. "I like the way it happened better. I like remembering the lame offer to buy me a drink, and the treehouse. Why did you want to role-play all of that, when you could have just told me how it would have turned out? Now that you've reminded me, I remember you even told me back then that you'd been thinking of me before. So why?"

"Because it distracted me from what I really wanted to do--role-playing the seduction that never happened would have taken too long."

"Not if you played it as accurately as you played the professional confrontation. As I recall, you needed a little time and practice to get back in the saddle again. In fact, we could probably--"

He frowned and actually swatted her. "Behave, Deebird! We have hundreds of crew members and officers and a few friends waiting for us on our ship, expecting us to cut cake, toss a bouquet and--I didn't get you a garter, did I?"

She got up reluctantly and took his hand, and they walked toward the steps--then he called for the computer to end the program. It made the trip to the exit short. "A replicator will fix the garter problem," she said, as they walked through the <b>Lexington</b>'s corridors toward the transporter room.

"I've actually been thinking a lot about it," he said. "How I thought I'd look like a complete idiot flirting with Counselor Troi. The uncertainty, the conversations we had, that first leave we took together. The way you looked at me when you woke up in the morning--I wondered how long it would take you to stop being surprised to find yourself in my quarters."

"You've just created another thing for me to be surprised about. Now I get to look in the mirror and wonder how I ended up being Mrs. Picard." She rolled her eyes and bumped shoulders with him. "And another thing --this isn't like you, inviting all these guests, being this way. Planning a wedding? Captain Picard doesn't do things like that. The setting, all of the details, the reception. . . ."

"Delegation, Deebird. Malia handled the reception. I'll be as surprised as you. Your mother suggested a garden, and--"

"You talked to Mother? She went along with this even though she couldn't be here? And why <b>couldn't</b> she be here?"

"Concessions were made, but no blood shed. She said she was in the middle of a diplomatic mission on the other side of the quadrant, that she'd allow this only because she understood the time constraints I was under, my inability to bring you home any time in the near future, and my motivation for wanting to do this before heading into dire situations. She can be surprisingly reasonable about things, when reminded at appropriate intervals of my role in her grandchildren's future. I also left it open-ended, suggested that a second wedding on Betazed might be--" He slowed as he looked at her, gripping her shoulder. "Why does this surprise you?"

"You just. . . keep. . . this isn't what I expected. A simple ceremony, and some wine with a few friends, maybe. I didn't think you'd go through such trouble to do an elaborate holodeck setting, or invite admirals, or Worf, or--" She caught herself before she could cry again. Maybe he wasn't being so typically male after all. He'd thought so much of this through. "It just isn't the sort of wedding I'd imagine you would come up with."

"Left to my own devices, I might have done as you say. Between your mother, Cecily, and Malia, however, it became clearer still that weddings are for women and that I should listen to them. I've performed more than a few myself, remember. I've seen what brides can be like and the elaborate way they go about these things--give me a starship and I can run it, but I know my limitations. I solicited suggestions and took most of them. I can't take you anywhere for the honeymoon yet and I don't know when I can, so the least I could do was come up with a wedding you would like."

"But did <b>you</b> like it?"

He chuckled, shrugging like a sheepish little boy. "You were there. That's all that mattered to me." Now, that was definitely a typical male attitude--she grinned until he followed up by saying, "That, and all the kisses I got from the adoring female guests after the ceremony."

"What?!"

"You really were in a daze, weren't you?" He didn't laugh aloud, but she knew he'd said it just to get a reaction.

"You're asking for it, Jean-Fish."

"I usually don't have to ask for it, with you, but you've been in too much of a daze. I had to do something to snap you out of it. Is madame happy?"

How could she not be, when she'd just married the man who made her toes curl, and he was so happy himself? She squeezed his hand, feeling the solidity of his wedding band against her fingers. "Very happy, M'sieur Picard."

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

Bell watched the other guests, most of whom were complete strangers, and tried not to be as bored as she usually got during weddings. She'd been to enough of them--three siblings and an even dozen of cousins, aunts and uncles had provided more than ample opportunity.

At least this one had the bride and groom going for it. Throughout the relationship, Picard had been warmer toward Deanna than he'd been in the past, if Will was to be believed, but until Deanna had come out on the porch and floated down the aisle Bell hadn't seen much in the way of genuine passion for the bride. Formal demeanor forgotten, Picard had watched her with something Bell could only call bliss, though there were a number of other emotions present. Bell had heard the rustling in the crowd at the sight of the bride, and a few incredulous mutterings as Deanna reached the front and everyone caught sight of not only her but her groom's expression. In the usual understated way they had, the two had joined hands; Picard spent the ceremony watching Deanna with an oblivious, rapt look on his face.

Bell thought Picard must not realize he was doing it--or perhaps he just didn't care what anyone else thought. It was his wedding, after all. The women in the audience, as few as there were, had sighed wistfully. Bell had heard them. Heck--she'd sighed, too. Attached didn't mean dead, after all, and Will was up there doing all the talking, where he wouldn't notice. Jean-Luc Picard had what it took. And that kiss, just like everything else he did, spoke of the depth of what he felt for the bride. Oh, to be worshiped that way!

"Wow," Natalia said for the dozenth time, proving the point yet again and bringing Bell back from her reminiscing.

"It was just a kiss," the young man she was with said. Darrin, his name was--he hadn't been at the ceremony. He'd come into the lounge to find Natalia, and seemed underwhelmed by her description of the ceremony and the kiss.

"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen it," Natalia replied. "Would he?" Her brown eyes focused on Bell.

"No, I don't think he would. Excuse me, please." Bell left her corner, where Will had abandoned her to an ever-dwindling group of people who had come over from the ceremony together, and took champagne from a tray being carried by a passing waiter. She noticed a few <b>Enterprise</b> crew watching her progress and put more of a sway in her walk. By the time one of the security officers began his approach, she'd reached Will and tucked a proprietary arm through his, leaning her chin on his shoulder as he talked to his Klingon friend and several of the <b>Lexington</b> officers. War stories. Didn't they ever tire of war stories?

"Do you always cling to your commanding officers this way?" Will said, slightly reproachful. She let go and smoothed his uniform as if it needed it, and folded her hands around her glass, feigning a penitent expression.

"Taking Picard lessons?" Raleigh said. The amusement on the humans' faces wasn't unusual. The Klingon--Worf, Bell remembered -- looked disgruntled, bordering on disgusted, as if taking offense at the suggestion. Will merely stared at the lieutenant-commander until Raleigh shrugged uncomfortably and turned away, moving off with the amble of a practiced reception guest. The other two officers took his cue and wandered in different directions.

Will turned to her at last. "Sorry."

"No problem, it was my fault. I was probably still awash in the leftover body heat we got a dose of at the ceremony."

"There was that--he smolders pretty well. Thought the kiss would be a bit more passionate than it was, though, from all the hungry staring he did." Will smirked, and for the first time in a long time, Bell felt real anger at him. She crossed her arms and fixed her eyes on his.

Abruptly, the Klingon did an about face and headed for Data and whoever the android was standing with. Worf must be familiar enough with the ire of a non-Klingon, she guessed.

"Bell?" Will questioned, but wasn't particularly alarmed. Good. She could catch him off his guard. She was tired of it -- Deanna, the ex-girlfriend whom he'd loved but somehow hadn't committed to. Deanna, the friend he'd worried about at the onset of her relationship with Jean-Luc Picard. Over the months Bell had watched the worry waning to mere concern, then waited for it to vanish completely. Men like Will used teasing as an outlet--watch him long enough and you could figure out what was bugging him.

She took a step closer, leaning, and spoke under her breath. "After months of listening to you joke about Jean-Luc the ancient and stiff-lipped former commanding officer, I imagined someone quite different from the man I finally met. He's charming. He's got a smile that'll melt hearts at twenty paces, when he actually takes it out and puts it on--and he does that for Deanna. From what you've told me he went through hell with the JAG to keep her, too. I think he's probably one of the most passionate men I've ever met. Captains tend to be that way, you know, and that he's still a captain says something, doesn't it? Let's see--Deanna's what, ten years younger than you, and thirty younger than him? But hmm, wait a minute--she wears this contented little smile when she looks at her ancient captain. I wonder what that could mean? Do <b>you</b> know? Oh, wait, I forgot--you <b>would</b> know, wouldn't you, ma cher? Silly me, for not making that connection."

Moving to shield it from prying eyes, she goosed him and sauntered toward the bar, leaving Will Riker gaping after her. She glanced over her shoulder to appreciate it, smiling slyly.

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

They ran the gauntlet through corridors of cheering crew slinging rice, something Data had apparently approved--the android would be paying dearly for that. The lounge was packed with the first wave of reception guests. Jean-Luc made for the table on the other side of the room in front of the viewports where the cake was, and where the wedding party waited for them. Including the ring bear.

Kenny went bug-eyed at his approach--picking the boy up by the armpits, Jean-Luc held him at eye level and gave him a gentle shake. "Kenneth--ring bear-ER! Not BEAR."

Kenny smacked both hands to his eyes and turned red, then giggled and squirmed with embarrassment while everyone laughed. Setting him down, Jean-Luc propelled him toward his mother with a swat. Malia, laughing, swung him up into her arms and kissed both his cheeks, making him laugh with her, head thrown back and mouth wide open in the unfettered joy of the very young.

"You have to admit, it was awfully cute," Beverly exclaimed.

"I don't have to admit anything." Jean-Luc glanced at the cake--Malia had made it, and he'd given her creative license. She'd put roses on it instead of the silly little figurines that usually topped wedding cakes. There were five layers, arranged on pedestals like a spiral stair instead of the traditional tiered look, and the white icing was covered with chocolate shavings. There'd be plenty more cake to come, for all the members of the crew as they cycled through by department. It was going to be a long night.

Deanna was still shaking rice out of her hair. "Data, I think when you get back to your quarters you ought to open the doors with care--I'm going to have the cleaning crews put all this rice in there. Do you know how many tons of rice there must be between here and the transporter rooms?" She jumped up and down. Rice rained out the bottom of her dress.

"At least they're not beer nuts," Tom commented. That set off Will and Beverly, and put such puzzled expressions on the faces of the cloud of witnesses around them that Jean-Luc laughed as well.

The cake-cutting went without incident; though Will encouraged her to mash cake in his face, Deanna only smiled and fed Jean-Luc a neat little bite of chocolate cake, and even brushed stray icing from his chin with her thumb. Malia took over the cutting and Sarah Carlisle passed out slices of it on plates. While champagne and cake were distributed and conversation swelled, music began in the background.

Jean-Luc followed Deanna and paid little attention to much else. She took care of the details of mingling, starting with the high-ranking guests and making her way around the room as he rode along in her wake. One of the benefits of a wife who knew everyone and could talk to anyone--she provided a built-in social director.

Then the usual refrain began, from mouth after mouth--congratulations, best wishes, and then as if it were the last thing on anyone's mind and completely incidental, how do you think this will affect your professional relationship. . . . Sometimes the question was couched in pleasantries, but it still lurked behind the politeness. For some reason, he had dared to imagine there might be a reprieve from it at their wedding. One would assume that people might have more tact.

But, regardless of reasonable assumptions, the curiosity was there, in everyone's eyes. He hated it. All year, with every encounter with fellow officers who hadn't met them as a couple before, the questions had repeated--were they now going to go through the same all over again as a married couple?

Deanna handled all of it with the greatest of ease, but when he touched her back or arm, he could feel the tensing of her muscles. When she looked at him between conversations, he saw happiness and serenity, but the hint of weariness had already begun. She wasn't sharing joy with him as she had before they arrived. He should have known better--the curiosity being directed their way, combined with the sheer number of reception guests and their sundry emotions, would overwhelm her.

While she spoke to Malia's husband Ronnie, Jean-Luc took the opportunity to pull away and work through a brief centering exercise while looking out at the stars, then returned to her side and pressed his palm into the small of her back. It brought her attention to him, and then she felt the difference in his emotional state. She'd said before that she found his calm soothing when they were surrounded by people whose focus was on them.

{Thank you, Jean-Fish. You're too good to me.}

{Whenever possible, chère. I must make up for the times when too much work makes me useless.}

Then a hand on his arm turned him around, and there was Beverly. She pulled him aside, exchanging a glance with Deanna as if asking permission to borrow him and receiving it. They walked to a spot near the bar, apart from the groups of people, and she smoothed his sleeve as if her touching it had made wrinkles.

"I was a little mad at you at first, for pulling this off the way you did--after all, a girl likes to plan her own wedding, and Dee looked really shocked for a bit. But you did a good job, Jean-Luc. As long as she's happy with it, that's all that matters."

"Thank you, Beverly. Glad you approve."

Beverly's eyes wavered and fell. "I understand you gave Tom a little encouragement, recently."

At least she didn't seem mad about it. He touched her arm and gestured with his champagne glass. "He asked for a little encouragement. Deanna almost laid into me for interfering, too, so I hope you realize the risk I took -- but Tom obviously cares for you."

"Yes, he does. So thanks, for being encouraging." Her sly smile said it all. "I just wanted to wish you all the best, Jean-Luc. I've felt a little put off by the way you two seem to live in your own insulated little world, with all those obscure references you toss around. I realized today that the distance I perceived wasn't your fault at all, that it was me, feeling uncomfortable. That my loneliness was coming between us. Thank you, for being patient and not losing touch with me completely--it would have been easy to do, and probably a lot more comfortable for you than sticking it out until I got my head on straight."

"You're not supposed to cry at my wedding." He wagged a finger at her. "I'd order you to stop at once, if I were being a captain tonight. Go dance with the one who brought you, and quit beating yourself up."

She smiled and brushed fingertips across her cheek to banish a few tears. "Do I get to dance with you later too? Too bad there's no tradition of kissing the groom the way Craig's kissing Dee." It got his head to snap around, and Beverly laughed. "Gotcha. I knew you had to be jealous. Don't worry, I don't think Craig stuck around."

"Hard to believe I actually missed your sense of humor. I'll save you a waltz." Jean-Luc smiled and drank champagne, watching her walk away to rejoin Tom. The two looked happy, teasing each other openly and ganging up on Will about something that made him laugh and put an arm around Bell. It was something how they were all pairing off--probably natural, considering how values and goals tended to shift over the years.

It occurred to him that this could easily have been his wedding to Beverly, if he'd capitulated to her suggestion a year and a half before. The realization turned into a twisting stab in the chest--he knew what a knife through the heart felt like, and that was it. Beverly had never contemplated seducing him that he knew of, had done the opposite in fact--held him at arm's length for years until the passion died and left him with friendship. Deanna was light years from what he would have had with Beverly. Imagining being with Beverly now sent him reeling inside. He searched the room, needing to see Deanna, but she seemed to have disappeared.

Natalia stepped into his path, smiling. "Congratulations, Captain. And thanks for inviting me to the ceremony--though I'm going to get a lot of nosy questions asked of me now."

