Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Stranded

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Premise: What if?
Disclaimer: I do not own anything of much value, let alone the rights to Star Trek.

"What's this?" Lily Sloane asked in confusion as he handed her the PADD.

"Instructions for Commander Riker. Telling him to find a quiet corner of North America and stay out of history's way." With a tinge of sorrow, Jean-Luc Picard’s blue eyes met hers for the last time as he sent her to the escape pod. Finally he stood alone on the bridge, staring down at the spinning blue-green world that in three hundred years would be his birthplace, his home away from the Enterprise. The prison he had just condemned his entire crew to hide in for the rest of their lives.

Part One

Time: the night of April 4th, 2063

They had missed her death. She was now one with the stars. Her sleek hull, powerful warp nacelles, and the bold letters written across her bow: NCC 1701-E USS Enterprise. She was gone. Gone before they had even gotten to know her. And she had died alone. Only the cold thoughts of the Borg drones as they vaporized had been with her. The rush of joy, the unbridled pride that would come with watching humans make first contact with the noble Vulcans tomorrow seemed hollow.

"Where did they go?" She asks, and places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"An island in the south pacific. Uncharted. He had to destroy her before Data could take over the main computer. We saved the future, restored the time-line..." He pauses, hands Geordi the padd. "Damn." He sinks to a crouch, staring at the earth beneath his feet. Earth, not deck plating, not some alien soil, just earth.

"You know, if we could find or build a boat, we could join them. The captain gave us the coo rdinates." Geordi adds optimistically.

"I know." William T. Riker, commander of the former USS Enterprise-E, stands up. His eyes flash, determined. "For right now, round up our people. Gather supplies and get ready to move out. We'll probably be camping. We also need to keep a low profile. Phasers, tricorders, tools, anything 24h century- keep it well hidden. Be ready to move out at daybreak, for tonight hit the tents. Get some sleep." Geordi nods and heads toward their team. Eleven of them were stuck here. He reaches for her, and she returns his grasp.

"We'll be all right Will." She is calm, as always. His chest falls.

"I know. We've just got to stick together. We'll adapt. Most of the crew is from Earth anyway."

She laughs softly. "Speak for yourself. I'll have you know I'm half little green alien."

He throws his arm easily around her shoulders. "I wasn't aware that little green aliens had a sacred chalice, much less a set of Holy Ring s."

"You’d be surprised what doesn't make it into Starfleet history books. Like a warning about consuming tequila with a genius of warp design." She winces, laying her head on his shoulder. "I'll never, ever touch an alcoholic beverage again."

"Oh come now Deanna. A hangover is part of the human experience. The urge to vomit your guts out, that's as human as it gets." Her eyes widen in horror.

"I'm going to---?" He smiles, and rubs her back comfortingly.

"Hopefully not."

Through the trees in front of them Geordi is overseeing the impromptu campsite. Five small tents in a loose circle surrounding the pile of Starfleet equipment, covered neatly with a dirty green tarp.

"It's not Risa."

Will smiles. "But, for tonight, it's home. Where should we go?"

Geordi points to the nearest tent on his right. "You and the counselor will have to room together. Space is a bit scarce."

"Aye sir, mister La Forge sir." Will tease s, releasing Deanna and grabbing two sleeping bags from the pile. "See you in the morning." The engineer turns away and fiddles with a tricorder, setting an alarm to go off should anyone attempt to break into their camp.

Deanna's dark eyes blink slowly and swim for a moment. "Are you all right?" He asks, guiding her to the tent.

"Fine." She replies softly, "I guess I'm still having some trouble with the tequila."

"Now what did your mother tell you about drinking with strange men?" He teases gently as he unrolls the sleeping bags. Deanna sinks to the floor, head on her knees.

"I'm dizzy." He runs a hand over her hair.

"I'll get you some water. Lie down. I'll be right back." He disappears into the yawning Montana night. She crawls carefully into the refuge for the sleeping bag. Not even bothering to remove her boots. He returns with a Starfleet canteen. "Deanna. Drink this."

She groans in sleepy annoyance. "Go back to your quarters W ill." He helps her sit up and steadies her hands around the water bottle.

"Drink this now and you'll be far better off in the morning." She's too tired to argue. He holds her close. Closer then a friend might, but tonight she enjoys it. The last thing she feels before the deep blackness of sleep takes her is a single droplet; a tear of his brushes her cheek. He tucks her sleeping body into the sleeping bag and lies awake for a long time. Silently mourning the 24th century.

Part 2

Time: early morning, April 5th, 2063

Deanna's warm body is curled against him as she sleeps. He can feel the rhythm of her breathing even through both sleeping bags. He can't sleep. Unlike the merciful fog of intoxication dulling her mind, his will not cease to wonder. He has read Picard's message so many times that the words blur. The Enterprise-E is gone. The gleaming chrome of the bridge consoles, the pulse of the warp core- his trombone!

He sighs deeply, and rolls again to his back. Deanna readjusts to lie with her head balanced on his chest. Any other night and his heart would be racing and his mind lost in thoughts of her. Zefram Cochrane had struck a chord. For one moment he had paused. "Husband?" It was a simple question; only two syllables and it had plagued him. Only for a moment. Her emphatic (though drunken) denial was reality. Tonight was a moment out of time.

Out of time. He almost laughed at himself. They had an abundance! Over three centuries too much time. He wouldn't even be born for another 300 years. He' be the oldest Starfleet captain in history, 380 years old, give or take a decade. But then again, Starfleet wouldn't exist for another hundred years. Friends, colleagues, even his father, hundreds of years from existence. His family was on Enterprise, but now even that was divided. Worf and Beverly were on Brevet Island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. They were all right. He could almost see then, unpacking the escape pods. Beverly giving orders, her hair pulled back in a non-regulation ponytail. Worf checking the perimeter through the jungle. The captain-

His mind stopped. Lily had told him that the captain was the last to leave. When she had closed the door on her escape pod, he had been standing on the bridge. Looking around at the empty chairs with a look of serene "acceptance".

She said that he "Seemed to have finally accepted it. Forgiven himself. Done what needed doing. He's a good man. Always looking out for his crew. Like they were his kids or something." Riker's eyes tear up again. Jean-Luc Picard. His commanding officer, the man who was more then a father, a mentor, his guide. Sacrificed. Gone in the line of duty.

"You son of a bitch. I can't picture you going out any other way." He whispers to a memory. Data too, gone, not sacrificed willingly, but taken. Taken in by the Borg. No wonder Picard had stayed behind. If there was one fate the captain would not tolerate for any living soul, it was assimilation.

"It's going to be empty without you Data 'My memory engrams will notice your absence.'" He whispers again to the night. A sharp intake of breath is his reply as the sleeper on his chest sits up with a start.

"Bill?" Years since she called him that. Her voice catches, hesitantly. As she looks past him her eyes are glazed. Deanna drops her head in her hands. She swallows, painfully. She pauses, disoriented and he moves quickly to release her from her sleeping bag. Tequila was one of the worst. (Thankfully Romulan ale was still safely with the Romulans.) He had learned that back in his academy days. One crazy night with his honors flight class and a trio of Orion exchange students- the memory still hurt.

"I'm here Deanna. It's all right." Will grabs her arms and pulls her out of the tent. She resists more out of a lack of coordination then desire. He walks with her a few feet, towards the woods. Deanna falls hard to her knees. He drops next to her, one arm around her back, and the other holding her head. She chokes, and slams her hands into the frigid grass before she vomits. In the chill night air, steam curls up from the ground beneath her.

"It'll be over soon." Will promises gently. She rocks back, sitting on her knees as he supports her. Her body goes rigid against him as she coughs up more of 'the good stuff' Deanna rubs her mouth against her sleeve, and falls forward to vomit again. Her breathing comes quickly, tiny gaps in between the expulsion. Her eyes tear up, her hands starting to go numb from the near frozen dew, but she can't move. Can't breathe, her rib cage closes inward, collapsing her lungs. She chokes again, staring at the black ground as the noxious liquids of her stomach trickle from her mouth. His hand releases her hair and runs a cloth over her face. She gulps again, muscles throughout her body tighten angrily, but her stomach is empty. She hiccups weakly, and turns her face to him. In the weak light her eyes are black pools in the ivory of her face.

"Bill?" He breathing slowly begins to return too normal. As he lifts her he can feel her heart race against his chest.

"It's all right. You'll feel better now." He walks quickly. Her body trembles through her thin shirt as he sets her feet on the ground outside the tent. "Drink." He orders sternly, guiding the canteen to her mouth. Deanna fills her mouth obediently, and spits it to the ground.

"I'm so cold." She pleads. He rests his hand on her cheek, and his blue eyes betray his caring.

"Finish the water Deanna." She gulps the remains of the canteen. A small rivulet trails down her neck. Further dampening her shirt. He guides her stumbling to the floor of the tent. She wraps her arms tightly around her chest. Her teeth chatter vengefully, and she stops fighting her eyelids. Will quickly unzips both of the sleeping bags, and pulls her to him. They lie there, spooned between the layers. Her breath comes raggedly to her lips. He breathes slowly and evenly.

"I'm-" She cuts off, her body shaking.

"What Deanna?" He rolls her to face him. "I need to remove your clothes."

She nods, and releases her arms. He gently starts to slide her shirt over her head.

"-Going to request an addendum to the Zefram Cochrane biography. 'Never ever drink with him'." She snuggles against him. Safe in the warmth that emanates from him. He leans down and kisses her head.

"I'll help you write it."

Part 3

Time: dawn, April 5th, 2063

When she awoke, still somewhat dizzy, she was nearly naked, and wrapped in a more then friendly embrace with Will Riker. His strong arms encircled her body, and she was snuggled up against his chest. She sighs. Wrapped around Will Riker. How many times she had woken up that way? Waiting for the inevitable sign she is dreaming, she sits up slowly. For a moment she thinks he will wake at the motion, but he continues to sleep. His dreams are peaceful, but sad. Off guard she brushes his mind and an outpouring of emotion flows into her. Grief, loss, and pain. Her eyes tear up, and she pulls her shirt down from its place hanging from the center of the tent. She takes a deep breath and seals off her mind. Later, when her mind is a little less foggy, she will deal with his dreams. She unzips the tent and steps out into the bright Montana sunshine.

"Counselor! I’m glad you’re feeling better." Geordi is as cheerful as the daylight, and she can feel the tension in her shoulders ease.

"Thank you. But I don’t remember being ill." She sits down on a tarp next to the small fire Lt. Mason and Ensign Ellix are using for breakfast. The ensign smiles at her.

"You should be thankful for that, sir." She teases, and then pauses, looking back towards Lt. Mason and hiding a smirk.

Deanna watched them with amazement. "Geordi?" She slowly inquires. "What did I do?" Geordi watches her face tighten with apprehension.

