Chapter 11

Therese left Beverly's office with her knees shaking. She's done the right thing and argued for Jean Luc, just as she had promised herself she would do, and still, she had won.

The reality of those last three words, and what they meant, swept over her. Yes, she stated flatly to herself. //I've won.// With her departure from the Enterprise so close, honesty compelled her to admit that the thought of leaving alone had filled her with dread. Long lonely evenings, unshared thoughts, waking up alone in the morning...she shuddered. Too, Earth would bring nothing but memories she was trying hard to forget...memories that, when she was with Jean Luc, did not hurt quite so much. She wanted him to be with her, and it was so right, so damn *comfortable* with him...and if she could justify his being there for his own reasons too, all the better....

Entering the turbolift that would take her to the level Chemical Sciences was housed, she grimaced. No matter how much she wanted him with her, her conscience dictated that it still boil down to what was best, not just for herself, but for him. She could, after all, survive on her own.

The one-on-one talk with Beverly had been the only way for her to determine if leaving were *his* best option; she was no saint, did not pretend that there were no advantages for herself if he decided to leave, but she was first and foremost his friend, and she had to make this attempt to get through to the other woman. She hugged herself and leaned against the lift wall, suddenly tired. She didn't know for sure what the future held for them all, but the stronger, wiser, part of her -the part that knew and understood inevitabilities- knew that it would one day be important for everyone involved to know that she had done this.

She sighed. But it hadn't gone well. She strongly suspected that neither she nor Beverly had come off looking particularly good after their little altercation. Maybe, she thought, I *should* have just slapped her.

The turbolift came silently to a halt and its doors opened. Taking a deep breath, her mind still focused on what had just taken place, she stepped into the corridor and turned toward her office. She still had no understanding of the woman who insisted none of this had anything to do with her. And she knew Beverly had just as little an understanding of herself and Jean Luc. The doctor's comment of 'perhaps this is the best thing for everyone involved' nagged at her. Had that been merely a reactive statement, as she suspected a number of the doctor's comments had been, or had it a deeper meaning?

Therese shook herself mentally. She could drive herself crazy trying to figure this out. She had to focus on what she was certain of: that Beverly had left Jean Luc with only one real choice.

Knowing that, she could now allow herself a feeling of relief. Earth would not be lonely. She and Jean Luc would do the best they could.

Finally reaching her destination, she nodded to the few assistants who looked up from their work as she passed by and headed straight to her office. As the door swept closed behind her, she walked on still-shaky legs to her chair and collapsed into it.

Now: how to tell Jean Luc?

 * * *

Picard had remained at the breakfast table for some time after Therese left for Chemical Sciences, unaware of her intended detour through Sickbay. Thoughts of their conversation the evening before roiled around in his mind, muddying his thoughts, and making it difficult to gage if what he had determined to do was the right thing.

He knew how he felt. He *felt* that leaving would be the best thing. And, he had to admit, the easiest. That little question about whether he were running away from or running towards something kept hitting away at him, but it was only in his weaker, more honest moments that he admitted it was more 'running from'.

He was afraid of what was here. Emotional turmoil was not his strong suit, and even if things were finally settled between he and Beverly, what then? He thought of his parents, of Galen, of Jenice...he had spent so much of his life disappointing the people he cared about and who cared about him; would he end up disappointing Beverly too? Would he fail to live up to whatever expectations she had of him? Once he got close enough, once he let down those final barriers and gave her all of him there was, would she learn he was not who or what she thought or hoped? Would she look at him with blue eyes filled with regret that he had failed her?

With Therese, he had the offer of a relationship that was tried and true, one in which he would not have to fear a loss of control, one in which he knew he would not disappoint. He did not have the emotional stakes with her that he had with Beverly, and knew that if it did not ultimately work out, they would still remain friends and it would still be all right. It was a comforting thought.

He ran a troubled hand over his head. And what of Therese? She wanted him with her, he knew that - but would he really be helping her? Would she allow herself to open up enough to meet someone who she cared deeply for if she had him tied to her? He knew being here with him had helped her cope with the loss of Henri, but was it healthy to continue this only because he craved it the way a drowning man does a life preserver? He sighed, disappointed in himself. They had spoken too much of what he needed. Now it was time for what she needed. Perhaps he would still go, but perhaps not with Therese....

Angry at himself for this indecisiveness, he rose. They needed to talk... Admiral Blake would have to wait until the _Enterprise_ was actually docked for his decision - he had to clear things with Therese.

Noting the time, he took the remains of breakfast to the disposal. At the door he turned and surveyed the room one last time to ensure that it was straightened up for their return. Seeing that it was, taking comfort in that 'their return', he left for the bridge.

 * * *

Riker read the dispatch once again. It was only one of many that had arrived through subspace during the night, but he kept coming back to it, the name _Questor_ tugging at his memory.

None of the messages that had arrived were critical ones - just the usual 'keeping-you-up-to-date-on-life-in-the-Federation' type of information communiques that they received daily. But this one...Riker tapped his finger on the console beside the view screen thoughtfully. _Questor_....He knew it was an exploration vessel that had left to search for another stable wormhole like the one at DS9, but there was a reason the news about it should be important. But he could not remember why....

...Until the bridge turbolift doors opened, and the captain strode onto the bridge.

As usual, Picard nodded a good morning and headed directly into his ready room to view whatever Star Fleet priority communications had arrived with the usual night dispatches. He had barely had time to seat himself behind his desk, however, when his door chimed.

"Come," he said, surprised at the interruption to his morning ritual.

Riker entered. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but there's something in last night's reports from headquarters I thought you might want to see immediately."

Picard raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"The _Questor_, sir, there's mention of her in one of the dispatches."

He had expected the captain's immediate interest and was not disappointed.

"Report, Number One," came Picard's automatic order.

"The communique states that contact was broken three months ago, and that she and her crew have officially been listed as missing."

He watched the older man as the import of his words sunk in. "Why wasn't this reported earlier? There were no reports about their losing contact earlier." Picard motioned for Riker to hand over the PADD he had brought in with him. "May I see it?"

Riker handed it over and stood watching as Picard read the report himself. Therese Winthrop's ex-husband was onboard the _Questor_ - he could remember her mentioning it during a conversation about deep space missions. He had been uncertain whether or not the information would have any particular impact on the ex-wife, but if Picard's reaction was anything to go by, he figured it might.

Picard's features were strained and his eyes bleak when he looked up from the PADD. He raised a hand to massage his left temple and said, "Commander, I'd appreciate it if no mention were made of this until I have had time to apprize Lieutenant Winthrop of this development."

Riker nodded. "Understood, sir." Leaning over, he picked up the PADD where Picard had laid it to rest. Taking a step backward, he said quietly, "I'll be on the bridge if you need me, sir," before turning to leave.

Picard nodded, watching the retreating form of his first officer, and thinking how irrelevant those words would sound to someone who did not recognize them for what they were. He had worked with Will long enough to know they were cover for an unspoken reassurance and sympathy that he did not feel it his place to vocalize. He took a brief moment to appreciate it briefly before turning his concerned thoughts towards telling Therese the news.

Sitting back in his chair, he let out a heavy sigh. More complications. This was going to tear Therese apart; the horrible weight of not knowing for sure would be worse even than knowing the worst.

He turned his chair to face the ready room's viewport and crossed one leg over the other. As he did so, he set aside all doubt about leaving the _Enterprise_. Therese would need him, and since she would be on Earth, there was no excuse for him not taking that damned Admiralty. His jaw tensed as he forced himself to firmly set aside the thought that he would also be leaving Beverly.

Quickly turning his chair around, he put both feet firmly of the floor and reached over to punch in his access code for communications with Star Fleet Headquarters. Admiral Blake could have his answer now.

* * *

Jean Luc stood up and opened his arms when Therese walked into his quarters that evening. Surprised, but more than willing, she allowed herself to be engulfed in his embrace.

"What's this about, Cherie?" she smiled, looking up at him.

"How does it feel to hug Star Fleet's newest Admiral?"

Therese stepped back a little and exclaimed, "Cherie! You decided? How could you make that decision without me? I wanted to be the first to know."

"You're the second. I spoke to Admiral Blake this morning, and we spent the rest of the day organizing the change of command that'll have to take place. I'll announce it to the crew tomorrow, before we make orbit around earth."

"It feels so sudden, Cherie," she said, "I was never completely sure you would leave this ship."

Together, both their thoughts added 'or Beverly'.

"It was a decision long overdue, I think."

Therese looked at him happily. "You will make a wonderful Admiral, Jean Luc. You will stir things up a little for them, yes?"

He grunted. "I don't think I'll be too worried about stirring things up for a while: I'll be spending most of my time learning the ropes and trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to be doing."

She laughed and turned towards the replicator. "I think this calls for something special, oui? It is times like these I wish they would allow small places to cook real food. I feel an urge to make something myself to celebrate. It would be fun. For dessert, I would let you make that banana flambe thing you used to do so well."

Picard looked at her affectionately, "That was many years ago, Cherie; a whole different lifetime. I think we're safer with the replicator."

"I hope you do not slur my cooking as well, monsieur!"

He held up his hands. "You know better than to think that. *I* have to live with you!"

They smiled at one another. Then Therese's smile faded. "Jean Luc?"

He closed his eyes, knowing she had finally sensed something. "Oui, Cherie," he replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

"What is it?"

"Nothing that can't wait until you've eaten. You're a bear on an empty stomach."

She smiled uncertainly and then nodded, knowing that he also needed to do things in his own time. Trusting his judgement, she gathered up her worry and set it aside.

"Fine. Tell me, then, what you would like for dinner."

 * * *

He sat looking at her, allowing his concern to show. Exhaling softly, he gestured and then looked at his glass of wine as he remarked, "It seems we have all our most important conversations like this."

Therese raised dark questioning eyes to his. "And this will be an important one, Cherie?"

Picard nodded. Sitting closer to her, he began, "We received news of the _Questor_ today."

He saw her tense. "Yes?"

He placed his wine on the table in preparation for what he knew would follow. Turning back toward her, he said, "It's not good news, I'm afraid. Star Fleet lost contact with them more than three months ago. Word was only given now because of the secrecy of some of their exploration. They wanted to make sure that foul play was not involved."

Therese sat quietly while he spoke. Leaning into him, she whispered, "Oh, Jean Luc," before silent tears filled her eyes. He held her, rocking gently...whispering what little more he knew, promising that it would be all right, that they would begin to find out more as soon as they got settled...murmuring that Henri would be found, that he had still to survive her famous wrath upon his return to earth...and softly promising anything that might ease her.

Slowly, she raised her head and brushed the tears from her cheeks with her fingers. "Oh, Cherie, I am sorry. I should not be so."

Picard laid a gentle hand on her cheek. "You know better than to say that to me."

She reached up and gently kissed him on the side of his mouth. "Merci, Jean Luc."

Wanting to fill her thoughts with more than loss, he chose to provide her with some hope. "I've spoken with a few people. There are some questions, and as I said, there has been no debris found, nothing to indicate that they are actually anything but 'lost' as opposed to destroyed."

Therese clutched at the hope - and Jean Luc's hand. "Thank you for being here, Cherie."

Picard nodded, accepting this next step in his life readily. Who better to be with her than him?

Leaning back into his ready room chair, Picard swung it around slowly, allowing his eyes to travel across a room he would soon be leaving forever. It did not, he thought, have quite the lived-in feel of the one on the Enterprise D, but it had sufficed, its refuge welcome during times of crisis, or when he was in need of solitude.

He let his gaze wander to where the fish tank should have been, and wondered again if not having one had been a mistake. Hot on the heels of this thought, however, was the one that perhaps Riker would not want the bother of it. One regret, at least, he could set aside.

His eyes traveled over to the sofa and its accompanying chair, their soft browns lending a comfortable warmth to a corner that also held a coffee table, an open book turned face down upon it...he would not be finishing the story here, he thought, and made note to remember to take it with him when he left for his quarters. His eyes continuing their circuit of the room, he turned his attention to the pedestal standing in a place of honor that held his salvaged copy of Shakespear from the 'D'...and wondered how to approach Beverly with the news he was accepting the Admiralty position.

Turning his chair abruptly, he looked out at the stars, trying to focus on other thoughts. His mind refused his efforts, though, and reminded him of his obligation to tell her before it became common knowledge. Perhaps when she heard, she....

Not allowing himself to continue the foolish hope, he rose and walked to the replicator. His reluctance to tell her had him seriously considering posting a notice of the command change, and slinking off the ship before anyone had the chance to read it. By the time the command ceremonies came round, he knew, the shock would have worn off, and everyone would be able to maintain an amiable facade. Sighing regretfully, he shook his head at the thought.

Still mulling the problem over, he took the tea he had ordered and returned to his desk. The possibility of leaving a personal communication for Beverly, in which he might give a logical explanation for his going was briefly considered. When he tried to phrase it in his mind, however, the words would not come.

He ran a hand over his head and clenched his jaw. He would have to face her, do this right. Sitting in his ready room, however, sickbay seemed miles away. Twenty-four more hours, and he would be gone. He had to tell her soon. Tomorrow morning, the staff would be told, and Riker offered the captaincy... And still he waited, hoping against hope the words he needed would come.

The door chime rang. Glad for the distraction from his thoughts, he said, "Come," and turned his chair from the window to face his visitor.

"Beverly," he said, his voice controlled, his pulse racing.

She nodded and crossed the room to his desk while the doors swished closed behind her.

"Jean Luc..." she hesitated, not sure how to continue, only knowing that she had worked up the courage to get here, so she had to finish. Inhaling, she plunged right to the point,"...I didn't want you to leave without my saying goodbye."

A cold wash swept over him.

"Saying goodbye?" he asked without thinking.

She nodded. "I've heard...through the grapevine that you've accepted the Admiralty. I know things are going to be busy for you in what little time there is before we make orbit, and I didn't want you to leave without knowing that I wish you well."

She thought back briefly to the shock the news had given her. Within twelve hours of Picard's speaking with Admiral Blake, a friend from Starfleet had put through a subspace message to her, requesting the scoop on Picard's new position. She had sat in stunned silence for some time before, with trembling hands, sending off a blithe message that she would send all the juicy details later. Afterwards, she had allowed herself to weep, knowing he had made his decision and that there was no longer any hope for another outcome.

And then she had begun her wait.

By that afternoon, when he still had not contacted her, she knew she had to go to him. A growing anger at first fueled the decision, but as she neared his office, she realized this was, after all, what she had determined he should do. Taking hold of herself mentally, she tried to rein in her emotions and allow sense and reason to guide her.

Picard watched her, his features frozen. "...without knowing that I wish you well." The words echoed in his mind, and something inside turned leaden and died at the sound of them. Controlling his emotions with some effort, he said, "Thank you Beverly. I shall miss..." He stopped, wishing he could make her understand, even while knowing it was past that for either of them. "It was a...difficult decision for me."

She nodded, noting the bleak look in his eyes, and refrained from commenting on the woman she believed had helped him make that decision.

Seeking something to ease the strain between them, she offered, "You've been fighting them a long time, Jean Luc, it was only time before they made you an offer you couldn't refuse."

He recognized the offer of a small truce and gestured towards the chair in front of the desk. When she had seated herself, he replied wryly, "Yes, well, you know how I've always complained about the way they conduct their scientific missions, and how they choose the ships to do them. This is their attempt to ensure they will never have to listen to me complain again. I should have known they'd come up with the idea of having me do it."

Looking up, she could see that he felt more relaxed, that he was falling easily into their old rhythm as he said, "I also look forward to heading the exploration committee. To have the opportunity to determine where and when our next exploration will take place, who will go..." he smiled, a glimmer of enthusiasm sounding in his voice, "...it will be an exciting thing, Beverly."

Caught up in a moment of shared anticipation, knowing that under different circumstances she would be filled with joy for him, she smiled briefly, memorizing his features, taking enjoyment from the look in his eye, and was assailed by an internal scream of anger and despair that physically shook her. Catching her unawares, rage that he was leaving her and that she would not, could not, stop him, coursed through her. She took a deep breath, then exhaled unsteadily, "Yes, well...I just wanted you to know... The best of luck, Jean Luc."

She rose and turned to go, seeking escape, and Picard leapt from his chair. "Beverly!" Some instinct told him this would be the last time he would have alone with her, and he wanted to stop her from leaving, prolong this time with her, no matter how uncomfortable it was. He wanted to explain...wanted *her* to explain...

She turned to find him already beside her. They stared at one another for several heartbeats, the air between them thick with wanting -and with fear, hurt and too many things unsaid.

Without thinking, he reached out his hand to her.

Flinching, she backed away, afraid of her weakness, afraid she might beg him to stay, plead with him to take her too..."I told Alyssa I'd be back quickly. We're trying to get all the meds updated before tomorrow. I really must be going, Captain." She quickly turned away from the hurt she saw rise in his eyes, to cover the hurt in her own.

"I really must be going...Captain." Another echo. Always it came back to that, he thought: 'Captain'....

Picard stood, hand still raised, as the door swished closed behind her. So this, he thought, was how it ended. No words of accusation or remonstration, no voices raised in anger...no tears,no outward display of emotion...just an "I must be going, Captain".

There was blood and little pieces of torn skin left on the wall where his fist smashed into it.

 * * *

The change of command ceremony was an emotional one. Picard had been pleased Riker would at last get his dreamed-of command, and knew he would do well. Watching as his former Number One received his captain's pip, he could not help but feel a sort of paternal pride, and was grateful that he could feel so confident in the man chosen to command a vessel he had such fondness for.

Riker, captain of the _Enterprise_ at last, had turned to Picard and found he had to restrain himself from hugging the man who had guided him for the past decade. They stood and shook one another's hand, silently acknowledging the bond grown strong between them.

After the ceremony itself, Picard's final moments aboard the _Enterprise_ were filled with handshakes, well wishes, and silent heartache. The heartache had not eased when he and Beverly had finally met face-to-face. There had been an uncomfortable pause, with neither knowing quite what to say or do. Then, in a gesture that was almost her undoing, Picard held out his arms to her. Beverly allowed herself one last moment, eyes squeezed tight against tears, before reluctantly stepping back out of their embrace. "Be happy, Jean Luc." she had said. Not trusting herself to say more, she quickly touched his cheek and moved away.

"Well, Picard!" Admiral Blake joked as he moved towards where Picard stood. "This is some party. Damn, but they must be REALLY glad you're leaving!" Jean Luc smiled politely and tore his eyes away from Beverly's retreating form. He was ready to leave now. The most important good-bye had been said.

In a far corner of the room, almost hidden by the crowd of people, Deanna Troi watched, unable to stop a silent tear, shed for them both, from spilling down her cheek.

 * * *

A YEAR LATER....

Twelve months after saying good bye to the _Enterprise_, Picard had discovered that, though being tied to Earth was not his style in some respects, smoothing out hierarchies, matching wits with intractable men, and taking part in charting the future course for the Federation, was. His time as Admiral had enabled him to strengthen ties with his associates, and he found that, much to his gratitude, people trusted and valued his thoughts and guidance. Only in his sixties, he was the leader of the 'young' pack of admirals, the one captains asked to intercede for them, and the one whom other, more removed Admirals used as a sounding board for how things would 'go down with the Fleet.' He felt himself to be making a difference, and looked forward to each day's work. Most of the time, he thought there was little more a man could ask for.

On the personal side, there was much to be said for the arrangement he and Therese had chosen for themselves. Their life together strengthened him, gave him a center from which to draw calm. She brought him out of himself when he became too introspective, and introduced new friends with varying interests into his circle, enlivening his off hours. He felt himself to be content, and if he sometimes stared at the night sky and wondered how a certain red-haired doctor fared, at least it was not so painful as it once had been.