"Thank you, Natalia. How are you? I haven't spoken to you in a few weeks. Still seeing that lieutenant?"

She shrugged. "Nope. But I do have a date with Darrin Monahan later. You know, you clean up pretty good, for an old guy."

Coming from Riker, that would have been irritating; coming from Natalia, who meant no disrespect and smiled with affection rather than puckishness, it made him smile back at her. To her, thirty was old. He glanced down at her pumps. "I suppose chiding you for not quaking in your boots is useless when you aren't wearing them. Actually--you clean up pretty good, for a mere ensign with a penchant for destroying Starfleet property."

"Thanks, sir. I'm in a support group for the penchant, by the way, and doing better. No doors disabled in the last two months. Though there was that dent I put in that hatch cover on deck twenty-two, when I was helping service the sensor relays. Is that Ambassador Worf?" She nodded toward Worf, standing in a corner with Data.

"He was formerly my security chief," Jean-Luc said. "And he's a good friend."

"Think he'd bite me if I tried to talk to him?"

"He might be gruff, but he won't bite. Go introduce yourself, it'll be good for you." He watched her go, and chuckled at the surprise on Worf's face when the blond slip of a girl strode up as if she were more than a match for him and introduced herself.

He turned and ran shoulder-first into Will, almost ending up wearing his champagne. "Hey, easy," Riker exclaimed. "Gotta be careful of those brittle old bones of yours."

Damned if he'd give Riker the satisfaction of seeing the ire he felt at that. "Have you seen Dee? She's disappeared."

"Relax, she's around here somewhere. I just saw her talking to Nechayev. Hey--is it just me, or is Bev really lit up like a Christmas tree over Glendenning?"

"It's not just you. Nice to see her without the blues, isn't it?"

"Sure is." Will's blue eyes flicked up and evidently caught sight of Natalia. "Was that girl you just spoke to the same one you said flirted with you once upon a time? And is she flirting with <b>Worf?</b>"

"Natalia is Walker Keel's niece, Will. Command candidate, too, and a promising one. Evidently she grew up around so many pips they've lost the intimidating factor. She's beta shift helm, at the moment, and alpha shift engineering in a split shift rotation. A little reclusive at first, but Geordi says she's been doing better all the time."

Will smiled at that. "Another protégé for you?"

"I wasn't aware I had a protégé in the first place."

Bell appeared at Will's side. "Un beau mariage, mon cher capitaine. Votre épouse est la plus chanceuse des jeunes mariées."

"Merci, belle. Je suis le chanceux."

She smiled, inclining her head in Jean-Luc's direction gracefully, her dark brown eyes appreciative. "Je suis en désaccord, M'sieur Picard. Ainsi que n'importe quelle femme ici."

"Anyone ever tell you that's rude?" Will grumbled.

"Oh, relax, cher, I was only complimenting the wedding and the groom. It's only polite." Bell tugged Will's beard and sipped her champagne. "It was such a romantic setting. There will be many men hating M'sieur Picard for the wonderful job he's done. All the women will be expecting their weddings to have equal or better settings, and their grooms to at least attempt such grace of passion."

She winked at Jean-Luc as she turned and made her stately way toward Deanna, who now stood in view, in the center of a dozen or so women. 

Will frowned at Jean-Luc. "Tell me you had a lot of help from someone planning this."

"Help? Why would I need help? Piece of cake."

Tom Glendenning interrupted them, smiling and also holding champagne. "Aren't we supposed to have toasted by now, or is your best man saving that for a reason?"

Will went to get Data and left them standing there. Jean-Luc smiled at Tom, thought about an evening spent with him some months before, and contemplated revenge. Something of it must have shown in his expression.

"Did I ever apologize to you for my part in the roast, Jean-Luc?"

"No. I could reciprocate, I suppose. But unlike you, I actually know the woman in question, and I refuse to demean her in any way."

Tom chewed his lip and sighed. "I repent -- Deanna's a class act, and the two of you have something enviable going on. A preliminary toast, to you and Mrs. Picard--to many happy years together, and may the Craig Bellamys of the galaxy congregate wherever you aren't."

Jean-Luc tapped his glass against Tom's and drank to the sentiment without hesitation.

Data stood up on a chair, calling for everyone's attention. From out of the milling crowd Deanna appeared, taking Jean-Luc's arm. While the android made some standard opening remarks, Jean-Luc looked at his wife. His wife--the warmth he felt at her nearness eased the ache caused by his earlier musings.

{Just where did you get to?}

{Talking to people, where else? Since when are you so proprietary?}

{Since this is supposed to be my wedding reception and likely the only time I can wander the ship being nothing more than a husband. Besides, you look too appealing in that dress--one of the other men will run off with you if I'm not careful.} He looked up at his first officer and noticed him looking their way.

Data paused, smiled--oh, that smile. The android was racking up serious penance due. "I have been told that they began their journey to matrimony here in the lounge, in fact, and that Deanna wore a dress exactly like the one she is wearing today. They were, of course, drinking tea and hot chocolate--anyone who knows them can guess who ordered which. The discussion took an interesting turn or two --apparently, the process of wooing a starship captain includes throwing a wadded-up napkin at him."

Laughter, and amused looks, and suddenly wadded napkins flew at several of the captains in the room. Jean-Luc chuckled at the intent look on Beverly's face as she beaned Tom with a second try. Glendenning caught the napkin on the rebound and returned fire.

"The courtship progressed as one would imagine it might--those who know Deanna will understand the sudden upswing of chocolate replication in the captain's quarters. The captain, quite inexplicably, arrived on the bridge every morning with a peculiar satisfied smile. Rumor has it that in addition to reporting to the JAG office and fleet psychology, they were also testing the latest advances in soundproofing technology."

A few catcalls from the back--Jean-Luc sighed, enduring only by dint of the rising amusement he could feel in Deanna. She leaned on him and covered her mouth. Thankfully, Data put an end to that part of his toast and took a more serious tone as he continued.

"Those of us who saw them on a daily basis know well that they conducted themselves with the utmost professionalism while on duty, and that their demeanor on and off duty while mingling with the crew was serious and controlled. None of us could fail to notice the genuine affection between them, at all times. They should serve as an example to us all--they have a deep respect for one another as officers and as friends. That they excel as officers while working together in spite of their refusal to compromise their personal priorities has inspired me, and I suspect inspired a number of others, to examine my own choices more carefully."

Data paused. He had a rapt audience; the room was completely silent. "Many of you have heard of an incident on the colony of Galisi, in which I myself was critically wounded, and in which Deanna nearly lost her life. Both of them knew conflict was inevitable. I have heard some people here tonight express amazement that Captain Picard was able to send her into such a situation without hesitation. For those of us who serve with them, the question has never been voiced. There are so few constants for Starfleet officers that when one comes our way, it is easily recognizable. Their dedication to their duty is second only to their dedication to each other. And while it would seem that such a priority might result in dereliction of duty, it has proved to be quite the opposite--when part of their dedication to one another is the insistence that no compromise of career be made. . . as our second officer has said, if one of them favored the other in the line of duty, the other would probably not only report it to Starfleet, but. . . how did you put it, Ward?"

"She'd cut him a new one," Ward called out from a corner of the room, eliciting guffaws from most of the listeners.

After the laughter, another dramatic pause. Jean-Luc put his arm around Deanna; she turned her face into his shoulder, smiling faintly. She seemed to be on the verge of tears--the wrong kind. Glancing around, he noticed she seemed to be staring at Kenny and Malia. The little boy stood on his mother's shoes and held her hands for balance, his head bent back against her red skirt as he beamed up at her.

{Cygne?}

It brought her back from wherever she wavered between sadness, which had shown in her eyes, and joy, a trickle of which she allowed to reach him. {Just more wedding jumpiness. I'm fine.}

He wanted to question how two disparate emotions could exist simultaneously, but the best man was speaking again.

"I have sought all my life to become more human, and the definition of love has confused me until now. Oddly enough, it comes to me as I have seen it in the professional side of the relationship between two fellow officers, where all common sense tells us it should not have a place. I have seen Jean-Luc encourage Deanna to further her career, and I have no doubt that it pains him to see her risk so much in the line of duty, or to contemplate how far from him such a pursuit might take her. I have seen them sitting across from each other in the officer's mess, never touching yet always obviously together, discussing ship's business. I have seen them take on their various roles, sometimes within seconds of each other--the boundaries always present yet at times overlapping. I have seen him lecture her soundly, and loudly, in what the ensigns commonly refer to as his 'chewing up the uniform and spitting out the pips' tone of voice, then moments later laughing at one of her puns. I have seen her studying late at night in engineering, almost asleep over her work, because she spent her evening at a concert in which he participated.

"Upon observing all these things, my conclusion is that love is a process, an ongoing giving of self, in a wide variety of ways and without thought for compensation. Love is respect for one another's individuality, yet sometimes compromising one's own desires and needs for the benefit of the other person. Love is the genuine desire to preserve and facilitate the other person's hopes and dreams. It allows one to be oneself--whether that means being an officer as the situation dictates, or expressing anger or pain. And love is what inspires perseverence in the face of danger, and gives courage to endure until the danger is past."

Data raised his glass, and around the room others joined him, until a forest of arms and glasses stood around Jean-Luc and Deanna. "To Jean-Luc and Deanna Picard, Captain Picard and Commander Troi, man and wife, and to the love that sustains them. May it continue to sustain them for the rest of their lives, whatever may come."

While glasses clinked and people drank, and then began to clap, giving Data the round of applause he deserved for the thoughtful speech -- his best one to date, actually--Jean-Luc chuckled quietly and guided the armful of muslin-wrapped wife toward the bar for a refill of champagne. Maybe Data didn't need to do penance for the rice or the teasing, after all.

"And," the android said, voice rising once more and stilling the applause, "to the owner of the pair of panties I found behind my station on the bridge, whoever she may be. And to the owner of the bra that mysteriously appeared in the ready room. And the owner of the negligee found in the jeffries tube on deck--"

Jean-Luc snapped to attention and turned to Deanna. "Commander, flank and destroy," he announced, and hurried through the crowd to the left while Deanna went right. They converged on the android and each grabbed a leg simultaneously as Data continued his listing of found apparel, using their combined weight and throwing shoulders into it to knock him off the chair. It would've taken a lot more than falling on his back on the floor to hurt the android. Unperturbed, he looked up at them with an amused smile.

"I was not finished--"

"You're finished, all right," Deanna exclaimed. "You have an appointment with the ship's counselor to discuss this sudden development of a women's underwear fetish. Obviously, it's so bad that you've begun to hallucinate."

While the hilarity around them died down, Deanna straightened her dress, then stepped around the android as he got up. Jean-Luc had ended up standing next to Worf and Will, who had remained near the android during the toast.

"Congratulations, Deanna," Worf rumbled. "I do not believe I told you earlier--you are a lovely bride."

"Thank you, Worf. I'm afraid I was in such a daze that I don't remember much of what anyone said to me at the ceremony. This was all a complete surprise to me."

An uncomfortable pause. Deanna rubbed her toes on the back of her calf and made a quick retreat, heading for Malia and another piece of cake. Jean-Luc looked at the two men--this was nearly as bad as making peace with Lwaxana. Worf had been a more enigmatic, more absent elephant than Will. One who had moved on and gotten married, true, but there seemed to be something keeping the Klingon aloof.

"How is Alexander?" Will asked, taking a pick to the ice.

"He is doing well. He has become an excellent warrior." Again, Jean-Luc noted, the Klingon didn't really look at either of them.

"Worf?"

"Sir," came the ready response, as if he'd never left the <b>Enterprise</b> for the monastery and moved on to DS9.

"What the hell is bothering you?"

Will rolled his eyes and took off for the other side of the room, weaving through the crowd toward Bell. Jean-Luc couldn't blame him. Turning slowly, Worf looked directly at Jean-Luc for the first time. As quietly as he'd ever heard the Klingon speak, Worf said, "I was not certain how my presence here would be received. You made it clear that it was to be a surprise for her--I do not know if she would have wanted me here."

Once again, Jean-Luc wondered about the details of Worf's former relationship with Deanna. Not that it mattered at this point. He glanced across the room at Deanna, perched on the edge of a table eating cake and drinking champagne, entertaining a half-circle of crew. {Dee, would you have invited Worf, if you'd had a say in the matter?}

Her head dipped, and her eyes went down. {I would have, because I know you respect him a great deal. He's uncomfortable, isn't he? Being an elephant?}

{He thinks you wouldn't want him here.}

{Tell him he needs to loosen up and get a grip.}

Jean-Luc smiled at Worf. "You know, it wasn't exactly the simplest thing in the world to work out the details of this--between Beverly and Will I've had a lot of tense moments. But somehow I expected you to be different. I've been instructed to tell you to loosen up and get a grip."

Worf tipped his head slightly and smiled. As much as he would let himself, anyway. "That sounds like something Deanna would say."

"It was. And I'm not giving orders tonight, and you're not likely to take them if I do, but that's an order, Mr. Worf. I asked a group of friends here to celebrate my wedding, not stand around in a corner feeling uncomfortable because of things that happened in the past. What happened between you and Deanna is your business, and none of my concern."

At that, the Klingon raised his head. "Sorry, Captain."

"At ease, already. Have some blood wine."

Worf glanced at the milling guests and looked directly at Jean-Luc with burning eyes. "Sir. . . ."

"Yes, Worf?"

"I did love her. I could not understand her."

Jean-Luc hesitated--like the other elephants, this one was turning out to be completely unpredictable. Why did they have to talk to <b>him</b> about this sort of thing? "I think I know what you mean. I don't think any of us ever will understand her completely."

"I did not understand how she could say one thing and mean another."

That was about as clear as ablative armor. Jean-Luc couldn't imagine what Worf meant; he'd never had that problem with her. "Perhaps. . . a cultural difference?"

Worf eyed him as if they were not understanding each other, either. "Have you ever argued with her?"

"Frequently."

"She always wins, does she not? Because she does not argue with facts--she does not fight fair."

"She doesn't always win."

Something was making Worf increasingly ill at ease. Taking a few stiff steps to the right, then back, he said, "Because you are her commanding officer."

"No, because--" Jean-Luc stopped to think about why this could be bothering the Klingon. Knowing Deanna, knowing Worf, and given the fact that technically Deanna had actually outranked Worf--Jean-Luc held up his champagne glass to hide the knowing smile. "Worf, she lets me win."

Worf threw back his head and laughed, making a number of people standing nearby jump and spill their drinks. He clapped Jean-Luc on the back and strode off into the crowd, calling for blood wine. Deanna came around a knot of people and asked questions of Jean-Luc with her eyes.

"I nearly stampeded an elephant," he said, smarting a little from the blow Worf had dealt him. "Nearly jabbed his pride."

"I hope you didn't jab your own in the process."

"No, I have the feeling you really do let me win arguments once in a while."

She smiled, sharing silent laughter and joy with him. "You mean when you let me argue?"