"Don’t worry. Someday Starfleet might give you a commendation for your assistance with Mr. Cochrane." He replies his face calm and solemn. "If they don’t bust you down to Lieutenant first." Laughing heartily he finishes, with great will power. "After all, you were on duty."

Her slap across his shoulder rewards her with a comforting thud. "I remind you that I do outrank you Mr. La Forge. And when a superior officer asks you a question…" Geordi, still chuckling, leaps to his feet at attention.

"Yes ma’am. To answer the commander’s question yes, you were drunk, and for some time during the night you were quite ill."

"And caused me no end of trouble." Will’s grin splits his face, even though his blue eyes remain cold. "At ease Mr. La Forge."

"Aye sir." Geordi knelt back down and continues his battle with breakfast. Deanna turns her head and gives Will her best impression of the ‘daughter of the 5th house’ glare. He only joins Geordi and the junior officers in the chuckling. Her face softens, and she crosses to him, taking his arm.

"I’m sorry Will. I appreciate you watching out for me." He pulls her to his side and squeezes her shoulders.

"Always." No one speaks. Their eyes meet, and the spark in his eye does something horrible to her knees. The silence continues, until eventually Ensign Ellix, a short, fiery Bajoran, coughs and she snaps out of it. Er face reddening slightly.

"What are you trying to make?" Will asks lightly. At least, his voice is light, when she catches his eyes again they are icy.

"Oatmeal. We had to trade all of our rations to get maps and some currency." Lt. Mason sighs and hands Riker the dirty leather bag holding all of their ‘wealth’.

"I thought the economy of earth was decimated during this time period." Ellix asks, stirring the gray mush that was breakfast.

"It is." Will replies patiently. "However, some things can still be used to barter with." He dumps the contents of the bag into his palm. Five small, slightly scratched disks stare back lazily.

"What are they? Gold?" Deanna picks one of and holds it up to her eyes. "Who would want these?"

Geordi laughs again, his eyes crinkling up in the corners. "They’re the only thing anyone will trade for, or with. They’re primitive holo-discs. The ones with blue edges are travelogues and worth the least. The two red ones are ‘alternative entertainment’ and we’ll need a lot more of them to get to Brevet Island." Deanna’s eyebrows voiced her disgust.

"I think I’ll go wash up."

Will nods to her and secures them away quickly. "Good. Currency is a start. I think our best bet will be to backpack our way to Northern California. Once we reach the coast we can try to find our way out to the others." Geordi plops a lump of oatmeal into a camping cup before him.

"It’s going to be quite a trek to the coast. Several hundred miles, and then we have to sail the Pacific. I hope you’ve brushed up on your sailing recently." Will nods, unconcerned.

"Sir?" Lt. Mason pipes up. "Why don’t we just head southwest and leave from near San Francisco. Won’t there be a bigger chance of finding a boat where there are more people?"

"Were more people. Now it’s all corpses." Riker replies darkly. Smoothly launching into an explanation. During the third world war Los Angeles and San Francisco were some of the first places to be bombed out. Los Angeles won’t even be inhabitable for another fifty years when the radiation finally dissipates."

"I see." Mason thinks for a moment. "I’ll go check if Solis and Anthony have the Phoenix ready to go." Ellix jumps up and joins him leaving just the senior officers.

Geordi’s smile vanishes. "He’s dead, isn’t he?"

Will takes a deep breath and nods. "I believe he stayed on board to make sure the Enterprise was destroyed."

"Hell of a way to go." Geordi finished. "Data too. And we’re stuck here. Hundreds of years before holodecks, in the middle of a whole lot of nowhere." Geordi throws a rock into the woods next to them.

"I knew I could count on your optimism Geordi." Will gives him a crooked grin, and begins to eat his oatmeal, thoughtfully. "Beverly has things under control on Brevet, she’s a good leader. As for us, Crewman Solis and Ensign Anthony have requested to stay behind and assume the identities of the Kinneys. Two astrophysicists that Cochrane was working with. And according to history, still working with."

La Forge tilts his head in thought. "Do you think that will work?"

"What other choice do we have?" He finishes his oatmeal without tasting it. "We’re going to have to bend the rules, and ourselves if we want to make sure the future, our future, is all right without us there."

That makes the engineer smile. "Our future, going off without us. Silly isn’t it?" Will nods with a ghost of a smile. "But, speaking of the future. Are you making any plans concerning the counselor?"

Riker’s face is awash with shock. "What?"

"You spent all night together. You watch her 79.8% of the time you are in a room together." Geordi laughs as Will raises an eyebrow. "Data kept track. He always believed that you would end up in a ‘conjugal’ relationship one day."

He tosses back his head and roars briefly with laughter. "Conjugal? Data thought we should conjugate?"

"Those were his exact words." Geordi’s white teeth flash in a huge grin. "Seriously though. There’s no more ship. No more protocol. If someone that gorgeous watched me 81.3% of the time. I attempted to ‘conjugate’ a long time ago." He ends his thought with a wink.

As he ran his hand through his beard, he smiles distantly. "That’s the problem Geordi. It was a long time ago. We were different people. We’ve both changed so much. We might be destined for other things. Other people. I don’t want to stand in her way."

Wisely Geordi settles it, as he claps Riker on the shoulder. "The stream is that way. Why don’t you let her tell you who, or what is in her way." And with that, he heads back to the tents. Starting to bring one down for the day’s hike.

For a long moment Will watches the ashes of the fire steam up into the morning air. Finally he stands. "Maybe…" He asks himself, and the question hangs before him, all the way to the river.

Part 4

Time: afternoon, April 5th, 2063

Through the trees, long before he reached the water, he could hear it. The water sings to itself as it tumbles over the rocky bottom. The water is richly golden, and forms a halo of reflection around the dark head sitting near the bank. As he grows closer a sound mingles with the din of the water, he takes several steps, and the sound clarifies into something that breaks his heart.

"Deanna?" She lifts her beautiful face from her knees, her huge ebony eyes wet and over flowing down her face. His hands take her chin, and even without their inherent connection, he could have felt her pain. With it the sensation of her sorrow echoes the river before them as it tears through his heart. His arms wrap around her. Silently, she collapses into him, and he closes his eyes. Reverently he does nothing but hold her. His mind wanders, blank from rational thought, and to his great surprise, her thoughts begin to drift into his mind. Like scraps of cloth, or pieces of paper, they float and dance their way through his head.

Her grief is a dark blue haze, an ocean, pulsing and obscuring her more complex emotions. One thought forces its way through and rears its head. Her father. Ian Andrew Troi. Will had never met him. He had seen pictures, but Deanna's memory had life. The sparkle in his eye betrayed a sense of humor, and an inner strength that might have been a match for Lwaxana. He relaxes into it. The memory of her father feels safe; the warmth in it starts to burn through the fog.

Then the Borg came. Like a plague of locusts they descended through her mind, and a black horror of hatred ripped through her thoughts. Her father turns and looks at her, he smiles, but that warm, cheerful smile is a leer. His one of his warm brown eyes winks at him with a laser sight, as his cybernetic arms reach up to grab him. He releases her, in a state of shock. Her sobs take on a different tone and her fist swings blindly into his chest.

"Why?" She spits the question.

He can’t focus on her face. Her thoughts pour through his head like a torrential rainstorm. Flooding and overwhelming his weak mental barriers. He steels himself against her, and forces his thoughts to converge on peace. Calm and hopeful.

"I don't know why Deanna. Don't give up. He might still be alive." His words are hollow in his mouth even as he forms them. "I think we both know never to underestimate the captain."

Her head pounds with one of those headaches born of sobbing. For her entire life her mother had been in her mind. A warm comforting light, like an earth firefly, constantly a source of love and serenity. Now it was gone, as if it had never been. Her father’s death had been similar, but he was dead. She had been so young. The pain was almost forgotten. Her mother just wasn’t here yet. And that was worse. She gave herself a mental shake, trying to regain her composure. Will is here, she remembered. He was grieving the captain and Data as well. Their loss had reopened the wound left by her father. Picard’s quiet strength and intelligence were a familiar and welcome presence. And Data was so innocent, so curiously exploring his newfound emotions. Now she would never feel that again. This injury was too new not to bleed.

Will’s arms are around her. Without them she would have collapsed to the riverbank long ago, but he holds her. He always ends up holding her. Slowly her tears stop. Halting as she exhausts herself. With her head buried against him, she can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. Out of all the people she knows intimately, he’s all she has left. She quiets her thoughts and feels. There in the back of her mind, often unnoticed, lies their bond. She reaches for it and it darts away. Just out of her reach, like always. There, but not there. Not forgotten, but sidelined into an inescapable eddy. Insanely, she wants it. Impulsively she wants to reach out and hold so tight that it can never, ever hide again.

Without any higher thought, she kisses him. It’s been some time since she was in his mouth, but the sense of familiarity is so strong that she could be back on the shores of that lake on Betazed. Lying in his arms for the first time as something electric passed between them. His lips don’t fight her, but instead welcome her home. A friendly kiss would be quick, relaxed. This has a mind of it’s own. It continues, breaks into another, and another, like waves. She breaks it off. Panting, eyes locked with his as she traces her fingertip across his wet lips.

"If we don’t stop-" He reminds her gently, but it rips her down. She almost gave up, sinking lower to his chest, and heading back to the safe friendship they had trapped themselves into. Deep within the recesses of her mind something primal, lost and afraid seizes him. Wraps her arm around his neck and rolls him on top of her. She digs her nails into his neck and then reaches into his mind. There, back in his thoughts is their bond. She rips it out from the shadows and pulls it to the front of his mind with a single whisper.

"Imzadi." Then he was there with her. And the 21st century fell away. The Borg vanished. The pain of Picard’s death, Data’s untimely demise, the riverbank, cold and damp beneath her back- were nothing. All of reality was William Riker. His hand on her shoulder, his lips on her neck, his hand brushing across her breast. She makes a small noise in the back of her throat. Her mother used to tell her that no matter how skilled they were, a lover that knew you as a friend, as a confidant, as your full self, was always more ‘worthwhile’. As he ran his fingers delicately under the curves of her breasts, she agreed. Will knew her, he could play her body, and he could make her scream. And regardless of the refugees, the rest of the away team, she would have him. Even if the Vulcans had to make first contact around their writhing bodies.

As he toyed with a helpless nipple through the fabric of her shirt, she knew he agreed. He felt it, just as she did. The isolation, guilt, and the grief that came from the deaths they had been unable to prevent. But with her hands running suggestively down his inner thighs, all was right. Passion, dark and cruel, ate at her. Pushing, coaxing, and ultimately winning.

Part 5

Time: April 5th, midday

He kisses her gently, and she bit him back. Seductively she nibbles the inside of his lip, running her tongue along his lips. He lifts her from him, entwining his fingers in her hair.

"Is this right?" She can’t answer him. Her dark eyes bore through him, sending shivers down his back. Usually so gentle, her eyes only speak of pain.

"Please." The word falls from her lips. Not a plea, but a command. Vital to her survival, at this moment in every sense of the word she needs him.