Therese had a difficult time when they had first arrived back, memories of Henri seeming to upset her at every turn. Slowly, she had accustomed herself to life on earth again, and, though she still asked at least once weekly if there had been news, Picard had watched with quiet pleasure as the shadows under her eyes gradually disappeared and her smile became more ready. It gratified him that he was able to help in that transformation.

Arriving with Therese, and setting up house with her, had been a seven days wonder for the gossip mongers. Most of the furor went over his head unnoticed, and Therese did what she could to shield him from the rest. Quickly, however, they became accepted as a couple, and if anyone felt surprise at his choice of partner, they were certainly wise enough not to question it aloud in Picard's presence. Privately, they all had wondered the same thing -what happened to Beverly Crusher- but as with all gossip without fuel to feed it, the talk and questions had slowly died away as everyone became used to the situation....

...until Beverly Crusher landed on Earth as Head of Star Fleet Medical again. Then, as people will, everyone sat up and started paying attention again.

Their viligence would have gone unrewarded had it not been for a couple of small, little things considered noteworthy by those 'in the know'.

The first item up for comment was that, except for Picard's welcome note, forwarded through his office, there had been no communication between the two. In fact, she had not even replied to his welcome.

That made everyone wait with bated breath for their first meeting.

While people watched and waited, Beverly did her best to concentrate on the job at hand: that of settling into her new offices. Here, however, she was met with the time honored tradition of staff regaling their new chief with all the gossip, both new and old: Admiral Blake's divorce, the questionable parentage of Admiral Cottreau's third child, the affair Doctor Gerric was having with Stevenson's secretary...and because they knew the old gossip and were curious, they had watched her carefully as they told her of the living arrangements of Admiral Picard and the newly promoted Lieutenant Commander Winthrop.

It had been Betty Wong, an assistant who had also worked in her office when she had been at Star Fleet Medical years ago, who had said, in an English accent so different from Picard's, "They settled in together, straight off the ship. No 'how d'y do's', nothing." Betty looked at Crusher curiously. "We all thought he'd never settle down. It was quite something to see him arrive, and them like an old married couple already, so comfortable with each other, like. It was quite a surprise. News like that generally gets around quick...we ought to have known long before they arrived..." She smiled. "Someone really slipped up..." Shaking her head, she continued chattily, "There were a few disappointed hopefuls when we found out THAT development, I can tell you. He cuts quite a figure, he does...nice shoulders, deadly smile when he allows one, that patrician manner of his..." she sighed, and Beverly took time during the pause to thank the gods the woman did not take the opportunity to delve deeper into the man's attributes before continuing, "...but I'm told he's disgustingly faithful..."

Thank the stars for small mercies, she thought acidly.

When it looked as though Betty might not be finished, Crusher had murdered an excuse and made her escape. She had forgotten how pervasive Federation gossip was, even on Earth, how at times it seemed that the Fleet was just one, great, humongous family with everyone knowing everyone's business - or, if not knowing, trying to find it out. She cringed at the things she knew must have been said about...she stopped her thoughts firmly, and promised herself to try to stay out of any further talk at all costs. She was here to do a job - a job she knew had been especially designed to tempt her into returning to Headquarters, and she would be damned if she would let Jean Luc's presence here spoil it for her.

That was why, when she received her next message from Jean Luc, she did not answer it. Nor did she reply to the one that followed it. Both communications had not really required a reply except for politeness' sake, and for now, at least, she felt better ignoring the social niceties.

  * * *

It could be said that ignoring him was the wrong tack to take with the Admiral. It was why, so the story went around the Star Fleet staff room replicators, he decided to seek her out personally. It was also why the watchers were at last treated to what was to be the only item worth mentioning in the Crusher/Picard relationship file.

Determined not to let her avoid him any longer, Picard decided that a direct approach was necessary. When he strode purposefully into Beverly's outer office, her assistant, knowing when to stand out of the way, made only a faint attempt to stop his progress across to Beverly's door.

"That's fine, ensign, I'll let myself in," he had said in a low voice, brushing the young man aside.

Re-seating himself behind his desk, the ensign watched the Head's door close behind Picard. When he was sure it was safe, he allowed a smile to lighten his features. The Admiral, he grinned, obviously was not going to allow any more of his messages to go unanswered. His grin grew wider. And *he* was the lucky one to get to tell everyone.

End

Complications 12/42

Complication

Part 13/42

Picard had walked through the door expecting to be immediately confronted by Beverly. Instead, the office at first appeared empty, and he thought for a moment he had barged his way purposefully into an empty room. Then, looking about, he saw her on her knees, bent over a container from which she was removing objects which she was then placing on a low shelf behind her desk, totally oblivious to his presence. He stood a moment, drinking in the sight of her. A whole year had passed, but until now, he had not realized how desperate he had been to see her, to physically be in the same room as her.

Without looking up, Beverly said, "Thanks, Matt. Now, if you could bring me the data padds I left on your desk this morning, I'd appreciate it. Just throw them on top of the ones you just brought in."

Picard cleared his throat.

Turning at the sound, Beverly's face registered a myriad of emotions as she recognized her guest. For a moment, she was speechless, joy at the sight of him overwhelming her. Her hungry eyes washed over him, reassuring herself it was indeed him, that he was well, that he was *here*. Once she was assured he was, she felt anger rise within her and said the first thing that came into her head.

"Get out."

God, she still wasn't ready to see him...

"Beverly..."

"I said, get out."

Standing on unsteady knees, she shuddered inwardly. Who would have thought she could still have feelings like these after so long...

He stood looking at her, amazed at how comfortable he felt seeing her again, and at how unmoved he was by her ordering him away. "I will do no such thing, Doctor. We have not seen one another in twelve months. You were my best friend and a member of my crew for nine years, and your office deals with my office on an almost daily basis. You will not order me out. I will not leave. Please, sit down and say hello to me."

'You were my best friend' echoed in the small silence between them, and Picard saw Beverly's stance relax almost imperceptibly. He had no way of knowing it was because of the familiar ground he gave her to stand on with those words.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a stubborn son of a bitch?"

It felt so good to be talking to him again....

"Beverly," he said, allowing amusement to curve his lips wryly, "they wouldn't dare."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Well, I do, and you are. Now get out when you're told to get out. You've no reason to be here, and I'm busy..."

Had he no idea what seeing him did to her....

Picard went over to a chair placed in front of her desk and sat down, crossing one leg over the other comfortably.

"I understand you've been back on Earth for a few weeks now. Are you settling in well?" he asked in a mild tone. He was uncertain how he was going to manage it, but they had to have some sort of workable relationship with one another, even if he had to force her into it. He could not bear the thought of their forever avoiding one another, pretending not to see the other in the hallway, making excuses for not attending something the other might be present at -and he was willing to take whatever initial rejection she threw his way in order to win her over.

Beverly stood looking at him in frustration, hands on her hips, fire in her eye. This was not how she had scripted this meeting in her mind; indeed, in the script, she had been pleasant, and controlled, and had known just what to say. Instead, part of her wanted to simply walk over and hit him. Another part of her could not figure out why she was being so unreasonable, why she couldn't think of something civil to say.

Say. Said. Talking. Talk. Suddenly her eyes widened. Had he NO idea what his presence in her office...she shot a look at her door. She sighed. At least with it closed, no one had heard...Shit. Word would be out within minutes of his leaving that they had a behind-closed-doors meeting - with no official, legitimate excuse. Great. Just great. She was not even ready to handle seeing him in person yet, and now there would be the whispers this meeting would bring forth to deal with. Did he have NO idea what his presence here today would do to spice up the coffee break gossip?

She looked at him. His hazel eyes stared calmly back at her.

No, she thought with resignation, probably not.

She had no way of knowing he knew and had learned not to care.

With a sigh, she sat down. There was no stopping this, whatever 'this' was. Jean Luc had that look on his face. She quelled a happy little thought that it was *he* who had made this first move, and said in her most 'this-is-me-being-reasonable' tone, "I'm settling in well, Jean Luc. And you? How have you been?"

He smiled a small smile of victory she did not have the energy to resent and replied, "Well."

They looked at one another, reluctantly glad to be in the same room as the other, one tension gone, another quickly replacing it.

Then Picard's deep accented voice began a conversation....

...An hour later, it seemed that all would be well, a tentative approachment reached. They would be able to face one another in a corridor without shrinking away, they would be able to speak at receptions, and nod cordially when they met at meetings. It was little enough, perhaps, but it left them both inexplicably glad.

The ensign watched with interest as Picard walked out of Dr. Crusher's office. Feeling the young man's gaze, the admiral looked over at him and nodded a curt farewell, his face unreadable.

It remained unreadable until he was several yards down the corridor. Then he allowed himself a small smile and a sigh of relief.

 * * *

Therese, curled up against him on the sofa, listened to Picard's report that evening with interest, and felt no threat to their current situation. She was right to feel so. Crusher now viewed Picard as a married man, papers or no. He had made his choice and was no longer hers to hope for. She could be content, she thought, with a re-working of their old friendship.

Picard had known Beverly was unattainable for so long that, for him, little had changed except that, because of Therese, he no longer felt the loneliness that had once been his constant companion. And, though he would not have said so, he too felt 'married', his life inextricably tied with another's, and his dreams of anything with Beverly, he believed, long dead. He would be content, he thought, with a re-working of their old friendship.

Still, he was indescribably pleased that she was working just around the corner.

And Beverly had been right about one thing during that first meeting: as soon as he had left her office, the rumors once again took flight. As weeks passed, however, and the two led their separate lives, the talk slowly, reluctantly, languished once again into old stories dredged up after too many drinks.

 * * *

THREE MONTHS LATER

Awakening to the sound of her communicator, Beverly frowned at the clock. Three a.m.? Why in heavens name would somebody be calling her at that ungodly hour? Calling for lights, she fumbled around, her slender fingers finally managing to activate a two-way communication line. "Crusher here."

The screen flickered on, and the image of Admiral Hendrickson began to speak into the room. Sitting in his neat uniform, his dark hair perfectly in place, his eyes alert, he spoke a quick opening apology while she groped around for her robe, "Doctor Crusher. Sorry for bothering you at this time of night, but a situation has arisen which requires your immediate presence."

Finding success in her quest for covering, Beverly drew a blue silk robe tightly around her small waist and then stepped within view screen range. "And that is?" she asked calmly, as though being awoken in this manner was a matter of course for her.

Admiral Hendrickson paused to make what she took to be an enquiring look off screen. Though she heard no response, Beverly had the definite impression there was someone else in the room, and that he was looking for input from them. When he turned back to face her, he said, "I'm sorry doctor, but I'd prefer to tell you in person. We require you to prepare yourself for a trip lasting an indefinite period of time. Your ship leaves within an hour."

Beverly was quite awake now, and did not feel inclined to being ordered about. Pushing her touselled red hair away from her face, she said, "I will do no such thing, Admiral. I am sure I can find someone with whatever qualification you require to help you. I have an important meeting with a D'nathian medical delegation tomorrow morning, and we are hosting this quadrant's medical summit next week. The lead speakers are arriving during the next couple of days and I will need to review their research materials again and..."

Hendrickson's heavy brows drew together, and he broke into her litany. "Doctor, you misunderstand me. You are *ordered* to leave within the hour for Deep Space Nine. If you refuse to meet at the transport station, prepared to help with this matter, I will ask that you hand in your resignation. This is that important: I cannot take no for an answer."

Beverly looked at him in silence, her mouth slightly agape. Hendrickson stared back at her steadily.

"You're serious."

Hendrickson nodded. "We'll explain our difficulty when you arrive. I'll meet you at transport station 3Y in..." he glanced away, "... forty one minutes."

"Yes sir."

Beverly switched off the view screen and headed for the shower, mentally deciding what to pack as she went, and wondering what the hell was going on.

 * * *

Sitting in the transport shuttle on her way to Deep Space Nine, she was still unable to quite believe what Hendrickson had told her.

The official story was that the _Regina_, a transport ship on its way to Bajor and the Alpha quadrant via the wormhole, had found a severely damaged vessel, drifting and almost powerless. Warned by an automatic beacon not to come on board because there were crewmembers sick with an unknown disease, the _Regina_ had put on tractor beams and towed the ship towards the only place it could think of to take the vessel: Deep Space Nine.

Having survived the trip through the wormhole, the unknown vessel had been immediately placed under tight security, and the crew removed and placed in quarantine on the space station. Doctor Crusher herself was to examine and report to the Admiral the status of the crewmen, and to diagnose and work on a cure for whatever it was they had brought back with them to the Alpha Quadrant; with Doctor Julian Bashir's help, of course.

Any and all information she might incidentally discover as to the identity of the ship, or any of its crew members, was to remain completely confidential. Beverly was told that as part of security measures, her communications were herewith restricted, and all contact with Earth would be routed through Hendrickson's office for the duration of her stay at DS9.

Crusher had raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing. It was an unusual step to take with someone as senior as herself, but until she knew more about the situation, she felt it impolitic to protest. She could not help but wonder at such security, however.

"We're ready to transfer you, sir."

The words broke into her thoughts, and Beverly nodded and gathered her things together in preparation to beam over to the ship that would take her directly to DS9. She smiled to herself. If there was one small ray of light in this whole mystery, it was her destination. She had worked briefly with Dr. Bashir, and had even taught a course he had been enrolled in during her previous term as HSFM. She recognized and respected the young man's remarkable ability and looked forward to working with him.

He was not the only attraction, however. The station itself, with it bustling recreation deck, its areas of commerce and many restaurants -not to mention Quark's remarkable holoprograms- was not the worst place to be stuck for an unknown length of time.

She allowed herself another moment to question the secrecy of this mission and their choice of her: for security reasons, they had said, and because of her breadth of experience in dealing with space-induced illnesses, they had added. Refusing to tell her anything more until she arrived and saw the patients themselves, she had to be content with the knowledge that at least they had Julian Bashir looking after them until she got there.

  * * *

Crusher looked at the handsome face of the young doctor, thinking she was going to have to stop thinking of him that way -it was making her feel old. //He's aging like the rest of us...only perhaps less quickly,// she thought grudgingly.

 "They've been like this since they arrived?" she asked.

Bashir nodded, his dark hair glinting in the lights of the quarantine bay. "The ones just over there are those who have responded the least to what little I've been able to do for any of them. The others," he waved his hand vaguely around him, "are the same, though less so, if that makes any sense."

Beverly looked back at the PADD she was reading. Thirteen survivors...out of how many, she wondered. Looking up she questioned, "And you still don't know what ship it is?"

"No, sir," he lied, then added truthfully, "I can't see how they wouldn't, though - they've had a crew of people swarming all over it since before even you arrived. Commander Byrne is in charge, and he says all records were wiped clean and that all identifying marks were removed." He gestured a long fingered hand towards where some of the crew lay. "They certainly can't tell us."

Crusher looked thoughtful. "There are more things than records and a ship's identity number to tell you which vessel this might be - what about personal records, belongings? There must be tons of things on board to give them clues. Even the configuration of the ship itself would be a start? How many of that type of vessel were made? It's obviously a Federation construct." She shook her head. "I don't understand."

Doctor Bashir refrained from saying he did not think they were supposed to, and merely shrugged. Dark eyes thoughtful, he looked sideways at the woman who had come so far so quickly to help, and wondered if it were safe to tell her what he really knew. Reluctantly, he decided to wait - Dr. Crusher had been, after all, sent by Star Fleet. She could be part of whatever it was that was going on. For now, it was better to keep his discovery to himself;

finding out what was wrong with these people was more important than whatever little games the folks at Star Fleet were amusing themselves with.

He looked at her again. His square jaw clenched, its muscles playing beneath his skin. Pity he couldn't trust her, though...

End part 13/42

Complications

TITLE: Complications

AUTHOR: Mariel

SERIES: TNG

PART: 14/42

RATING:

CODES: f/P/C

Something was wrong. Picard tapped his fingers on the desk in frustration. Three days ago, Doctor Zstirin had taken Beverly's place at a pivotal meeting with the D'Nathian medical delegation. Yesterday, she had failed to appear at the preliminary meetings with the summit conference speakers.

Thank heavens, he thought as he glanced up at the retreating form of his assistant, for staff alert enough to take note of and mention things like that.

It never occurred to him that there was a reason people kept him and Beverly appraised of each other's doings.

Now, after making discreet enquiries, he had discovered she had been called away on Federation business, but found no one able (or willing? he wondered) to say where she had gone, why she had gone, and when she would be back.

It did not feel right. Nor, he was forced to admit, was it any of his business.

He sat, tapping his fingers, turning over in his mind various ways of *making* it his business...

 * * *

Therese's warm eyes watched Jean Luc with amusement as he moved restlessly around their quarters that evening.

"Cherie," she said gently, after he had gotten up to replace his third, untouched tea gone cold with yet another hot one, "Perhaps if you talked about it?"

Picard looked at her in half-surprise, then relaxed and smiled. "It shows, does it?"

She nodded and settled back into the sofa comfortably. "What has happened?"

He looked down at his hands and said. "I may be over reacting..."

She raised a dark eyebrow and waited patiently for him to continue.

"Beverly Crusher has disappeared," he finally said. "Although it appears there are official reasons for her dropping out of sight, I can't find anyone who'll tell me where she went, why she went or when she'll be back. It doesn't make sense. I ought to have heard about something so important that the HSFM had to be drafted into active duty."

Therese looked at him, her heart loving him and understanding him better than he knew. This was more than being upset about being 'left out of the loop'. He was worried about Beverly.

"Who have you spoken to, Cherie?"

"All the usual people. No one seems to really know what's going on. I did manage to get out of Nera Plaxton that Admiral Hendrickson has some ultra secret stuff going on at the moment that no one seems to know much about." He shook his head. "But I know him. It'd be impossible to get any information out if he's decided it's secret."

"What about her friends? Her close associates? You have spoken to them, yes?" She expected she knew the answer, but asked, so he could continue talking.

"I don't know that she has any close friends on Earth anymore. She may have new friends I wouldn't know about, but she's only been back on Earth five months, and she's been very busy..." He shook his head. "I did call Kate Pulaski, but she said she'd been as surprised as anyone when she called the office and found she was gone. Beverly's office, of course, was just as unhelpful with her as they were with me."

Leaning back onto the couch, he turned on his hip to face Therese. "Whatever it is, it happened suddenly. She left the office one day, saying 'see you tomorrow' and hasn't been seen or heard from since."

"Could it not be one of Hendrickson's top secret games, Cherie? They have found, perhaps, a new life form, yes? Always, he wants to make sure he is the first to know. You have said before he collects information but never gives it. Perhaps that is all it is, non?"

Picard nodded, but was not reassured. Withholding information like that would seriously breach standard procedure...not that he wouldn't put it past the man. Something was definitely up, and he wanted to know what it was...

Therese watched Picard intently. Jean Luc loved a mystery...and what better than one that involved Beverly Crusher? She sighed to herself. It would be hard for her, should this be the beginning of the end...

 * * *

Only the hum of equipment and the occasional muttered expletive broke the silence of DS9's sickbay - not the permanent, 'oops let me fix this boo boo' sickbay people went to for medical attention while on DS9 - but the quarantine sickbay set up especially for the large number of people now in need of protective medical care.

Set up hurriedly, it had all the necessary equipment, but no sense of permanence: black and red and dark purple wires snaked along the walls, carrying power and computer signals and whatever else they were designed to conduct. Consoles were placed against the walls rather than built into them, and the floor had an uneven spot where a wall had been torn down to make the room larger for the thirteen patients who presently lay on portable beds lined along the walls and across the floor. The air, triple-filtered and cooler than the rest of the station's air, still held the faint smell of laser soldering and newly uncrated equipment.

Dr. Julian Bashir stood quietly, leaning against a desk set in one corner of the room, watching intently as the slender, red-headed doctor once again read readings that had not changed in the three days since she had arrived. He had always thought her a strong woman -she would have had to be, to get where she was today- but somehow her appearance also gave the impression that there was something about her ethereal, delicate.