Jean-Luc leaned and kissed her temple. {Chère, you never cease to surprise me. You don't have to bandage my ego. We should dance, to get the floor going.}

As they made their way across the room, Worf began to sing in Klingon, striding around the perimeter and swinging a tankard of blood wine in time to the song. Jean-Luc exchanged glances with Deanna; she shrugged and looked amused. "He sang that song at the O'Brien's reception, remember?"

"Oh, hell. We should lock out replication of Klingon weapons for the duration, before he gets to the re-enactment of the battle."

"Data's already a step ahead of you." Deanna pointed at the replicators behind the bar. Data's fingers were flying over control panels.

"Good. You know, fetish aside, he's turned out to be quite the best man."

Crossing her arms, Deanna sighed and let herself sag a little. In the corner behind the cake table, she could do that. She watched the guests--everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves well enough.

In a group of women near the dance floor, Beverly brandished the bouquet, laughing. The toss had resulted in her possession of it only because, after bouncing from fingertips to fingertips across the group of women thrashing to catch it, the flowers had landed in Elisabeth Shelby's lap. She hadn't even been participating; her reaction had been comical. Deanna had never seen a normally-composed starship captain levitate out of a chair and leap on a table before. She'd thrown the flowers into the melee once more and managed to strike Beverly in the chest--Deanna had sensed the intent, and seen the malicious glance in Glendenning's direction. The chaos had distracted everyone from the garter long enough that Jean-Luc got away with pulling it off Deanna's leg without being under the watchful eye of everyone in the room.

The men were less rambunctious about it than the women, but still, they'd given a good show. Jean-Luc had snapped the garter with enough force to send it to the other side of the room. Kenny had been the only one to attempt catching it, leaping high as it shot over him. The rest milled around and reached halfheartedly as it flew by. The band of elastic struck Geordi in the head, rebounded to one side, and stuck to Worf's armor; the Klingon had flung it as if it were a tribble, over Kenny's head to Data, who swiped it away as if playing tennis. Continuing its journey, the garter turned end over end between two lieutenants who dove to the floor to avoid it and finally to Will, who caught it out of reflex. And then, to everyone's great amusement, Bell rushed forward before he could discard it and put it on his head like a crown.

Deanna smiled--over the murmur of conversation, she heard Jean-Luc's flute again. He'd been playing it since the garter toss, doing a song here and there between conversations with wedding guests, sometimes with Malia and her clarinet as a duet.

The wedding had him in the most amazing mood--she wouldn't have guessed he'd allow himself to be this soaringly happy about a personal event in public. He wasn't letting anyone's offhand comments bother him--he was very deliberately being Jean-Fish, while still maintaining enough of the captain to be formal and dignified when talking to guests.

Almost as though he wanted to project the mood he wanted her to be in--which given his earlier attempt to ease her discomfort might possibly be true. He'd felt guilt earlier when he'd regretted surprising her with the wedding. Now he was doing his utmost, in his usual single-minded fashion, to make up for it. Tears burned in her eyes unshed, and containing them was becoming more difficult. He was being so wonderful about everything, she was torn between demanding that everyone leave so they could go home, and keeping the reception going to see what Jean-Fish would do next.

"Hey," a familiar voice murmured. Will had come to stand next to her, and looked down at her fondly. "Am I interrupting, Mrs. Picard?"

"No. Just catching my breath. It's been a long day." She smiled, wiping the corners of her eyes with a napkin. The garter, she noticed, had been moved from head band to arm band, wrapped twice around his left sleeve.

"Bev and I shouldn't have pushed you two to dance like that, earlier. Of course, I didn't know this dinner thing was supposed to be a wedding until the very last minute, at which point he informed us to eat dinner beforehand and be ready for a wedding ceremony instead. We didn't know this was going to be your wedding night."

"The past is a page turned," she said, echoing Maman Picard's oft-repeated phrase. She watched Kenny race by, followed by Sarah, who tried to hit him with her empty basket; the boy had her hair ribbon streaming from his fingers and laughed hysterically. His hair had escaped Malia's carefully-plastered style and begun to curl. Though Ronnie had an Asian heritage, Kenny looked more like Malia, with his wide dark eyes and thick hair. He dropped and crawled beneath a table to get away from Sarah, who ran around the chairs to head him off on the other side.

"Dee?"

She looked up at him again, to find him pensive and --repentant?

"What is it, Will?"

"I'm sorry. I behaved badly at the outset, when you two told me about your relationship--I look back at that and I could kick myself from here to the Gamma Quadrant, sans wormhole. Seeing the two of you together today--I can see it now. Data's right. The two of you have something truly unique and precious, and I probably would have known that if I hadn't put you on the defensive from the beginning."

Deanna opened her mouth to demur, but he stepped in front of her and took her shoulders in his hands. His eyes alight with affection, he smiled and kissed her forehead. "Deanna, I'm very happy for you."

She could tell--he really was happy, genuinely happy, without reservation. She hugged him, the first time in ages, and he reciprocated. As she listened to the beat of his heart and felt the warmth and strength of his body, her heart turned aside quite on its own and left her in a friendly but tight embrace. They parted, and she beamed up at him, pushing stray curls back out of her face.

She felt him approach--Jean-Luc, as if pulled by the call of her heart. Bringing her more champagne. He stopped at her shoulder, and she held out a hand; the glass slipped into her fingers and she sipped as she continued to smile serenely at Will.

Will raised an eyebrow and chewed the inside of his cheek. "How do you do that?"

"Do what, Will?" she asked.

"Knowing when and where he's going to put a glass without looking--you've never done that before. It's like you've got a special sensor array that only works for the two of you."

Deanna looked at her husband, shared a shrug with him, and stepped left. Jean-Luc followed closely, his foot coming close but not tripping her, and they headed across the room, leaving Will staring after them.

"Turn my back on you, and you're hugging him like--"

"Jean, he's finally over it. He's sincerely happy for us." She watched, and sensed, the pleasure that gave him. Jean-Luc actually laughed aloud at it, slowing their headlong march between groups of guests.

It gave someone else the chance to stop and occupy their time. Elisabeth Shelby, in uniform as always, slipped up to Jean-Luc and kissed him on the cheek. "Hello, Jean-Luc. Sorry I didn't make it for the ceremony--I hear it was something to see. Congratulations, both of you. Can't think of a pair I'd rather see together and happy."

"Thank you, but you'd better be careful how you go kissing me that way. Madame has a nasty left hook."

Deanna smiled at the tease. "Thank you for coming, Elisabeth. It's good to see you again."

They chatted a bit, and then the usual shift in conversation partners happened and she and Jean-Luc ended up talking to Admiral Gaines again. And while she was occupied with a discussion of a psychological nature, which predictably turned to the dynamics of relationships between officers, Jean-Luc disappeared. Again.

Then Bell came up and touched her elbow, and Deanna made her excuses to Gaines, turning happily to the tall woman who was in so many ways her opposite. "Are you enjoying the evening? Did you try the cake?"

"Yes, cher. The cake is wonderful. I have a few questions--can we go over here?"

Deanna followed, dreading this, whatever it was. They took a spot apart from the other small clusters of talking people, along the wall near the main entrance to the lounge. "What is it?"

"I want to understand something. Is imzadi something you are familiar with?"

Red alerts went off in Deanna's brain. Her counselor's reflexes came in handy, keeping her face straight. "It's a Betazoid term. Why?"

"It's just that I've heard Will mutter it in his sleep once. I looked it up and found out it was Betazoid, and thought of you--he told me you two meant quite a lot to each other, years ago."

"Imzadi is like what humans call soulmates, only in Betazoids, the connection is more than just a romantic concept. It's also a term that gets a lot of frivolous usage by the very young, who don't understand it and treat it as just another endearment." That should give Will plenty of room to wiggle around in.

"So it was something you called him, once upon a time?"

"You should talk to Will about it. It's a chapter of my life that's long since closed. But for what it's worth, I think it's closed for him as well. As an empath I can tell you he's genuinely happy for Jean-Luc and me. And, it makes him really, really nervous when you talk to me this way--he's probably afraid I'm going to tell you about his reckless days of being Commander Casanova of the <b>Enterprise._"

"I understand there's been a long list of conquests. That's standard, though. Starfleet officers do that." Bell glanced at the floor.

"But you're not like the others," Deanna said. "How long has it been?"

She shrugged, one-shouldered. "About the same as for you. About a year. Maybe a little less."

"You see? Very different. I'll tell you what I tell some of my patients--if you feel taken advantage of, talk to him about it. Be honest about your feelings and be matter-of-fact rather than hostile. Even captains feel fear, and they don't always make it through the 'swaggering loner' phase with any degree of self-awareness. Some of them never get beyond it at all. I think Will's working on it."

Bell's smile wavered, then broadened. "Thank you. Do you have many patients who attempt to tame a captain?"

"No, but they do sometimes make attempts on captain wannabes. The hopefuls are worse than the captains, in some ways."

A ringing of silverware on a wine glass interrupted them. Bell touched Deanna's arm and headed for Will, who stood with some other captains across the room.

It was Data again, standing on a chair in roughly the same spot as before, at the end of the cake table. "Captain Picard would like to say a few words." The android dropped out of sight, and Jean-Luc took his place, adopting his formal yet casual speech-making demeanor.

"First of all, on behalf of Deanna and myself, I'd like to thank you all for coming--except Data and his underwear fetish." Scattered laughter, and he waited for it to end. "Secondly--the soundproofing is excellent, otherwise I expect I would have spent many a night listening to Data practicing the oboe--or slaughtering small animals. I have yet to label the noises one hears while passing his door in the evening. Thirdly, pertaining to my relaxed demeanor, I have suggested to the fleet psychology department that all counselors be trained in the art of body massage--and shame on you for thinking I was about to say anything else."

He paused, glanced at Deanna, and waited for the amused noises to die down. "I'm tired of hearing the same old questions about our relationship--some of you know this already, as I've probably snapped at anyone of lesser rank and dodged everyone of equal or better. It's not unusual for officers to wish they could have simpler family lives, or for them to fall for fellow officers, and I recognize that the fact that I've managed to do what others have not will result in questions asked, sometimes intrusive ones. At the same time, I dislike it immensely -- I've not had too many answers to give. I'd be the last one to claim I fully understood it. I'm not a psychologist, and if Deanna has difficulty explaining it, I don't have a chance."

Deanna slipped through the crowd to be closer, trying not to distract him. He continued, dropping into his briefing-room matter-of-factness.

"Since I have you all here, I would like to take this opportunity to attempt some answers. After which I intend to never answer another nosy question about the matter again--which I encourage you all to remember, and remember well."

He paused, now that his voice had risen to the iron-clad captain level. The tone he took when he resumed was pleasant again, carefully measured to reach all corners of the room but not loud enough to call shouting.

"The secret of successfully fraternizing with a fellow bridge officer, without compromising regulations--there is no such thing. There are no simple answers to the difficulties that arise. The largest part of what makes it work is respect. A particular kind of respect--most people don't seem to realize how long I've worked with Deanna, or how closely.

"As for fraternization, I wouldn't have made the attempt, if it hadn't been so obvious to me that she had the strength and professionalism to manage it without dereliction of duty. She knows what has to be done and expects me to do it, and I expect the same from her. That she is on a command track only facilitates her understanding of the necessity of what I ask of her. So, in conclusion--no, I don't think marriage will have an effect on our performance in the line of duty." A pause, for effect. "Except for discouraging the throng of admiring fellow officers who seem to follow her everywhere--I'm tired of glaring at you, all of you. And you know who you are. Told you it was pointless."

Grinning while most of the men in the room laughed, he dropped off the chair, which left him standing next to Deanna, and stopped in his tracks at the look on her face. "What?"

Too aware of the observation of others, even though conversations were resuming quietly, she led him away from the area, to a relatively-uncrowded spot near the viewports. "You didn't have to do that, Jean."

"I did. I've seen the discomfort and weariness on your face, and it's getting worse the longer this reception gets. People are questioning, even if they aren't all voicing the questions, and it's hurting you. And knowing you, I won't be able to persuade you to sneak away with me and leave them to their musings."

Deanna bowed her head and took his hand. The few tears that escaped stayed balanced in her eyelashes. "I don't deserve you, Jean-Fish. I really don't."

"That's true. You deserve better."

"Don't make me this happy--I'll start hugging people at random, once I pry myself off of you." She put her hands on his shoulders and matched the affectionate look he was giving her. "Such twinges you give me. Did you really believe I had the strength to carry it off, back in the beginning? Was it obvious to you as you say?"

"I knew I could count on you to make it so."

She sighed, touching the corner of his smile with a fingertip. "See how cheesy that grin is. You think you're so funny, trying to pay me back for my sewing machine repairman joke. You'll hurt yourself if you're not careful. I'll have you know that the only reason I even stuck with you in spite of my fear of ruining your career was because you thought we could do it."

"But you've done most of the real work, making sure we aren't overstepping boundaries we've set and handling difficulties with the crew."

"It wouldn't have happened without your determination, however. And I never would have thought for an instant that you'd try it." She thought about their first few nights together, and the disbelief and the feeling of living in a waking dream she'd had. "You've always been such a loner."

"What good is the tinman's heart if he has no one to care about, and what good is going home if there's no one else there?"

"Captain," came a familiar voice. H'nayison walked up to them, smiling pleasantly, managing to look relaxed in his dress uniform. The things were so stiff that could be difficult.

"Good evening, Admiral," Deanna said, smiling, stepping away from Jean-Luc and leaving a hand on his shoulder, relaxing into the denial of everything but that this was a wedding guest. She felt Jean-Luc's shoulder muscles tense under her fingers--maybe he had realized what she already knew and anticipated the admiral's reaction to hajira.

"Congratulations. It's been a fascinating year because of the two of you. I've come to know some psychologists quite well, in our efforts to disentangle what you've done to make this work." H'nayison's black eyes smiled at them, and his lips twisted in a wry grin. "I knew there had to be something unspoken going on between you--one wouldn't expect hajira with a human in the equation, but it makes sense. You would need that much of an emotional connection to balance things. Whatever else they may say about you, you're both very strong-willed. You expected me to call you on the carpet for something, didn't you?"

Deanna sighed and tried to resign herself with Jean-Luc's usual grace to being read too easily. "I wasn't aware that you knew about our being hajira, and wasn't certain what you would make of it."

H'nayison laughed. "I've seen it in your body language. I've met a few hajira couples before. Even if the glow isn't apparent over subspace it's still obvious. You burn brighter than I thought you would, however. You must have a highly disciplined mind, Captain."

Jean-Luc's rising discomfort threatened to distract her. Deanna stepped on his foot to anchor him. "He does. But he's uncomfortable that it's so easy for Betazoids to see the bond."

"Have you ever seen other hajira, Deanna?"

"No. I've heard of it, of course, and the general description of it. It's different for us than it would be for two Betazoids, judging from what little I've read--and I haven't found very much written about it. Which I find odd, considering the wealth of information at my disposal as a graduate of the University of Betazed psychology program."