Throughout their early relationship she had resisted him. Then she had let him in, and they had set the pace together. Through all his life, he had never been able to say no to her. The cold suffering in her eyes told him what he would do. Without another word he pulls her lips to his, forcibly melting her lips together with his. She inhales sharply as he breaks the kiss to trail down the side of her neck. She locks her gaze on his face. Watching intently as those blue eyes took in only her as his fingers nimbly unbutton her vest, and toss it free from her shoulders. She moves to remove her shirt, put he grabs her hands and slides them down her body. Forcing her to feel out the path for him. She closes her eyes as they fill up with tears. Will was here, with her, even now she can feel his hands race across the skin of her stomach, dancing beneath her shirt, and toying with the soft flesh of her breasts, as he plays with her. It is play; desperate, guilty play, born of need . Her need, and his. The intricacy of their relationship, the unspoken debate of friends and lovers, is gone. Once it was only they in the universe, one moment of connection that had spawned a lifetime. His hands ended their play and took her breasts in their strong fingers as she moaned softly and opened her mind.

Slowly at first she reached out from her body. The heat of him makes it difficult to concentrate. As his hands trace down, tormenting the curves of her body she follows the fire back. Tentative, her first brush of his mind is quick. He stops exploring the curve at the base of her spine and roughly cups her face.

"Imzadi.’ He whispers. A quiet nod of permission, and tears run freely down her face. He eyes narrow as she concentrates then the world fades away. A jolt shocks his skull as she slides into his mind. Her blade cuts neatly through layers of thought and finds it’s quarry. There, nestling in the back of his mind is the bond they forged so many years ago. She breathes painfully; his hands have worked their way up her thighs and now reach for her center. She mimics him and plunges into the link. Her powers, all the strength of loss and impotent fury melt and rework their bond from the inside out. Tearing his mind open and crafting it anew. She gasps, air becoming a forgotten necessity. She holds the air for barely a moment when it tears out of her. Deanna cannot control the cry the rips her throat. He had learned a few things since they had last made love. Completely without her notice he is inside of her, and her body, leaving her will to work with him, glides up fiercely. Sh e has no control. He conquers her, and her own body aids him in it. The rough skin of his hands tears the flesh of her back. Abruptly he pulls her to him, kissing with a ferocity that brings the sharp copper of blood to her mouth, and in a moment of insanity she relishes it.

She is dying. Her lungs fight hopelessly for breath, her heart tears from its chest, and vision abandons her to the darkness that must be death. Her own body is gone, merged frantically with Will. She panics, struggling against the inevitable- and she explodes. Abused and forlorn her heart beats it’s last and freezes, lost in a world all it’s own. The darkness wants her and she will go. Eternity ends in a second as light pours into her soul. Lying there, clasped against his chest, her heart beats as his rattles the cage of his ribs. Again, their hearts beat in unison. She buries her face in his neck. Body forgotten, her mind torn asunder, but replaced. Remolded together with him. Her Imzadi.

Her shaking only echoes the trembling of his arms as he grasps her to him. He can feel the strength of his arms. The warmth of his breath across her back, and the prickly tickle of his beard through her hair, all felt not through him, but through the skin of her.

"Deanna" His voice echoes in her ears. "Deanna what have you done?"

She crawls up, kissing the wetness of his tears across his cheek. "We reopened it."

He laughs. "That’s putting it mildly. I can feel my body through your hands." She nods the ghost of a smile flashing across her face.

"We opened it, and forged it again. This time we’re older, instead of young love, we had fifteen years of friends to build on."

Will Riker cradles her against him, sharing her pride. "Is this what the bond between two Betazoids would be like?"

She nods, unconciously rubbing a scratch across her shoulder blade.

"Imzadi…did I hurt you?" Concern softens the legendary Riker eyes. Her own black ones stare back coyly.

"You’ll have to try harder." His eyebrow was up, a real smile lighting his face.

"I sense a challenge commander." Her only response was to roll beneath him. Feeling the comforting weight of his body.

The Phoenix was prepped, and standing by. The counselor and Will only had a few moments to get into position to watch history live itself out. Geordi hurried through the woods, walking quickly along the makeshift path to the stream, and crashing into somewhere he had never imagined being.

His senior officers, his friends were entwined together. Troi straddling the first officer’s waist, her hands protecting her breast, as he laughs and flips her beneath him. Her long dark hair haloes out under her head as she wraps her legs around him. He threw up his hand instinctively blocking the sight of them. His awkward touch caused the ocular implants to respond by politely changing to infrared. They glowed like the volcano he had watched as a kid from a shuttlecraft rounding Io. The sheer fury of that volcano had drawn him in. He couldn’t take his eyes away, just as now, against all better judgment, he removed his hand. Will’s shirt was pillowing her head, and hers was pulled up, exposing a long expanse of smooth skin.

He whirled around, and just started walking. With his advanced eyesight he now knew that a tiny birthmark caresses the upper curved of her hip. He grinned. Everyone knew it would happen. Someday. Unfortunately it would not be until Brevet Island that he would get a chance to see if he had collected on any bets. As he jogged up to the Bajoran Ellix, a white strip of tape obscuring her telltale nose ridges, she gave him a curious look.

"Can’t find them?" Geordi chuckled.

"Oh I found them. They’ve just found something more important then history." On the other side of Ellix, someone joined his chuckling.

"We should all be so lucky."

part 6

Time: April 5th, afternoon

Riker’s hopes of clearing out before the Vulcans landed were dashed. No fault of his of course, women had a way of always being late. The woman in question wasn’t his even, but she could sure cause her own galaxy of trouble. The Phoenix had almost blown her date completely, but Geordi had managed to jury-rig the plasma injections just enough to make sure she flew across the sky and put on a fantastic show for the Vulcans.

"Beautiful." Will whispers to the sky before downing his shot glass. After the Phoenix’s last fiasco, he had agreed with Geordi. She was more important then all of their lives. The Phoenix had risen from the ashes, and successfully attracted the attention of the Vulcans. History was on course and all was right with the world. At least, save the temporal incongruencies of a small team of dedicated personnel from an organization that would take the next 150 years or so to get organized. He swirls his glass, genuine backyard whiskey, vintage 2063. He sighs and winces as it burns down his throat. At least he wasn’t on duty, he thinks wryly, and a small smirk forms. It fades quickly as he suddenly becomes popular. A trim black woman plops down beside him and clinks her glass with his.

"To the Vulcans. Whoever they are." Lily toasts with grim excitement. She had witnessed so much sorrow, so much loss, and all for the well being of some meeting with some aliens who would change the world. Aliens. It was surreal; she would meet aliens, in about 2 hours. For all she knew, they were green.

Beside her, Will Riker chuckles dryly. "They are green. Sort of, with pointed ears, and no sense of humor."

Her jaw tries to jump from her mouth to land on the counter. "How’d you know-?" He answer was past his lips before she finished the question.

"It was clear in your head. So I heard it." She shakes her head in shock.

"I thought you were human. People can’t just do that." She inches away, sliding to the edge of her barstool. In response he slapped his glass down and flagged down the bartender.

"I am 100% human, at least, I was under I met her." He slams down his drink, relishing the pain in his mouth as it momentarily blurs the dull ache in his head. "I guess you could say she has a way of getting under your skin. Deep down to the center of you."

She nods with sudden clarity. "That woman Zee was babbling about. Diane, Dena, Delores…The exotic who had never had tequila." He slaps her shoulder gently.

"Another one for the lady, and leave the bottle. She’s right on the money." His clouded blue eyes met hers, and she had only a second to catch the flash of pain that he hid in a smile. "Deanna. Commander Deanna Troi. The love of my life. The only woman who’s ever-"

She thinks she understands. "Touched your heart?" She tosses her head back in a smooth motion as he empty glass joins his on the counter.

"Worse. Hearts heal. Eventually the bleeding stops. She touched my soul." Lily rests her head in her hands.

"Your soul?" She curiously prods at him. He continues, his voice clam and reverent. Like a teacher explaining the facts of the universe.

"My soul. Happy little thing, floating around, blissful and ignorant, and BAM!" He jumps off his stool and circles behind her, whispering in her ear. "She reaches out wraps her gorgeous fingers around it, and claims me as her own. For eternity my soul only feels whole with her wrapped around it. Thankfully she never let it go. She’ll always have it. She could have it all, but it’s been years since she let herself want anything else from me." He stalks back to his stool. "Of course, until she loses everything she cares about in one big KABOOM!" He hisses, throwing out his fingers in an exaggerated explosion.

"She was a beautiful ship. Like a huge city up there, in space. Lifetimes of titanium…just there." She raises a glass in testament. "Jean-Luc had such a hard time letting her go."

A solitary tear stings at his eye, and he nods his agreement. "It’s not just the ship. It’s worlds, our lives, our friends." He pours clumsily, spilling a few splashes onto the ramshackle countertop. "Hell, I’ll die 300 years before I’m born. Everything I knew would always be there. My life is gone." He runs a hand though his disheveled hair. "But as much as I hate it. It’s a thousand times worse for her." He taps the skin of his forehead. "People, they’re all here for Deanna. Right here, in her mind. Her mother, the captain, Beverly, they all have some kind of voice that’s constant. A continuous background noise."

Lily’s dark eyes only need a second to betray her confusion.

"It’s like-" He pauses, tying to urge his addled brain to feats of thought. "Like suddenly losing color. You know this stuff here-" He downs it, smacking his lips as he sets his glass to the counter. "Is the color of Rigelian slugs…but suddenly they aren’t. For all your eyes can tell you, it could be hot pink."

Lily nods, "So she’s lost." He snaps his fingers.

"You got it."

"She’s lost, and she comes running to you." She continues, piecing it together in her mind.

He smiles, and rests his head in his hands thoughtfully. "She loves me. She just had to lose everything else to realize it."

"That’s what this is about?" Her eyes flash indignantly. You’re mad because she turned to you now? How can you be angry? You just said you loved her."

"Hey…" He holds up his hands in surrender. "Let me finish before you hang me out." He sighs and sets down his glass; suddenly wishing he had a bit more clarity. "It’s complicated."

===

"Congratulations." Geordi teases with his trademark grin splitting his face. "And thanks. Dr. Crusher owes me 5 bars of Latinum."

"I think she’ll have some trouble finding them." Deanna replies with a shy smile. With Will Riker back, the chaos of her life had one spot of clarity.

"I wonder what the exchange rate would be…" He muses, and then went for the kill. "You didn’t waste any time did you?"

A human would have blushed, but with classic Betazoid composure she smiles, and squeezes his arm. "I glad you were able to share our joy."

He laughs brightly. "I think I’ve heard that before."

"It’s a Betazoid saying. When you love someone, it’s a joyful thing. Anyone who sees you should share your joy, not be embarrassed." She sits down next to him and picks up a plate of rice. Eating it delicately with her fingers, she continues to explain. "But everyone is different. If you were upset I’d apologize."