Who would have thought she could swear like a trooper?

Only occasionally, never in conversation with anyone but herself...but my, the things he had heard her say under her breath, he thought with amusement. Now that he was over his surprise, he had begun to wonder if the doctor was even aware she did it. He had also begun to count the languages she used. The number was increasing at an impressive rate.

The doctor in question looked at the readings again and sighed. She had gone over all thirteen survivors with a fine-toothed comb and could not find anything to explain how they could all show such similar readings -readings which, in fact, were close to normal- and yet still be comatose. There were no drugs in their systems, no neural indications that there was a problem. The brain was simply shut down -asleep, if you wanted to put it that way- neural paths functioning, but at a minimum. Indeed, they exhibited all of the usual indicators of coma, but without the usual indicators explaining why.

She slapped the tricorder in her hand in frustration and looked across the room at Doctor Bashir. "It doesn't make sense! What happened to these people?" She waved her hands, "Why aren't they up and walking around, regaling us with stories about who they are, and where they're from, and why they wanted to keep their identities -and that of their ship- such a secret?"

She looked down at the patient she had just finished examining, and asked softly, "And why is it such a secret? Why can't we find out who you are and what the ship you traveled on was doing?"

Looking up at Julian, she said, "I don't like this, Doctor. I'd be willing to bet my last credit that someone, somewhere, knows more than what we're being told."

Bashir nodded, but said nothing, avoiding her eyes. He had watched Crusher during the past three days carefully. He had seen her first try all the techniques he had used to determine the condition of the people in his sickbay, and then watched her try a couple things he had not thought of. Then, he had collaborated with her on a couple more attempts at discovering the whys of their patient's condition. All their attempts had hit a dead end: nothing, nada, zilch.

Growing during these observations, however, was a conviction that Doctor Crusher was exactly what she seemed to be: a frustrated, earnest doctor, trying to get to the bottom of a medical mystery.

He wondered if it were time to mention what he knew, but stopped himself. If he had felt uncomfortable going to Sisko with this information, why would he speak to her? He moved restlessly. It was time to call it a day. He would go home, leave the care of the patients to the medical team Hendrickson had sent to assist him, and put his feet up. He needed to give the situation some serious thought...He needed someone he could trust....

There was Sisko, of course, but Bashir had been disappointed in his response to the mystery ship and its crew, even though he somewhat understood it. He was of course aware that his commanding officer had been told, in no uncertain terms, that the damaged ship and its crew were none of his business, and that he and his people were to maintain a strict hands-off policy. He, Odo, Sisko, and a few of the other lead personnel, had been called in for a conference, with a hologram of Hendrickson conducting the meeting.

This little piece of new technology was disconcerting at first - one really did forget after a while that it was not actually Hendrickson in the room, but only a projection of him. When he spoke, everyone listened. He had been very clear in his orders: No questions were to be asked, no answers given. Period.

Sisko had at first thrown his usual bluster. "Admiral, with all due respect, this is my station to command. I do not see how I can..."

Hendrickson had overridden Sisko's words. "You can and will, Captain Sisko. You have your orders. This is ultra secret and will remain so. If I wanted you or anyone else to know the exact nature of what is going on, then you would be informed. I do not, so you will not be. Is that clear?"

When Sisko had opened his mouth to object further, Hendrickson had again interrupted, his voice steely: "Captain, my word on this is final." Easing his tone somewhat, he added, "Look, pretend the ship and crew aren't there. Security is such that people can guess all they want about what's going on - and after a time, they'll find something else to wonder about. My people arrive in less than two hours. They'll apprize you of their specific needs."

There had been a brief -and very stilted, on Sisko's part- discussion of a few details, then the communication had been curtailed.

Turning to the others, Sisko had said abruptly, "Well, gentlemen, as the man said, we have our orders. We will follow them. As of now, there is no ship at Docking Point 3, there is no emergency quarantine on deck 4, Dr. Crusher is arriving for we don't know what reason, and the investigative team and Hendrickson's med staff are here for..." he threw up his hands in disgust, "...whatever. There will be no more mention made of this. Our meeting is adjourned."

When they arrived, Hendrickson's men, perhaps used to this sort of situation, had acted discreetly, working with a minimum of fanfare and fuss. Quietly, they had swarmed through the damaged ship, gathering whatever information they were looking for, quietly communicating with sickbay regarding the progress of the crewmen. Careful not to offend, careful to betray nothing, they did their work and stayed out of the way. Sisko, after watching their activities for a few days, had finally begun to ignore them, tired of Federation games. Determined to ignore the resentment he could not help feeling, he decided to let the admirals have their fun - he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Bashir watched in no little surprise as Sisko had proceeded, over the next few days, to do exactly as he had been ordered to do. He had stood back -reluctantly, angrily- but he'd stood back...and had steadfastly continued to do so.

Bashir had decided not to say anything to him - yet.

He had considered Odo next, then reconsidered. It was not, he thought, a matter for security. Odo was out of the loop and had, rather surprisingly, also backed off. It was, after all, proper protocol, considering the level the orders had come from. Besides, he did not need the added responsibility of a derelict ship and a comatose crew at a time of year when the DS9 transient population increased by 40% -most of it, he was certain, criminal. Let the Fleet worry about the ship and it's crew; he had an entire station to worry about.

His thoughts turned. He would have to confide in someone, sooner or later, but who? There was a mystery here, subterfuge on a high level, and it made him nervous. Very nervous. He distrusted what was going on with every fibre of his being, and knew his steps had to be careful ones. He needed to know what was being covered up, and why, and by whom.

He needed to tell someone...and he needed that someone to have some clout. He was going to have to get outside help...if he could find any...

 * * *

Strolling down the dark, depressing corridor towards his quarters after another fruitless day spent with the 'survivors', Bashir was mulling all these thoughts over in his mind when he was surprised by a voice calling out his name.

"Doctor Bashir, I know it's been a long day, but I was wondering if you might like a drink in Quark's. I think perhaps a change of venue might do me good, and since anyone I know here is likely to be still on shift, or safely tucked in bed, I thought..."

Turning, Bashir had smiled and nodded, his good manners overcoming his dismay at not being able to simply go home and lie down. "Of course, Doctor Crusher. It'd be my pleasure. Perhaps we could get a bite to eat there as well."

Crusher smiled at his response, pleased that he had said yes, but recognizing that he would have probably rather just been able to go home to his quarters.

Their walk to Quark's brought back memories. Up until now, she had really only walked the corridor from her quarters to sickbay and back. Now, in corridors unfamiliar to her, the foreignness of the architecture struck her just as it had the first time she had been on the station. It felt malevolent. Jean Luc's experience with the Cardassians had forever tinged her outlook on anything remotely related to Cardassia, and this, she thought, this was a prime representation of architecture as an expression of a people. Dark, angular, frightening, with shadows and nooks that held...nothing. She shuddered at her thoughts, and wondered why Miles O'Brien had yet to do something about increasing the lighting here.

Turning to Bashir, she took her thoughts to more pleasant vistas. "I've heard a lot about Quark's since I was here last. His establishment has quite a reputation."

Bashir smiled. "I've never quite been able to determine whether it's the establishment or Quark himself with the reputation."

Remembering some of the things she had heard, Crusher chuckled. "I think you'd be right in saying both."

Arriving at Quark's, Bashir suggested a table on the upper circle. Once they were seated, Crusher sighed. "It feels strange to be back here." She looked about, managing to actually enjoying the cluttered, dark feeling the place had, despite the lights and noise from the gambling tables below. Smiling, she said, "Knowing DS9 was my destination made my having to leave Earth a little easier. I can't say I like the interior decorating of the place, but I did enjoy myself last time. Hopefully, I'll have a chance to do so again before I leave."

While she took the time to watch the activities below, Bashir took the opportunity to eye her curiously. The last time she had been here had been several years ago, when the Enterprise had last docked on DS9. He did not remember the stay as being particularly pleasant for the Enterprise crew. They had all gotten together with Miles, he knew, and Worf had, of course, eventually transferred on later...perhaps it had not been so bad as he had thought, at least for the crew of the ship.

For Picard, he suspected, it had not been so pleasant. Bashir had only seen them together once, but he was certain he had not imagined either the hate in Sisko's eyes when he regarded Picard, or Picard's look of tired resignation when he had recognized and sadly accepted that hate.

Looking at his companion curiously, he also remembered Picard and her together. His memory was vague, and he frowned trying to think...then smiled in spite of himself as he remembered seeing them leave one of Quark's relaxation holoprograms....They had looked relaxed...

He had known the gossip of course, and had made sure his little peek into their business was reported 'round the gossip circle. Since then, he had naturally heard of Picard's relationship with a woman leading a research project on the _Enterprise_. He knew of Picard's leaving for the Admiralty, and was aware also that the woman, too, had left the ship, but not its ex-captain. Rumor had it that they had struck it off as soon as they had met on board the _Enterprise_, and that they had been inseparable ever since, establishing themselves on Earth, the same rumor had it, in a lovely apartment close to Fleet Headquarters.

Miles, he could remember, had been thoroughly disgusted at hearing this; Keiko likewise. Worf, of course, had felt that commenting lacked honor.

Slowly, he became aware of two very blue eyes staring at him, amusement making them sparkle.

"A penny for them, doctor,"

He started, embarrassed. "Sorry, I was wool gathering, wasn't I?" he apologized.

She smiled at his use of this other, old Earth phrase. "That's all right. It's been a long day," she commented agreeably, "I probably shouldn't have asked you to come."

"Oh, I don't mind. Actually, I was thinking about all the changes that have taken place since you were here last."

"Oh?"

He paused slightly, collecting his thoughts, and deciding that this would be a final test. He had to trust someone. He *needed* to trust someone...

"Yes," he responded, "this far out, we tend to take a longer view on what's happening in the Federation. It seems to me that...well...things like the secrecy around what we're involved in at the moment...they seem to be happening more often, are they not?" He shrugged and looked off at a point somewhere beyond Beverly's right shoulder. "There just seems to be an awful lot going on that we're told we don't need to know about. I find the whole process disconcerting."

Beverly looked at the younger doctor carefully. Instinct told her there was something more behind his words. Slowly she nodded, wondering if she should say anything, wondering if he were feeling her out for Hendrickson, checking to see if she were following the 'tell no one' orders.

Beverly spoke slowly when she responded, "It is...different from the way I have been used to working. I've only been back on Earth a few months, myself, so perhaps I haven't seen it as strongly as you. I've been too busy trying to get settled in and reorganized."

She paused, disliking the prevarication she had just muddled through. Putting her shoulders back a little, she tilted her chin up and looked Bashir straight in the eye. She liked this man, even, for the most part, trusted him. If they were going to continue working together for who knew how long, they were going to have to be honest with one another. She had no intention of indulging in whatever little games Hendrickson might have laid out for Bashir to play with her. Might as well lay her cards on the table and get it over with.

"I can't speak for any other secrecy, but I can say that *this* situation makes me uncomfortable. I don't like having my personal communications monitored and censored when I try to communicate with Earth - do you realize even my *staff* aren't aware of where I am?" She shook her head. "They obviously know that word will eventually filter back - someone who recognizes me might end up on Earth, and then say something...but for now, Hendrickson wants my location a secret." She waved a hand and looked around her. "Why? What difference does it make?"

She leaned over the table, her frustration evident, "And why don't we have more of an idea who these people are? Why aren't those 'investigators' telling us anything? They MUST know something by now!"

She leaned back in her chair again and placed both hands, palm down, upon the table. "I don't like working in the dark, Doctor, and that's how I'm working right now. I'm positive they know more than what they're saying. If what they know is preventing us from helping those people in sickbay..." Her voice trailed off, leaving only her frustrated anger hanging in the air between them for a moment. Then, shaking her head, she said, "I'm sorry, but that would be unconscionable."

Bashir sat back, absorbing her outburst, trusting his instincts,"Dr. Crusher, would you mind taking a little walk?" He glanced around him then added, "There's something I'd like to tell you..."

End

Complications 14/42

TITLE: Complications

AUTHOR: Mariel

SERIES: TNG

PART: 15/42

RATING:

CODES: f/P/C

Disclaimer: Standard

Summary: see previous ones

Bashir and Crusher walked slowly down corridors that seemed to lead nowhere. Given the circular nature of the station, Crusher thought that was perhaps appropriate.

Julian had begun speaking soon after they had left the busy promenade and turned into less frequented corridors. Ever methodical, he began his story at the beginning...

"The _Regina_ hailed us the minute they were through the wormhole," he said, his voice low, as though fearing he would be overheard, "and asked us to take on the ship. They hadn't boarded her because of the warning buoy. All they knew was that there were life signs on board that appeared pretty steady, but no response to any of their attempts to communicate with them."

"As you are aware, I was contacted at once. In turn, I used by medical authority to quarantine the ship immediately, allowing no one on board until I had taken a look for myself."

He glanced up and caught what he thought was a flutter of disapproval cross Crusher's face, and so defended his actions, "I didn't go in recklessly. The readings showed that the only people on board were unconscious - I didn't have to worry about being ambushed or anything. With the environmental suit to protect me from whatever the medical warning was about, I was quite safe. I just figured it might, under the circumstances, be better if it were just me who took the first look."

He raised his hands to indicate his surroundings, "This place isn't like a star ship where there is any number of medical personnel around to help out." He glanced at her and elaborated, "If it weren't for the people Admiral Hendrickson provided for me, I'd never have been able to handle this number of permanent patients, plus my regular daily load."

Drawing a breath, he resumed his original train of thought. "So it meant I really was pretty much the only person who could do the job. I didn't want any of Odo's people messing things up accidently - or doing something that might spread whatever contaminant was over there. The fewer people exposed, the better."

Beverly nodded, not completely in agreement with his actions, but understanding the situation - and the nature of the man who had made the decision.

He paused for a few moments in order to allow a group of people to pass by them, then shook his head as they continued their leisurely stroll, saying, "What I found was eerie...thirteen people in their bunks, comatose, the ship as neat as a pin. There were lots of other rooms for people, but they were all empty. I don't know if they were ever occupied or not - I didn't take the time to make a close examination - just glanced in each room and if there was someone in it I made a note of it, and made a quick examination of the patient."

He stopped talking again. Beverly looked over at him, ready for him to continue. She had heard all this part before, but without the personal twist he now allowed himself to color his story with. Soon, she knew, he would reach the part that she did not know.

Bashir lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, then looked at her, a half proud, half sheepish look on his face. "That's what you already know. This is the part I have not told anyone."

"Once I'd found all the crewmen, and had seen that they were stable and in no immediate danger,I decided to download some ship's files in the hopes that there might be something there to indicate what had led up to what I found on board. I knew it was going to be a while before a temporary quarantine could be set up, so I had to fill my time somehow."

He shrugged. "I didn't think anything of it at the time. There were padds lying around - there always are, you know that - so I used a few from the ship, since they'd already have some information on them, and I had a couple extra memory packs with me, so I filled those up too. It didn't take long; I downloaded the medical bay files, then accessed the bridge and downloaded what I could from there. Then, for good measure, I downloaded some files from one of the victim's quarters. I also took a couple of personal padds from a couple of the rooms." He felt a little guilt at this invasion of privacy, and it showed in the look he threw Beverly before continuing defensively, "I figured they might have said something in their personal logs about symptoms or something."

Beverly nodded, thinking his prescience very good. Not many would have been smart enough to think of that. Good work.

"I'm impressed by your presence of mind, doctor."

Bashir seemed relieved by her attitude and continued. "I didn't mention doing the downloading - things were pretty busy, as you can imagine, what with getting the people off the ship, setting up quarantine here, etcetera. It was almost 12 hours before I got to the point where I had the time to do any investigative work with the information. By that time, we'd already had that blasted meeting, telling us none of this was happening, and Hendrickson's men had arrived - including the medical team we've got assisting us. By then, I knew better than to let anyone know I had data I hadn't looked at yet from the ship. They'd have taken it quicker than I could have told them about it."

As Beverly nodded, he continued. "At any rate, it was when I tried to access the information that I knew I had a problem. The download had gone fine, but I couldn't access the information: it was encrypted, and coded Level 5.

Beverly stopped abruptly. "What?"

Bashir smiled at the look on her face. "Yes, that was my reaction as well. A ship out of the blue, no 'brass' evident anywhere - and all the files inaccessible to anyone without a level 5 clearance. It didn't make sense. What made even less sense was the investigators' claiming that all the computer files had been wiped clean. That seemed odd for two reasons - one, they weren't saying anything about anything else, so why make a public note of that?; and two: I knew that there had been something on the files because I had a lot of it" He smiled again, his tone ironic: "...I just couldn't read it.

"I became certain that the files contained information that would not only help our patients, but help solve the mystery of what this ship is and why its here. My problem was getting to someone I could trust with that level of access. Even Captain Sisko is only a Level 3, and though I considered going to him at first..."

"Have you tried breaking the code?" Crusher broke into his speech, her mind working rapidly. She knew that Bashir was more than a brilliant doctor. Genetically enhanced, the man had a large number of accomplishments; she didn't doubt but what computer skills - including, encryption codes, were among them. Hacking his way in might not be beyond his capabilities.

Bashir grinned sheepishly. "Tried, yes. Wasn't successful though, and I got worried that if I kept trying, I might trigger a tampering destruct sequence....

Beverly nodded. "Fine. That means we need to find someone we can trust with a Level 5 clearance."

Bashir looked at her, relieved at her sense of urgency and that she wanted to take immediate action.

Beverly knew there was only one person she would ever think of asking to become involved. When she said his name, Bashir realized the wisdom of her choice...and recognized the inevitability of that choice as well...

"Admiral Picard." she said, enjoying the pleasure she got just from saying his name. There were no alternatives as far as she was concerned.

Bashir needed to play devil's advocate. "How will we know he's not involved in some way?"

"We won't until I see him. But I trust he isn't. If he is, he'll explain it, at any rate."

"Why would he?" Bashir asked, his scepticism evident.

"Because I'll ask him to," was her confident reply.

Bashir was not quite so trusting as she in that department, but nodded. If she were willing to contact him about this, then she was obviously okay with his present relationship.

Then his mind began to consider other difficulties. "How do we get a message to him? If your messages are monitored, you know everyone else's will be as well. We can hardly extend an invitation to him."

"We'll need help getting to him," Beverly said, her eyes narrowing as she thought.

 * * *

Miles nodded his head. Beverly Crusher hadn't changed one iota since the days he had served aboard the _Enterprise_. The woman had decided what she wanted, and come hell or high tide, she was going to get it. Right now, what she wanted was Admiral Picard's attention. He grinned a moment at that thought, then sobered. It was a risky thing she was suggesting, but it might work.

"Okay, doctor, I'll try. Keiko sends a holotape home to her parents about every other week. You're in luck that she's got one ready to go on tomorrow's transport."

"Will you be able to make the adjustments in time?" she asked, knowing that if he could, it would mean a sleepless night spent working on it.

He nodded. "I think so."

"And they won't think it odd that you call them a couple days later?"

"No, either Keiko or I usually call to see that it got there safely. It's an excuse to talk to Earth," he shrugged.

Crusher nodded and looked at Bashir. "Can you think of anything else?"

Bashir shook his head no. He began to calculate out loud, "Two days to Earth, two more days for message, then time for Picard to respond." He looked at Crusher, worried. "What if he doesn't 'get' the message you're sending?"

Beverly was certain he would, but chanced a prayer anyway. "He will. He's got to."

 * * *

The door chirped, and Therese and Picard looked at one another in surprise. It was late for callers, and there were few who would come unannounced.

Therese uncurled her legs from beneath her and straightened the material of the long-skirted green lounging dress she was wearing. Rising from his place beside her, Jean Luc placed the book he had been reading on the table, then walked to the door where he manually released the lock to open it.