"There wouldn't be. It's that rare, and not so legendary as the imzadi bond, with which it usually co-exists. My parents were hajira."

"What does it look like?" Jean-Luc asked. "How do you perceive it?" Curiosity, in spite of his discomfort. She'd been unable to tell him much about it.

H'nayison's face settled into careful, polite lines. "For the sake of description, it would be the equivalent of seeing someone standing outside during sunset --the fire of the bond colors the appearance without altering it. All other colors are still perceivable but the firelight tinges them. At times, when you kissed at the ceremony for example, it burns brightly. You probably feel it most when your eyes meet--my parents sometimes lost themselves in each other's eyes."

"You said. . . it usually co-exists with imzadi, but we have never been that. I read that it develops over time, with trust -- that's how it seemed to happen for us. Almost as though we were choosing to do it."

She regretted saying it the instant H'nayison raised a brow and began to speak in quieter, seriously-casual tones. "It requires more trust in each other than most people are capable of, whether they're imzadi or not. My parents knew one another all their lives, and trusted each other implicitly because of it. They aren't imzadi. That you were able to have this bond in spite of the captain being human, in spite of the degree of trust necessary, speaks volumes about the love you have for one another."

"You're saying that this was something she did intentionally?" Jean-Luc held himself with an extremely-tight control, something he normally did only in the most uncertain circumstances.

H'nayison tilted his head and considered the question. "I don't think it could be created deliberately--one couldn't set out to manufacture such a thing. You would have to manufacture emotions, and no one could sustain that long enough to create the bond. It requires a surrender of self to the other person, in addition to the emotional component. That by itself could be done quite deliberately, I suppose." He raised his champagne glass. "Congratulations, again--and Captain, rest easy, I won't mention you're hajira, either in official records or in conversation. If you will excuse me, I will be taking my leave of you to retire for the evening. I have an early transport back to Earth in the morning."

The admiral bowed and strode to where Gaines and Nechayev waited, leaving his glass on a table, and the admirals left the lounge. Jean-Luc shook himself out of his brief stupor and put his hand over hers where it lay on his shoulder.

"Imzadi happens spontaneously, but hajira is a choice--you really have given me everything you have, haven't you?"

She looked at him, and their surroundings disappeared. His eyes burned. They stood a moment in the flames; she closed her eyes and they abated somewhat.

{You said that first night that you wanted to trust me completely, Jean. You made the decision first.}

"Am I interrupting anything?"

Deanna wanted to say yes, you are interrupting, go away, but she opened her eyes to look at Malia and her son. Kenny gave each of them a hug before being taken off to bed, and Jean-Luc thanked him again as Malia led the boy away. Kenny grinned and blushed.

Deanna stared after the boy until Jean's hand closing on her arm shook her out of it. "It looks like Will and the others are sitting over there, let's go talk to them," she said.

Jean-Luc chuckled, ignoring looks from the people around them. {You could have given this to anyone, but you gave it to me. You chose me.}

It knocked her off balance. {Why would you assume I didn't have a choice?}

{I didn't know you could do this with anyone else. You said it was just me. But you could have given it to anyone.} He regarded her with intense love in his eyes, startling her all over again. {You could have had your imzadi, but you stayed with me, even before I loved you.}

She blinked, looked at the floor, thought it through. {You thought that hajira had pulled me to you and created us, instead of the other way around? You know better than that, Jean.}

Taking her arm, he walked with her through the gathered guests, exchanging polite greetings with some of the newer attendees as the slow turnover of crew members wandering through for drinks and cake continued. He ignored the startled looks he got because of the lingering pleased smirk on his face. Tickled pink, Beverly would call it, and it fit exactly--he was even slightly flushed in excitement.

She nudged him toward their friends, gathering around the bar in the corner, and smiled serenely as they were offered more to drink by Data, who'd taken up the role of bartender.

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

It was late, and from the slumping and drooping eyelids, their numbers would be dwindling yet again soon. They'd spent a pleasant hour swapping stories about the days on the 1701-D, and Academy tales, more than a few of them from Jean-Luc and Tom--something Bell had definitely wanted to hear, as the two were generally the quietest of the group. Worf had lingered a while and gone his way. Bell guessed from his demeanor that he felt uncomfortable, which Will had confirmed.

"So how <b>do</b> you catch a starship captain?" Malia asked. She elbowed Ronnie in the ribs and shared an amused glance with him. The couple had returned after putting their boy to bed, and joined Will, Bell, Beverly, Tom, Geordi, Data, and the bride and groom around a table in the empty lounge.

"That depends," Bell said. "Are you talking about landing a woman or a man--and what species?"

"Just your basic male human captain." Malia pointed at Tom, Will and Jean-Luc. "Like these three. What is it that makes a woman stand out from the rest, catch their attention?"

Bell exchanged amused glances with Beverly. "Well, it's the same as for any human male, I'd imagine. Men are simple enough to please. Show up, stroke ego, remove clothing."

Predictably, nearly everyone at the table looked at Jean-Luc. He looked tired, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms. Sighing, he shook his head. "No."

"How did she do it, then?" Beverly asked.

An amused expression of reminiscing crossed his face, then he shook his head again. "No."

Beverly glared at Jean-Luc. "Look, I've gotten zero details on the whole relationship so far, which is ridiculous--two of my closest friends get together and I know <b>nothing.</b> You're married, and I still know nothing. How much do you know about my marriage to Jack?"

"You don't want to know that, either. Jack liked to brag." So close to laughing, but he only chuckled, low and quiet, and kept it to himself.

Bell thought Jean-Luc would be wearing Beverly's drink shortly; the doctor gaped at him, until Tom shoved her shoulder and got her attention. She crossed her arms tightly and slumped back in her chair.

"I'll bet she made the first move," Geordi said.

Jean-Luc raised his head, deliberating. "No."

"Is that going to be your answer to everything?" Bell asked.

A smug smile. "No."

Beverly wadded up a napkin and stopped herself, then tossed it to her left, landing it in Tom's lap. "I hate you when you're like this, Jean-Luc. You made the first move, then, here in the lounge, sitting at a table. Right?"

"That depends on what you mean by 'first move.' If you mean conversationally. . . ." His eyes laughed at whatever he was thinking. "We talked about elephants."

"Elephants. Are you sure this is Deanna we're talking about?" Will asked, losing the amused grin he'd been nurturing.

"Elephants, and swans. We went riding and talked about horses."

Beverly looked at Will, then at Data, then moved her curiosity around the table and finding no comprehension in anyone's faces. "You talked. And this is still Deanna we're talking about? And you aren't going to tell us how many days or weeks you spent discussing animals before you moved on to other things?"

"Were we supposed to do something other than talk?"

"What a jerk you can be," Beverly exclaimed. "I forgot you could be this way. It figures, given the giddy way you've been behaving all night. And last night. I guess if Deanna has this affect on you, she's better for you than I thought."

"Giddy wasn't the word I would have used," Tom said. His posture resembled Jean-Luc's, arms crossed, slouching in his seat between Beverly and Malia. "He just got married, after years of sleeping alone more often than not. He's probably relieved."

"The word is tired," Deanna said as she approached with a bowl of fruit. "Tired and getting punchy. A little like the rest of us."

She sat in her former spot to the right of her husband, having gone to the replicators for something to eat. Earlier she'd had a lengthy stay in the restroom, from which Bell had seen her emerge looking a little too perky. The bride had had a lingering case of nerves, evidently, but as they'd sat around talking idly she'd seemed to relax. She stabbed a piece of green fruit with her fork, swirled it in the chocolate syrup over the top of the fruit, and popped it in her mouth.

"Is that the same fruit you sent over to me?" Will asked.

"It's better when you add strawberries and chocolate to it. Takes off the sour edge." Deanna smiled with a little too much mischief. "Did you like it?"

Will glanced at Bell. She did her best not to giggle when she spoke. "He liked it. So did I." Especially after she'd figured out it lit a fire under the libido.

Malia and Ronnie got up then, saying their good-byes, and as they left the lounge Geordi stood as well. "Good night. Congratulations again--oh, Captain, I'll bring that report around tomorrow morning, say, oh six hundred?" From his grin, the engineer was obviously kidding.

"Sure, Geordi. I'll send Deanna to the door."

"Did I say six? I meant sixteen." Geordi waved and departed.

"That was too easy." Jean-Luc frowned at his wife.

"Don't look at me in that tone of voice," she said, eating a strawberry. "I was wearing clothes the last time he brought a report that early." She ate another strawberry, twirling it first in chocolate, and looked at him again. "Your clothes, but they were what was handy at the time. Did you know that if I put a belt over the--"

"Shut up." He didn't speak with real ire, just mild annoyance and indulgent amusement.

"You asked."

"I did not. Beverly, did you hear--"

"Don't even try pulling me in the middle, Jean-Luc. So what's an elephant, Deanna?" Beverly asked. "It's one of those metaphors of yours, isn't it?"

Deanna stared at Jean-Luc, who stared back, and Bell wondered if someone wouldn't be sleeping on the couch on the wedding night. Then she wondered if either of the two remembered there were other people present. This was what Bell had seen between them a few times before, the silent conversation of two people who knew one another by heart, and she hoped Will was paying attention this time. He seemed to not recognize it for what it was. Bell watched Deanna's eyes in particular, as they were more expressive than Jean-Luc's, and felt like a voyeur--stars lit her dark eyes from deep within. Secrets and intense emotions trembled in them. Jean-Luc didn't react, didn't move to touch her, but Bell thought that wasn't necessary. They seemed to communicate well enough anyway.

"An elephant," Deanna said at last, turning to Beverly, "is something that sits between you and someone else, around which you maneuver but which both of you pretend isn't there. They make normal conversation difficult. Most of the time our elephants have been old love interests. Some elephants are considerably larger and more difficult to get around than others."

Jean-Luc grunted and snatched a piece of fruit from Deanna's bowl. "Some of them show up on archeological digs in tight pants."

"Oh, Vash wasn't so bad. I hope Gary's having fun with her." Deanna looked downright catty.

Bell thought Beverly's brain must be whirring audibly. Tom was watching the back of her head with a little concern--he didn't tend to reveal much, being almost as controlled as Jean-Luc, but he seemed to think there might be a problem.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Bev," Will said. "Remember, be careful what you ask for. You might get it."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow and looked from Will to Beverly, then back again. Then he turned to Deanna. "You see what the problem is, don't you?"

"That's what I'm paid to find out. I'm off duty at the moment, but come to my office--"

"The problem is that Beverly wants personal information because she's always known both of us personally, and Will can't believe I have a personal life because he knows me best professionally."

Deanna did a double-take, looking at him incredulously. "I never imagined you would be this slow on the uptake. Must be testosterone that does it."

"Are you this way <b>all</b> the time off duty?" Will exclaimed. He picked up his coffee cup and Bell's, and headed around the table for the replicators. "I feel for you, both of you. Must be like living in one endless game of--"

He halted and turned to look down at the couple, both of who looked up at him with sly smiles. "That's exactly what it is, isn't it? A big game. And you've just dragged us into it with you, with this little side show?"

Jean-Luc turned to Deanna and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Will. "Told you he was bright."

Deanna shrugged. "Half a Picard, at best."

Beverly laughed, falling back into her chair, bumping into Tom. Will continued his quest for hot coffee with a shaking head and quiet laughter of his own, disbelieving and a little embarrassed.

"I've heard of this scale," Bell said. "How does it work?"

Which led them off into a lengthy discussion of how to rate captains by charisma, risk-taking, technical ability, ambition and other intangibles, while Will, Data and Jean-Luc listened with great interest, and Tom listened with surprise. Until he blurted, "Do you ever talk about anything other than rating the anatomy and character of commanding officers?"

"Sure we do," Deanna said brightly. "We do that when there aren't any commanding officers to tease. What do you think, Beverly? He's got plenty of experience, and he seems serious enough."

"I can't rate him--I've never seen him on duty." Beverly's fond, mischievous glance at Tom and a gentle poke in the ribs made the captain shift uncomfortably in his chair.

"Oh, this is going to hell in a class five probe," Tom grumbled.

"Being a three-quarters Riker myself, I would assume you would be higher on the scale than I. Perhaps a quarter of a Picard?" Data said helpfully.

Deanna and Beverly stared at Data. "Where did you hear that?" Beverly exclaimed. Then she gaped at Deanna. "Have you been telling everyone--"

Deanna glared at Jean-Luc. He ducked behind his hands defensively. "Will got me drunk!"

"I didn't force it down his throat," Will put in quickly. "And he wasn't drunk when he told us, either."

"Thank you, very much, loyal friend. At this rate I'll be sleeping with Data's underwear collection in a jeffries tube," Jean-Luc exclaimed.

Bell couldn't help it. Her giggling fit derailed the exchange entirely, turning into outright laughter as Deanna and Beverly joined her. Deanna recovered first, but still grinned as she looked at Tom. "Welcome to the family, Tom. If it's any consolation, I'd say without seeing you at work that you're about a Riker and a half."

"I'm confused, chère," Bell said. "How many Rikers does one have to be to reach a Picard?"

Deanna and Beverly exchanged glances. Beverly chewed her lip. "Did we ever figure that out?"

"It varies," Deanna replied. "When he was a quarter Picard it took four, obviously. Now that he's half a Picard it takes two Rikers."

"So if this is entirely based on command ability, how would Deanna rate?" Will asked. He'd lost the initial embarrassment and seemed able to enjoy the joke, maybe because Jean-Luc was. Or maybe he was competing again, and determined not to appear annoyed by comparison.

"Don't anyone look at me, I'm not saying a word." Jean-Luc sipped coffee and slumped again.

"I'm clueless," Beverly said. "Never seen her really in command before."

"If I am understanding the criteria correctly," Data said, "I would place her on the same level as I--at three-quarters of a Riker. For different reasons, however. I believe I fall short for lack of charisma and social graces but excel in the technical aspects. The balance falls the other way for Deanna. Though she is making progress, I believe she needs a little more work with technical knowledge and risk-taking."

"No, she doesn't." Tom gestured at Jean-Luc. "Not from what he says. Sounds like she's leaped into the fray more than once."

Jean-Luc glanced around at the rest of them, and sat up suddenly. Simultaneously, Deanna came to attention, sitting straighter with her hands in her lap and looking at her husband expectantly.

"Is there something wrong, sir?" Data asked.

Jean-Luc's expression shifted slowly, from realization to an odd mixture of affection and sadness--angst, Bell presumed. He sighed and looked down in his coffee. Deanna put a hand on his shoulder, leaned closer, and must have done something under the table out of view. He jumped and scowled at her. She settled back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"Nothing's wrong. I was merely--"

"Brooding," Deanna finished. "Melancholy. Thinking too much." Her tone had a slight, biting reproach in it.

His resulting scowl, impressively infuriated as it was, didn't detract from the affection in his voice. "Damned empath."

"That's me, the D.E.," she exclaimed, pulling a leg up and hugging her knee, grinning at them. "Bet you thought Dee was short for Deanna, didn't you?"