"I know." He picks up another plate. "So you’re together now?"

She thinks for a moment and nods. "Yes. We’re lovers, again." Geordi’s enhanced vision catches a trace of a blush, and he presses on.

"Counselor?" Those hypnotic black eyes of hers meet his head on, so he finishes his question. "What happened before? Between you and the commander, I mean. I’ve heard a lot of rumors. Mostly from Cr. Crusher, but-"

"It’s better to hear it from the horse, so to speak." She settles back against a tree, and launches into her story. One that she had shared with few people.

===

"We met on Betazed, her home planet. I was young, brash and concerned with doing my duty and moving up the ranks as fast as possible, I had a penchant for running the gauntlet of beautiful women as I went. I shared their beds and their lives for a brief time. I never shared more then that. She was a very, serious psychology student." He gives Lily a wink, and she smiles.

"Nothing like a good love story." She toasts, and he continues with a twinkle in his eye.

===

"Will was the Starfleet representative at my best friend’s wedding. It was his first Betazoid wedding, and he became enamored with me the moment he saw me."

===

"She was amazing. For the first horrible moments I thought she was the bride. Then I figured it out, and I was lost. Her figure, and when she caught me thinking all the things I wanted to do to her-"

===

"He forgot, or didn’t care that I was, as far as he knew, a telepath, and his mind traversed more sexual positions then I knew of, but I managed to avoid him all of the reception." Geordi presses her on with intrigued silence. "Eventually he found out who I was, and made a pass at me."

===

"She shot me down so hard that I bounced."

===

"He was nothing but persistent, but I managed to fend off his advances."

===

"She wanted me." Lily laughs heartily. He playfully looks wounded. "She did. She just couldn’t admit it. We went a series of ‘dates’ where she endeavored to bring me up to her level. Finally…she came down to mine, and if it wasn’t for a friend, I never would have known." He leans in, whispering to her. "She invented a psychology technique where you lie down naked next to each other and talk. Just talk." He waggles his eyebrows. "We talked all night. I thought the whole thing was

===

"He even stood up to my mother for me. It was the first time any man had stood up to her."

Geordi nods. "I can believe that."

Deanna relaxes into the tree, losing herself in another time. "It was progressing rather quickly. He kissed me."

===

Will winces at the memory. "She kneed me in the stomach."

===

Her face darkens with an old fear. "Then the Sindareen came. They raided our museum, and took me hostage."

===

He swallows, remembering the knot in his stomach. "I had to give the order to shoot down the ship with her on it. It went down in the Jalara jungle. Gorgeous, hot and wild. Much like Deanna, in the right mood."

===

"A raider named Maror held me hostage for three days. He was the only one to survive the crash, and every day he threatened to kill me. He had no plan; he just dragged me along. Eventually I was too much of an annoyance, and he was about to kill me. Will showed up exactly in time." Geordi clucks his tongue in sympathy.

"The cruelty of the Sindareen is legendary. You’re a brave woman."

She shakes her head with a wry smile. "The whole time, I thought about Will riding in on a white horse and taking me to safety."

===

Riker’s eyes grow soft with respect. "She stood up to that bastard for three days. Alone, with no hope." He took a long draught from his water glass. "She was amazing. She didn’t even cry. Not until she was safe, then she let me hold her, and I was gone."

===

Her eyes closed, she feels the warmth of the memory. "We made love in the jungle, and it just happened. We just fit. Will Riker was my Imzadi, my beloved, and my-"

===

"Her first. I was the first man to be with her, but she reached inside me and claimed my soul. She fond a part of me I didn’t know was there. A part that needed her more then anyone can need anything. She was me. My other half."

===

"After that day, he wrote me a poem. I’ve never been able to forget it. He hates it."

===

"It was terrible, all sentimental and mushy." He shakes his head. "But she liked it. She loved it. I guess, I did to."

===

"I hold you close to me.
Feel the breath of you, and the wonder of you
And remember a time
Without you
But only as one would remember
A bleak and distant nightmare
And you shudder against me in your sleep
Do you share the memory with me of dark times past?
And you smile
Do you share the memory of times to come?
The future holds such promise
and just as I cannot imagine how I survived the past
without you
I cannot imagine a future
without you."

===

"That’s beautiful." Geordi smiles again, his mechanical eyes warm with feeling.

===

Lily nods to him in understanding. "And since then you’re?"

"We’ve always been connected. In our fist days together on the Enterprise we decided it would be too difficult to have a relationship while we were serving n the same ship. We might have been wrong, but neither of us was ready. Eventually we didn’t want to ruin our friendship. It was too precious." He tightens his eyebrows in pain for a second. Lily shoots him a quizzical look. His voice is full of resignation. "Our bond is back. Exponentially stronger. It’s taking my poor human brain some time to adapt to it."

"But…" She interjected.

"I guess I wouldn’t trade it for the world."

===

"And now you’re together." He mused, toying with his empty plate. "Again."

She nods, curling up and laying her head on her knees. She yawns, and lets the contentment wash over her. "And we’re whole."

Geordi looses another infectious chuckle. "At least you’ve got the one good thing about being stuck here."

===

Riker set down his glass, and heads out into the sunshine. Lily Sloane was a few steps behind.

"Hey." She calls.

He turns back and smiles. "I know. Remember how lucky I am."

She folds her arms and nods. "You owe it to the rest of us loners." He holds her gaze for a moment, and then walks away.

"Thanks for the story." She finishes, and heads back to Zefram and the Phoenix, silently hoping that these people. Jean-Luc’s people could learn to live with their sacrifices. They would have to.

Part 7

April 29th, morning

“Down in the valley. Valley so low. Hang your head over. Hear the wind blow.” He continues on to hum the end of the verse. The words a bit elusive in the chill morning air. Morning came cold and clear in the mountains. He loved it. It reminded him of the mountains of Alaska, his home. The sun beams down on him and warms his back and he toys with the fire. Will was always the first one awake in the morning. Always an early riser, he found it his responsibility to great the day. Deanna’s dreams usually woke him anyway. Her mind was so vivid. Her dreams were vibrant mirages of color and voices. People he had never met faces he didn’t know but somehow recognized because she knew them. Once a long time past, she had showed him a goopy mass of paint and called it ‘soul music’. He found the concept bizarre, even ludicrous, but now, he understood in that way so fundamental to Betazoid philosophy. She was his soul music. Her thoughts trilling through his mind, her
emotions tingling his body, and her voice echoing through his-

“You sound just like my father.” She crawls out of the tent and into his arms, sleep gone from her eyes and replaced with a sentimental smile. “I didn’t know you knew that song.”

He leans down to kiss her hair. “I don’t. I borrowed it from you.”

Deanna’s smile waxes quizzically. “Bill? You could pull that from my mind? That’s incredible.” Riker squeezes her to him.

“Why did you start using that name again? It’s been ten years, at least.” He steers quickly. The link was powerful, and the most likely culprit of his nagging headaches. Forgetting her question she snuggles against him. Relishing the warmth in the brisk morning.

“You were mine then.” His eyes entreat her onward. She sighs, turning to him, face safely hidden in his chest. “On the Enterprise, everyone knew you as Will. I didn’t want to give away our relationship. I couldn’t compromise it. We weren’t going to be-” He cuts her off, invading her mouth sweetly. He rests his chin lightly on her head.

“Now I’m yours.” She takes in the scent of him. Warm, earthy with outdoor life, and full of promise.

“William Thomas Riker, no mater what anyone calls you, you are mine.” She only half-teases, as she digs her hands into his shoulders and meets his eyes. Blue as spellbinding as ever. She can’t look away. So much power, but loyal, he could never leave her. Could he?

{No Deanna.} He resounds in her mind, feeling how easily it’s grown to speak to her. She nods her head, her face lit softly with new peace.

{You’re getting better Imzadi.} She sends. {Amazing for a human actually. Some humans never pick up any telepathy, even when they share- intimate relationships.} He kneels to tend the cooking fire.

“Should I start the oatmeal for you?” He asks in jest. Supplies were limited. Trading meant contact with people, and every person they talked to was damage to the timeline. It was a constant gamble. One that he found hard to bluff his way out of. A wrong move and they’d all disappear, or vanish, or turn to goo. Something. Temporal mechanics weren’t a thesis subject for him.

“Always double oatmeal for the counselor.” Reg Barclay chimes in. Yawning as he ambles to the fire. “Otherwise she eats my portion.” Will leans to him conspiratorially.

“I think she’s trying to cut out the competition. Starve them out.” Will whispers loudly, eyeing Barclay up and down. Geordi appears behind the lankly lieutenant and bats his eyelashes delicately at the commander.

“And here I thought you only cared for me.” All three men descend into hopeless laughter, and after a moment. Deanna has to laugh. Here, in an alien past on a familiar world Reginald Barclay had blossomed. Joking with two men he had feared like a warp core breach, once. Home, on the Enterprise. She sighs deeply. Will’s hand caresses her shoulder, feeling her melancholy.

“I think I’ll go for a walk.” Will feigns extreme disappointment.

“But breakfast!”

“’Breakfast’” She replies with distaste. “Will still be the same gray mush it is when it’s warm.” He sank to the fire again.

“You know, when I was a little boy, I was glad to eat my oatmeal.” Barclay adds reproachfully. She continues to walk away. He doesn’t have to watch her retreating back to know she’s going, but, then again, he always was drawn to the gentle curve of her spine. An odd itch tickled his mustache and he brushed it aside without a thought. Geordi and Reg started the dreaded oatmeal and all around him his team emerged from their tents. The elegant and composed T’Solen, her hair tied low at her neck to obscure her ears. The eyebrows couldn’t be helped, but she was content to carefully dodge all humans they came across. The young and excitable Heath Mason emerged sleepily from the tent he shared with Barclay. Ensign Heidi Ashom made her presence known with a sneeze. So far nothing in the medkit had been able to assist her allergies. Ellix Jova, her Bajoran nose crudely hidden by some bandage tape, sat down near the fire. Honoring Reg with a fond (Only Geordi caught the blu
sh on Reg’s face) smile. His people were young but intelligent and capable engineers, and he was proud of them. He stands slightly apart, reaching for that right stick of firewood. Their thoughts are comforting. Hope burbling always from the wellspring of the young.

His head throbs violently for a second, then another. He blinks, wondering if it’s the sunshine. Ellix timidly meets his eyes.

“Are you all right commander?” Geordi stands up and takes a step towards him. He forces a smile.

“Just a headache. Maybe I’m allergic too.” He hypothesizes genially, as he rubs that odd wet itch. The junior officers return to their breakfast, calmed by his slightly humor. The questioning hand on his arm is a million light years away as his glance catches his hand. Blood. Brilliant as a Starfleet uniform and just as out of place. Confused, he runs his other hand over it, searching for the mysterious injury. But drops soon join the smear. The dreadful pain in his head directs him upward, and the blood slows in his mustache before trailing down his chin into his beard. His hands cup beneath his nose, as if protecting it will quench the flow.