The door slid sideways to reveal two people in their eighties or so: and man and a woman. They were both oriental, well dressed, and stood close to one another, as though uncertain of their welcome and in need of mutual support. Both looked at him, then at each other, uncomfortably.

"May I help you?" Picard enquired politely.

The woman nodded her silver-haired head, then glanced again at her companion before beginning to speak. "We are sorry to disturb you sir, but we were asked to bring this to you personally." She held up a video PADD in her delicately wrinkled hand. "It is from our son-in-law Miles O'Brien...you may remember, he was once the transporter chief on the _Enterprise_."

Picard nodded and smiled. "Of course I remember Mr. O'Brien. You must be Keiko's parent's then, Mr and Mrs..." he searched his memory rapidly and drew up a name, "...Ishikawa."

The couple exchanged relieved glances that he did actually remember, and smiled as they shook his hand when he extended it to them.

Stepping back into his quarters, Picard made a welcoming movement and said, "Would you like to come in?"

The man responded, looking around nervously as he did so. "Only for a moment. We cannot stay..."

More curious by the minute, Picard ushered them in. "And how is Mr. O'Brien enjoying Deep Space Nine? I hope Keiko and Molly are well."

Stepping inside, the woman glanced around her before saying, "They are all well, thank you."

The door slid closed, but the couple did not move further into the room. Picard turned to Therese, who had moved closer to the door, and explained who their guests were. The three exchanged a few words of greeting, and then the man turned to Picard and repeated himself, "We cannot stay, as we said. But we have been asked to bring this to you. We received it from Keiko just two days ago. This morning a message came from Miles. It was a little strange, but he asked us..." She paused, not finishing her sentence, then said, "Allow me to show you his message, I kept a recording of it.

Moving a little further into the room, she pushed a button on a PADD she removed from her coat pocket and a small hologram of Miles O'Brien appeared. "I've rewound it to the part that concerns you, sir."

Miles was smiling, looking very much at ease. "Keiko wants to know if you would send the birthday holo along to Admiral Picard. You know he's always asking after the kids. She figured he'd get a kick out of seeing Molly so grown - and Worf's in it too, and I don't think he's met Dax, so he'll find that interesting as well. If you could, we'd appreciate it...Forgetting won't crush her, mind you, but we'd appreciate it."

The woman pressed the PADD and the hologram disappeared.

"We knew he must have a reason for wanting you to see the tape, though we cannot think why." She moved her hands in a deprecating way, "It's a fairly usual one of Molly's birthday party a couple of weeks ago, and shots of the three of them doing this and that." She held up the tape for Picard to take.

Picard accepted the tape, turning it over in his hands and looking at it thoughtfully before returning his gaze to his guests.

His heart had begun to beat a little harder. O'Brien had something he wanted him to see. He doubted it was Molly. Repressing a desire to say goodbye and sit down to watch the tape immediately, he asked, "It is kind of you to come all this way to bring this. May I offer you something to drink?"

The Ishikawas shook their heads in unison. "No, we only came to bring this to you," said the man, glancing at his wife. "We just had this feeling we ought to do so as quickly as possible. My wife..." he paused, still looking at the woman who stood with her hands folded in front of her, head bowed slightly, "...my wife insisted we bring it straight away."

When Keiko's parents had left, Picard and Therese set the holotape on the table in front of them and pressed the 'play' button.

They watched and listened to Keiko's commentary concerning the changes to their quarters. Then there was a shot of Molly's redecorated room, shots of Molly playing, and of O'Brien working at something while lying on the sofa, and of Keiko scolding when Miles began recording her.

They watched and watched,...and watched. Picard began to wonder what he was supposed to see.

Then came Molly's birthday party. Adults, children, noise, balloons, screaming, music and laughter formed a kaleidoscope of color and sound. The two viewers sat and watched the way everyone watches a video of people they don't know well or at all...until Picard grabbed Therese's arm.

"It's her! That's where she is. And dammit, they must know it's not supposed to be known. Communications are being monitored!" He leaned back into the sofa, shocked. "They're lucky the censors didn't notice. That explains why..." He stopped.

Therese looked at him, confusion evident on her face. "What, Cherie? I didn't see anything."

Picard leaned over and reset the holotape. "Watch."

He pointed to the side of the screen and reactivated it. The cake was being brought in, and everyone was singing happy birthday. Into the left corner of the picture, a woman stepped into view briefly, then turned and was once again out of camera range. For one second, however, she looked directly into the lens of the camera. That one second had been all Picard needed.

Therese looked at the fleeting image and recognized the woman immediately. "Beverly? Beverly was at Molly's birthday party?" Turning to Jean Luc, she said. "Cherie!" she exclaimed, realization dawning on her, "That means..."

Picard nodded. "Deep Space Nine." He glanced where the holopadd sat on the table, "and she wants me to know. Something's going on." His mind raced with possibilities, with schedules and appointments and excuses and missions and...how was he going to dredge up a reason for going to DS9 that sounded plausible?

Taking a deep breath, Therese said. "You must go there, Jean Luc. If she is sending you this message so secretly, there must be stringent security measures there, yes? For even one second to be allowed through..." she smiled, "...though I suppose whoever was forced to watch that could be forgiven...."

Picard smiled at her acerbic remark and put an arm around her, a thrill running through him. Therese felt the tremor and knew that it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with Beverly and the joy he felt at knowing where she was...and the anticipation he felt at the thought of seeing her.

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his cheek. She had known it was inevitable, but was not even now sure she was quite ready for it now.

End

Complications 15/42

TITLE:Complications 16/42

AUTHOR: Mariel

SERIES: TNG

PART: 16/42

RATING:

CODES: f/P/C

Miles had spoken to his in-laws. The message had been delivered. Beverly stifled a sigh as she felt a tremor of anticipation roil into a rush of emotion that she was hard put not to show. She knew he would come.

Work did not stop while she waited. She and Bashir began one final series of tests on their patients, agreeing to perform a thorough search for minute traces of what were commonly called 'unlikely substances'. The number of 'unlikely substances' was almost unfathomable, but they set to work, hopeful that something might turn up to indicate a cause for their patient's condition.

Unfortunately, it was like listening for a whisper in a noisy, voice-filled room. There had been two days of work, with nothing to show for it but higher frustration levels, before Crusher frowned and re-adjusted the controls on her tricorder. When it gave the same reading as before, she turned to Dr. Bashir.

"Julian, what do you make of this?"

She brought the PADD over to where the dark haired man sat quietly examining data on the console in front of him. Noting with pleasure her use of his first name, he reached up and took the proffered tricorder. Soon a frown creased his brow as well.

"Chroniton particles?" he said, looking up at her, "the only thing I've ever heard of producing chroniton particles is Romulan cloaking devices. It's a by-product of..."

Aware of the standard definition, Beverly nodded and interrupted before he could finish. "Precisely. So why would we be getting low readings of chroniton particles here?"

Bashir looked over at the patients. His voice was thoughtful when he replied, "We don't know what they went through before the _Regina_ picked them up: perhaps they were involved with Romulans in some way, and this is simply residual particles lingering from that encounter."

Beverly nodded, then said with no little frustration, "It'd help if we could find out if there were similar readings on the ship itself, but that's not likely to happen, is it?" She ran slender fingers through her hair distractedly, "We need to get a look at those downloads. We need someone here who can get us answers."

Bashir smiled. "Well, hopefully he's on his way even as we speak."

Beverly nodded, trying not to show the pleasure she felt at the thought of seeing Jean Luc, despite the present situation. It would be such a relief to have him here.

 * * *

In the twelve hours since he had received Beverly's summons, Picard had found himself drawn into a labyrinth of secrets that had amazed him - and caused him great concern.

He sat in a corner of the Fleet Pub, nursing a beer, and speaking quietly with another man who also bore the pips of an admiral on his collar.

"If you can get there, I'll cover for you here, Jean Luc. You've the perfect reason for going there - it is, after all, an inspection the Admiralty itself has been requesting for some time. We're just shortening up the time frame a little to suit our own needs. I'll manufacture whatever inter office communications we'll require."

"You sound as though you're used to this sort of thing."

"Hey, sometimes we make quick decisions that people are happier thinking we took a longer time to consider. It's easy to manufacture the proper considerations and protocol after the fact." He raised an eyebrow, his good humor making his faded grey eyes twinkle, "Makes us look real good, Jean Luc."

Picard refrained from commenting. Blake was giving him the go ahead to do what he wanted to do - this was no time to criticize his methods.

"So you'll provide the cover story?"

Blake nodded. "No problem. I don't like what Hendrickson's been doing. He's become far too fond of secrets, and he's actually hindered us at times with his reluctance to part with the truth. He's got too many of his own men running around on missions we know nothing about - it's making a lot of us uneasy. This will be an interesting exercise."

He eyed Picard with satisfaction. "Two years ago, when I offered you the admiralty, I wanted someone I knew and trusted. I haven't regretted my choice for a moment. There are few I'd trust more to take this on, Jean Luc. Thank you."

Picard nodded, then offered his own reassurance, "And you know damn well I'd be more likely to say yes to you than anyone else."

Blake grinned. "Especially seeing as how you seem hell bent on getting there, regardless of whether it helps me or not!"

Picard looked down at the table, refraining from comment. When he looked up again, he switched the conversation back to DS9. "Hendrickson has no idea we know about the ship?"

"Not so far as we know. Hell, you didn't know until I told you today, did you? *I* didn't know until a couple of days ago. Your going there should provide us with a lot of answers."

He paused a while, considering what to say next. Still surprised at Picard's sudden interest in Hendrickson's activities, he looked at the other man quizzically and asked, "Just what led you to become suspicious about his activities on DS9,anyways, Jean Luc?"

The question was no sooner out of his mouth than he remembered Picard's call earlier that week about the disappearance of the HSFM. Before Jean Luc could reply he asked, "This have anything to do with Beverly Crusher?"

Jean Luc nodded and answered with no apology, "No one seemed to know where she had disappeared to. Some detective work provided the information that Hendrickson likely had something to do with it, but he wasn't talking."

Actually, what he had done was hack his way into Beverly's personal communication log. Once in, he had discovered that she had a transmission from Henrickson's office at 0300 hours the day she disappeared. The communication itself had been erased, but not, thankfully, the telltale trace.

"So how'd you find out where she was?"

"She got a message to me. It's obvious all communication from the station is being both monitored and censored, or she would never have contacted me the way she did. It makes me very interested in finding out what's happening there."

Blake took a last swallow of his beer. "There are a number of us who feel the same way, Admiral. Just be careful. There've been a number of inexplicable things happen lately. Something tells me this could be the tip of the iceberg. Keep anything you learn close to your chest, okay?"

Blake's words sent a chill down Picard's spine.

 * * *

Therese looked at him, loving him, wanting him, and preparing mentally and emotionally to let him go - to push him away, if necessary. She knew it was important that he leave Earth feeling a free man. She knew that the ties they felt between each other, the feeling of being 'committed' that they had come to accept, had to be severed.

As he packed, they spoke, Therese saying again, "When you see her, Cherie, no matter how serious the situation, you must find time to talk, yes? For me." She spread her hands, indicating the quarters they had happily shared for the past year and a half, "We have been happy here...but, I think, perhaps it is time for you to try to be happier still."

Picard stiffened. He had not thought of anything but getting to DS9 and rescuing Beverly from whatever situation he found there. He had not considered it an opportunity to...He looked at Therese, shocked, feeling the ground shift under his feet. He opened his mouth to refute what she said, but she held up a silencing hand.

He stood motionless, a folded shirt in one hand, as she walked over to him and placed a gentle hand on his chest. "No Cherie, listen to me: I know your heart."

Picard did not speak, could not speak. He recognized what she was saying, recognized the permission she was giving. Dropping the shirt unnoticed, he took her hand from where it lay on his chest in both of his and brought it to his lips.

"How could I not love you?" he asked.

Therese smiled and closed her fingers around his. "You do love me, Cherie. You love me as I do you - but you love Beverly as I loved Henri. And that..." she paused to look up into his eyes, "...that is something quite different, yes? We have never pretended otherwise, Jean Luc."

She waited for him to respond, then, when he did not, said, "You are not the same man you were - she is perhaps not the same woman." Her smile twinkled warmly, remembering, "A lot can happen in eighteen months, oui?"

Picard nodded, smiling at their shared memories, "Oui."

Therese moved, and he dropped her hand as she moved away from him. He watched her as she crossed the room, separating them with two kinds of distance.

"Why now, Therese?" he asked, fighting the feeling of being cast adrift. She had been his anchor, his solace and he could not stop a feeling of desolation at the thought of their parting from sweeping over him, even while he yearned to see Beverly again.

"And it is not obvious to you?" Therese shook her head. "Cherie, she came back to Earth. She needed to be near you. Do you not think I know that the days you come home happiest, are the days you have caught a glimpse of her in the corridor, or exchanged nods at a meeting? When she arrived on Earth I knew she had made a decision about you, whether she knew it or not."

She leaned against the back of a chair and rested her arms on it. "When I last spoke to her, before you took the admiralty, I knew she would not stop you from going. I also knew that it wasn't over as far as she was concerned. When she came here, I knew it was only a matter of time."

She smiled and tilted her head to one side. "This isn't how I imagined it, but it is, I think, as good a time as any, yes? Go to her, Cherie. Deal with this mystery you are facing - but also deal with what is between you two."

"And if we can not?"

Therese smile faded and she shrugged. "I do not know, Cherie. All I know is that it is time you tried again."

When Picard said nothing, she continued, her voice almost conversational, "I watched her when we were at the reception for the new Vulcan commissioner last month. I saw her eyes when she watched you, thinking no one was looking. You have got to let her love you, Cherie. She wants to, you know. Something has changed in her." She stopped speaking, knowing that she would never understand Beverly, but knowing just as surely that she *did* understand the man standing opposite her. "Let yourself be close to her, Jean Luc. Spend time with her, talk to her. See how things are between you."

Jean Luc nodded, though he still felt doubtful - and somewhat betrayed by Therese's words. Looking at her as she began setting the dinner table for their last meal before he left, he knew he could not completely turn away from the woman who had been so much a part of his past, and had become so wonderfully a part of his present. Perhaps there would be a future with Beverly - but how much of that future would be tinted and toned with echoes of lessons learned from this woman?

No, he thought, it would not be so easy for him to let go as she perhaps imagined...

 * * *

Picard was only a few hours away, when Bashir and Crusher decided to initiate a low level spray of anion to negate the chroniton particles.

Standing over a patient with her tricorder ready, she said, "Initiate."

Bashir's hands ran over the controls of the console. Intent on what he was doing, he did not see Beverly's reaction.

A long silence made him look up. Beverly stood motionless.

"Doctor?" he queried.

She stood unresponding for another moment. Finally she said, "I think we have a problem."

"What?"

"Initiate low level anion beam again, 0.5 second duration."

Bashir did so, his brow furrowed.

Crusher stood with her head bent, examining her tricorder. The confirmation of what she had feared she had seen sent a shiver through her. Placing both hands on the bed beside the patient in front of her, her mind raced, only slowly calming as one thought took precedence. She looked up. "Jean Luc had better get here, and get here fast. We've got to read those files."

Bashir looked at her questioningly.

She looked at the chronometer. "The staff will be back in a few minutes. When they arrive, I suggest we go somewhere where we can talk."

They sat in her quarters. Bashir was listening to her explanation, disbelieving it could be true.

"It happened our first year out, I think." Beverly explained. "We never discovered what the aliens called themselves, or why they were here. All we know is that they had managed to take over a few critical people at the head of Star Fleet and seemed intent on taking over a lot more."

She paused, and raised her hands unconsciously to the back of her neck. "They seemed to be a sort of parasite, attaching themselves to the base of the neck beneath the skin, leaving only a horned protuberance as evidence of their presence. They take total control of a person's mind and actions, and, if Admiral Quinn's experience is indicative, no memories of their presence is left when the parasite is removed."

Raising large blue eyes to his, she said, "When it was over, and they had all been destroyed, it was disconcerting to know that they had sent a message beacon. As time went on though, and we never had any indication of their return, we figured that whatever it had said, meant 'stay away'...."

"You're sure what we have here is what you saw so many years ago?" Bashir asked.

Beverly nodded. "I've no doubt at all. Remember, I removed the one from Admiral Quinn. I made up the fake prong to make it looks as though Riker had been taken over." She paused, remembering. "No, there's no doubt at all."

"So they're back."

She remembered the fleeting image she had seen on her tricorder and saved as a frozen image, and closed her eyes. "Definitely."

She opened her eyes and shook her head slowly, "Phasic stasis. Who'd have thought of it? They're there in place and we can't see them. Having gone over the tricorder readings, I'd say that they have somehow managed to selectively phase parts of their host's brain, effectively putting them into a coma." It felt better to deal with the scientific aspects of the problem than to deal with the memories.

Continuing, she hypothesized, "I think the parasite is in stasis too. I didn't read much in regards to their life signs, though of course, there wasn't a lot of time to get readings. Perhaps..."

Her conversation was interrupted by the bleep of her communicator.

"Doctor Crusher," Captain Sisko's deep voice sounded abrupt, "I have been *requested*..." he put heavy, angry emphasis on that last word, and then continued in a staccato manner: "...that you come to my office immediately. Admiral Picard has asked that you be present when he arrives here."

Beverly looked over at Bashir, her eyes large, a smile spreading across her lovely features indicating her pleasure at the news. "Thank you captain. I'm on my way."

When Beverly arrived at his office, Captain Sisko was pacing the floor, his body held taut, hands clasped behind his back. He nodded to Crusher, and then to Bashir, who had taken the summons to include himself as well. Ever interested in people, he knew the dynamics of this particular meeting would be interesting: Picard and Sisko, Picard and Crusher...he moved to the side of the room, making himself as unobtrusive as possible, and settled in for an interesting experience.

Doctor Crusher had barely had time to utter a greeting when the door she had just arrived through opened again.

Bashir watched with interest as Picard's eyes quickly surveyed the room and its occupants, then fixed themselves upon Crusher. They held one another's gaze in silent greeting a noticeable heartbeat or two before Picard turned his regards to Captain Sisko.

Taking a few steps closer to the man, Picard extended his hand first and said in his beautifully modulated voice, "Captain Sisko. I am pleased to see you again. I realize this visit is unexpected, and apologize for any inconvenience it might cause you."

Bashir watched as Sisko took the hand proffered with ill-concealed reluctance. He could not read Sisko's face or eyes from where he stood, but the stiff, unrelenting way his commanding officer held himself spoke volumes. When the captain spoke to the admiral, all Bashir's suspicions were confirmed.

"Admiral Picard," Sisko said in clipped, precise syllables. "I am learning not to question Star Fleet's actions. We are here only to serve. Inconvenience is not a consideration."

Sisko was angry - very angry. The powers that be were taking away his authority of what was happening on his own station, and he found it intolerable. Now, to add insult to injury, they had sent *him*...

Picard looked up at the younger man, his hazel eyes showing none of the quiet grief and resignation they had held when Bashir had seen him with Sisko that first time. Now, the older man stood as straight and commanding as he had then, but with a calm confidence and sense of peace that had not been present before.

Easily withstanding the Captain's angry tone, the admiral replied mildly, "Questionable actions should always be questioned, Captain, but there are also times secrecy is a necessary measure." Glancing at Beverly, he returned his regard to Sisko and said, "I would hope that I might in time answer any queries you have in regards to the present situation."

Turning his eyes again to Beverly, he said "I will first need to speak to Doctor Crusher, however."

Beverly held his gaze, a smile curving her lips, her eyes warm. Joy coursed through her that he had answered her call so quickly.

Sisko, dissatisfied and feeling oddly deflated, said, "Obviously, she is not under my direction. It has been made clear to me that in this 'matter' I am nonexistent."

Picard looked at the man again. "It is regrettable, captain. Perhaps when I have been appraised of the situation..."