Beverly laughed in delight. "I don't believe you--although if anyone could get him to loosen up this much, it would be you, wouldn't it?"

"Mourning the loss of freedom, Jean-Luc?" Will asked. An attempt to lighten things up again, but Jean-Luc had apparently gone too low in whatever he'd been thinking to be brought back up so easily.

"No, actually, I was thinking of a time years ago when a group of old friends saved me from myself. Having the four of you here now reminded me of it." His eyes narrowed. Picking up his coffee, he glanced at Deanna over the rim as he sipped. She'd gone serious and hid her own eyes behind her lashes.

The others had gone solemn, too. Bell met Tom's intense blue eyes. They were onlookers here, while unspoken vibes traveled between the old friends, even Data. The android seemed to be waiting for cues from the others yet hovering on the verge of saying something. Finally he gained the courage to speak.

"Are you referring to your recovery from the Collective?"

Bell understood at last--she'd heard about Picard's assimilation and recovery. Will had said nothing about it and tended to look grim when anyone mentioned the Borg. Tom seemed to comprehend as well, judging from the way he slumped a little lower and drank his coffee. Dropping her gaze to her hands in her lap, Bell glanced through her eyelashes at the others and waited.

Deanna's hands clasped around her ankle, bunching her skirt around her foot. She seemed to be examining the top of her knee. As for Jean-Luc, he seemed to be pulling in on himself, without moving, without changing his expression--then he raised his head slightly and held out a hand, turned palm up, his arm straight and angling toward the floor. Deanna put hers out to meet it. Her eyes had closed, though, so how she managed to mate palms and mesh fingers in a fluid singular motion was a mystery.

Jean-Luc looked up at his first officer. "I am, Data. To a particular night that you likely remember with your usual perfect recall -- and which I remember very little about, other than a few brief flashes of Deanna's expression when she tried to defend herself."

Will's hand closed over Bell's, as if to remind her he knew she was there and appreciated it. His attention, however, was on Jean-Luc. "She said she cut herself trying to get it away from you."

"Stop it." Deanna put her leg down and glared at Will.

Jean-Luc bowed his head and went back to his former broodiness. "I'd like to thank you all, while I have you here, for the roles you played in what happened to me that night. I'm sorry you had to see me that way."

"You weren't yourself," Beverly said quietly. "Jean-Luc, you were still so. . . we tried to convince Deanna to let us stay, but she wouldn't have it."

"The counselor has claimed that she was only doing her duty that night," Data said. "As I was the one who sat with her and saw her successive attempts to deal with your condition, I disagree. She has always felt great loyalty to her commanding officer, but she was there as a friend as well."

"True," Jean-Luc said, glancing at Deanna and pulling at her hand. "Deebird. What are you doing? You start crying again and I'll lose my temper."

Her head came up defiantly. "I suppose resistance is futile? Why do you keep dragging yourself through it, Jean-Fish?"

"Are you advocating denial? Someone who used to beat me up about trying to hide in my ready room, telling me to pull my desk over my head again?"

"I didn't beat you up! You beat yourself up enough already." Deanna swung a fist, to Bell's surprise, and bounced it off his shoulder, using her hold on his hand to pull him in range. "Stop it!"

"You want to fight about it?" His tone rang belligerent.

And the last thing anyone expected happened -- Deanna tossed her head and laughed. "You'd lose!"

"Only by definition."

"Should we leave?" Will asked, mostly out of amusement, squeezing Bell's hand.

"Deebird?" Beverly asked, doing her part to add to the diversion. "What's with that--damned empath bird?"

"No, it's short for moody bird," Deanna said. She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms, shooting an irate look at Jean-Luc as he involved himself in drinking coffee.

"So you're shooting for command, and you're at a three-quarters Riker already," Will said. "Are we going to see a red collar around your neck soon?"

"It would be easier than being ship's counselor, probably, so why not?"

Will smirked at Data. "Can you believe her? She's been telling me things like that for years."

"I think she is serious, Will." Data looked at her. "Dealing with the fallout of the Ensign Billings incident has been quite difficult. Counseling the trauma-stricken--"

"Data, shut up," Deanna exclaimed. She sounded quite commanding about it, too, Bell thought in amusement--like a first officer. Or a captain.

"How the hell did he know about that?" Jean-Luc exclaimed irritably, scowling at her.

"I am the first officer--it is my business to know these things." Data smiled in an uncanny imitation of Deanna's know-something-you-don't grin. "The incident involved quite a number of people, after all."

"Who's Ensign Billings?" Beverly asked.

"Merde." Jean-Luc left his chair, put his cup on the table, and looked around. "Where's my flute? That's the last time I ever let anyone else borrow it for a few minutes."

"Ward left it on the bar, I think. You're ready to go?"

He crossed to the bar and leaned over it to retrieve the flute. "I am indeed. I believe it's past my bedtime."

Deanna rolled her eyes and rose to follow her husband. "Thank you all for coming - I'm sure we'll see you tomorrow." She slipped up to Jean-Luc's side as they walked and murmured something to him that made him beam at her as they left the lounge.

"Okay, they're gone, who's Ensign Billings, Data?" Beverly asked, leaning forward avidly.

"A fictional crew member. It was being used as a code word in the gymnasium--whenever the captain went past the equipment desk on the way to the weight room, the attendant would page Ensign Billings to alert those in the know that he would be there. Groups of women were congregating outside the weight room to watch. Evidently, he discovered what was happening and put an end to it."

"So why wasn't he bragging about it?" Tom asked. "Then again--forget I asked that."

"Shit," Will blurted. "I leave and all kinds of interesting things happen. What else has been going on since I've been gone? Strip poker, maybe? Was any of that about the underwear you mentioned in the toast true?"

"Only the panties on the bridge." Data lost some of the smile, quite the opposite of what Bell expected. "Though I believe that was a case of mishandled laundry. I confess I was also taken aback by the idea of groups of the crew ogling officers, but when I overheard some gossip that led me to ask Deanna about it, she explained to me that there has always been an interest among the lower decks crew in the senior officers, that in fact it happens on other ships. She said there was a similar, less-organized phenomena focused on you when you were still aboard."

A stunned pause. Tom chuckled finally. "Lock your holodecks," he said. "One of the reasons I don't visit the gym much."

"I'd think I would notice if--damn. Now I'm going to be looking over my shoulder all the time, on my own ship." Will looked at Bell. "You don't know anything about--"

"Oh, no, of course not. You think anyone would tell <b>me</b>? I stop conversations when I walk in the room now. 'Sshh, there's the captain's woman, don't say that now.' I don't hear ship's gossip any more."

Another pause. Will had an expression that said something had just struck him like a phaser shot to the back. "I'm a selfish bastard, aren't I? It just didn't click, it isn't just the captain who's taking the hits and it isn't just the career that's affected--you don't fit in the social structure of the crew any more, do you?"

"I never did. I was almost as new as you, cher. It wasn't as though I lost anything I had. Don't look so stricken about it."

"It begs the question all over again--I didn't think about that much either," Beverly said. "How it works. Because it affects their personal lives, too. Not that Jean-Luc had much of that to begin with, but Deanna. . . . I don't get it. They remind me of that old saying, a bird and a fish can fall in love, but where do they live? Only it isn't so much where as how they live together."

Bell laughed loudly. "Mon dieu! It makes sense! Of course! It depends upon the type of bird she is. I've overheard him say it a few times to her--his pet name for her. Cygne. A swan. And she responds to him, cher poisson, Jean-Fish--I thought it odd that she would call him a fish, such an inelegant nickname for an elegant man. A swan lives in both elements, in the air and the water. She does not expect him to live anywhere else but the water."

Beverly's startled look reminded Bell a little of a fish. She exchanged her surprised look with Tom, who recovered much quicker and shrugged. "Makes perfect sense to me. She's learned to swim in his pond. She has the psychology of a captain figured out, that's for certain. But is it just me, or is she that protective of him all the time?"

"She's been that way all along," Beverly said. "She won't tell me a doggone thing about their relationship, either. This was the most revealing conversation I've had with them--finally, an explanation of why he calls her Deebird!"

"Well, I think I've about had it," Will said. "It's late, and I'd rather spend tomorrow doing something other than sleeping in." He gave Bell an affectionate, tired glance. "Unless you want to carry me back, we should get going."

They left the lounge hand in hand. Corridor lights were dimmed, as always on a ship in the depths of the night side of the twenty-four-hour cycle. Bell had never liked being out at night on a ship, but having Will with her changed that--rather than seeming eerie, it merely felt clandestine, like they were two kids sneaking out after curfew.

"What a wonderful wedding," she sighed. "I even liked the unconventional parts. I especially liked the floor show at the end. He's such a sweet man."

"Sweet," Will snorted, giving his disbelieving laugh. "God. Sweet."

"Are you going to tell me you still find them being together hard to believe?"

"No, that's not it at all--he's not the sort of man you'd think of that way. That's all."

"You can be sweet yourself, cher, when you want to be. And I doubt very much that you would ever want him to know that, either, so before you tease him next time you might remember that."

He stopped walking. Bell watched the thought turning through his mind as he stood there with a bowed head considering. "The whole wedding was nothing more than a way to make her happy. He wasn't really thinking of anyone but her, was he?"

"That was my impression."

"I knew he was gone on her before--now I know he's completely gone, off the deep end gone."

Bell turned away and walked casually as possible, eyes burning but focused on the lift and tearless. Inside, she faced forward and asked for the appropriate deck. Will made it inside but only just.

"Bell?"

"Hopefully, now that he's married, he won't think so much about his ex-girlfriends," she said coldly.

His hand slammed against the controls, and the lift stopped. He stepped in front of her, arms crossed. "That isn't fair. It was their wedding--everyone was talking about them, and nothing else."

"I love your friends, Will. I even love your ex. She's every bit as wonderful as you think she is. Maybe that's the problem with her. Am I expected to fill her shoes, or can I buy my own wardrobe?"

"You're not being fair. We were like a family, all of us. I was concerned about Beverly, too, you know. I was worried about Jean-Luc's career even if it's his to ruin. Hell--I was just talking to him, right before the ceremony, about the time he told me that careers and marriage don't mix. Not if you're serious about advancement. We agreed back then on that point--and we agree that things change. We've changed. Everything's changing, Bell. I've accepted the changes and I'm doing my best to keep up. You remember how hard it was for me in the beginning?"

"Yes. I'm sorry," she said, blinking back tears. "I'm tired. You're right, I'm not being fair. I know you wouldn't have started this with me if you didn't. . . . Let's go home."

His hand closed on her elbow. "Are you thinking about weddings? About yours?"

"That's what weddings are really about," she said, trying to smile. "You know that. Weddings are for women to dream about, and for men to avoid catching the garter and stand around laughing at the groom for going soft."

"And it bothers the women when the men laugh at the groom?"

"He loves her so much that he dropped his dignity and flipped a garter, and put on a show for his nosy friends. I imagine we won't see the groom again, not like that--he'll go back to being the captain in the morning. But she'll see him every night after shift's over, and she'll be happy with him. So yes, it bothers the women to see other men disrespect that. Not that you were the worst of the lot, cher, but you weren't the best. The best man gave a lovely toast. I'll bet he gets a few propositions out of it, too."

"I wasn't aware I was so deficient in the romance department."

Bell closed her eyes and hung her head. "You're not deficient, Will. In any way. I just wonder sometimes how long it will take for you to believe you aren't."

It caught him off guard. He struck the controls, and a few moments later the lift opened. They transported to the <b>Lexington</b> and went to his quarters in silence. She went in the bathroom and slipped out of her dress, dropping her underthings in a heap with it and stepping in the shower briefly. In spite of the constant coolness of the room, she felt sticky. Probably all the dancing they'd done at the reception.

Pulling on a plain green nightshirt, she went to the bedroom and found him sitting pensively on the side of the bed still in uniform, hunched over with his elbows on his knees.

"I didn't know you could slouch in a dress uniform. Isn't it against regulations?"

He ran a hand down his beard. "You know me pretty well, don't you?"

"Well enough to know you have issues. But we all have those, don't we, cher?" Climbing up on the bed on her knees, she reached around from behind and unfastened the uniform for him.

He looked over his shoulder at her as he spread his arms and let her bend them back to pull off sleeves. "Let's try something new."

"Another something new? We've tried the floor, the table, the couch, the desk--all that's left is the ceiling. Are we going to reroute a few inertial dampeners or turn off the gravity?"

"No," he said, laughing and tugging off the undershirt. "No, I meant something other than that. I mean, let's see if I'm still trainable. Let's write a few new subroutines, as Data would say. You've followed my lead all this time. Why don't we come up with a joint effort?"

"Like what?"

He rolled into bed and caught her arm, pulling her down for a kiss. "Why don't you explain to me what you think the next few months of our relationship ought to look like? And I'll respond to that, and we'll go from there."

Bell leaned on his chest and giggled. "I knew there was a reason I think of you all the time, cher. Other than the soundproofing testing, that is."

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

Jean-Luc leaned on the edge of the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. The groom. His rumpled black suit had suffered an onslaught of crying bride, numerous hands gripping his arm, Kenny and his attention-getting method of grabbing his pantleg, and somewhere, somehow, a bit of cake had been mashed into one shoulder. Probably bumping into that clumsy ensign who'd been stuffing his face on a corner of the dance floor.

Suit aside, his appearance hadn't changed much over the last year, he supposed, but he felt like a different person. He <b>was</b> a different person. How could he not be? She'd done this to him, turned his life upside down and ruined the plans he'd made so long ago. His career could be traced in a line, from graduation to that table in the lounge where a dark-eyed woman in a billowing muslin dress had looked at him through a veil of tears. At that point, things got crazy. Almost like being turned loose in space without sensors or a point of reference--no way of telling which way was up.

The future, regardless of where he spent it, was just as uncertain. He pictured himself in a uniform that matched Elena's, minus the fleet admiral's insignia. Admiral Picard. Deanna could still command. There were ships that patrolled close to home. She could teach psychology, she could practice it, have children. . . .

The biggest problem with that was Deanna--she'd look at him with that expression on her face, the one that managed to say, 'I know you better than that, you old fool' and talk him out of it without saying a word. Too much of a sacrifice, too soon for him, he'd be unhappy--she was right about that, the sedentary life didn't appeal to him. His life had been in the stars so long, and while he could imagine living on Earth, it didn't take long for him to feel a growing unease at the thought.

He turned off the bathroom light, and found his way by starlight through the viewports, sitting on the edge of the bed behind her where she sat cross-legged in the middle facing the wall. Running a finger down her spine, he leaned and kissed the back of her neck.

"Cygne, belle petite, I'm sorry. It was only my recognition that I hadn't thanked them for it. I did not want to upset you."

"No, don't apologize. I know better than to begrudge you that--I just didn't want to think about that tonight. I do love you so, Jean-Fish." She leaned back and put her head on his leg, looking up at him. "It was a beautiful wedding. No one lost their temper, or insulted someone else, or got their feelings hurt. No one started a food fight, vomited on the bride, or got drunk and made nasty jokes."