“Commander?” The Bajoran’s voice echoes dully in a hot, gray world. Pain shoots up as his knee hits the ground, but darkness takes him with strength all it’s own.

Part 8

April 29th, later that morning.

No matter what kind of trees she found, on whatever planet, they always brought her comfort. The bristling pines of the Terran Rockies were beautiful in their stubborn existence. Growing out of solid rock, they still managed to reach their deep green limbs towards the sky. Pines. Bill called them pines. She had seen them only briefly. Huge stands of them beneath a shuttle; a few days spent beneath them during survival training. She sinks to the dark earth, resting back on a giant trunk. The strong, deep aroma of the pines filling her nose and clearing her mind. She closes her eyes, beginning her morning mediation. Slowly she distances herself from her body, forgetting arms, legs and feet. Rising above her physical self, feeling the minds of those near her. The mind nearest to her, Bill, contentedly radiates love. She relaxes further, and reaches out, beginning her search. His mind powering her, centering her, and then vanishing.

A phaser blast in the back would have been less painful. As a shard of ice rakes across her heart, her lungs empty too quickly for her to scream. She gasps, struggling against the shock. Feeling her eyes burn and start to swim. She can’t pass out. She won’t. She reaches down and concentrates on the pain his absence leaves. Dredging it up to force herself awake. Almost in a dream state she pulls her body upright and stumbles into a run. Her hair trails behind her, catching on the occasional pine bough on the path behind her. She ignores it, ignores everything but him. Seeing with her mind she runs out of the woods and wishes desperately that she didn’t see.

Her Imzadi, lying like dead wood on the ground. She shoves through the people and drops to her knees next to him.

"What happened?" Her mind screams, but her voice will only whisper. Geordi kneels next to her, lying a comforting hand across her back.

"He collapsed. Reg thinks that-" Barclay cuts him off.

"His brain is under great stress." He points to a graph on the medical tricorder. "See there, and there. It’s restructuring itself. New neurons, new blood vessels, all right here."

She wraps her hand around his limp one and cradles it to her chest. Her free hand went to her eyes, wiping the tears she hadn’t felt appear. She meets Barclay’s proclamation with only confusion. He points to the tricorder again.

"Here, this scan is that of a normal human brain. Commander La Forge and this one is Commander Riker’s. See the differences?" She forces her eyes to focus, the one on the left, Geordi’s, was a complicated knot of pulsing gold neurons. The one of the right had different connections, included an area pulsating a dark red. She reaches for the tricorder, still unable to form words

"His body is reacting negatively. I think his mind is asking for more blood vessels to supply the new connections too quickly, and the vessels are weak. One of them ruptured. Others may, but I don’t know much about neurology. If Dr. Crusher-" He lets the sentence trail off.

"Thanks Reg. You’ve been a big help." Geordi speaks off softly.

Barclay shrugs. "Us hypochondriacs know far too much about medicine." La Forge manages a weak smile.

"What can we do?" Deanna finally finds her voice, but it trembles. Lieutenant Barclay’s face is a picture of apology.

"I don’t know. The best thing I can think of is to wait. He will come around; the bleeding’s stopped. I don’t know why his brain’s changing-" Deanna’s sob cut him off.

"It’s me. I did it." Her hysterical confession brings only confused glances. "It’s all my fault!" She grabs the tricorder and runs it over herself quickly. Tears pour in a waterfall down her face as she places it back in his surprised hands. "The new blood vessels. That part of the brain is the telepathic cortex. All Betazoids have it, humans, their mind can’t support it." She takes in one sobbing breath after another. Her heart races. Guilt rakes angry claws through her stomach. Lowering her head to his nearly still chest, she misses the fluttering of his eyelids. Immediately struck by her agony, he buries his hand in her hair, and strokes the back of her head.

"Hush." For a long moment she can’t bring herself to breathe at all. A single shuddering breath fills her lungs and she smiles, kissing his hand.

"Imzadi…" She whispers.

"Commander. Your eyes!" Riker sat up with difficulty; Deanna caught his head and pulled him eye to eye with her. The black depths of her eyes greet his with intense sorrow.

"They’re so much darker Bill."

"Almost black even." Barclay adds helpfully.

"Gave us a scare there." Geordi gives him a strong squeeze on his shoulder.

Will started to chuckle softly, but he finished with a cough. "I’m Betazoid now huh? Which house Deanna?"

"Don’t tease." She orders roughly, and chokes out what everyone is thinking. "You could be dying." His lips attack hers viciously, and he pulls her tightly against him.

"Don’t say that. Never say that. I heard Mr. Barclay here." He gives Reg a wink. "Who is an excellent field medic." He sighs, and pulls himself standing. "I’ve got a few blood vessels out of place. I’ll rest, be careful, not do anything exciting or in anyway fun, and I should be fine."

For his part, Barclay shrugs. "That’s about it commander."

Leaning lightly on Deanna, he manages to take a few steps towards hi tent. "Going to bed now sir." He teases, that infamous spark invading his changed eyes. She is having a hard time meeting them. They were so new in his face. His bright and wicked blue eyes were now a deep shade of navy, even edging towards black.

{You’re just being brave Imzadi.} She thought to him, as she settles him in the tent.

He couldn’t help but sense the guilt that ran off of her. "No. I’m not brave." She looks about to speak, so he quickly silences her. "I trust you. You reforged our bond. If my mind needs a little upgrade to go along with it…I trust you, and these-" He rolls his eyes quickly for emphasis. "Are almost like a gift from you." She wants to laugh, but tears win the day and flood out.

{I love you. Imzadi} He silent declaration brought a soft smile to his face, he pulled her in against him.

{Now Imzadi, that’s something I understand.}

Part 9

Unknown

"He’s been in and out of consciousness since he collapsed. I don’t think there’s anything else I can do. I can’t reach him telepathically. We don’t have any medical recourse. Maybe if we could somehow reach Beverly in time-" Deanna’s voice was full of so much pain, and drifted off into the blackness that was tormenting him now. He wants so badly to reach out and stroke her face, but his eyes won’t even reveal her presence. His limbs refuse to function and he drifts into deep cold water. Sucked down away from the light that was Deanna Troi.

===

Her hair smells of pine needles and the smoke of the campfire. Her body is soft warmth against him. His face is momentarily cold as a drop of water, a tear, leaves her eye to rest on his cheek. "Bill? I wish you could open your eyes and stare up at me. Laugh at me for being so afraid." She drops her head to his chest. "I wish your eyes were blue again."

===

When he quiets his thoughts, he can hear. Hear the gentle humor of Geordi cutting the burned pieces off of his dinner. Hear the nervousness that still plagues Reg every time Deanna touches him. Now there was a new thread. A mind he hadn’t felt before weaves in and out of the thoughts of the others. A deep earthy sense of power, honest and uncompromising grew to an even stronger pitch as iron hands lift him and gently throw him over a mighty shoulder. He knew instantly then, only one man could throw his former commander up like a sleeping targ with complete dignity. How, he doesn’t know, but immediately, even with his head upside down along the Klingon’s back, he feels better. Worf’s presence could only mean something had changed. Deanna’s thoughts take a positive leap and his leaps with her. Then the tingling takes him.

The tickling buzz of what he knows shouldn’t be takes him from the cold dry air of the Rocky Mountains to the cold salty tang that could only be the ocean. Voices danced around him, alien to his ears even thought they seem naggingly familiar.

{{Hold on Imzadi.}} Her voice rings through his mind. A foghorn warning of the rocks ahead and shoving him towards safe waters.

===

"Alyssa- try and find several compatible blood donors. Get him into the unit now!" A female voice barked, commanding, but calm. Filled with purpose and resolve. A cool hand ran over his forehead, and a hiss at his neck brought a new darkness. One of hope.

===

May 3rd, afternoon

"It’s all right Deanna. He pulled through fantastically. We were able to stop the bleeding, replace his lost blood volume and bolster the new blood vessels. He shouldn’t have any further difficulties. " The ex counselor’s sobbing continued, but her lips turn up in a smile. Beverly leads her out of the tiny room outside their limited medical facilities. She had been lucky, but Will Riker had always been a fighter.

Across a small path, the small building had a tiny flower garden. Beverly smiles apologetically, and opens the door.

""Welcome to my office." She fetches a glass of water from the small pitcher in the corner. "Here."

Deanna takes it without notice. "But his brain. His eyes. What I did to him. Can you change it back?"

Dr. Crusher casts her eyes downward. "I don’t have the technology or the knowledge to restructure his mind." Disappointment hits her brutally in the gut. The doctor rubs a hand across her back comfortingly. "But I have made him healthy again. Only time will tell if he could have developed telepathic abilities."

"Thank you." She wraps her arms tightly around the taller woman. Beverly squeezes back, delighted to have her friend back. It had taken so long to find them. She knew Jean-Luc would have never wasted time and manpower cobbling together a transporter just to retrieve a handful of people. But she needed them. Running the colony was exhausting work. Worf was her stoic protector and a quiet strength by her side, but she needed help.

"Don’t thank me. It was almost nice to get back to medicine." She crosses to a makeshift desk, covered with padds, maps and drawings. Reaching up she looses her golden-red hair from her surgical cap and shakes it free with her fingers. "Community planning was not part of my classes at the academy." Deanna strides slowly over to the window in the wall. The wall itself a neat construction of logs. Carefully notched together leaving a square hole framed with a recycled escape pod window. Out the window she stares in awe at the collection of new buildings. Mostly of logs, metal sheets of the escape pods welded together to form the roofs. Most of them had the same windows, for they had been busy. Among the buildings Starfleet officers went about their business, all dressed like the 21st century civilians that they were trapped as.

"It’s quite astonishing. You’ve done so much." She crosses back, and wipes her face dry with a hand. "I’m very impressed. It’ll be luxurious to sleep in a bed again."

Dr. Crusher throws her feet up on the desk, and smiles wickedly. "And I suppose you’re wondering how long it’ll be before Will shares it with you?"

Deanna’s blush creeps tentatively across her face. "I have every faith in your abilities. I-" She pauses, and Beverly jumps in to rescue her.

"I’m proud of you Deanna." She looses herself in the ceiling rafters. Deanna can sense a bittersweet sensation fill her mind. "It’s an beautiful thing to be in love."

She perches on the desk, pushing a map of the woods out of the way. The sorrow filling her friend’s heart was a palpable pain.

"I’ll save you the trouble of saying it. They’re both gone. The two men I most loved, both dead. My Wesley vanishes into unknown dimensions for years at a time." She lowers her head to her hands. Long fingers entwining her hair. "You don’t need to lecture me." She sighs, her chest heavy with loss. "I know. It’s just unreal to me. It hasn’t even hit me that Jean-Luc’s gone." She tilts her face up to rest only her chin. "I keep thinking he will return with the ship and take us all away." Troi reaches a hand to her shoulder. Feeling the pain radiate from the gaping wound Picard’s death had left in her heart.