Beverly stepped forward. "I think perhaps we should speak as soon as possible, Admiral."

Picard nodded. Bashir could feel the tension between them and questioned its source. They didn't look as though they were anything but colleagues, but the tension between the two almost made him want to step back.

Picard's glance as he had first entered the room had briefly flitted over Bashir. Now, he turned to look at him directly. "Doctor Bashir, you have been assisting Doctor Crusher?"

When Bashir nodded, the admiral said, "I would like to confer with you in one hour's time," and then turned again to Beverly.

Acknowledging his unspoken question she told Julian, "We'll meet in my quarters. I've most of my research there and we won't disturb the patients. Please bring all your information with you."

Bashir nodded his understanding that he was to bring the downloads from the quarantined ship.

 Picard turned to Captain Sisko, knowing that his words would cause him more anger but unable yet to do anything about it. "Captain, I might need to speak with your security officer. Please inform him that I will contact him at my convenience and will expect him to avail himself immediately."

He hesitated a moment, then added, "I would also like to make note once again that I am here to inspect your facilities and their ability to deal with certain matters of crisis only. You will have my inspection schedule tomorrow morning. Assign whomever you feel most qualified to answer my questions on each leg of the tour."

He looked directly in Sisko's eyes, steady and unmoved by the cold anger he saw there and added, "Whatever else Star Fleet's interest in this station might be, you will only refer to my actions in regards to that matter, is that understood?"

Sisko brought his head back, his anger tensing every muscle in his body. No matter how he tried, he could not still the dislike he felt for the man who had been instrumental in his wife's, and so many other's, deaths. That he should now be a part of the leadership of the very thing he had almost destroyed, and here interfering on HIS station.... He shook himself mentally and almost barked, "Understood, *sir*"

Picard's gaze sharpened at Sisko's tone, but he did not react in kind. "Captain," he said, his voice perhaps even more softly modulated than before, "I can only offer my apologies and reiterate my hope that I will be able to satisfy your concerns about this before my departure."

He turned to Beverly, and held out his hand towards the door, his manner becoming easy as he said warmly, "Beverly, you've got a lot of explaining to do. We'd better get started."

Surprised at his relaxed manner, Crusher put on her best professional smile and, her eyes sparkling, said dryly, "Jean Luc, it's good to see you as well."

Picard's eyes glinted, and the hint of a smile curved his lips for the first time since he had arrived. It quickly faded as he turned to Sisko and said, "As I said before, I hope not to inconvenience you. Thank you for the use of your station. I am sure the inspection will go smoothly."

Returning his regard to Beverly, he said in a more natural tone, "Lead on Doctor, I'm looking forward to your briefing."

Smiling in spite herself, she led the way out with a parting nod to Bashir and Sisko.

The doors had barely closed when Sisko muttered almost to himself,

"God, the rumors are true, aren't they? Did he come here to work or get laid?"

End

Complications 16/42

TITLE: Complication 17/42

AUTHOR: Mariel

SERIES: TNG

PART: 17/42

RATING:

CODES: P/C P/f

She had replicated tea for both of them, and sat down in a chair opposite Jean Luc, allowing her eyes to wander over him as he sat reading the briefing PADD. Glancing up briefly to nod his thanks, he changed his position on the sofa slightly, then resumed reading.

It felt good to have him here, felt right in a way that surprised and pleased her. She wondered at some of the changes she saw in him, noted with pleasure his comfortable demeanor, the ease with which he allowed his smile to show, and the lack of tension with which he held himself. And he seemed so at ease with her....

She watched as his expression reflected his response to what he read. He allowed those flickers of emotion to show only when he was alone, or with someone he felt comfortable with, and it warmed her to think that even after their separation, he would still let down his guard in her presence.

She allowed her gaze to linger, traveling across his body, the leanness of his legs, the stomach still flat, his shoulders sturdy and straight. His hands...A familiar tingle began, and she laughed at herself. He could still do it to her.

As he finished the report, he felt her stare and looked up. Their glances held a moment, a sense of deja vu touching them both, then Picard sighed. "Doesn't look good, does it? What do you suppose they're planning? Why try to infiltrate us this way? And why is Hendrickson trying so hard to keep this all under wraps?"

Beverly shrugged a slender, uniformed shoulder. "I've wondered if he's one of them. Or if he thinks that by making contact with them first he can somehow garner extra influence with them." She shook her head. "It's too difficult to figure out. We need to get the downloads Bashir is bringing us."

Picard smiled at the thought of the files. "What a stoke of luck that he was foresighted enough to do what he did. At least we'll find out what the ship is, and who was on her."

He leaned back and crossed his legs comfortably, tea in hand. "So, how have you been?"

Beverly adjusted to the change of track quickly. "Considering I was awoken in the middle of the night, brought here under strict secrecy, have 13 patients with parasites on their spines in some sort of phasic stasis, have an office that I'm allowed to contact only after my messages are approved of by someone else, and have had to contact you through brilliant subterfuge?" She smiled, "I'm fine, Jean Luc, just fine."

Picard returned her smile, admiring the way her hair brushed against her cheek and enjoying the way her eyes glinted when she was amused. Their time apart seemed almost to have never been, as though they had never stopped sitting just like this.

"It was a brilliant piece of work, that." Picard commented,pushing away his dangerous thoughts, "Miles O'Brien is to be commended. Inserting you into that video was a stroke of genius."

"MY genius, I'll have you know!"

Picard's eyebrows rose. "You thought of that? You are far more underhanded than I ever gave you credit for!"

"There are all sorts of things you don't give me credit for, Admiral..."

The tension during their banter had risen perceptibly. They both felt it, and were both exhilarated by it.

Picard nodded. "You could be right, Doctor. Perhaps..."

The door chime signaled Bashir's arrival.

Looking at Jean Luc, Beverly was torn between regret at their first personal conversation being brought to an abrupt end and the anticipation of seeing what was on the tapes. She smiled, "I think we'll have our work cut out for us now. Wait 'til you see the quantity of downloaded material. We'll have to go over everything with..."

The door chime rang again. Beverly lifted a palm upwards helplessly at its insistence, and said, "Come."

Bashir entered, carrying a canvas shoulder bag. Nodding at the two occupants of the room, he refrained from commenting upon the length of time it had taken to answer the door, and instead smiled and remarked: "Research notes as requested, Doctor." Looking at the admiral, he said, "It'll be good to finally see what's on these, sir. I'm assuming you've been filled in on everything?"

Picard nodded and glanced at Crusher before saying, "I believe we covered everything we can thus far."

Looking at the padds Bashir was taking out of the bag and placing haphazardly onto the coffee table, he added, "You're lucky they didn't think to check computer activity. If they had, they'd have known you had something."

Bashir's face went blank with surprise. "I hadn't thought of that, sir." He recovered himself and shrugged. "Obviously they didn't check, or they'd have been at me by now."

Impatient, Beverly held out a PADD to Jean Luc. Attempting to introduce a respectable formality in the presence of the other doctor, she said, "Here, admiral. Perhaps you could try your access code."

Picard took the PADD, and entered a series of numbers into it. He waited a moment, then added another series. Finally, three more digits, and he was into the data memory. Looking up he said, "Good God, man. How much did you download?!"

Bashir shrugged sheepishly. "I didn't know what I was looking for, so I accessed, willy-nilly, everything I could think of, from medical records to bridge communications. I knew I wouldn't be allowed back onto the ship once the patients were off."

Needing to explain himself, he continued, "I thought it would be a matter of accessing everything I could, then initiating a more organized search through what I downloaded when I had the time." Digging through the padds he had strewn over the coffee table he said, "There are a few personal log padds here as well. I'm not sure which they are."

"And those were coded Level 5 as well?" Picard frowned. "That's highly unusual."

Bashir nodded in agreement. "It looks as though whoever changed the access level must have done so after whatever happened onboard the ship. It wouldn't make sense that the crew not be able to access their own personal logs. It would be easy enough to alter access - you know that: just enter the main computer and ask that it network to all ship side computers and clone the command codes."

Picard nodded, then turned his mind to how they were going to process all this information. The phrase 'needle in a haystack' kept running through his mind.

As though sensing his thoughts, Crusher said, "It's going to take a lot of time to sort through everything. We won't be able to do it in sickbay, because it'll raise questions with Hendrickson's staff. Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of places we can be that wouldn't arouse questions about what we are doing."

"Then we'll do it in our quarters," Picard said decisively. "Fortunately, I've brought my own computer, complete with lockouts, so we will be able to use its capabilities without accessing the station's computer and giving away what we're doing. We still won't have the use of a main terminal, but at least we'll have better capabilities for processing information."

"And," he said looking at the other two, "we'll have to do it off hours - I do have a job to do here, even if it is only a cover. You two will also have to continue your regular duties."

"Then we'll work with the downloads here," Beverly said.

When Picard opened his mouth to object, Beverly put up a hand. "Don't say it, Jean Luc. You always get to use your quarters. It won't hurt you to use mine for a change. Why should I always be the one having to traipse home in the middle of the night? It's your turn."

Bashir watched with amused interest. He was seeing a whole new side of a powerful man - a powerful man with a very remote, forbidding manner that intimidated without effort. The leeway Picard allowed Dr. Crusher, he thought, spoke volumes about their relationship. So did her apparent lack of fear.

"You can leave your computer here," Beverly continued, "and I've a safe place I can keep the tapes."

Picard smiled. "Whatever keeps you happy, Doctor."

Beverly raised an eyebrow, surprised at his ready acquiescence. "What? No objections? No 'I'm sorry doctor, but under the circumstances I would prefer...'?" She tilted her head to one side and asked, half-incredulous, half-jokingly, "Where's that famed fighting spirit of yours? Getting soft in your old age, Admiral?"

Picard relaxed into the back of the sofa and chuckled. "Not soft: wise. I've learned to choose my battles, Beverly, and this is one I won't fight."

She pursed her lips and tried, unsuccessfully, to cover her smile with a frown, "You're just trying to spoil my fun, aren't you?!"

Bashir continued to listen, knowing his presence had been forgotten. For a man supposedly in another relationship, he thought Picard seemed very comfortable with the woman present. And she, he thought, turning his gaze towards her as she smiled at the admiral, didn't seem to mind his domestic arrangements back on Earth...If this were only a friendship, he didn't understand it. If it were more than a friendship...he sighed inwardly - he didn't understand *it* either.

Whatever was between them, though, it hung in the air between them, thick enough to cut with a knife. Perhaps Sisko was right...

He cleared his throat, reluctantly realizing that there were *some* people who had to get to work. Immediately, the smiles ended and they turned their attention towards him.

"Yes, Doctor?" Picard enquired.

Blinking at the smooth transition from relaxed man to forbidding superior officer, Bashir said, "Admiral, I'm afraid for the next few days, at least, you will not be able to count on me for much help. This is our busiest time of year for visitors, and I've been having a difficult time keeping up with things since the quarantine was set up. Henrickson's men take care of the quarantine bay, but not my regular surgery. Captain Sisko has expressed concern that I not allow this situation to affect the work I do on the station..." His voice drifted off guiltily.

Picard and Crusher looked at one another. Bashir had a momentary vision of them spending their evenings together involved in more intimate pursuits than reading ship's logs. He resisted the urge to physically shake his head to rid himself of them.

Crusher took a breath and exhaled it softly. Turning her blue eyes to the younger doctor, she said, "Well, Julian, I'm sure we'll cope as best we can." She looked at Picard. "Could we perhaps enlist Miles?"

The admiral pretended to consider this, then shook his head no. "I think the fewer involved the better. The more people involved, the more difficult it will be to make things look natural. Miles O'Brien in your quarters, at all hours of the day and night, would not look natural."

The moment the words were out of his mouth he flushed slightly. Beverly's mouth quirked.

Bashir forced his eyebrows not to rise, and found himself slightly disappointed when, taking it easy on the admiral, Beverly replied mildly, "I see your point. Okay, you and me it will be." Glancing at Julian she said "And you, as soon as you can."

Julian nodded and rose. "Give me a day or two, and I should be able to get caught up. I've got to leave now - a fight in Quark's and now I've two broken arms, a lacerated septum and a bruised liver to treat." He smiled. "I'm letting them stew in sickbay to give them some time to see the error of their ways. The pain oughtn't to be TOO bad."

Picard raised an eyebrow and glanced at the two doctors. "I can see why you two work together so well!"

Beverly laughed, then turned to Bashir. "Would you like some help?"

Julian thought she didn't really look as though she wanted to get up and deal with minor medical emergencies. Thoughtfully, he declined, saying, "No, I'll be fine. I think it'd be more profitable for you to get started on the padds."

When he left, the two were already deep in conversation. He had the definite feeling they were going to enjoy working together without him there.

 * * *

They had not been working long when Picard inhaled sharply, unable to suppress a shudder that ran through him. Looking at the PADD he held in his hand he exclaimed, "Beverly, It's the _Questor_!"

He raised shocked eyes, then focused on the screen again, trying to force his brain out if its repetition of ohmygodohmygodohmygod...

Beverly looked over at him, concern filling her. His face was ashen, and his eyes when he looked at her were pools of shock and worry.

"Beverly, we've got to find something that'll help us identify the patients immediately." He stood, suddenly geared for action, unable to suppress the feeling of urgency he felt. He looked at the PADD, now lying on the table, then at Beverly. "Therese's husband was on that ship." His eyes held hers. "There's a chance he could still be alive."

Beverly sat, stunned into silence. The many possible ramifications of

what Jean Luc had just said threw her. Hope washed over her, drowning

that sensible part of her that said there was no chance now...but, if Therese still had feelings for her ex-husband...and if he recovered...

Then hope, like the wave that had brought it, receded. The relationship between Therese and Henri Winthrop had been terminated before Therese joined the Enterprise. The divorce had been final...

Yet, she thought, looking at Jean Luc's worried face, he seemed awfully concerned about someone who was 'just' an old ex-husband of his lover. A cold chill stuck her as she thought that perhaps he was worried about losing Therese.

Gods, she could drive herself crazy with speculations, she thought to herself. Taking a deep breath, she stilled her tumultuous thoughts and looked at Picard, her eyes steady.

"Well, we'd better start looking, then."

Together, they began a concentrated search through the access files for crew roster information. It was frustrating, knowing they could have accessed the station's computer and gotten the information immediately, but couldn't because of the risk of exposing their actions.

"I've got it!" Beverly exclaimed a little better than an hour of silent searching later. There were only 87 on the ship - it won't take too long for me to go through their pictures and identify the ones that look familiar...."

Picard nodded and rose to come and sit on the arm of her chair while she worked, looking over her shoulder as the pictures of the crew flickered onto the screen as she called them up and then discarded them when they were not familiar. Those she recognized, she downloaded onto a separate file.

The eleventh patient to be identified was Henri. Beverly watched Picard as he examined the picture closely, wondering what he was feeling at seeing Therese's husband - 'ex' husband, she corrected herself - alive.

His face drawn, he finally turned away and said, "I'd like to go to the quarantine area to see him myself, if I may."

Beverly paused, wanting to please him, but knowing that it would not be wise for him to be seen looking at a patient that he supposedly wasn't even aware existed. His mere presence outside the quarantine area could jeopardize their efforts to have their activities remain secret from Hendrickson and his people.

She placed a hand on his arm and said gently, "I don't think that would be wise, Jean Luc. If Hendrickson's people are watching you - and I'm sure they are - they'd certainly note a visit to the quarantine area. We can get away with spending time together because we're old friends - I don't think we could so easily explain away your being with crew survivors you aren't even supposed to know about."

Picard looked down at her. He knew she was right: hated it, but accepted it. Trouble was, he was now in a position where he was not certain what to do. Though he knew he could not, half of him wanted to run to Therese and tell her the news. The other half wanted to protect her from this until they knew whether or not Henri would be all right. And if he were not? Would she forgive him for not telling her sooner?

A small part of him voiced his real fear. Was he ready for the way this would change his own life?

Beverly seeing his inner turmoil, though not fully understanding it, said softly, "I can get you the latest readings on him and bring it to you after my next shift."

Picard nodded, knowing she was trying to help, knowing she was right, wishing there was something he could do besides stand outside and look in, helplessly.

Beverly looked about, suddenly desperate to do something.

"I'm hungry. We won't do anything more tonight, why don't we have something to eat? It's past dinner time, but we can always pick something up at Quark's."

Picard looked at the padds strewn across the table. "I think I'd rather just have something here and continue working," he said.

Beverly smiled and shook her head. "Not your first night here, Jean Luc. You've got to maintain some sort of normal behavior. You're here to inspect the station. It's only natural you spend time with people you know, but on the first night, I think you ought to be seen in public so that no one thinks you're hiding anything." She paused, and her lips curved as she said, "Being seen with me may be a drawback, but hey..."

Picard appreciated her attempt at humor and knew going out would probably be the wise thing to do. It was true that he would probably accomplish little more of importance tonight that couldn't wait until tomorrow - it had, after all, waited for him this long...

...The shock of knowing Henri was still alive reverberated through him again, and concern for Therese and her reaction flooded his thoughts...

He raised hooded eyes to meet hers. "I may not be the best of company tonight, Beverly, but I'll take you up on your invitation."

 * * *

They sat in Quarks, knowing they were drawing attention. Beverly looked at Picard with amusement. "Tongues are wagging already, you know. It's not often they get to see an admiral in here."

Picard shrugged, uncaring. "I'm used to it."

Beverly's eyebrow raised in surprise. "Well, that's a surprising response from the Jean Luc Picard I used to know!"

She strongly suspected she had Therese to thank for this particular change. A wave of jealousy and hurt washed over her. //Not yet,//she told herself, holding her thoughts at bay. She couldn't bring herself to think about her just yet.

As though guessing her inner turmoil, and insisting that she did consider Therese, Picard said, "Therese and I were a nine-day wonder when we first arrived on Earth. It's amazing what people find interesting to talk about." His lips curved slightly upward, "I would have thought Therese and I rather a boring topic, but apparently not."

His smile grew a little more, mischief lighting his eyes at his memories. "We used to sit and amuse ourselves when we went out by making up what people were saying about us. It became one of our favorite games..."

Beverly smiled, a little disconcerted at this first, casual mention of 'her', but covering it well. It bothered her that Therese had managed to tear down the walls of self-consciousness that she had never managed to get around...

"In that case, I think you'd better introduce me to the rules...Miles and Keiko are sitting just over there...."

Picard smiled his first genuine smile since he had discovered the _Questor_'s identity. Leaning forward conspiratorially, he said in a low voice that managed to thrill her, "The rules are easy. First, we order, then we go visit their table to say hello, then we come back and eat - chatting amicably and surmising what they're saying about us as we do. Then we leave, arm in arm, and if they're still there, we'll nod good night as we pass. It just kills them."

Beverly grinned. "Simple, but effective. Sounds like my kind of game. I'd never have suspected you of being such a tease, Jean Luc!"

He returned her grin, allowing his concerns to wait for tomorrow. "I've just learned what to take seriously, that's all."

 * * *

As they had arranged to do upon parting the night before, Picard arrived at Crusher's quarters at 0600 hours - only to find her gone.

Using her door code, he let himself in and, after replicating himself a cup of tea, sat and began working with the pads again. He had been working for some time when he heard the door. Looking up, he said, "It's about time, Doctor. I was beginning to think you were going to let me handle all the hard stuff."

Beverly put a hand to her chest. "I'm wounded, Jean Luc. There I was, helping poor Julian deal with his extra load of patients, and you sitting here, thinking I'm avoiding hard work! You should see his sick bay - it's filled to capacity. I told him I'd drop in and spell him for a while later, so he can grab something to eat. I'm here to help now until I go to the quarantine bay. How's it going?"

Picard looked at the padds on the table in front of him. "Actually, not too badly. At least I'm sorting out what isn't relevant. I'm sure what we're looking for is here."