"Are these things that have happened at weddings you've attended?"

"Those were gleaned from horror stories people were telling at the reception. It's like anything else, the event brings out the anecdotes in people." She closed her eyes, smiling as he traced the contours of her face with his fingertips. "I like it when you do that."

"Why do you think I keep doing it? You also like this," he said, placing his hand on her collar bone and sliding it down between her breasts into the conglomeration of lace and ribbon she was wearing. "Except this damned nonsense is in the way."

"I put this nonsense on for you--you could at least admire it before you tear it off."

"How about staging that seduction we were talking about?" The thought made him smile. "Maybe not role-playing it, exactly, but--every once in a while I wish you'd come into my ready room and sit in my lap."

"Why, Captain, how inappropriate of you," she said, sly-eyed and almost laughing at him. "You want to actually do that?"

For a moment, he almost--"No, that wouldn't be a good idea. Do that and I'll start thinking about it every time I'm there. I'd never get any work done again."

"At least thinking about it is giving me a nice pillow. We could just do it here. If you put on your uniform, and go sit at the desk, you'll admire my nonsense?"

"I believe that's how the game goes, yes. Of course, the captain isn't supposed to ogle openly, so you'll have to work on him a little to get him to loosen up."

"Jean. . . I have a question, before we do that. And I want to do that, but I've been pushing the envelope for a couple of days and -- remember that implant Mengis took out before the covert ops mission to maintain deniability? I've gotten a booster shot, but I never put the implant back in. I have another dose here but I want to know if you would rather I not do that. Would you rather try to. . . ."

She sensed she'd blindsided him with it, of course, and lay wide-eyed waiting for his response. He should have known all those looks at Kenny meant this would happen. The boy's unique mixture of Asian and Italian features looked nothing like her Ian, her child-for-a-day who had turned out to be a curious alien presence, but superficially there was a resemblance--curly dark hair and dark eyes, and a disarming smile of which only young children were capable.

At length, he let out a slow sigh. "Cygne, every time I've tried to discuss children with you, you've evaded the subject claiming career considerations. Why are you changing your position on this now?"

"You said before the ceremony that all we have is now, and that every moment counts. This moment, I love you--this moment I give you my future as I can imagine it. Because I can't do anything else. Because I want your happiness to be equal to mine, and this is all I can do to try making it so. If you think I can handle the career and have a child, I can. I trust your judgment. I wish I had trusted it more--I wish I had come to you sooner than I did." Her eyes glittered, reminding him of the poem he'd chosen for her.

"Deanna, I can't--you have to decide when. You have to think about how it will affect you, if you'd be able to continue the workload you've taken on or if you would have to postpone advancement for another year or so, or if you'd rather make your career change before having a child."

"But if I think about it I'll never make the decision. I want to make the change, more than I did in the beginning--the closer I get, the more possible it seems, the more I want to hang on to it. I think about children and I want that, too--it hurts, Jean! I don't know what to do."

He turned away, eyes closed, and collected his thoughts while his hand lay across the base of her throat where it'd come to rest, her pulse under his thumb. "You know you want both. But you're afraid. If you had a child, do you think you might decide not to return to your career?"

"We're back to role reversals, aren't we? Counselor Picard."

"That's you, I thought." It could only be teasing, as she'd opted to retain Troi professionally. "I think you'll go back to it, if you put it on hold. I could remind you at intervals to try on my uniform and posture in front of the mirror, just to keep it fresh in your mind. You look good in red anyway and I know you enjoy wearing my shirts."

She moved to sit up, and he helped her, giving her a push and glancing at her 'nonsense,' a low-cut red lace teddy, as she turned and sat up on her knees facing him. "But do you want to try now, or wait until. . . ."

Until they knew if another war was in the future. Until the end of the uncertainty with the Romulans. He thought about the encounter on Romulus, when they'd been deep undercover and on their way out to meet their transport -- when cutting through a section of the city they hadn't been through before, they had happened upon thugs who had thought them likely victims for a mugging. Between the two of them they'd made quick work of defending themselves.

It was those chance occurrences that could be so deadly. The things one wasn't prepared for. Starfleet was all about expecting the unexpected, but either of them could so easily have perished with the discharge of a weapon, had either of the thugs carried one. One of them could be dead, in an instant, anywhere, anytime--then the chance would be gone forever. At least if he gave her a child now, and something happened to him, he would have given her that much. Or if something happened to her, he would have her child, with her eyes, perhaps her smile, or her hair. . . . It would kill him to see that reminder if she were dead, but it was killing him to think about not having it.

He gazed into her eyes, weighing the possibilities. The candlelight danced in those dark, dark eyes, along with the gleam of unshed tears, unspoken hope, and boundless love--her heart leaped at him, crossing the distance between them. With the heart fire between them, he held up a hand. She put hers palm to palm with it. While his chest burned full of her hope and fear, he gave her the poem he'd selected for the wedding night, channeling it to her through the heart fire.

{somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands}

It did interesting things to the fire; flames leaped white-hot around him, and blue, and joy sent him spinning. Her reaction to the poem, he guessed. He opened his eyes even as he realized he had closed them, and found her as she had been before--except her eyes held startled joy.

He let his eyes linger on her a moment, studying the curves of her body beneath sheer red material, and left the bed, taking up the uniform shirt and jacket he'd left across the back of a chair earlier and hesitating to give her one last glance.

"Options, Deebird. Think about them. No compromises. Oui?"

"You won't make this easy, will you?" she whispered.

"Nothing worthwhile is easy. My favorite counselor told me that once." He closed the door behind him on the way out.

By the time she came to the door, he had actually begun to work. It took her that long to figure out what she wanted to do, evidently. And she'd discarded the nonsense, and put on another of the peasant dresses. Not the same one she'd worn to the wedding. This one had less to it, a lower neckline and shorter, less voluminous skirt, and she'd made it deep ruby red, like her lips. She posed in the door, one bare foot on top of the other, hands clasped in front of her like a shy country girl.

Already, he'd tensed in his chair. Turning off the monitor, he rested his hands on the desk and studied her with more composure than he felt, trying to put himself firmly in the captain's boots. "Counselor?"

One word did it. He'd addressed her quite crisply as counselor, pulled himself back to captain with it, and it was her turn. He halfway expected her to waver, but she glided to the middle of the room, more or less in front of his desk, and said, "I'd like to talk to you about something, Captain."

"Of course. What is it?"

The way the skirt swayed accentuated the movements of her hips. She took deliberate, tiny steps, traveling diagonally to the left corner of his desk and taking up a slant-hipped stance, her fingertips splayed and touching the shining black surface next to his monitor. Inclining her head toward him with a salacious curve of her lips, she pivoted slightly left, shifting the angle of her hips the other way.

"I have a problem," she breathed.

"Problem." He almost laughed. He was actually starting to feel uneasy! "Counselor, I'm afraid I won't be able to offer any help unless you clarify--"

His voice failed him when she sat on the edge of the desk and leaned, reaching for his hands. The caress of her fingertip down the back of his hand made him shiver; out of reflex, he snatched his hands off the desk and put them in his lap. Steeling himself, he held his head high defiantly, demanding an explanation with his eyes.

"My problem," she murmured, slipping off the desk and coming around to his side slowly, "is you. In your uniform. It fits too well. I find it distracting when we are on duty. It probably affects my performance, and I know how you dislike inefficiency and lackluster performance in your officers. You see, when you wear the uniform, and you walk into a room, because it fits you so well and you move with such grace and presence, you catch my eye and keep it--my body gets tense and I start to feel. . . edgy."

She sidled along the desk, hands on the edge, until she stood in front of him--she'd forced him to move the chair back against the shelves behind him, and there wasn't much room. Mouth open, he gaped up at her for a few moments until he realized she expected him to do something.

The trouble was, he couldn't move.

She put her hands on his thighs, straddled his legs, and sat on his knees, arranging her skirt around her. "You see, there's one solution to the problem, and it's to take off your uniform--"

"No."

The nice thing about his empath--she knew when he meant it. Startled, she met his gaze, stopping short of the fastener on his pants. "Jean?"

"What did you decide?"

"I thought. . . since you left the decision up to me, I'd just surprise you."

He felt the impulse, she responded, and his arms went around her as she moved into them and put her hands on his shoulders. Cheek to cheek, her hair brushing his ear lightly, he murmured, "You're saying that it's possible, or that you aren't going to tell me whether you're on birth control or not?"

She turned her head until her nose slid along his temple. After a moment's consideration she kissed his face. "Possible."

She pulled away to look him in the eye, her eyes reflecting his emotional state--he wasn't sure whether they reflected her own until the heart fire took hold.

"Moody fish," she whispered.

"Our relationship has always been a mutual decision," he said. "Not a seduction. This isn't comfortable."

"I've staged little seductions before."

"But you were never the counselor while you did it, and I wasn't the captain, and you were. . . ."

"I was on birth control. You thought I was going to wait. Didn't you?"

"You sounded unsure. I would expect you to wait until you're certain."

"You said we would find a way. The last time you said that, I had a screaming fit of insecurity, and kept having it, and you proved me wrong. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice. I'm certain of you."

Hands on her face, he kissed her lips briefly. "Let's go to bed."

"Not one of your better come-ons, but since you quoted nice poetry and were so wonderful all evening, I can accept that." She backed off and stood, and gasped when he rose swiftly and pinned her against the edge of the desk, arms around her, hungrily crushing his mouth to hers.

He stood down at last, taking her by the arm, partially to steady her. "Jean," she exclaimed, following as he guided her along, "I hope you make the right decision about the position."

"What?" He stopped at the foot of bed, her elbow in his fingers.

"Don't compromise, for my sake. Please? Don't give up what you have for a safe, comfortable existence, unless it's what you want."

"Ma cher, who told you about this?" Jean-Luc put a hand to her face again, brushing tears away. "Get off your mood swing. What happened to trusting me?"

"They've offered you admiral's bars several times over the years. It used to annoy you more. Elena looked at you expectantly at the reception, especially when you got up to make the announcement, and then when you stepped down she was disappointed. You didn't tell her no outright. She thought you would accept."

"The only reason I considered it was because of you, and I knew you would disapprove of any decision I made solely for your sake. And Elena keeps at me about it--she tried the family angle at the ceremony. I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't come just to do that to me. You like being on the <b>Enterprise,</b> and so do I--I'm not quitting before my time, Dee. Relax."

Sniffing, she shrugged, unfastened his jacket, and pulled it off him. "You know, I really do like you in uniform."

"So that's why you fell for me? The uniform?"

Raising one eyebrow, she tossed aside his shirt and went on to unfasten the pants. "I told you before it was your smile that did it. But. . . you've never told me what it was that made you suddenly see me differently. You said you were thinking of me before we threw napkins and talked of elephants and swans. You said you thought of confronting me. So tell me, Jean-Luc, just when and where did you start to fall for your counselor?"

He picked up a foot obediently, then switched legs, then sat down as she took his uniform away. "You weren't paying attention to me at all, at the time. You would have known when, if you'd been halfway aware of me. The larger part of my inability to come talk to you was insecurity, but. . . I was hoping you would pick up on it and--"

"You wanted me to make the first move?" She turned from the closet and came across the room to sit next to him.

"Not necessarily. I wanted at least a reaction that would indicate I could say something. A look of pleased surprise, maybe, or a husky-voiced 'we need to talk' or even just a meeting of the eyes. Your eyes are very eloquent, you know." He took her hand, watching her eyes telling him she was waiting patiently for the rest of the story.

"You started avoiding me before you started avoiding the bridge, Deanna. I noticed it a week or so before we received orders about Zibyan. The poker game Data had been trying to keep going faltered and died when you stopped showing up regularly. The last one I went to, I commented that you hadn't been coming, and Data said that you'd only been there twice in the past two months--the two nights I couldn't attend. Several times I saw you in a corridor and rather than hesitating to say hello you smiled pleasantly and kept going. The smile of a polite but distant officer, not a friend. Then I had a concert with Malia and Data's quartet--I kept thinking something was missing, and when I was on my way back to my quarters, I saw you heading for yours, still in uniform, head down, padd in hand, looking preoccupied. It was the first concert I've been in that you'd missed."

"You missed my companionship." She seemed unable to look him in the eye, focusing instead on his toes.

"Listen and summarize, counseling techniques 101. Yes, I did. And I imagined that you were busy, and weary, because you did walk around on duty with a tired look in your eye. I imagined overwork was to blame. I thought about all you do to keep the ship running smoothly, and how much you would be missed if you transferred, too, like Bev and Will. And I realized after a while that I'd been thinking about that more than I would have, and that I wasn't just thinking about work--I kept picturing your face in the audience at concerts, and the way you teased and laughed with us at the poker games. The tolerant, affectionate look in your eye that time you walked in my ready room and found me enthused about the possibility of going to a dig on Vulcan -- the one I couldn't attend because of that crisis we were diverted to. Then you didn't show up on the bridge at all, for an entire shift. I guessed again that you were that busy. Then it happened again, and again, and all I got were these little text messages telling me where you were."

She distracted him briefly by leaning into him; he moved his hand from hers to her far shoulder, pulling her into the curve of his arm and bringing her head to his shoulder. "I was afraid you were actually busy putting everything in order and the next thing I'd get was a resignation. It made me think more about you, how much I would miss you--I thought--"

"You thought I was leaving to be with Will," she whispered, filling in where he left off. "It made you afraid."

"Just like I'm feeling now, remembering it. Don't ask me when I fell in love, Deanna. I don't think I did. I just looked up from what I was doing and saw you, for once as something other than an officer and friend, and shocked myself by seeing someone I wanted to get to know better." Putting a hand to her face, he brushed away tears with his thumb. "I walked into love, like walking in the rain, because it wasn't something I could control. I resigned myself to it with the idea that it would never go anywhere, and that I'd have to just let it die."

"But if you thought I was leaving to be with Will--why did you come to see me?"

Jean-Luc rested his chin in her hair and sighed. "I've spent my life making choices about relationships based on my principles or on my assumptions that it wouldn't work. It would have been honorable to say nothing and let you do as I assumed--except I couldn't assume. Will had left months before, after all. You could have been missing him, or it could have been simply a career choice. I've made so many incorrect assumptions and blown so many chances, I couldn't do it again if there was the slightest chance you might. . . ."

"Jean, what are you trying to hide?"

"I cheated." He felt her stab of curious surprise--one of the rare instances when he could feel something from her other than happiness, possibly because she was letting her guard down. "I checked the communications logs. You'd been sending messages in droves to Betazed, to the university and medical facilities, and there were only a handful to Will's ship, spread out over six months. I ran out looking for you. I thought you wouldn't give me the time of day, but at least I had reassured myself Will was out of the picture. By the time I was back around to thinking you were pining for him, there in the lounge, I'd already started a conversation with you, and I'd missed your companionship so much I didn't care any more whether or not you were going to Will, I just needed to talk to you."