"I wasn’t going to lecture. Just offer."

A bolstering breath left her once again in control. "And I appreciate it." Governor Crusher stands regally. Her face again hopeful and calm. "But, I have a colony to run."

Deanna nods with excitement. "I’m looking forward to exploring it." Crusher leaves her desk to walk her returned friend to the door.

"Dinner? In the galley around sunset?"

"Not 1800 hours?" Beverly shrugs.

"It doesn’t seem to fit. We don’t have a duty rooster. Just a ever growing list of things to do." Deanna could sense the resolve in her companion. Even in grief, the indomitable Howard spirit had found a place in this difficult existence.

"I’ll be proud to work for you. Governor." Beverly curtsied elegantly and disappeared back into her office. Leaving Deanna to wander the many dirt and stone paths of the Brevet Island colony. A path to her left led to the sea, where the cobbled together transporter had wisked them away to safety with their shipmates. Here, on a small rocky isle in the middle of the Pacific, the crew of the Enterprise-E would have to make a new home.

She walks down to the rocks over looking the blue sea below. The gentle swish of the waves is hypnotic and comforting. She spreads out over the warm rock beneath her and closes her eyes. Without even noticing, she is asleep.

===

Will Riker awakes slowly. His eyes finding first color. Red, brown, blue, the golden of sunlit, and a pale white that drags itself into the shape of a face.

"Hello Will." Her voice is gentle, almost too soft for his ears.

"Beverly…" His lips form her name instinctually, and he jolts completely awake as he realizes that his head is clear. "Amazing." He comments as he runs his hands around his head. Testing it out. No pain. For the first time in weeks, he has no pain. "I think I’ll wait on how we got here. I don’t think I’m ready for a long story just about yet. She laughs cheerfully.

"It’s actually quite simple. We managed to build a transporter with enough power to carry almost a thousand kilos. And then I sent a Klingon into the woods." She declines to make eye contact. In the sharp sunlight of the medical center, her skin looks incredibly pale assisted by the bright flash of red-gold wreathing her face. He’s never noticed how pale her skin was. He sits up, cautious, but wanting a better look. It’s not just her hair. Her face is white, even gray.

"Beverly?" His query startles her, and thought brushes it’s cobweb touch across his mind. An unintentional thought, but one requiring of his total attention. Their eyes lock. Riker’s midnight blue faces off with the bright blue of Dr. Crusher.

"You know." She responds incredulously. A long silence follows, she paces back and forth nervously. "I had to think about it didn’t I?" He chuckles, leaning back against the wall.

"I bet you wish now you had cured my telepathy." She starts to laugh; her voiced tinged with a hint of hysterics.

"I spent hours with Deanna at dinner tonight, but even she didn’t guess. I thought I was safe." He smiles at her, and she collapses inwardly. Wilting like a dying flower. "I haven’t-"

"Told anyone. I know. I’m so sorry." He reaches out a hand to her, and his honest sympathy tears into her. Without thinking she sits down on the bed next to him. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she curls up tightly. She takes her time, working up the courage to begin. "Thanks." He says suddenly, and she turns her head to stare at him in confusion. He smiles apologetically. "You’re family to me too." She sighs and snuggles into his arms.

"Deanna’s very lucky." He nods absently and strokes her hair, waiting for her patiently. She closes her eyes, but the tears well up anyway.

"I just never thought-"

"None of us did." He finishes, feeling the guilt and sorrow diffusing into their embrace. The turmoil in her mind boils like an unruly river. Tearing at her control. He relaxes and empties his mind, unconciously becoming a center. A single point of stillness as he opens his heart and welcomes her agony with peace.

Part 10

Stardate 50792.8

Jean-Luc Picard stood in the weak starlight pouring through the window of his quarters. Waves of pain rattle the set of canopic jars from Uteri Seven as the final aria from "Il Trovatore" fills the room with pure anguish. The opera is overwhelming, spilling out from his quarters as the door opens, revealing a tall, elegant redhead. Long legs lead up to a simple wine colored dress, cut diagonally to drape down to her left knee, but still tease with a glimpse of the slender thigh that hasn’t changed at all in the decades he’s known her. But, he isn’t looking at the dress. Nor at the neat knot of that contains the sunset gold of her hair. No, after all these years it’s those dammed dimples. Faint; just beneath her cheekbones, but there. Especially now, as she smiles and strides in, comfortably. No hesitation. No one else ever walked into his quarters that way. She sits down on the couch, crosses her legs gracefully, and waits for the baritone to finish.

"Il Conte di Luna" Picard explains as the last note dies away. "He’s mourning his brother."

She nods grimly. "It’s beautiful, but so sad. So much grief." He avoids her gaze and pours the wine.

"Chateau Picard, 2281" He sighs, and pours the deep crimson, watching it slide into her glass. "Not as good as the ’79 I’m afraid, but still a respectable year." He releases the bottle and lifts his glass.

She raises her own and toasts. "To Rene and Robert, may they find peace." They drink, Picard with an uncharacteristic hurry. Not savoring, but quickly downing the wine. He sets down his glass and heads for his bedroom. He emerges after a quick moment with a bottle of the bright blue Romulan ale.

"He would have been 17 this year. Heading off to Starfleet academy." He replaces their wineglasses with two small tumblers. "I would rather not savor this moment." She lays a hand over his, the gesture laced with the old intimacy of friendship. He takes it and holds it delicately, something other then friendship burns for a moment in his eyes, and then they are gone. Lowered to the glasses in front of them.

Shattering the silence, she lifts her glass and gulps it cleanly. She breathes in quickly. "I forget the bite." He empties his glass and refills it without a second thought. He stands, pacing back to his window.

"Sometimes, I think if I stare long enough, out at the stars-"

"Your loved ones will stare back at you." She finishes, coming up behind him. Her glass half-full in her hand. "When Jack died, after Wesley was in bed, I used to sit up and watch the stars all night. Just waiting for that one that could fall out of the sky and bring him back. Prove it was all just some horrible nightmare." She sets the empty glass on the table, where he refills it quickly. Their hands brush, and the spark threatens to ignite. They quickly break the eternity between their eyes and stare uncomfortably out of the window.

"Thank you." He whispers, never taking his eyes off the starlines outside the window.

"No one should remember alone." She sinks deeply into the couch, leaving her glass on the table and waving off his attending hand. "Wait. It’s been some time since I’ve strayed from synthehol." His weak smile is at least a small victory.

"Maybe you should drop by more often." Her mischievous blue eyes taunt him as she toys with the stem of her forgotten wineglass.

"Only if I’m invited." He knocks back the Romulan ale and joins her on the couch. Silence, welcomes them both to just to sit. To leave all that has never been said comfortably buried, but he toys at the earth.

"You’ve always been welcome-" A stray tear irritates her eye and she instantly stops him.

"Jean-Luc." Her voice is a fragile warning, but like the crystalline glass on the table, it trembles. Her uncertainty carries to her hands, which she can only hold still by folding tightly in her lap. He calls her bluff and gently takes her hand. She jumps, knocking her knee against the coffee table. Time slows to a crawl as her wineglass tumbles in a slow arc, throwing off a few lonely ruby droplets of wine. The glass itself impacts solidly with the edge of the wall and shatters. The gentle tinkling of glass is lost, as she breathes quickly. Deeply unsettled, she tries to stand, but he halts her with the offending hand.

"Sit. It’ll be there later." She obeys, staring pointedly out of the window. After her silence has reached his breaking point he finally asks. "Why?" The question hangs, like so many others throughout the years. She dodges slyly.

"I didn’t like the twist in the stem." He shakes his head, and lets a small smile transform his face.

"I’ll have to replicate a new pair next time." She can’t lift her eyes from the floor.

"Because I’m afraid." His hand finds her wrist and guides her hand to the safety between both of his.

"Of us?"

Beverly shakes her head, her eyes betraying secret amusement. "Of myself." His hands are maddeningly warm against her skin, and they distract her for a moment. She pulls out of it, barely.

"When Jack died, I would have gone with him."

He finishes knowingly. "But you had Wesley."

A smile of nostalgia lights her face. "I had Wesley. Wesley is so much of my life." He awkwardly places an arm around her.

"He seems happy. I envy him. Exploring the universe without even a ship to confine him." She relaxes into his arm, her guard down. Her hands meet in his lap.

"You’d go with him without a thought wouldn’t you?" She nods, and answers herself. "You would. You’d love to flit all over the universe."

He agrees with a nod of his head. "Nothing to tie me down. No family." He stops instantly. The old agony of his loneliness melds with the fresh pain of loss.

"Nothing gold can stay." She whispers, echoing his sentiment perfectly.

"Jack, Robert, Rene…" He fills his glass with the bright blue of Romulan ale and raises it in a toast. "All the good that has gone on to that final journey. May we someday be worthy to join them." She blinks back tears and lifts her hardier glass to him.

"Hopefully not to soon." He drinks, keeping his eyes locked with hers. He fidgets with his glass.

"There you go again. Hide behind a joke. A smile." The tension builds between them like a growing thunderhead. "What are you hiding from now?" His fingertip brushes away the tear she pretended not to shed.

"Don’t." Her forehead leans against his, their lips mere centimeters apart. Centimeters become a breath and then no space at all as their lips melt together. Guilt, foreboding and pain all forgotten in that moment of insanity. Insanity builds, and then rages. Her blood pumps through her ears, echoing the pulsing she can feel in his neck. Her mind immediately raises the specter of Jack, never long gone from her heart. Would he? Could he let her find comfort in the arms of his best friend? But he is the one to break the kiss. He can only pull his head back to its resting-place against her forehead.

"What would Jack say now?" His voice is filled with irony. He stands quickly, leaving her proximity. He paces anxiously. Lost in the past, and terrified of the present.

"I think-" She starts without conviction. "I think he would wish us happiness." With that she is committed, she stands and falls into his arms. All the loss of their lifetimes, forgotten in the fulfillment of the new. She is surprised to find herself the aggressor. Easily backing him towards the bedroom, while his hands trace the long line of her spine through her dress. His gentleness shocks her at first. Until she realizes his reluctance is born solely of curiosity. His explorer’s desire for the unknown is driving him to commit every inch of her to memory. Smiling at his appreciation, she removes the elaborate clasp holding her dress in place. It falls to the floor, a dark stain of wine colored fabric. He sits on the bed, staring up at her nude form with patient eyes. She ran her hands over his head, tracing an invisible line from his eyebrows to the base of his neck, pulling his head to rest against the smooth skin of her stomach. When he kisses her again, there is only a single emotion. No guilt, no pain, there is only the old love between friends.