Beverly smiled and sat down opposite him, picking up a PADD. They worked in companionable silence until Beverly stretched and said. "Time to go."

When she received no response, she said it again. This time, Picard looked up. "What?"

"I've got to go. You should probably be off as well, inspecting whatever it is admirals inspect."

While Picard gathered the padds back into their satchel, she said, "Why don't you meet me in sick bay later? Like I said, I'm spelling Julian at lunchtime. When he gets back, we can go get something to eat, then come here and work a little more before starting our afternoon schedules."

Picard frowned. "Doctor, are you aware that you still place an undue emphasis on the importance of dining? Why don't we just come here and work for a while?"

"What? Worried about being seen with me two days in a row, Jean Luc?"

He looked at her, saw the teasing light in her eyes and relented. "I think my reputation can handle it," he said dryly.

"Good. Meet me in sick bay at 1245 hours."

Picard nodded, pleased at the thought of seeing her in such a short time, and overjoyed that they seemed to have found the balance of their old comraderie so quickly.

 * * *

Picard walked through the gloomy corridors towards sickbay, his thoughts rapidly reviewing a morning which had been spent in the company of a Trill named Dax. She had been a most elegant and eloquent guide, and he felt the morning had been informative. He drew pleasure from the fact he was actually doing what everyone thought him to be doing, and expected that his efforts would result in one or two improvements.

Knowing he was ahead of schedule, but had decided to meet Beverly anyway - there was always the chance that Bashir would return from his lunch early....

When he arrived, sick bay was deserted, except for two sleeping forms on bio beds set against a far wall. He immediately spotted Crusher and walked over to stand next to her. "This is what you call 'filled to capacity', doctor?"

Beverly turned on him and defended herself. "I swear it was this morning! When the announcement that a shipment of Br'Inthian liqueurs had arrived at Quark's, though, everyone who could move, did! I've never seen anything like it. These people were born to carouse, I think!"

"And they left you to fend for yourself?"

Beverly smiled. "Yes, poor me. Not one of them offered to bring me back a bottle of the stuff, either."

They were both silent a moment, their eyes meeting....

Picard stood looking at her, loving the way she smiled, picking up the scent she always wore, drawn to the way she held herself and the tilt of her head, wanting to hold her in his arms and....

She looked into his eyes and thought, omygodmygodmygod, thisistoosoon...and wanted to lean closer, feel the warmth of his body, touch her lips to his face....

Without thinking, she raised a hand to touch his cheek with a feather-light caress....

Without thinking, he raised a hand to press her hand tightly against his face. Closing his eyes, he moved his head to touch her palm with his lips....

The doors to sickbay swished open and Julian Bashir entered. As they were directly in front of him, he was hard put not to notice he was interrupting something. As he watched them drop their hands and put space between themselves, Julian had time to curse his timing. Just a little later, he thought, and it might have been so much more interesting.

As it was, they comported themselves with disappointingly little embarrassment. Picard, his face impassive and patrician, displayed neither discomposure nor discomfort. Doctor Crusher, perhaps a little flushed, also betrayed little.

"A" for nonchalance, Bashir thought, his face bland. Had they had practice at this?

"Ah, Doctor Bashir," Picard said, unruffled. "Things seem to have calmed down here somewhat."

Julian nodded. "Yes, sir. I appreciated Doctor Crusher's helping this morning, though. Things were getting a little out of hand." He smiled, "I'll be glad to see the last of the mining ships leave the station."

"And when will that be?"

"In a week or so. Until then, my sick bay will be subject to just the sort of wave of patients Dr. Crusher witnessed today. They have a big brawl, come in long enough to get patched up, and then hurry back to the bars...so that they can get into another fight, wind up here long enough to get patched up, and then head back to the bars..." He smiled and shook his head, "It's an endless cycle they don't seem to tire of."

The two smiled with him, then, glancing at the chronometer, Beverly said to Picard, "We'd best be going, if we want to eat and get a little work done too." Turning to Bashir, she told him, "I'll be back at work in about 90 minutes, if that's all right."

Bashir nodded. Careful not to mention the quarantine in front of the few patients still remaining, he said, "There won't be much change. I'll be over once my staff start their next shift."

Beverly smiled a goodbye and allowed Picard to usher her out.

Bashir stood looking at the closed door for some minutes after they had left, wondering who he would tell what.

Reflecting on Sisko's comment, Bashir determined there was at least one thing he was certain of: work might be getting done, but his money was on the getting laid.

 End

Complications 17/42

TITLE: Complications

AUTHOR: Mariel

SERIES: TNG

PART: 18/42

RATING:

CODES: P/C P/f

On Earth, centre of the Alpha quadrant, acknowledged hub of the Federation, the man known as Admiral Philip James Hendrickson stood quietly viewing the message from home he had been waiting for, and sighed. It had been such a long, long wait....

Patience, he knew, was still necessary. He frowned. It was a pity that freighter had happened by at just the wrong time - so much better if his own ship had found and kept the _Questor_'s crew until they were ready to be taken out of phasic stasis.

It was a delicate matter, this infiltration of the Federation. They had tried once and failed, but he vowed they would not fail this second time. His people needed this area, needed this place for expansion as the Great Decree had dictated. The Promised Land of Endless Promise...this place was that, and so much more: room for growth, plentiful hosts, a place to breed and feed...

This time, he thought, they better understood these peoples who had aligned themselves into a Federation. Humanoids here were a challenge to overcome, but overcome they would be - and, as was his species' way, they would be brought down by ones they recognized as their own leaders.

Indeed, his kind had learned long ago that 'combining' with the upper echelons of a society, and then gradually taking over from that position was always better than attacking outright, and making themselves an identifiable enemy. Orders from the top, they had learned, were rarely questioned until it was too late. The various species they had met and conquered and then annihilated had always shown a remarkable ability to ignore the obvious, if their leaders assured them that all was well.

And it would work this time with the Federation. He swore it would.

He moved, taking pleasure in the way this form balanced itself, proud of how he could control it now without thinking. His race had adapted well to the bodies evolution had given them.

He grinned at his next thought: evolution had also allowed them to adapt well to 'other' evolved forms. Yes, his species had indeed taken the idea of 'taking control from within' to a whole new level. Using the bodies of whatever host race they were conquering at the time, theirs had been a successful campaign of expansion, and these humanoids, these Federationists with their Star Fleet and their Directives and their blind faith in what they could see, they would be the next to fall.

The Srn'n in Hendrickson's body nodded, and the body nodded too. They had been given what they had been given and, by the Great Decree, they had used it well.

He looked at his reflection in the window - or rather, the reflection of Admiral Hendrickson - and thought how different this form was from his own, how much larger, how much more flexible - and was filled with satisfaction that he could overcome all this and use it as he pleased. He raised a hand to the back of his neck and touched himself where he protruded out of the back of this Hendrickson's form, and smiled. Soon there would be more of his kind here, and the next stage of battle for this new territory and its plethora of hosts would begin.

He fought down a sense of elation. The humanoids would be taken over, and yet another quadrant freed for Snr'n colonization. But the time was not *quite* yet. Patience, patience, he said to himself, as he looked to the skies and waited...patience.

 * * *

Their lunchtime gone too quickly, Beverly and Picard had left only reluctantly for their afternoon obligations.

In quarantine, the _Questor_'s crewmen remained the same. Beverly sighed, looking at them. It was hard to believe they held such malevolence in them... and such unknown malevolence, too. In the cool quiet of the room, she thought she could sometimes feel it tangibly, thickening the air, pressing in against her.

Pushing away her morbid thoughts, the questions of 'why' and 'how' took over, giving her a sense of urgency to get back to her search for clues about what had happened and what could be done.

She was not alone in her want for answers. When he arrived and found the quarantine bay empty of other staff, Bashir had ventured, "Do you suppose there's a time release or something? I mean, why would they be put in this state if there wasn't a point in time when they were to be taken out of it?" His voice was low, and he made sure he was out of what he thought might be hearing range of the phased creatures, worried they might somehow hear.

Beverly's voice was also quiet when she responded. "I've wondered the same thing - perhaps the _Regina_ picked up the ship sooner than they had planned. Perhaps another ship was to have 'happened' upon them later, but found the _Regina_ had accidentally beaten them to it."

"So, what now?" Bashir asked, glancing across the room. "It feels creepy to simply let them lie there, knowing what's inside them."

Beverly nodded, "I know. But I still don't think it's a good idea to try to tamper with something that seems to have so much influence on their brains' consciousness. If we did something that altered the phasic stasis in the wrong way, who knows what irreparable harm we could do to them?"

Bashir saw her point, but was frustrated by the delay. Realistically, he knew that it had been hardly more than 24 hours since Picard had arrived, but somehow, he had thought that things would have gone along more quickly with his presence: answers found, action taken. He looked at Crusher, a speculative look in his eye. Could their being here together actually be hindering the process? Were they too wrapped up in whatever was going on between them to devote their energies to the problem at hand?

The worried look in Crusher's eyes when they met his dispelled that thought as not only disloyal, but mean spirited. "Hopefully you'll find the answers you need soon, Doctor," he said, feeling a little ashamed. "I'm sorry I'm not able to be of more help."

Beverly smiled, her eyes still sad. "I know. But we are making headway, and it looks as though there was contact with another ship just before all computers stopped recording." She placed a reassuring hand on the younger man's arm. "Don't worry. We'll find the answers - all we need is time and patience."

Bashir glanced at the _Questor_'s crew, and a sudden image of them as ticking time bombs, lined up and waiting, entered his mind. Patience he had, but he wondered if they had the time....

 * * *

That evening, Beverly and Picard sat as they had before, staring at data, trying to sort out what had significance and what did not. Slowly, they had begun to round out an idea of the ship's last routine days. They learned that about 12 months after the ship had begun it's exploratory mission, it had detected a faint distress call. Following it to its source, the _Questor_ had found nothing but a relay beacon, its design, origin and purpose unknown. Hauling to, they had scanned it.

Then the trail became more difficult to follow.

Unable to find the captain's logs, the two sat and built a picture painstakingly, message by message, communication by communication, of what had happened...The _Questor_ had been caught in, and transported through, what they had later concluded was a worm hole. The trip through had lasted an indeterminate length of time, and from the looks of the communications between decks, there had been pandemonium on board: trouble with the navigational controls were reported, one of the main thrusters had gone offline, and a later report stated that power to the forward shields was draining to they didn't know where. One of the bridge's conn panels had overloaded...and sickbay recorded injuries occurring on several decks as a result of the rough ride...

...The fact that there were so many surveys and star charting analyses done led them to believe that the _Questor_ had been also unable to determine its location...

...Then, from what they could gather, the _Questor_ had noticed a ship more than 15 light years away. Records showed that, when the ship failed to return the _Questor_'s hails, the captain had decided to investigate further...

...A message from ops to cartography mentioned that they needed to figure out where they were so that they knew which direction to head in to get back...

...The bridge contacted engineering about warp capabilities...

...a partial message requested a time estimate for main thrusters to be back online, and then...

...nothing.

Side by side, Picard and Crusher continued searching the files, hoping for something tagged with a later time, on that same ship's day.

And sitting between them, so solid it was almost tangible, was the moment in Bashir's sickbay when there had been nothing and no one but the other, and a need to touch and be touched.

Picard read for the third time the same passage and closed his eyes in frustration. His eyes were simply refusing to process what they were seeing. //Where was Data when you needed him?// he thought tiredly.

Slowly turning his gaze towards Beverly, what he saw made him smile. In a way so reminiscent of Therese that it gave him a strange sense of deja vu, she sat with her legs curled beneath her, head turned to rest against the back of the chair, her eyes closed.

Picard watched her, feeling oddly gifted that he should be able to do so. He had been delighted in the way they had picked up on the good aspects of their past and left the rest alone. The physical and emotional response he felt in her presence was undiminished - she still lit up a room for him just by entering it, still attracted him as no other woman ever had, still made him feel just a little more alive when she was near.

He wondered about today in the sick bay, wondered what would have happened had Bashir, damn him, not chosen that point in time to arrive back.

Therese, he thought, would have been very amused.

Therese...the thought of her made him close his eyes a moment. She was his first responsibility.

"Beverly," he said, aloud.

Her head jerked up sharply, and she blinked her eyes. Looking at him, she gathered her thoughts and realized where she was. Smiling and stretching her arms over her head slowly, she was pleasantly conscious that he watched the lines of her body as she did so.

"Hmmm," she said, "I think I dozed off there."

"I believe you did."

"Guess that means it's time to call it a day." She looked at him a moment, then dared suggest, "Unless you'd like something to drink before you left."

Jean Luc smiled. "I'd like the drink. We need to talk about something."

Intrigued, she went to a cupboard where she had secreted a bottle Quark has surreptitiously given her on her first day of arrival. Pouring them both a reasonably liberal drink, she returned and passed one to Jean Luc before seating herself on the other end of the sofa.

"Well? What is it?"

Jean Luc looked down at the orange/brown beverage, wondering if it were really safe to drink, but not bothering to ask before taking a swallow. Grimacing, he said, "Whew!"

Beverly smiled. "It's a gift from Quark."

"A gift?" he asked, surprised. "This poison?"

Beverly nodded. "I think he's trying to curry favour. I'll know for what soon, I'm sure."

Picard nodded. That sounded likely.

"So what is it, Jean Luc?"

He hesitated while she continued to look at him, until finally he offered, "What do you think the chances are of your finding a way to bring the patients out of their coma and ridding them of the aliens without harming them?"

Beverly frowned, knowing this had to do with Therese - everything, she sighed, seemed to, one way or another.

She decided to force him to talk about what he really needed to talk about. The decision felt strange to her. Always, she had allowed him the lead, let him say only what he felt able to, and then reacted accordingly. No more. Her lesson learned, she had promised herself that. She was going to make him tell her, out loud, his thoughts - all of them. No more guessing and misinterpreting. She needed to know where things stood...where *they* stood...The tension between them was not her imagination, the feel of his lips against her palm not an illusion...

"Are we talking about the patients in general, or about Henri Winthrop?" she asked baldly.

Picard's eyes flickered, then held hers. "I am concerned for all the crewmen, of course, but obviously, I have a personal interest in Winthrop's well-being."

"Why?"

Picard's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I should think that would be obvious, Beverly," he prevaricated.

"To some, perhaps, not to me."

Still they held each other's gaze, she insisting he continue, he fighting for some control, unused to this insistence from her.

Grudgingly, he said, "It would mean much to Therese if he should survive."

"You mean she cares about what happens to him?"

He nodded.

"And you want her to be happy," she stated.

"Yes."

"Are you saying that if Henri recovers, she'll return to him?" The daring of this question overwhelmed her. Unseen waves of hope and anticipation coursed through her.

Picard hesitated, surprised into plain truth by the audacity of the question. "No, I'm not saying that. I am only aware of how Therese feels. I know nothing about Henri's feelings."

"Then Winthrop doesn't feel for Therese what she feels for him?"

He had never really asked himself this question, had shied away from asking it, perhaps. Trying to explain the situation to her, he said slowly, "Her description of their parting makes me wonder if she might have been premature in her insistence upon a divorce. Henri may not have wished one, I don't know - but she was hurt and angry and acted quickly..." He shrugged. "But she never heard from him after he left on the _Questor_, so who knows how he felt? All I know is that she would be happy to know he was alive. These past couple of years have been...difficult for her at times." He spread his hands, palms up. "So they may end up together, or they may not."

"And if they do not?" she asked, again refusing to leave questions unasked, no matter how difficult the answer might be.

He raised his eyes to meet hers and a light died inside her. He would not leave Therese if he thought it would make her unhappy. She saw the sense of obligation, the desire to protect.

Picard recognized what was behind the question, and it hurt him to answer it truthfully. "Then I will have to be there for her. We have built a life together, Beverly. She would need me, even if she thought she didn't. She is not a woman to be alone, and I couldn't bear to leave her if she were hurting. I do love her."

She had her answer and shut her eyes against the pain of it. Despite their feelings having remained unchanged, his obligation to the woman he had shared his life with these past two years would take precedence.

There was a ray of hope, however, and she set her eyes firmly upon it. If Henri made it through this, and if he loved Therese, despite their divorce...

Then a small voice asked a question she shied away from. How much would it bother Jean Luc to leave the warm cocoon he shared with Therese? Would he want to, even for the opportunity for the Crusher/Picard thing to finally happen? What if, deep down, he secretly didn't *want* the upheaval of leaving what he knew?

End

Complications 18/42

TITLE: Complication 19/42

AUTHOR: Mariel

SERIES: TNG

PART: 19/42

RATING:

CODES: P/C P/f

They had spent four days looking at these padds, searching for they knew not what...and had precious little more to show for it than they had by their second day. Picard grunted a little as he moved, reacting to a protesting muscle. Seating himself a little more comfortably, he resumed his reading.

Beverly did not look up when Jean Luc moaned. Sitting across from him, her feet up on the coffee table separating them, she had just opened a PADD he had accessed with his security code, and was having trouble controlling a heartbeat that had begun to flutter rapidly when she realized what she had found.

Raising her head, she opened her mouth to speak to him, then changed her mind. She would read it first to see if there were anything that might give her a little medical insight into the crew members' condition...and, she had to admit, there was her curiosity to satisfy. Time enough to tell Jean Luc afterwards.

As she read, cold chills ran through her. Rapidly scrolling down through days and days of entries, she stopped occasionally, skimming over the words quickly, then resuming her search.

Twenty minutes or so later, her heart now thudding in a deep rhythm, she glanced up at Picard. He sat oblivious to her strained features, working to find his answers, unaware that she held in her hand the answer to a question she had forced him to consider days ago.

Neither the question nor the answer she had found was related directly to their search, but she knew it would be considered critical by the man opposite her. Wondering if she had the strength to deal with his response to what she was about to show him, she inhaled deeply and said in a quiet voice, "Jean Luc?"

Something in the tone of her voice rang a little alarm in him, and his eyes sharpened when they raised to meet hers. Unbidden, an anticipatory shiver ran through him. He could tell by the look on her face that something was wrong.

"What, Beverly?"

"There's something here I think you should see..."

She passed the PADD over to him, and waited quietly while he coursed through the information on the PADD, his face expressionless. She got the impression he was reading every word of every message, though she knew that would have been impossible - there had been almost a full year's worth of one-sided conversations on that PADD.

Finally, he turned it off and closed his eyes.

"You read much of this?" he asked, his eyes still shut.

She nodded, then said softly, "Enough of it."

He sat back, unable to hide his dismay. All this time, all her sadness and suffering, her regrets and worrying...for nothing. He rested his head against the back of the sofa for a moment, allowing the import of what he had just read to fully filter through his mind.

Henri loved her. Gods, it would have to be *his* personal log Bashir picked up, wouldn't it? The fates couldn't have decreed anything else.

The messages on that log were all to Therese: long, heartfelt sorrow over the end of their marriage, Henri's regret that he had been unable to explain his need for secrecy in preparing to leave Earth, his hope that when he returned she would listen to him, and that they could rebuild what had been torn down...message after message, telling her the minutia of his day, and always ending with "I love you. I miss you. Please wait for me, we'll work it out, I'll explain everything..."

None of the messages had ever been sent. Picard knew that her receiving them would have made all the difference.

He moved to sit on the edge of the sofa, and leaned his elbows on his knees, exhaling slowly. This would change so much. Too soon for him to dare consider a future with Beverly, despite the attraction he knew was there between them, he found himself able to think only of the comfortable, reassuring life he had led with Therese that would be no more. His mind shied away from that, and in veering away, met up with an emotion that surprised him.

Gratitude.

He felt...grateful that the misunderstanding had happened. Grateful that the messages had not been sent, that the past couple of years had unfolded as they had. The utter selfishness of the emotion appalled him, but try as he might, he could not turn it into anything else. The past couple of years had been the most content, stable ones in his life...had Therese not gone through the divorce, had she not come on board the _Enterprise_ because of it, he would not have had this time with her, would not have learned what it was to be the man he had become.