"Our relationship has been nothing but one risk after the next, hasn't it?"

As her head came up, she hugged him, and he reciprocated gladly, her warmth through the flimsy dress more than welcome. "Maybe that's why it works so well. The empath who continued to take the risks in search of the right relationship, in spite of the pain of knowing how it could end. The man who continued to be captain in spite of the risks and sacrifices, and the pain. A couple of risk-takers taking a leap together."

"Or maybe we're just in love, Jean-Fish. Stop analyzing this. We're going to talk ourselves to sleep."

"Well, it's been said that a woman falls in love through her ears. Call it maintenance."

She pushed him over into bed. Tucking him in, she smiled down at him, backed a few steps, and pulled the dress over her head, then stood with a hand on her hip, naked and tossing her hair back.

"I've heard the other half of that saying. Men fall in love through their eyes. Call it maintenance."

Laughing, Jean-Luc raised the covers. "Get in here, already, Madame Picard."

He touched the controls, turning off the lights before she reached the bed, but she found her way in the dark, her hands touching his chest, then her legs slipped in over his one at a time and her weight descended on him.

"My, is that a type three phaser or are you just happy to see me?"

"Set phasers on reproduce?"

While she laughed into his chest, he took advantage of her momentary disarmed state to roll them over and kiss her. She expressed her approval of the maneuver by closing her arms around him and moving against him, seeking connection and finding it as she brought her knees up on either side of him and arched her back.

"Jean," she whispered against his throat. Her tongue danced up to his face. He remembered the first time she'd held him this way and smiled; this would be different, the way he'd wanted it to be then, only so much better. The fruit she'd eaten--her mouth still tasted like it, strawberries and sour and chocolate, and her tongue eluded him. They moved together, slowly building the flames between them until she vibrated and suddenly clenched herself--something, the fruit perhaps, had her burning hotter and faster than usual.

His wife, in all her sweaty glory, threw her head back and laughed as her body twisted upward, slid against his, and climaxed--it wasn't easy, holding out against the waves of ecstasy she shared with him and the sensations of her convulsing around him. She shuddered, gasping, and he began thrusting again, slower, deeper, raising himself and bending with her until his mouth found her breast. It meant stopping again, but if he didn't he would have come too soon for his liking.

Cygne sur le feu. She was hot and tasted of salt, her skin slick under his tongue, and she wriggled against him when he didn't show any sign of stopping--he teased her nipple until she made a frustrated noise, then nipped it and switched sides as she arched into him and gasped. Moaning, she raked her fingernails down his shoulders while he suckled.

He brushed his lips across her collar bone, up her throat, along the side of her jaw--she'd thrown her head back against the arm he'd put around her to hold her there. Settling her down gently, he kissed her and began the slow thrusting yet again. He felt her smiling, even while she explored his mouth and wrapped her legs around him.

Protesting his slowness, she began to squeeze -- she was entirely too good at this, and laughing at him silently when she sensed how difficult she was making it for him to not simply thrust madly to completion. "Behave, cygne," he mumbled against her teeth.

Her answer, a twist of the hips and another series of contractions, did him in. Since she asked for it, he complied with fervor and was rewarded with a repeat performance of her climax as he attained his own. He heard her shouting over the roar of the heart fire in his ears.

Coming down from the mental high of her empathic reverberations of their mutual bliss felt like getting his body back again after traveling by transporter. Unlike the transporter, sometimes he found that his limbs weren't quite where he'd left them. They'd joined hands this time, and he lay spreadeagled on top of her, both of them turned at an angle across the mattress. One of her legs had slid off him and dangled off the bed; the other she'd hooked around his leg at an incredible angle. The covers had done their usual trick of rearranging themselves almost sideways and mostly bunched at their feet.

"Get your damned toes out of my balls," he grumbled against her cheek, panting.

She sighed. "Jean-Fish, if you hadn't just made me feel like a supernova, I'd be really mad at you right now. That is <b>not</b> on the list of best things to say to your wife upon the consummation of your marriage."

"It is if she's tickling your testicles with sharp toenails. You want to procreate, don't damage the equipment."

She laughed, but moved her toes and relaxed, meshing her fingers in his. Disinclined to move a muscle and feeling quite wrung out and satisfied, he almost drifted off to sleep with his nose tucked under her ear, but some part of his brain finally registered what she'd done.

"You knew I wouldn't be able to go through with the seduction, didn't you? Not just because of the occasion, either."

"I suspected. You've been conditioned well enough." She paused, giggled a little. "You know, now I can relax a little more with the thought of being pregnant on the job. There is a strange thing that happens sometimes when a wife is pregnant--I've heard it from some of my human patients. Suddenly the husband gets this chronic case of horniness. Judging from what I've seen of the husbands and how well I know you, I'd guess you'll be one of them."

"You kept being the counselor to test that I'd have the willpower to withstand you--but you didn't approach me as a pregnant counselor, or even one who could be pregnant. Maybe we should try--"

"Shut up and sleep, Jean-Fish. Wouldn't want you too worn out in the morning--we're sleeping in, remember?" The smile in her voice said sleeping was actually pretty low on the priority list.

He smiled, settling his head in a bed of her hair, his contentment only heightened by the touch of her fingers on the back of his head, stroking his neck.

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

Deanna opened an eye and groaned. It'd been too good to be true--it was looking as though she'd never get to wake up and find him there next to her. He usually was up and in the shower by the time she'd forced her eyes open. She'd been looking forward to lounging around snuggled up next to him, feeding him breakfast in bed and talking about where to go for the honeymoon--among other things, if possible. This time, he was not only up, but completely gone. She hadn't been awakened by a red alert, so that meant an impromptu meeting of some sort, probably with Nechayev.

"Computer, time."

"The time is ten hundred hours forty-two minutes."

She pushed herself up and reached for the rose he'd left on his pillow. The padd beneath it said 'Damned admirals. Back soon. JF.' Smiling, she got up, noticing that he'd pulled the covers up around her, and went to take a shower.

She tied on a robe and changed the bed linens, then went into the living area to enjoy a leisurely cup of tea while lounging around, basking in bridehood. Maybe she'd compose a letter to her mother about the wedding. The annunciator startled her. They were supposed to be on leave, and certainly no one would risk the wrath of the captain by bothering him the day after his wedding. Then she recognized the person standing outside.

Beverly came in, out of uniform--not one of her better off-duty styles. Darker, plainer blues didn't suit her but the pantsuit looked comfortable, at least. "Hi. Hope I'm not disturbing you. I saw Jean-Luc on the starbase--we're temporary widows of the official briefing, aren't we?"

"At least he didn't wake me up when he left. Want some coffee? I was about to have some tea, myself." Deanna headed for the replicator.

"What beautiful flowers!"

At Beverly's exclamation, Deanna turned around and actually looked at the table beneath the viewports. Her friend plucked a red rose out of the vase. "It's not replicated, I'll bet. Someone took some time to be apologetic."

Deanna brought two cups of tea with her and sat down with Beverly, taking the folded note from the stems. Beverly waited with an expectant gleam in her eyes, chin in hand.

"It's just a poem." Still, Beverly waited. "He uses poems a lot, and he's come up with some interesting ones. I'm fortunate at least that he never tries to give me that 'my mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun' thing I've heard too many times." Deanna sighed and sipped her tea, then put aside the cup, losing interest in it. "I'm sorry. I know I haven't been terribly forthcoming, but--it's just a little different this time around."

"I guess Will and I haven't made it very easy for either of you, have we?" Beverly settled cross-legged in her chair and shook her head. "Elephants."

"Jean-Luc wouldn't tell you how we met because that's what we talked about. He felt guilty about the way you left the ship, I felt guilty about being the catalyst that led to Will's departure--I never told you about that, did I? And Jean-Luc thought I was pining for Will, and I thought his pain that he wouldn't come to his counselor and talk about was because he had tried to convince you to try and failed. We spent that first evening correcting those assumptions." Deanna met Beverly's solemn blue eyes across the table at last. "I've wanted to talk to you, Beverly, but I've been afraid it would cause an even bigger rift between us. I've not been sure of what's been in your thoughts, and afraid to ask."

Her friend smiled sadly. Tucking stray hair behind an ear, she hefted the cup and sniffed. "I knew you had your eye on him, you know. You can't hide that sort of thing from me, Deanna Troi. Excuse me--Picard."

"Either will do. I'm going to have a tough time getting used to the Picard if no one uses it." Deanna let her smile go sly. "So what about Tom?"

"What about him?"

"Does Tom quote poetry?"

"Sort of. He likes to sing. Not the greatest voice in the world, but he can carry a tune."

"Does he make your toes curl?"

Beverly stretched, shivering--and glowing. How nice to see her glowing that way again. "Among other miscellaneous reactions. And not always because of his singing. He woke me up this morning in an interesting way."

"I'll bet." Deanna attempted a canny smile and failed, judging from the startled concern on Beverly's face. To Deanna's dismay, the concern faded to resignation.

"At least he's a good distraction, for a while," Beverly murmured, her gaze sliding away across the room. "He told me this morning he's been presented with a new command - a Sovereign-class starship, fresh from the yards. Unexpected, but I can tell it has an appeal. He told me yesterday that he would rather be with me, that he was willing to pick an assignment I could transfer to, but. . . I'm afraid we all know what happens next."

Deanna considered. This could be a good thing, if her impression of Glendenning were accurate - but should she base her judgment on the past or on the present? When Tom had left the party with Beverly, she'd felt alarm; by the time Jean-Luc discussed the matter with her she'd decided on a hands-off approach. But repeated exposures to Tom had shifted her opinion. He seemed to be re-orienting himself on a new trajectory. Who was she to decide that he couldn't change?

"That's what I thought, many times," Deanna said. "He'll change his mind, things won't work out as he expects, he'll wake up and realize what he's done. I think that's why I had such a meltdown before the wedding. It finally made it all the way through my head into my heart that it's not going to change, I've finally found someone who's committed to making all the dreams a reality. I wouldn't have ended up where I am if I hadn't repeatedly taken the chance of it all falling apart...."

Beverly was staring at her now, a mixture of shock and anger building in her. "Dee. . . what are you saying? Since the day he told me about your relationship he hasn't wavered - why would you think he would change his mind?"

"All of us change our minds, change our lives, change our direction. He's always free to do so, as I am. The only thing holding him to me is a commitment he made to me -- "

"Why are you talking like this the day after your wedding?"

Deanna smiled at her friend, reaching across the table to hold her arm. "It's true. We made the commitment out of love, and I know we will keep it. But as usual, it's going to be a daily series of decisions we make that build on it, or tear it down."

"You sound like you're creating a battle strategy," Beverly exclaimed, shaking her head. "Yesterday you were a giddy bride, today you're an officer."

Deanna squeezed her arm and leaned forward slightly. "We are all officers. It's what we've been all our lives. Tom, too -- he wants to pretend it's just a job, but even you are already saying you know it's more than that. Don't you see? All of this negotiating between our roles, it's not about anything but our own expectations. You're expecting to get an end result and it's probably going to happen, if only because you are expecting it. Tom is trying very hard to expect the best. He's afraid of failure. I was afraid, and Jean-Luc was afraid I would change my mind -- at one point he was convinced of it, but instead of waiting to watch our relationship fail, he told me how he felt and why, and it allowed me to reassure him. I know that it's early with Tom, and that's a very precarious time -- but if you do want a chance at a future with him, accepting defeat is premature. Both of you have to give the relationship a chance for it to have one. If you haven't talked about that, perhaps you should."

"I think H'nayison was correct in saying that you were really at the heart of your success," Beverly said after a moment's consideration. "I'm not sure I could be so objective."

"Beverly. . . you can. You'll probably be better at it than I am."

She laughed, face flushed, and swept her hair out of her face nervously. "What are you basing this on?"

"You're a professional. You have a lot of experience with relationships. Given the motivation you would probably be able to manage very well."

Beverly tilted her head, appearing to be examining the teacups. "Do you think Tom has what it takes to stick it out, make something happen, like Jean-Luc does?"

"I thought that was one of the prerequisites for command?" Deanna sighed and sat back in her chair.

 The doors opened, and Jean-Luc strode in, hesitating when he saw Beverly. Deanna picked up the empty cups and stood.
 
"We were just finishing our tea. How was the meeting?"

"Another in a long chain of briefings. Have you eaten?" He re-oriented himself on her as she crossed paths on the way to the replicator.

Beverly asked, "Am I correct in assuming your release means Tom's been cut loose too?"

"Like an arrow from a bow. I think he left skid marks on the deck outside Nechayev's door." Jean-Luc smiled at her. "Think he's looking for you."

"Thanks for the tea, Deanna. See you later."

He watched Beverly leave and looked at Deanna. "I think she'll do okay with Tom, if she lets herself."

"You summed up my conversation with her nicely, thank you."

He chuckled, kissing the back of her neck as he reached around her for the plate of breakfast pastries she had just ordered. She turned to give him a welcome-home kiss, after which he said, "You've been drinking my tea."

Deanna nodded and picked up the two cups of coffee that materialized next. "I think after we eat, I need to get you out of that uniform."

He placed the plate on the table. "You," he began, then paused. "I'm sorry I had to leave. I gave Elena a piece of my mind for it. Some last minute details -- a number of us were called in for one last chat with the fleet admiral before she left. And she kept me for a bit after, to try wrestling me into an admiral's bars." He paused, clearly hesitant to continue. "Dee, we need to talk about something."

She took her chair and reached for his hand as he joined her, taking a seat next to her. "What reason did you give for refusing?"

"I told her that I was a starship captain, and that I felt I served Starfleet best in that capacity. That you believed it to be so, as well, and that we wished to remain aboard the *Enterprise.* She thinks I'm crazy."

Deanna smiled proudly. "In all the best ways."

Warmth reached his eyes and brought up the ends of his mouth. The smile tickled her desire for him back to life, warming her from within. He sighed, let go of her hand, and picked up his knife and the blueberry jam.

"What did we need to discuss?"

"I'm not certain I should be dismissive of the opportunity without talking to you about it first."

She paused in the act of spreading jam. "You're considering it."

"You're an officer. Forcing myself to accept that isn't difficult. But a child -- the responsibility of it, the knowledge that every decision I make in a crisis on the bridge might mean life or death for my son, or my daughter, who has no choice in the matter -- we've seen instances where abandoning ship just wasn't possible. And if anything happened to either one of us -- "

"But people take families with them on tours of duty anyway. You wouldn't have had a ring bear if they didn't. Your chief engineer wouldn't exist if they didn't."

"Geordi's mother wasn't a captain when she had him."

"But she became one while he was a child."

"But we aren't talking about the La Forge family, we are talking about us, and as everyone's so damned fond of pointing out, we're unique." He ripped another bite off his pastry as if punctuating his sentence.

"Definitely. Exceptional, in almost every way I can think of." She gazed at him through her lashes and imagined taking off his uniform.