===

May 4th, dawn

Will Riker absorbs the story with a sense of awe. He knew some of the history, and he had seen the looks that more then occasionally passed between his friends, but Beverly’s grieving disclosure was a bit of a shock. He calmed his mind. Relying on the tranquillity that was Deanna’s constant presence to guide him. Her story had lasted well into the night. The first fingers of daylight caressed the windowsill across from them. She is quiet now, curled catlike against him.

"Deanna owes me a week on Risa." He remarks triumphantly, drawing a raised eyebrow from the nearly unconscious doctor.

"A whole week?" He nods, victory filling his face with the infamous Riker glow.

"She was convinced that if anything ever happened between you and the Captain, she’d find out before I did." Beverly manages to giggle quietly.

"But the bet was before your telepathy." He laughs, pulling up the blanket with his free hand.

"Hey! Who’s side are you on?" He replies indignantly.

"Jean-Luc would owe me a role in my next production." She counters, bravely dredging up his memory.

"Oh, make it Shakespeare!" Will suggests in fit of inspiration. "He has such shapely legs." She laughs heartily. Her eyes sting slightly and she yawns, her face grayer still in the weak light of morning.

"You should rest." She orders feebly.

"Yes ma’am." Riker strokes her head protectively. "You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I would have been fine without all of this personal attention." She finds the energy to smile before sleep takes her completely. "Pleasant dreams." He whispers, searching out Deanna’s mind before he too looses himself in sleep.

Part 11

May 3rd, evening

“Counselor.” Worf shakes her shoulder gently. In front of him, the sun continues to set into the waves. Lighting the sky pink and gold, as the water began to darken with the encroaching night. Deanna Troi lies curled in a ball on the warm rock. He sits down beside her and shakes her shoulder more urgently with a strong hand. “Deanna?”

She stirs slightly. Reaching up an arm to touch his wrist. “Bill?” She lifts her hand to his face and caresses him. Confusion flares up. The beard is all wrong, the skin beneath too rough. “Worf.” She acknowledges warmly, rolling over slowly to face him.

“We should head back to the barracks. It gets very dark here.” He gives her a hand up and she stretches indulgently.

“Why does it get so dark?” She asks as he leads her to the thin dirt path. He laughs with hearty Klingon vigor. Surprising her slightly. “What?”

“We have no lights.” He replies simply. She shoots him a look of confusion, wondering if the stoic Klingon is joking. “We have no power. All the power cells from the pods are used to replicate food, clothing and tools. Except for a few Dr. Crusher required be saved for medical resources.”

Deanna nods with a smile. “Always practical.”

“Indeed.” Worf replies with his usual firmness. He takes her arm gently, steering her away from unseen danger on her left. “Careful. This is a treacherous path when you cannot see.”

She pats his arm thankfully. “You can see for me.” He nods.

”Honor would dictate nothing less.” They walk in silence. Worf is completely correct about the darkness. It falls quickly. As the great velvet cloak descends, soon she can see nothing but the stars above her. Alien stars, cold and unforgiving. Soon the faint smell of smoke drifts through the trees. She smiles to herself, wondering if Worf can already see the encampment in the dark, but his thoughts are contemplating something else. Her throat makes a choked noise involuntarily as her breath stops.

Worf is startled away from his thoughts. “Counselor?”

“Forgive me. I didn’t intend to hear your thoughts.” She stops walking, raising a hand to her forehead. “Wait.” His huge hands close solid on her shoulders.

“I forgive you.” He smiles, always a slightly awkward gesture for a Klingon, but his thoughts intend to reassure. “Sometimes I think quite loudly.” She tries to return the smile, but her breath still catches in her chest. Worf’s mind calmly reasons with itself. The thought that made her lose her footing as it crossed his mind, only calms him. Giving him a sense of purpose.

“It’s true?” He doesn’t have to answer. Her stomach twists, and a new grief wells up through a single tear. She has her answer.
===
There is no more talking. Tears run slowly down her face all the way to the barracks. The barracks are two long buildings, rough logs form the walls, and the welded metal of escape pods form the roof. Worf leads her to the left building, and silently turns to enter the right. She catches his arm, and meets his eyes briefly. She smiles. It’s weak, and barely visible in the fading light, but he understands her meaning.

“Goodnight Deanna.” He offers before disappearing behind the doorway. She enters the barracks alone. Stacked beds line both of the walls. Officers from the Enterprise fill the bunks. She walks quietly, recognizing faces as she passes. Dr. Selar, Alyssa Ogawa, Ellix Jova hears her footfall and waves sleepily.

“Here. This one’s empty.” The bed beneath her is the same as all the others. Built from rudely felled timbers, and padded only with scraps salvaged from interior of the escape pods. She lies back, pulling the shiny Starfleet blanket tightly around her. She looks around, trying to find comfort in her surroundings, but her eyes are futile open. Letting them close she reaches out with her mind, feeling her Imzadi’s quiet presence. He’s still unconscious, sleeping peacefully for the first time in nearly a week. The nagging headaches that tortured him, the pain she caused him, the agony that almost destroyed him- gone. Forgotten, and already forgiven in the heart of the man she loves. The man who loves her enough to forgive the loss of his solitude, she knows his mind will never be silent again.
She continues to search his feelings. Looking for those hints of bitterness that will make the stone of guilt lodging in her stomach belong there. But his heart, his heart is peaceful. His heart holds only love for her. ((Goodnight Imzadi)) She whispers to him softly. Hoping that one word will communicate everything she cannot say.
===
Deanna Troi sleeps restlessly. Her dreams are disconcertingly full of odd memories. A woman’s leg knocks over a wineglass. It shatters on the wall. A warm gray wall, a Starship’s quarters. Captain Picard’s eyes meet hers passionately. Fire licks it’s way up her belly and he kisses her, running his tongue delicately along hers. She throws her head back, and her hair flashes before her eyes. Her long red hair curls around his fingers as his tongue continues to toy with her neck. His hand traces the curve of her breast, spiraling gradually inward. His interest completely focused on her.

Her conscious mind begins to assert itself. The breasts beneath his hands, the long slender legs wrapped tightly around her mentor of so many years. These are not hers. A small voice in her mind wishes those legs were hers. But those are the legs of a dancer and a friend. A friend who went to bed with the Captain, the realization compounds with what she learned from Worf, and she sits up hastily.

“Beverly.” Her blanket falls from her body, and the chill arm of predawn attacks her violently. She pulls it around her chest, and hurries from the barracks.

The first fingers of sunlight begin to glisten off the ocean, and she can see enough in the gray light to find the medical building. The salty dew of the air infuses her hair, and cools her face as she jogs through the village. With her hand on the door, she stops. Listening with her mind as well as her ears.

“It’s all right.” Will whispers, sympathy pouring from his heart. Beverly murmurs softly in response, but is asleep. Her mind a turmoil of loss and self-doubt even in an unconscious state. “The captain would understand. He’d even be happy.”

((He would be happy.)) Deanna replies to him without words. She crosses from the door and sits down on the edge of the bed. Will reaches up his hand and wraps it tightly around hers. She brings it to her chest and leans down to kiss him. His kiss is as it has always been. Warm, and full of promise. “Feeling better?”

He laughs quietly and runs a finger along her nose. “What do you think?”

She sits back in the chair and crosses her arms firmly. “I think it only took a few hours for you to end up in bed with a beautiful woman.”

“She’s a redhead too.” He teases. That indomitable Riker spark alive and well even in his new dark eyes. “Although, I must admit I’ve always been partial to brunettes.” He reaches for her hair, unable to touch it until she leans in closer, and smiles. The smile lights her face and she pulls the chair closer to the edge of the bed.

((She was so exhausted Deanna. All this time, she’s been carrying the weight of the crew on her shoulders.)) His regret travels with his thoughts.

((Now we will.)) She returns with conviction, and he adds his agreement. Beverly would no longer carry the crew alone. The three of them would keep Picard’s crew safe. They sit together in the deep silence. Comfortable with their hands interlaced. Dr. Crusher still sleeping secure in his embrace. The sunlight fills in from the window and glints off a freshly shed tear on Deanna’s cheek. Unbidden, her questions find him. Racing through his mind and demanding his response. He is slower to respond. Telepathy is still a maturing skill for him.

((She didn’t tell me all of it. Only that she made love to the Captain, before he died.)) His sorrow taints his next thoughts. Picard’s loss was hard on everyone, but she had lost something much more difficult. She had lost time. She had let herself love only to lose that which she loved. Losing someone he loved was the fear that twisted deepest in his heart. ((But there was something else; she couldn’t bring herself to say.)) Deanna nods in acknowledgment. ((And you know…))

She lets the question hang in her mind, losing herself in the dark pools that remind her more of a mirror then the bright stare of her Imzadi. ((I found out from Worf. He doesn’t know the story behind it, but he could smell the change in her body chemistry. He’s known for weeks.)) He doesn’t need to respond. In unison they move the knot of their fingers to rest gently on the home of the last Picard, sheltered within the woman who would give him his final gift. The child he had so often wished for would arrive too late for him, and instead be raised by the woman he had loved for two decades. But she would not be alone. His younger friends, who had only now found their way, would be with her, every step of hers.

Part 12

May 4th, afternoon

He can feel Beverly start to wake up. Her faint stirrings of consciousness tickle his mind like tiny fish tickling his feet. He looks to Deanna. Wondering if his new abilities are lying to him somehow. She smiles, and nods to him.

“You’re correct.” She squeezes his hand. “You’re learning so quickly. Things that took me years as a child-” Envy touches her eyes briefly, but it is forgotten as he shakes his head.

“I never appreciated how difficult it must be for you. To be constantly exposed to thoughts, the feelings of everyone around you.” She stands up slowly, leaning down to kiss him, her lips full of their characteristic sweetness.

“I love you Riker.” He closes his eyes appreciatively and licks his lips.

“Whoever this Riker is. He must be a lucky guy.” She ceases his chatter with another kiss. This time longer, her lips parting to allow him into the softness of the inside of her mouth. They lose themselves in the kiss, just as they have lost themselves in each other. Breathing together bodies briefly sharing the unity that rules them. The warm velvet of her mouth beckons him to stay. To remain with her, and he could. He could let go and fall into her too deeply too ever return.

A wave of nausea drives them apart. Their kiss suddenly full of a sour rush at the back of the throat. Will’s eyes echo her own confusion as they turn just in time to watch the ship’s doctor of the Enterprise-E start to roll out of the bed. His arm catches her, keeping her from falling onto the floor. Deanna rushes to the side and adds her hands on Beverly’s shoulders.

“Don’t” She entreaties, vainly hoping they’ll release her, but no time is left for that. Already tiny drops of sweat bead on her forehead. Her skin decidedly gray against her hair. She can’t stop the instinct that spills the contents of her stomach on to the floor. Riker pulls her back into bed. Holding her against his chest as he brushes a lock of red back from her eyes. Deanna smiles wryly as she grabs some water and a bandage from the table in the corner. Remembering when he held her in a similar circumstance. ((Bill, I think she has a better excuse then tequila.)) He smiles, not daring to laugh. She bathes Beverly’s face with it. Stopping as she grasps hold of Deanna’s hand.