Placing the PADD carefully on the table in front of him, he rubbed a hand over the top of his head. Now he had to do what was right. He had to get word to her somehow; he owed it to her. All things considered, he owed it to Henri, too.

Inhaling deeply, he finally looked over at Beverly. Making a gesture towards the PADD, he said, "We've got to tell her."

Beverly didn't have to ask who 'she' was. "Jean Luc, that's impossible, and you know it. It would jeopardize everything."

"I don't care."

"You lie, or you're too upset to know reason," she said firmly. "I agree that, if she still loves him, the news would mean a lot to her, but I don't think her knowing at this point will make any difference at all."

"It will." He gestured towards the PADD again, "*That* makes all the difference. I can't let her live with a lie any longer."

She rose and went to sit beside him. "Jean Luc," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "Think. There's nothing her knowing could possibly do to help, and there's no way we could get word to her safely."

"I could tell her in person. She could come here. All I have to do is ask."

Beverly sat back from him, appalled. Visions of sharing him again with a woman who shared his bed made her tremble. //NO!// her mind screamed at him,//not yet....//

She steadied her voice enough to say, "You would bring her here?"

He nodded and, reaching down, took her hand in his. "Beverly..." He gently caressed her hand, exploring the contours of it, enjoying the slender strength of her fingers. An almost deafening silent moment passed between them. When he lifted his eyes to meet hers, his look raised in her a hope she had never, ever quite managed to extinguish. She held his heart's love, not Therese; she could see it in his eyes. But it had to wait until things were settled. She sighed gently and leaned over to kiss him softly on the cheek. "All right, Jean Luc."

But she was already working out a time frame in her mind. Remembering her lessons learned, she vowed that *this* time she would not wait too long, this time she would refuse to be a passive onlooker.

Tomorrow, she decided, she would prove it.

 * * *

Admiral Blake stepped into Hendrickson's office. Looking up, Hendrickson frowned.

"What do you want?"

Blake shrugged. "Just thought I'd drop by and see how things were going."

Hendrickson switched off the display he had been viewing and leaned back in his chair. "Then have a seat."

While Blake did so, Hendrickson eyed him carefully. He knew Blake would not have visited him unless there was something he thought was critical. What had he found out?

He sighed inwardly. Knowing Blake's predisposition for game playing, how long would it take to discover what it was?

"Everything on schedule?" Blake asked, once he had sat down.

Hendrickson nodded. "Everything's fine. The Enterprise is due to arrive at Deep Space Nine within the week, if all goes well. That'll key up the Fleet. Crusher and Picard are there - that'll take care of Star Fleet medical and the rogue group of admirals Picard leads. Bashir and Sisko, perhaps one or two others on DS9, and we control the wormhole and access to this quadrant..." He nodded to himself in satisfaction. "Yes, I'd say we have everything on schedule and lined up beautifully."

The humanoid named Blake reached up and touched himself where he protruded at the back of his host's neck and smiled. "It's been a long time coming."

Hendrickson agreed, "Yes, but it will be worth the wait. This time, we'll have perfect distribution, and no one to question anything."

Blake let his smile slowly drain away and then said, "Picard has contacted his lover and asked her to come to DS9."

Hendrickson looked up sharply. So this was why Blake had come. "What? I thought he and Crusher were so busy trying to keep their hands off one another in public that they sere spending most of their free time holed up in her quarters!"

He shuddered at the humanoids apparent enjoyment of the sexual act even when it did not result in the production of offspring. The frequency with which they copulated and the lack of any discernable cycle to their mating habits never failed to amaze him. It was unnatural, it was unproductive. It was yet another reason these humanoids were not evolved enough to survive.

"They may be spending all their time together, but I know what I know. I saw the communique myself last night."

"Do you think her going will affect anything?"

Blake shook his head. "No, it'll just mean Picard will have two females to divide his attentions between. That can only benefit us."

Hendrickson sat back in his chair, resting his hands on the arms of his chair. "I'd still like to know how he received the message to go to DS9."

"I told you she would manage it, didn't I? Where he's concerned, I figured she'd be one determined woman. Sometimes, you just have to let them solve their puzzles by themselves - it's the only way they'll believe what they find."

Hendrickson nodded impatiently. "Yes, I know. But I'd like to know how she got that message through."

Blake smiled. "Someday, I just might tell you, but not today. It is amazing how their minds work, isn't it? The labyrinth they call thoughts..." He shook his head, "It's a wonder they get anything done."

"So long as they don't suspect anything, I don't care how they think," Hendrickson said acerbically.

There was a brief silence between the two, then Hendrickson said, "We know Crusher's told Picard about the mysterious crewmen, of course, but he seems to have been too busy enjoying Crusher's charms to worry over much about discovering who they are and what happened to them. He's been spending more time on the damned inspection, I think. The doctor herself seems to be getting increasingly frustrated at not being able to identify the cause of the coma." He smiled. "Again, thank the Great Decree that they only look for the things they can see. Her impatience is typical of them."

Blake nodded, thinking of the months he had spent identifying those who would be critical to combine with, in order to successfully take the Federation this time. The months he had to wait for Picard to make up his foolish mind about the admiralty... The years they had carefully waited, biding their time, gaining influence, learning...He sighed. Patience was indeed a virtue, but how wonderful that it would soon not be so necessary.

 End

Complications 19/42

 TITLE: Complications 20/42

AUTHOR: MAriel

SERIES: TNG

PART: 20/42

RATING: NC17

CODES: P/C P/f

Picard was late arriving at Crusher's quarters that evening. She wondered briefly if he were still uncomfortable with their talk the evening before, but pushed the thought aside, as he had been fine that morning and at lunch. At least when she had insisted he speak, he had. It had been a long time coming, she thought, and there was still some plain talking left to do. Perhaps that was what he was trying to postpone.

Her door chime rang, and at her 'come' the door opened to reveal the man in her thoughts. She raised surprised eyebrows at his appearance.

"Well, this is a new look! What's the occasion?"

Picard smiled. "No occasion, I had time to stop by my quarters and was overwhelmed by the desire for a shower and fresh clothes. I didn't feel like putting on another uniform."

Beverly grinned. "Good. I like the casual look on you." She looked at him with a calculating gleam in her eye. "I think we'll have to venture out for dinner this evening."

He shrugged, and didn't try to hide a look of mischievousness when he said, "So long as you're not worried about people talking."

She laughed, feeling suddenly joyful. "So that's it! You're ready for another round of your 'game'!" She looked at him, warm amusement lighting her face. "I think I like these changes in you, Jean Luc Picard!"

Remembering her insistence during their earlier conversation about Therese and Henri, his eyes were more serious when he responded, "I think I am not the only one who has changed."

"I'm pleased to inform you that is definitely the case, sir." she answered, the words serious, her tone playful.

Still not consciously aware of the freeing effect last night's discovery had on his own subconscious, Picard was unaware of the utter relief Beverly had felt that at last he could be free of whatever obligation he felt towards Therese. She knew that there was now a window of opportunity for the two of them to finally do something about their relationship, and it thrilled her. He looked at her questioningly, unsure of her sudden lightness of spirit.

Beverly disrupted his considerations by saying, "I got home early today, so I've been working on these for more than an hour already. Why don't you start making up for lost time, while I shower and change?" She eyed him appreciatively, liking the way the vee of his shirt showed a hint of his chest hair and the way his dark pants molded to his thighs, "I certainly don't want to be outshone by my dinner companion."

Picard smiled, looking down at the simple brown v-necked shirt and the black pants he had chosen to go with it. He raised his eyes to meet hers and said, "Beverly, you could wear a sack and be stunning, and you know it."

She laughed. "Fine, one sack, coming right up!" Tossing him one of the padds on the table she said, "Here, this is the one you were working on at lunchtime. I should be back by the time you're finished with it."

Picard caught the PADD deftly and nodded. When she had left the room, he glanced at the door that had closed behind her and smiled. With a contented sigh, he sat back comfortably and began scrolling information across the screen. Life with Therese had taught him he would be well into the next PADD before she emerged, and that impatience would be a waste of emotion. Besides, it was usually worth the wait.

As he had expected, he was twenty minutes into a new PADD when he heard the doors swish open. Turning, he caught his breath. It *had* been worth the wait.

"Well?" she said, a knowing smile playing across her lips.

She pirouetted, allowing the long skirt of the two piece ensemble to twirl about her legs. The brown-gold material caught and held glimmers of light, shimmering as she moved. The long sleeved top was scoop necked, and though it was cut tunic style, the weight and fluid texture of the material clung to her curves, caressing the tops of her breasts -he was sure she couldn't possibly be wearing anything underneath- and clinging to her slender shoulders. The skirt was demurely cut, until she moved and the thigh-high slits on each side were revealed.

"Beverly, you're stunning!"

"Good, because this cost me a fortune, and I haven't had the opportunity to wear it."

Trying not to stare, he responded, "It was worth every credit!" Holding his hand out, he asked, "Shall we go, madame?"

She walked closer to him and reached for his hand. They both felt an electric tingle as their fingers touched and then clasped. For the moment, at least, neither had any desire -or reason- to let go.

She held his eyes with hers a breathless moment, and felt a shiver of anticipation run through her. Her decision made, she nodded and allowed him to lead her though the doors and out into the corridor.

Their fingers were still loosely entwined when they arrived at Quark's.

 * * *

"The admiral is usually at dinner in one of our restaurants at this time, Captain. He likely didn't feel the need to wear his comm badge. Don't worry, though, your message will be forwarded to his quarters. Good talking to you, sir," he said, nodding his farewell. "Sisko out."

The large man shook his head in resignation and felt a ripple of anger wash over him. Picard had come onto his station in control of a situation he had been allowed no knowledge of. Bad. He was conducting an inspection for crisis readiness that had his staff on pins and needles. Still bad. And NOW the man had his old cronies arriving on his old ship....

He sighed. Just what he needed: a flagship of the Fleet on shore leave, and the miners still here. Odo would have his work cut out for him.

His communication indicator lit up, and he tapped the console distractedly.

The fresh young face of a new crewman nodded at him from the screen and said, "Excuse me sir, but I'm not certain what to do here. I've someone who insists upon speaking to Admiral Picard, but he does not respond to his communicator. Should I have it put over the intercom?"

Sisko tightened his facial muscles. "No, ensign, I don't think we need to broadcast our need to locate the man. Patch the person in to me. It seems I'm playing yeoman for the admiral tonight, no reason to stop now."

The ensign nodded and his image flickered out. Within seconds, the communication indicator lit up again, and Sisko punched the console. The face of an attractive, silver-and-black haired woman appeared on the screen.

"Final..." she stopped as she realized it was not Jean Luc's face that had replaced the Federation logo. Her brows drew together slightly and there was a hint of concern in her voice when, noticing his pips, she said, "Captain? I am trying to speak with Admiral Picard."

Sisko nodded, and trying to keep his voice from being too impatient, said, "Yes, I am aware of that fact. Unfortunately, he has left his quarters without his comm badge, so we are unable to locate him immediately. My ensign thought that perhaps I might be of assistance. I'm Captain Benjamin Sisko."

The woman's face cleared and she smiled, her eyes filled with relief. Visibly relaxing, she said in a friendly manner, "And I am Commander Therese Winthrop. Admiral Picard has requested I join him on your station. I know that he will want to know my travel arrangements. Perhaps you can help me reach him, oui? It appears he has..." she waved her hands gracefully, "...disappeared." She tilted her head slightly and raised a graceful eyebrow as she paused for his response.

So this was Therese Winthrop. Older than he had expected, very charming, gentle accent, winning smile, warm dark eyes that...he shook his head mentally. Picard's taste in women, good or otherwise, was hardly his interest...though he felt a little intrigued at the apparent differences between her and...

 Forcing his mind back to the matter at hand, he shook his head regretfully, "I'm sorry, but as he seems to have wandered off without his commbadge, that would be difficult. We can leave a message in his quarters, if you wish."

The woman hesitated, then nodded and said apologetically, "Then you have been disturbed for nothing. I am sorry, Captain. I had hoped to speak with him, though. Always," she explained, "there is something he forgets to take with him." She smiled, her dark eyes twinkling, "It is his habit, n'est pas? When he contacted me, so surprised was I at his invitation, I forgot to ask him what it was this time." She shrugged tolerantly, her amused look inviting Sisko to join in the gentle joke, "He will have to do without, yes?"

 Finding this little piece of Picard domesticity oddly disconcerting, Sisko found himself replying in a helpful tone, "He is often in Quark's at this time of evening. I am on my way there soon. Perhaps I can give him your message and he will be able to reach you before you leave."

Therese smiled charmingly and tilted her head to the side. "You are very kind, captain. That would be wonderful. I will look forward to meeting you in person when I arrive."

Sisko nodded and, drawn in by her warm manner, found himself smiling back. She was a lovely woman, he thought. "It will be a pleasure to meet you in person, Commander," he said, meaning it.

 When she relayed her information, and their conversation was finished, Sisko reached over and cut the communication, his smile slowly fading.

 * * *

They were both surprised to look up and see Sisko beside their table. Slowly, Picard freed Beverly's hand and looked up, leaning back in his chair as he did so. Not knowing why they had been disturbed, he was surprised by the distaste he saw in Sisko's eyes.

Without preamble, the captain began to speak in his official staccato, "I have just spoken with your wife, Admiral. She wants you to know that she will be leaving Earth in about six hours and would like you to contact her, if there is anything you want her to bring from home."

Well, that explained the distaste, Picard thought.

Keeping his face impassive, he nodded slowly. Knowing the blasted man was quite aware of his marital status, he held Sisko's gaze steadily as he said, "Thank you, captain. I'm pleased she was able to find transportation so quickly."

Sisko was not finished, however. "You also have a message waiting for you concerning the _Enterprise_. Captain Riker sends his regards, and wishes you to know that he will be arriving at Deep Space 9 in two days. Earlier, if possible. He wants time for some crew shore leave. He hopes that his arrangements meet with your approval."

Picard raised an eyebrow. He had not been aware that the ship was due to arrive at all. "That's fine, Captain. Thank you."

Sisko was still not finished. Still holding his anger and dislike tightly to him, he said, "Might I suggest that in future, Admiral, you wear your com badge, when off duty and not in your quarters?" He placed a badge on the table. "If you could keep this with you this evening, I'd appreciate it. We've keyed it for your communications."

Picard glanced at Beverly, who was smiling broadly at the thought of seeing everyone from the _Enterprise_ again, -and, he strongly suspected, at seeing him being scolded. Taking the comm badge and attaching it to his shirt, he apologized with natural dignity, "I am sorry, Captain, it was an oversight on my part, and your displeasure is well deserved. I did not intend you to act as a messenger."

His demeanor changed to one of anticipation when he ventured to ask, "I don't suppose Will mentioned the approximate time of his arrival?"

Sisko nodded, confused. Picard's equamity concerning Therese's arrival, his easy apology, his casual reference to Captain Riker...Dr. Crusher's apparent lack of discomfort...

"0900, sir."

Picard nodded and smiled at his companion. "Looks as though there's going to be a reunion, Beverly."

glinting mischievously, she reached over and traced a gentle pattern with her finger on the back of his hand as she said, "Who'd have thought a visit to DS9 could be this...pleasurable."

It was said so seductively he almost choked. She had 'the game' down to a science - disconcertingly so - and played it with a flair that astounded him.

He needed to discuss her sense of timing, however.

Eyes widened at her audacity, and fighting a smile, he looked up at the captain. Trying to maintain some sort of decorum, he said, "Hopefully we will *all*..." he darted a glance at Beverly, who smiled demurely, "...be better behaved than your miners, Captain."

 Sisko looked at the two, sensing that there was something here he did not know, some explanation for things that eluded him. He found to his surprise that curiosity was beginning to take the edge off the anger he had been so carefully cultivating.

"If there are problems, our brig is large," Sisko said enigmatically before he turned and left.

Picard thought wryly that his tone sounded hopeful.

As they watched Sisko walk stiffly away, Beverly remarked. "You know, I don't think he's a very happy man. My guess is he's quite disgusted with us. We're enjoying ourselves far too much for his liking."

Picard nodded. "He's under a lot of pressure and, besides our not being kindred spirits at the best of times, I remind him of things he would rather not. My being here under the circumstances I am does not help, either."

"Nor does what he thinks we're up to," she added.

"Does that bother you?"

She smiled a small smile. "No. I don't care what people think. 'The game' is oddly freeing, isn't it?"

Picard cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I was meaning to speak to you about that. I think Sisko almost had a coronary. You've got to be a *little* discreet, Beverly."

She sat back and shook her head. "No way, Admiral. I know the rules, I played by them, and I enjoyed it. I mean, *really* enjoyed it," she grinned devilishly before adding, "Being shaken up does the man good. It's not for him to judge."

He looked at her, admiring the way her hair seemed to pick up golden glints from her outfit, loving her and the fact he was here with her. He loved the promise in her eye and the hope it instilled in him, too. He reached again for the warmth of her hand.

"Let's have a drink." he said suddenly, not wanting the evening to end.

"Good idea, but not here. I still need help with Quark's stuff. Care to accommodate me?"

He held her gaze. "Gladly."

They spoke little on the way back to her quarters. A new facet to their tortured relationship was fast approaching and they felt breathless, caught up in the sensation of newness and anticipation, feeling helpless to stop it and no longer caring.

Passing one of the little alleyways that led to a viewport, something caught Beverly's eye and she grabbed Jean Luc's hand and pulled him into the alcove. She had been right: they were just in time to see the wormhole open, and spit out a small ship. Watching, more conscious of the person standing so close than of the view, they turned to one another when the kaleidoscope of color and motion had faded.

"I never tire of seeing that," Beverly commented softly. Raising her eyes to meet his, she held his gaze.

Mesmerized by her eyes, Picard leaned ever-so-slightly forward, to brush his lips against hers. Caressing her lips with his own, he put gentle, tentative arms around her, coaxing a response from her.

Her reaction was immediate and heart warming. Arms encircling his neck, her lips softened and slowly parted. She shivered at her body's response to the feel of his tongue as it slid against hers, and pressed herself further into his arms.

He groaned and pulled her to him more tightly still, lost in her smell, her touch, her taste. Sliding his hands along her back, he relished the easy, slick feeling of her top's material as it slid against her body. Tracing gentle kisses along her jaw, he settled at the soft area beneath her ear, nuzzling her, inhaling her scent.

Needing still more of her, his hands slid beneath her top, caressing her soft skin, enjoying the unimpeded travel from waist to shoulder blades, then traveling along her sides, the palms of his hands gently cupping the sides of her warm breasts.

Feeling his growing desire against her, she groaned and arched her hips towards him, gyrating slowly and eliciting tremors of desire in him.

Slowly, he backed her towards the side of the viewport area, partially hiding them from possible passerby behind a large beam strut. Mouth busy against hers, he raised his hands to cup her breasts and gently rubbed his thumbs against her nipples, drawing a gasp of pleasure from her. He smiled against her mouth and continued his ministrations, loving the feel of her against him, driven half mad by her response to him.

Led close to the edge just by his mouth and hands, her body mindlessly sought closer contact, and she tilted her hips and raised a slender thigh, drawing him closer to her, silently pleading for closer, more intimate contact.

Urgent to comply, he slid his hands lightly down her body, and finding the slits at the side of her skirt, slid his hands beneath it and up around her buttocks. He paused a moment and brought his head back to look at her in surprise. "Beverly?"

She smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire, her lips swollen and hungry for more of his kisses. Pulling his head next to hers, she murmured in his ear, "No panty lines this way."

He groaned into the softness of her neck and thrust against her, enjoying the silkiness of her bare skin beneath his hands as he brought her hard against him.

Reaching down, she...