"Deanna," he growled.

"You don't want to endanger your children," she summarized, putting them back on topic. Elena must have hit him right in the paternal instinct.

He put down his croissant. "I had to live for years with the knowledge that Kataan was a dying world, and that my children would die with it. I know the risks of being in space."

"But with the risk there is always possibility of survival. Kataan wasn't a risk. It was a certainty." Deanna gave it a few beats to sink in. "How do you think Mother feels about my being in space, after losing Daddy? Life is a gamble, Jean-Fish, you know this. It's a gamble wherever you live. Betazed was captured in the war. The Borg attacked the Earth's past. The longer I am with you, the more I see of the galaxy and the things that happen in it, the less location matters to me. I feel safer with you, on this ship, than I do at home -- because here I can do something to change things, instead of watching other people defend me."

"Cecily, Malia and the other civilian mothers and fathers are taking their children off ship for the duration of the mission."

"I didn't say that the children couldn't go visit Grandmother for a while, did I? She'll expect it. They'll come back completely spoiled, too." She smiled at the disgruntlement he felt at the thought of Lwaxana Troi taking care of his children, wondering distractedly how much disbelief he'd feel if she told him her mother had actually mellowed over time.

Jean-Luc worked back to the serious train of thought he'd been on, and through it. When his eyes finally flicked away from hers, she knew he'd settled again into a rational acceptance of his own feelings on the matter. "Damned empath," he grumbled, tearing off another bite of croissant.

"I love you, too, Captain Grumpy."

The corner of his mouth twisted into a half-smile.

Deanna relaxed with this final reassurance that he'd come to his own conclusions. "Je t'aime plus que jamais, mon cher Jean-Luc. El'a shev jaheli hajira set."

Frowning, he considered that. "The computer rendered that last phrase very strangely. That was Betazoid, wasn't it?"

"What did I say, according to the computer?"

"Did you mean to call me a fuckingly-handsome hajira, or was that a poorly-translated attempt at a seduction?"

She almost spat the last sip of her coffee at him, barely containing it behind a hand. "Oh! It didn't translate it that way, did it?"

"My translation of the translation. I think I know why Betazoids don't generally speak much Betazoid in polite company."

"At least it was accurate, in an abstract sort of way, even if incorrectly translated." Reaching across the table, she snitched the last bit of his croissant and ate it in three bites.

"What is so enticing about the last part of my breakfast that you have to eat it every morning?"

"It's only a step removed from your lips, cher."

His head went up. "What are you up to, Deebird?"

"Getting your mind off serious things for the interim. Enjoying a little game with my husband. Wanting to rip off your clothes and smell your cologne, and fall asleep in your arms. It's probably hormones, but all I want to do is e'la jehalit."

"What else did you and Beverly talk about?"

Diversionary of him, but two could play that game. "Just girl talk. She asked the obligatory question about the wedding night. I told her that right after the shuffleboard tournament, you mated me with your rook."

He stared, recognized the reference to the poem, and with a mercenary grin wadded his napkin and caught her in the face. Laughing, she threw it back and raced for the bedroom, her feet barely touching the deck plates -- she was afloat on her joy, and his, though he was swearing at her. He caught her up in his arms and wrestled her free of the robe. They came to a halt when it fell away -- his mood had shifted abruptly at the sight of her body.

"It's too soon to know, isn't it?" His hand came to rest on her abdomen, his arm tightened around her, his face in her hair. He wasn't quite ready to feel joy at the thought of children -- too many other things weighed him down, and it wasn't a certainty yet. She knew from his wavering at the admiral's encouragement that he'd given in too quickly last night for his rational self's liking. That he'd leaped without really thinking it through, just as he'd done in choosing to make her a permanent fixture in his life, told her it was necessary. It would make him happy. More than that, it would make her happy.

"I'd have to go to sickbay to find out. It happens when it happens, Jean-Fish, and in the meantime, you know a booster shot wouldn't hurt."

He chuckled. "You *do* have only one thing on your mind at the moment. It must be hormones."

"Mmm. . . I've always thought you look too good in uniform," she murmured, pulling at the jacket. "Good enough to give any woman twinges. You do give them twinges, you know. In the suit you wore to the wedding, too. I don't think I could have managed to get through it if I'd really paid attention to you. And the way you kissed me. . . you curl my toes, Jean. "

"You mean this?" He repeated the kiss, brushing lips with her, setting off shivers up her spine and kindling heart fire again. Except it wasn't quite what she would expect -- he'd turned pensive again.

"My toes curled, but you seem to be thinking too hard to notice."

"I'm sorry, petite. I can't stop thinking about it. You're certain you wouldn't rather I took the position?"

"Do you want it? Are you going to regret not taking it, if we spend many years being happy together on the ship?"

His hand flattened between her shoulder blades, warm and heavy. "No. Dee. . . things will be changing, soon. You may find yourself moving along more quickly than you think. I don't know if you would want that if you had a baby. I wonder too if you would want it at all, and I wasn't being overly optimistic about making you my first."

"Do you think it will be too hard for me to do? First officers have children sometimes."

"Think about the psychology of it. First officers and captains -- our professional relationship would change. You'd make an excellent choice in so many ways. Handling the crew would be nothing for you. I've viewed a few of the sims you've participated in recently -- you can command a bridge. But you've not been through any scenarios where the captain's on a mission and you're in charge, and something goes wrong. You challenge me to let you get killed -- you were willing to sacrifice yourself in my place. What would you do if I was in danger and your responsibility was to the ship?"

"Will would find a way to take care of the ship *and* get you out of danger. I'd just do the same. Just like the Borg situation." It wasn't always so cut and dried, of course, but this wasn't the time to hypothesize -- she hadn't even been offered the position. "And Jean-Fish, you know I can always change my mind. I can always decide to remain ship's counselor, albeit a multi-functional one -- standing watches, maybe an away team once in a while. . . all the extra training was a challenge and I gained from it, regardless of what I decide to do with it."

"Why do I get the feeling we've had this conversation before, except I haven't been there?" Patient amusement, tinged with affection, over concern, slightly bristling with irritation, sitting on a foundation of love. His feelings were rarely simple when he was presented with a difficulty to ponder.

A turn of her head brought her nose and lips to his cheek. "Sometimes your silences speak loudest, Jean. I am as I have always been, the captain's private audience. I hear everything you say, including the things you don't voice."

The puzzle of finding her meaning distracted him from the bucket of gagh a full-blown conversation about her being a first officer might turn into. His interpretation of it wasn't so important as the distraction.

She understood the concern he felt, of course. He would tell her next that he would want her to sacrifice him if the ship were at risk and the choice was there. As usual, however, his motivations for his concern ran deeper than that. She'd been on the bridge all these years, observing Data, Will, or Jean-Luc giving orders during seemingly-impossible crises. He knew what it was like to claim responsibility for things that had gone out of control and brought terrible consequences. She had booted him out of brooding silences following such occasions before. In such a position, she'd feel it even worse than he, probably even feel the emotions of the crew who suffered because of her mistake. It would compound her suffering if she lost the captain himself on an away mission due to her actions to save the ship. Further still, if she had to explain to their children why she had chosen something resulting in their father's death. The potential for devastating heartbreak was there, and his train of thought obviously pointed in that direction.

When she sensed he'd deliberated long enough and neared a conclusion, she kissed his cheek. The conclusion itself, at this point, was moot. The future was yet to be determined and too nebulous to discuss in any real detail. "What does the voice of my eyes say about this entire matter?"

He turned, stepped around her bare feet with that uncanny coordination of hajira, and cupped her cheek in his hand as he looked. "It says the same thing as always, that I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't, and why am I being so foolish to question something I convinced you of in the first place."

"I believe in you, Jean-Luc. You believe in me. We can do anything. We fought the JAG and won. We fought the perceptions of others and proved their assertions false. Someday we won't be able to cheat fate, but until then. . . there's always Deebird, of the talking eyes, and Jean-Fish, the fuckingly-handsome."

The wavering slowly vanished, replaced by a sly smile. "Thank you for allowing me at least the illusion that I have any control over this relationship."

Undoing his jacket slowly, she scowled at him. "M'sieur Capitaine always has control. At least, as long as I have anything to say about it."

"That's what I thought. You know what today is, don't you?"

"The first day of wedded bliss for Captain Picard?"

"A year ago today, we sat down over a bottle of wine, and you took my life in your petite fingers and mangled it beyond recognition -- not to mention you took off my clothes."

"You took mine off first. We seem to be repeating history today in that regard, as well." For some reason, she couldn't resist pressing her face into his chest as she pulled off his shirt. He was so warm, smelled so familiar -- and her reaction to him was amusing him intensely more than anything else.

"Are you going to follow the same sequence of events as before?"

"Only to a point." His hands caught hers, stopping her as she tried to undo his pants. "Jean, why are you being difficult?"

"Take them off without laying a hand on me."

"No hands, hmmm?" Deanna smiled, sensing his arousal at the way she did so, put her hands behind her back, and walked around him casually. After an interval that had him edgy, anticipating her attempt, she leaned and blew on his back, just where his spine emerged from the pants. Blew again, and traced the line up his back -- his reaction, to lean forward slightly, roll his shoulders, and tilt his head back at the slight tickle of air, put him just where she wanted him. He stiffened when she kissed the back of his neck, just at the base of his skull, where so often she let her fingers wander.

He wasn't so amused any more as she blew again, tracing a path from neck to ribs and forward; he raised his arm as she prowled under it. Eyes closed so she wouldn't giggle at the way he was watching her -- she knew what his expression had to be like, from the way he felt -- she moved by feel, not touching him, but her sense of him was confirmed correct when she finally made contact. She pulled at his nipple, hard, as he'd done to hers the night before. Whatever was making her so hungry for him broke her resolve to make this too excruciating and her body moved forward of its own accord, but she caught herself, managing to turn it into the briefest of contacts, breasts against his stomach, before she moved away again.
She inched her way across and tugged at the other nipple. He wasn't showing much reaction, just a few uneven breaths taken too quickly, but he didn't have to show it. From the battle raging against her senses, he was thinking furiously of other things, warp engines or cold showers, perhaps.

Simple teasing wouldn't do it, then. More direct attention might help her cause.

The lower her lips and tongue went, the more he leaned away from her and stiffened. She closed her teeth on the clasp and yanked it free. Wrestling at the pants with her teeth like a puppy worrying a toy, she almost laughed at his surprise.

"That's not -- "

Her threatening bite through the fabric shut him up, and she went back to her efforts at the waistband. As the pants fell, he started to laugh, his disbelieving, 'I should have known better' kind of guffaw. Underwear followed shortly, though she had to work hard not to laugh and let go too soon as she dragged them down. He stepped backward, pulling free of his boots into the bargain.

Deanna stared up at him, sitting on her knees with her hands clenched behind her back, and contemplated her handiwork -- she could take him now, especially after her face had bumped into his growing erection repeatedly and she could smell his arousal after a point. From the hunger in his eyes, the desire she sensed, he felt the pull now, too, of body calling to body. She stood and approached slowly, drawing his eyes with the sway of her hips.

She was leaning in to kiss him when the computer interrupted. "Incoming transmission from Admiral Nechayev for Captain Picard."

"Damn," Jean-Luc muttered, turning away slightly and closing his eyes. "Audio only, computer. Picard here, Admiral."

"Sorry to disturb you, Captain. I was hoping you might be persuaded further if I mentioned that Admiral Gaines has a position that would be ideal for Deanna. He's given the matter considerable thought and would like to offer her the position she turned down last year, again. The interim assistant director wants out. Gaines seems to think she won't consider it, for some reason, but then he doesn't know we offered you the Academy."

Deanna dropped her head and leaned her forehead against his chest. Damn Gaines and his big mouth! She could just see the admirals sitting around over lunch talking about the happily-married couple and their future, and Nechayev leaping on the opportunity to dangle another carrot in front of Jean-Luc's nose.

"Assistant director," Jean-Luc repeated. "I know she's thought about teaching, but -- "

"Teaching? She might have time for a class or two, I suppose, but as assistant director of the Starfleet Psychology Department she'd be pretty busy rewriting some of the outdated -- "

"I turned the position down because I have other goals, Admiral, but thank you," Deanna said smoothly.

Both captain and admiral were taken aback -- it was the only way to interpret the pause over the comm link, and the dismay and anger from Jean-Luc were increasingly obvious to her.

"Commander," Nechayev said. "Of course. I'm sorry, I should have realized -- "

"Let me save both of us a lot of time and energy, Admiral, and put this as succinctly as possible," Deanna said. "I enjoy working with my commanding officer, in any capacity. I've considered leaving the *Enterprise* before for a variety of enticing offers -- but it always comes back to the fact that I wouldn't enjoy them as much as being on this ship, with Captain Picard. And before you can ask, that has been true for far longer than we've been lovers. If my husband wanted the position he's been offered, the offer might be more tempting. I'm an empath, Admiral. I know he thinks about it, and how he feels when he does. He enjoys being a captain. He's good at it because he enjoys it, and he'd hate being anything else."

Another pause, and quiet laughter. "Gaines was right."

"Admiral?"

"Commander, I'm sorry. I should have realized when I approached you last night and you politely froze off my rank insignia that it was hopeless. It's obvious your priorities are pretty well set. You do realize you're getting a reputation, don't you?"

"What reputation?" Jean-Luc asked, suspicious, eyeing Deanna.

"Oh, nothing dire, Jean-Luc. Just that mixing with such a variety of your crew, your friends and colleagues, and your senior officers, I gleaned quite a cross-section of viewpoints on the two of you."

Deanna sighed. "Admiral, I don't want to be -- "

"Of course, I'm sorry. You're on leave. Congratulations again on the wedding. I hope to talk with both of you again soon. Nechayev out."

Deanna, for lack of anything else to occupy her since the admiral's interruption had entirely killed the mood, started picking up discarded clothing.

"Why the hell didn't you want to talk about that position? I thought she was talking about the head of psych at the Academy -- you never told me they offered you the -- "

"No," she exclaimed, snatching up a boot.

"What gives you the right to make unilateral -- "

"The same thing that gives you the right to not talk to me about *your* job offers. I don't want it! You said what I wanted was important. I *want* what I have already! Do you know how much I wanted to shout, listening to an admiral tell me *your* crew respects *me* as an officer?" She grabbed up the other boot.

He drew himself up and stared, an odd smile starting. He thought about it a moment longer. "They're your crew, too, you know." The smile turned into a grin, and a chuckle. "Damn, I'm proud of you."

Throwing the armful of clothes in the general direction of the closet, she sauntered to him and took his hand. "Better be -- you know I'm only doing all of it to impress you."

"You'd better be just flattering me."

"With that, yes. Fuckingly-handsome, no. Heading eight-two-four mark seven-one."

"Mmm. . . you want it in the knee? Kinky."

"So I'm not quite a first officer *yet.* I'd get to it, if I were you, before I take the helm -- and you *know* what happens when I do *that.*"