Picard's communicator beeped. Ignoring it, he nuzzled her neck and teased her earlobes with his teeth, relishing the feel of her hands pressing him through the fabric of his pants and the building need for release it created...

The communicator beeped again. Groaning, he braced himself against the wall, keeping her trapped against him. Tapping his newly acquired and becursed comm badge, he said in a strangled voice, "Picard."

He could swear he heard a smile in Sisko's voice when he responded. "Sorry if I am interrupting, Admiral. You've a Priority One message, for your eyes only, sir. Where would you like it directed?"

Picard's eyes narrowed. Since when did the captain of a space station act as communications officer? Looking at Beverly, he tried to gain control of his breathing so that he could answer evenly, "I'm just escorting Dr. Crusher back to her quarters." He paused minutely as Beverly nibbled on his ear, "I will contact you once I'm there."

"Fine, Admiral. Sisko out."

"He contacted me personally just to plague me." Picard muttered.

Beverly smiled and murdered into his neck, "I half believe you could be right, Jean Luc. Allow him his fun, my love..." She trailed a finger down his chest. "...His is over. Ours has just begun."

Picard resisted the urge to clasp her against him again, and forced himself to step away, hating the cool air that separated them.

Beverly looked down at him, raised amused eyes to meet his, then looked down again. Following her gaze, he said, "It's not my fault."

"Yes, well, we'll take care of that after you've taken care of business." She grinned, "It'd better calm down a little, though, or people will wonder..."

She wrapped her arm around his, pressing herself against him. He shuddered at the intimacy of her closeness and with determination set off in the direction of her quarters. And prayed they didn't meet anyone on the way...

End

Complications 20/42

TITLE: Complications 21/42

AUTHOR: Mariel

SERIES: TNG

PART 21/42

RATING:

CODES: P/C P/f

The bridge of the _Enterprise_ was oddly quiet. Captain Riker moved

restlessly in his chair and tapped the arm console with blunt fingers impatiently.

It didn't feel right, and if a career in Star Fleet had taught him anything, it was that if your instincts told you something wasn't right, it probably wasn't. But what, he wondered, could possibly be wrong about following orders to go to Deep Space Nine? The crew would appreciate the break, and the Enterprise, he reassured himself, was running so smoothly that an inspection by Hendrickson was nothing to worry about. Normally, he would be proud to show off his ship and crew.

So why was he feeling so uncomfortable?

Deanna, sitting in her usual seat to his left, looked at him. "Captain?"

He turned his head and smiled slightly. "Sorry, Counselor." He heaved a sigh and said "Data, the counselor and I will be in my ready room."

He rose from his centre seat and, motioning Deanna to precede him, left the bridge.

When the doors swished closed behind them, he walked to his desk and sat down heavily. The room, once so deeply associated with his predecessor, now bore the distinctive marks of his own occupancy, the most noticeable of which was perhaps the trombone standing on the pedestal that had once held Picard's beloved volume of Shakespear. There were other things as well: small objects that had caught his attention on various shore leaves scattered on the occasional tables, and several works of art by Alaskan artists were proudly displayed on the walls.

In Deanna's opinion at least, the atmosphere of the room had changed too. Whereas during Picard's occupancy there had always been a feeling of permanence and quiet authority, the room now held the robust, dynamic feel of its new occupant. Not a bad thing, she thought, merely different.

Waiting for the Counselor to seat herself in the chair across from him, Riker said, "I'm sorry, Deanna, but it just doesn't feel right. Something's going on I don't know about. I can't shake this feeling of foreboding."

Deanna smiled. "I noticed. Perhaps you should try to determine what it is about going to Deep Space Nine that disturbs you."

"*Everything* about going there disturbs me. Hendrickson knows we're

supposed to be on our way to the Beta Quadrant, but he sends us weeks out of out way just for a personal inspection?" He shook his head and asked, "Since when does he even do them?"

"And Sisko, when I call to contact Admiral Picard, acting like I'd stuck a poker..."

"Will!", Deanna exclaimed reprovingly.

He had the grace to look abashed. "Well, you saw how he got. Now, what's happened that's put his back up with the Admiral? I thought they had pretty much resolved things between them."

He shook his head, still going down the list of reasons for his disquiet. "And what are Picard and Hendrickson doing on the station at the same time? Why wouldn't one or the other be doing whatever it is that's taking the two of them to do? Manpower isn't so plentiful that admirals just run around willie nillie..."

He paused and leaned back in his chair, tapping the arm of it with a

clenched fist, "And why hasn't Picard answered my message?"

The words hung in the air between them for a moment before Troi said

gently, "That's what is really bothering you at the moment, isn't it?"

Riker paused and looked at her, surprised at her words at first, then

slowly nodding in agreement, "You're right. It just isn't like him. Allowing for the difference between ship's time and the station's,

he ought to have been back, and replied, hours ago."

"Perhaps he was late getting in, and decided to wait for the morning."

Piker raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Since when did he ever let anything wait until tomorrow?"

"Good point. As you said, though, we don't know why he's there."

Riker nodded thoughtfully, his gaze unfocussed as he worked his way around his problem. A few moments, and his eyes widened. Leaning forward over his desk, he exclaimed, "Therese Winthrop!"

Deanna frowned. "What?"

"She'd know what is going on. I'm going to contact her."

"Will, I think you're going over board on this. All we need to do is

wait less than two days and we'll be there to find out for ourselves - or Picard will contact us, and you can satisfy your concerns then."

Riker shook his head. "No, I need to know as soon as possible." Pushing a button on his desktop, he said, "Data, have someone contact Commander Therese Winthrop. Her home location is in ship's records. Dependng on the time of day there, she may be at work - her office is in the Sciences d'Espace complex." He hesitated, then added, "I want her on a secure channel."

Recognizing his need for action - any action, Deanna settled back and

waited for the message to go through, hoping it came before she had to leave for her next counseling appointment.

An hour later, Therese Winthrop's face appeared on Riker's communication screen.

"Will Riker! What an unexpected surprise! It is good to see you."

Riker smiled. "It's good to see you too, Therese. How are things?"

The petite woman waved a hand, "C'est bien. However, you are lucky to have caught me. I am about to leave for transport to Deep Space Nine in a few minutes."

"Deep Space Nine?"

She nodded. "Yes. Jean Luc, he contacted me and asked me to join him

there for a few days."

"So there's something special going on there."

She looked a little surprised at his question, then shook her head, a

frown marring her brow. "Nothing that I know of. I am not certain I know what you mean."

Riker was beginning to think he was perhaps being paranoid, but continued with his gut feeling, anyway, "We've been ordered there ourselves, and I understand that besides Admiral Picard, Admiral Hendrickson is also there. That's a lot of brass for one little station all at one time. I thought you might know if there was something I might like advance warning of."

"Have you spoken with Jean Luc?"

Riker shook his head. "I've left a message in his quarters, but so far he hasn't replied."

Therese looked thoughtful. "I too have tried to speak with him, but

without success. He is perhaps too busy, yes?"

She paused to recall all that Riker had said, then asked, "But did you say Admiral Hendrickson? It is Admiral Blake who is on his way to DS9, surely."

"What?"

She nodded in confirmation of her thoughts. "Yes, I am sure of it.

When I was arranging transport, I complimented the ensign on how quickly he was able to make my arrangements. He said to me that he had recently had practice - that the day before, when assigned to Star Fleet Travel, he had made arrangements for Admiral Blake to go to DS9."

Riker sat back in his chair, his mind working furiously. Not one, not

two, but THREE admirals. The bloody place had more brass per square foot than any place in the Quadrant.

"Therese, what can you tell me about Jean Luc's reason for being there?"

She hesitated, and he could tell she was choosing her words carefully,

which in itself made him worry. "He is officially there to inspect the station to ensure its crisis readiness in regards to the exploratory thrust the federation is about to begin into the Gamma Quadrant."

It was a mouthful of words, but the word 'officially' did not slip by him unnoticed. There were other reasons, he deducted, that she could not say even over a closed channel. That meant she was worried her communications were being monitored. That also meant that whoever was monitoring her would now know that he was interested in events on DS9...

In an attempt to cover up some of his blunder, he said, "Well, just so long as it doesn't take up all his time. Some of the crew here want to see him, but we didn't want to take up more time than he can afford. I thought you'd be the best one to ask. I put a message through to him to check on his schedule, but as I said, he hasn't responded. People here are getting antsy about planning their shore leave, so I thought I'd give you a try." In a conversational tone, he asked, "Any idea how much longer he'll be there?"

Therese shook her head, recognizing his back pedaling. "Non. I have

taken leave for only a week, but I do not know if he will return with me or not." She smiled and then said, "But I must be going. It will be very good to see all of you again - imagine: the 'entire' crew of the Enterprise back together again. It will be quite a visit, yes?"

Riker's eyes sharpened at her tone. They said good bye, then he reached over to replay the last part of their conversation. Cursing that Deanna had not been there while they spoke, he called her, requesting that she meet with him following her appointment.

Deanna arrived within thirty minutes and viewed the tape immediately. "What do you want, Will? I can't read emotions off of a recorded message, you know."

"Of course not. I just want your impressions."

She reached over and watched the last few minutes of the tape again. "I think she's trying to tell us something that she can't say outright."

She re-wound the tape to a certain spot and played it, the sound

lowered, "See how her eyes shift...there." she pointed. "It's when she says 'the *entire* Enterprise crew'. She did the same thing when she said 'officially' earlier."

"We already know that Miles and Worf and Picard are there. What

message could she possibly want to give us in that?"

She shook her head, "I've no idea," and rewound the tape again.

"The entire Enterprise crew..." they both had the words running through their brains, unable to see any hidden messages.

They had been forgetting someone, and both reached the same realization at the same time: "Beverly!"

Quickly, they put in a call to Star Fleet Medical, only to find that she was not there, and the staff unable, or unwilling, to tell them where she was. The best they could do was to leave a message, which, they were reassured, she would respond to as soon as possible. Beverly's disappearance, along with everything else they were now aware of, allowed them to extrapolate the theory that Beverly was on DS9 too.

Riker sat, concern clearly written on his face as he did his calculations: That meant three admirals, the Head of Star Fleet Medical, and the Fleet's most prestigious star ship were soon going to be together on the Federation's most valued deep space station - a station that just happened to be at the mouth of a stable worm hole.

And for no particular reason that they were able to determine.

"Deanna, something's going on. This can't be coincidence. Only something extraordinary would take us off our schedule for a totally unnecessary inspection, so imagine what it would take to get three admirals there at the same time." He rocked back in his chair and exhaled audibly, "I could see it if there was something big going on - but something big we don't know about?" He shook his head, "No, I don't like it one little bit. I'd have heard something..."

Deanna's mouth quirked. "I admire your faith in your information

network, Will, but perhaps this is simply what it now appears to be:

something very secret that we are soon going to be involved in. I suggest you try contacting Admiral Picard again."

He nodded. "But I won't be able to ask him anything, not if even a

secure line makes Therese nervous."

She agreed. "No, but if I'm here, I may be able to pick up

something. And," she added knowingly, "you'll at least know that he's actually there and okay."

He looked at her, grateful for her gentle understanding of how important the well-being of his ex-captain was to him.

Reaching again to his comm link with the bridge, he asked to be patched through once again to Deep Space Nine.

 * * *

Sisko's interruption alone would not have done it, but the worry of a

Priority One message, plus the walk to Crusher's quarters, very

effectively acted as a cold shower on the heated passion that had caught Jean Luc and Beverly so unexpectedly in the observation alcove. As he neared their destination, Picard found himself increasingly concerned. Priority Ones almost invariably meant trouble.

Entering Beverly's quarters first, Picard strode across the room to the communications panel and stabbed at the flashing indicator. Knowing the drill, his companion wordlessly made herself scarce by entering the bedroom, the door hissing closed behind her.

Rapidly going through the usual security measures and verifications of identity, Picard soon found himself looking at the familiar face of Admiral Blake. His recorded message began with little preamble:

"As you may know by now, the _Enterprise_ is due to dock at Deep Space Nine within a few days time. I am also on my way to join you; although I haven't heard from you since your arrival there, I've come to the conclusion that some of our initial concerns may have a solid

foundation, Jean Luc. I'm coming to take a look for myself. I

expect a full report upon my arrival." Blake's eyebrows drew

together and his sharp eyes seemed to drill into Picard when he added, "I strongly suggest that you back off any investigation from this point onward, admiral. We'll discuss the matter in private once I get there." Blake nodded once, then his image was abruptly replaced by the Federation logo.

Picard reached over and switched off the screen, his face carefully

controlled. He stood there several moments before Beverly, having seen that the 'in use' indicator on the sleeping quarter's comm had gone out, re-entered the room and quietly asked, "Well? What was that all about?"

Jean Luc looked up, his face thoughtful. "Good question. I'm not certain I know myself."

Beverly waited patiently for him to speak again.

"Blake's on the way here," he said slowly.

"What?"

Still standing in front of the communications console, Picard looked

across the room at her, "It seems strange to me too. He also mentioned I should back off any investigation I might be conducting until he gets here."

Moving to sit on the sofa, she asked, "What's he talking about?"

Picard moved towards the windows of her living area, and looked out at the star-studded darkness. He thought a moment and then turned towards her to say, "When I came out here, he intimated he was concerned about Hendrickson and all the secrecy surrounding the quarantined ship and crew. He wanted me to find out what Hendrickson was up to. Since officially I've discovered nothing, I don't understand his request to back off. It doesn't sound right somehow."

Beverly frowned. "Could he have found out about the creatures? Perhaps he has his own agenda too."

"I don't see how he could have discovered anything - only you, Bashir, and I are aware of them. I sometimes wonder if even Hendrickson knows..."

Beverly shook her head and rose from the sofa to join him at the window. "No, as I told you when you arrived, those medical people that've been helping out are more than what they seem. Bashir and I have had to be very careful around them. My guess is Hendrickson does know, and Blake's onto it."

Picard shrugged, "Well, we've got two days. Two days to finish those

logs, and find whatever answers we can from them. You, doctor, have two days to determine the best possible way of detaching the creatures from their hosts without doing irreparable harm to either. I'm sorry, but it's got to be done."

Reaching his side, she too chose to look out at the stars, standing

with her shoulder almost touching his. She nodded, having already

resolved herself to the idea that at some point he would ask her to do this, no matter what the risk.

A sudden thought crossed Beverly's mind and she raised her eyes to meet his in the reflection of the window. "Admiral Blake - do you trust him?"

Picard nodded.

"Then I'd say we'd better speak with him as soon as he gets here, and

tell him everything we know."

Again, Picard nodded, but felt disquiet at the thought of doing so.

Everything about the situation was warning him to keep his cards close to his chest. He mulled over Blake's message again in his mind and frowned. What had happened to make him think he needed to be here

too?

"Does Sisko know he's arriving?"

"I've no idea," Picard grunted. "Likely not. I'll ask him tomorrow: I'm due to give him a report on the inspection," he said, his tone richly indicating his lack of enthusiasm for spending time with the station's captain.

Beverly's eyes widened and left Picard's reflection to look at the man himself. Remembering Sisko's tone when he had interrupted them earlier, she could not keep the amusement out of her voice when she commented dryly, "That should make for an interesting little get together."

Also foregoing the reflection for the real thing, he turned and raised an eyebrow, glad of the opportunity to think of something else. Worrying now about Blake's message and his feelings of disquiet would get him nowhere.

"You don't have to deal with that superiority thing he has going,"

Picard remarked. He shook his head, and a wry look settled on his face as he continued, "You know, I've watched him interact socially, and he's a pleasant, amiable, witty man. Put him within four yards of me, however, and he turns into what you've seen - stiff and haughty,

with disapproval oozing out of every pore. I know he dislikes me, and I can understand some of his reasons for that dislike. I'm not too crazy about him, either, but at least I have the decency to hide the fact."

 "Perhaps you shouldn't hide it. He may be the type to dislike it when he feels he's being lied to."

He looked at her, surprised. "I'm not lying, Beverly, I'm just being

civilized."

"Perhaps, but he may prefer to have things out in the open."

"Well his dislike of me certainly is. And so is his disapproval of us, I might add," he added, a small smile relaxing his features.

Beverly smiled back. "If his attitude with you is a problem, call him on it. I think he prefers plain speaking - Miles certainly seems to think so."

He nodded. "It might serve to clear the air a bit. If I continue to

oversee the exploratory missions, I'll be seeing him far more than he'll like because of the critical role this station will be playing in our Gamma Quadrant efforts. It'd be far more pleasant if I could walk into the room without getting his back up." His eyes sharpened. and he placed a hand on her arm, "But so far as our relationship goes, I refuse to explain or apologize, or try to clarify anything. It's none of the damned man's business."

Having said that, he turned back to contemplating the view from her

quarter's windows. Beverly watched as his face settled into a worried

frown. She waited a few minutes, then stated, "Sisko's attitude towards you, or his disapproval of what he thinks we're doing, isn't what you're really concerned about, is it."

Picard sighed and shook his head. "No, what I'm really worried about is our little mystery in quarantine and what Hendrickson's up to with all this secrecy. That, on top of Admiral Blake's arrival, and the Enterprise's being sent here, must add up somehow."

His eyes were focused on faraway stars, but his mind was on the more

immediate. "Something doesn't feel right, Beverly, but I can't put my

finger on what it is. I feel as though we're being played with, but I'll be damned if I can say how or for what reason."

"Perhaps when you speak with Will later..." Beverly offered.

He nodded at her comment, but she could see that he was already back deep into his own thoughts. Allowing him time to mull them over without interruption, Beverly crossed over to the cabinet she kept Quark's poison in, and took out the bottle. Taking her time, she carefully poured them each a goodly amount, then returned to where Jean Luc stood, and passed one to him without speaking.

Brought out of his reverie, he raised his glass absentmindedly in a

silent toast.

She thought he was going to return to his thoughts, but was

mistaken...

He stopped, his glass mid air. Light reflecting in her hair caught his attention, and when he looked at her face, memories of their earlier passion arose, raw and electric. He did not want to think about Hendrickson or Blake, did not want to worry about phased aliens or suspected conspiracies. Resolutely, he pushed those thoughts away, concentrating instead on the woman beside him.

A strange feeling of almost-shyness enveloped them both, the sudden urgency of their need for the other all at once becoming almost overwhelming. Embarrassment over their lack of control, their...wantonness, for lack of a better word, filled them. They had, after all, almost 'done it' against a bulkhead in an observation area - an action worthy of hormone-afflicted teens, perhaps, but an admiral and the Head of Star Fleet Medical? A faint blush tinted Crusher's cheeks at the memory.

The blush extended far deeper as she remembered the feel of him, the way he had pressed himself against her, the taste of his mouth, the heat that had risen within her at his touch....

Her eyes, glazed somewhat by her thoughts, caught Picard's and they

instinctively moved towards one another. Wordlessly, he took her glass from her unprotesting fingers, and placed both of their drinks on a low table near by.

As he did so, he set aside his worries for the tomorrow until the morrow. He had been learning the lesson of not living too much in the past, or too much in the future. It was time to practice it. Sometimes, everything but the now had to be set aside, and this was one of those times. Tonight, this now, would be theirs...

Straightening, he took a step closer to her and raised a hand to slowly trace a finger along her jaw, loving the softness of her skin, the play of light against her cheek. "I don't think we need a drink," he murmured.

She closed her eyes at his touch. Leaning towards her, he moved his

hands into her hair, and drew her mouth slowly towards his.

End chapt 21/42

Complications

NOTE TO READERS: Part 21 is rated NC17. In order not to offend anyone, I suggest that if you do not wish to read a scene with sex between Picard and Crusher in it, please skip over it and head straight to Part 22. The story will still flow fairly well. I will be posting both 21 and 22 at the same time. You won't miss any critical plot aspects by skipping 21, and only a little character development.

There will be more warnings at the beginning of part 21.

Onward