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes quickly. “I must be coming down with something.” It’s a weak excuse, and she should know better then to use it on two telepaths, but her mind is elsewhere. Riker pats her shoulder in consolation, feigning ignorance and upholding her lie.

“Physician heal thyself.” He teases, shaking a finger at her. She hits him lightly and Deanna laughs at both of them as she finishes cleaning off the floor. She rinses her hands with the remainder of the water in the corner, and wipes them on her pants.

“I think both of you could use some rest. I’ll go get something to eat.” Beverly’s glare produces a chuckle from Riker. “All right. Just something for you then Will.” She starts to leave, and then snaps her fingers and returns to him. Suddenly hit with a moment of brilliance. “How about oatmeal? Nice, plain mushy oatmeal.” She leans down to kiss the tip of his nose.

“Remind me again why I love you?” He pouts like an abused puppy.

“I’m the only woman who puts up a fight.” She brushes a hand over his forehead. “I’ll be back.”

He captures the hand and brings it to his lips. “I know.”

The door shuts behind her and Deanna walks out into the courtyard. The packed earth beneath her feet makes a soft sound. Footfalls behind her convince her to turn around.

“Counselor!” Geordi’s voice is pleasantly excited as he runs up to her. “How’s the commander doing?”

“Wonderful.” She smiles, gratitude filling her voice. “He’s wonderful Geordi.”

The team of engineers behind him erupts in murmurs of relief. Commander Riker had always been popular among to crew. His ordeal had been grueling for everyone. Yesterday and the day before he had spent 13 hours in surgery while Beverly and Dr. Selar had painstakingly repaired his mind. Nine people had volunteered enough blood to keep him alive long enough for them to finish. She owed them; her entire community had saved him, and in doing brought her hope.

Geordi’s team would spend the day beginning to build a power core. Once they had power, everything could be accomplished. His team is loaded up with what was left of their metal from the escape pods, phasers, hammers, and several of the engineering kits they had used to repair the Phoenix. Geordi was brimming with optimism.

“Wish us luck.” He calls, waving as he leads the group into the forest. She waves back, wishing them luck. If they succeed, the food will definitely improve.

((Missing chocolate are we?)) Will’s voice rings mockingly through her mind.

She shakes her head in annoyance. “You better be careful Bill. Your oatmeal could always be cold…” She threatens under her breath, heading for the building marked with a jaunty sign proclaiming it to be ‘Zero Backward’. Pausing, she stares at it in confusion. A voice from behind pipe up-

“It seemed appropriate. It is at the back of the camp, and we have only one deck…” Turning, she finds Barclay throwing her a happy smile, arm and arm with Ellix Jova.

“I guess it is.” She allows herself the brief luxury of basking in the heady feelings of adoration pouring from them. “Makes it seem more like home.” They both nod to her, and continue on their way. She overhears another sentence before they are out of range.

“It may look like a refugee camp, but at least, there aren’t any Cardassians.” Reg giggles, and they disappear into the woods. Deanna ducks into ‘Zero Backward’ and begins her search for something for Bill.
===
Will stands, then stretches experimentally. His body is sore, full of the stiffness that comes from lack of use. He runs through a few Mok’Bara moves, working through the discontent reigning in his muscles.

“No, raise your right arm higher.” Beverly critiques sharply. Startling him as she repositions his arm.

“I thought you were sleeping.” He twists around, confronting her critique with a neatly executed block. Stopping with the bar of his arm inches from her face. She drops his arm with a tired hand, weighing his arm down to his side.

“Just resting.” Her reply carries no weight, and in a moment her knees refuse to either. His reflexes keep her standing, but barely. His arms steer her cautiously back to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Beverly…” His eyes meet hers, deep with pleading.

“I’m just tired. I spent 13 hours inside your head yesterday. Must just be getting to old for marathon surgery.” Deftly she raises her shields against his concern.

He jabs anyway, his eyes crackling with humor. “You were in my head that long. Forget marathon. It’s a miracle you’re only nauseous.”

“It’s nothing.” Her eyes find a crack on the floor, and study it intently as he sinks to block her view.

“I haven’t asked.”

She shakes her head, narrowing her eye slightly. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

Her anger radiates outward, and to him it’s a palpable heat. His smile attempts to diffuse the situation. “I just thought you might want to talk.”

Her mind churns chaos of dark despair, reminding him of the heat lightning in the summer sky. Stirring up the sky, but nothing to be afraid of. But she is afraid. Fear forming a still darker bank of clouds, an ominous backdrop of emotion. It gushes into him, filling the center of his stomach with shards of ice. The cold stealing the warmth of his body, the warmth of his heart.

((Imzadi)) His plea flies home. Deanna’s calm mind, slips between him and the torrent of emotion. A great rock wall of stability, shielding him in an eddy of silence as across camp, she stops filling a cup with soup and closes her eyes to concentrate.

((Bill, be careful. I know you mean well but you have to remain separate. You can’t help someone out of their emotions if you’re in the middle of them.)) His gratitude filters across to her.

((Thanks.)) He lets his eyes close, falling into the safety of her mind. Feeling the incredible light of peace at the core of her shine on his face. ((You’re so beautiful Deanna.))

Calmly she accepts his adoration; secretly knowing that the light of hers he finds so fascinating could not exist without him. ((Remember what I taught you. Listen. Don’t judge, don’t try to solve or rescue. Just offer your support. Understand.))

((Rabeem)) He replies quietly, beginning to understand the awesome responsibility of sharing the thoughts of others. ((I’ll do my best.))

Centered, she allows to her eyes to open, and she returns to her lunch. ((Just avoid referring to her feelings as ‘goopy’))

His shock registers as a small jolt of electricity. ((Imzadi I’m appalled. I don’t think I’ve ever used that dreadful, dreadful word.))

Still chuckling faintly to himself, he returns his attention to pained blue eyes of Beverly Crusher. Her control is admirable. The level of emotion he can feel blasting from her slams across his shields, but they’re now bolstered with his love of Deanna.

“I-” She cuts him off, still unwilling.

“Please don’t.” The richness of his laughter surprises her, even surprising himself for a moment as he decides to change tactics.

He throws up his hands, his eyes twinkling as he surrenders. “Hey. I’m a friend here. Let’s go over this again. Deanna is an empath; she did something to me and made me empathic, if you will. But you are still human. Just let me finish a sentence. Please.” He explains slowly, and painstakingly, drawing a frustrated look from her that reluctantly melts to faint amusement.

“All right.” His mind races…what can he say? Caught off guard, he smoothly lets the first thought in his mind roll off his tongue.

“I’m going to marry Deanna.” The air draining from her lungs could have turned to fire and she would have been less surprised. Unbidden, her smile lights her face, bringing a comforting rush of color. Beverly takes a breath, then another. Her exhausted mind taking it’s time to process, but the leap in her emotions is like the sun bursting through the clouds.
Deanna finds him. Her voice carries the seductive tone she so often used to counteract his charm and more then a share of skepticism. ((Marry me?))

He twists her meaning just a bit, and captures her, as neatly as she did so many years ago. ((Of course I will. Imzadi))

She searches his mind for the joke, the telltale signs that he must not be serious, but he broadcasts only sincerity. His mind, his heart is calm, all the bits of thought that float listlessly in the mind of a human being for this moment fall into place. He knows the universal truth. For him, the rest of his life is his imzadi.

Across the endless space between two people her heartbeat ceases. Just as she died as she reached into his mind, Deanna Troi takes the last thread of life, her life, and lets it go. Her solitary journey concluded. Now, and the future are a partnership.

Beverly shakily finds her voice. “What…what does she think about that?”

((It is a pleasure Commander.)) Gratitude warms him to the ends of his toes, as well as a trace of humor. Memory dredges up their reunion on the bridge, so many eons ago.

((Likewise Counselor.)) Just as a fusion of two molecules begins a star, the fusion of souls completes finally creating a chain reaction that they’ve only just started to understand.

“She thinks, it’s the best idea I’ve ever had.” An intense hug leaves her resting her head against his chest. Tears dampen his shirt, and he deepens the embrace. He whispers into her hair.

“I’m inclined to agree with her.”

Part 13

May 11th, afternoon

She stands up slowly, raising her arms over her head in a tentative stretch. The extension sends a flash of pain through her arms. Deanna sighs, rubbing the distraught muscle, and heading back up the path into the woods. She was used to work. Life on a starship meant double shifts, a constant stream of life-threatening situations, but usually a lack of extreme physical labor. Will’s voice laughs through her head.

((It can’t be that bad imzadi.)) She enters the clearing behind him and smacks him lightly across the back.

“You just have to cut it down. It’s a an awful long way back to the camp.” He drops the ax at her feet.

“Feel free.” He mockingly bows before her and gestures to the pine behind him. Beside him Worf joins his chuckling and leans back against his tree. Deanna lifts the ax lightly in one hand and looks at the cut in the trunk. She wraps the fingers of both hands around it, and shoots Will a glare. Harnessing her frustration she slams the ax into the tree, receiving a satisfying crack of wood in return. Her eyes burn into him, and he shrugs. “Everyone gets lucky.” Even Worf was a bit taken aback by the ferocity of her stare, although, he did not show it. The ax meets its mark several more times, and with a groan the pine tree heads for the forest floor. The crash of the underbrush is all the applause she needs. She places her hands on her hips and smirks with pride. Riker nods his head in appreciation.

“Well done.” Worf grunts to her and gives Riker a harsh look. Will laughs, and closes the distance between him and his Imzadi. Wrapping his arms firmly around her, he puts his mouth to better use then speaking.

((Yes imzadi, well done.)) She allows herself the guilty pleasure of the kiss, before staring him down angrily.

“I know why you did it.” The depths of her black eyes hold mocking contempt, but it is lost on him as he runs his lips down the smooth line of her neck. His beard, continually growing shaggier, tickles her neck until she pushes him away, and joins his laughter. “But, I did do a very nice job.” She bends down to the tree, attaching a rope and two hooks to its sides. He runs a teasing hand down the length of her spine, while Worf quietly turns back to his work. His Klingon strength making short work of the tree before him.

She lowers herself to the log, and he sits beside her. Her head finds a home on his shoulder. Both of their moods forgetting the simple joviality of a moment ago, and falling into the slow despair that fills the minds around them. He taps the log with a free hand. “This will be a sailboat someday.”

She mingles her fingers with his. “A sailboat? Shouldn’t we be building more homes? Or storehouses?”

He looks out over the hint of deep blue he can see through the tree line. “But a sailboat will allow us to trade with surrounding islands. Tahiti, Fiji, even New Zealand or Australia. There are some things we can’t replicate. And if Geordi and his team fail-” Neither of them needs to finish his thought. They both understand their responsibilities to the crew.

“It is very beautiful.” She pipes up, optimistically breaking the silence. “A bit colder then I expected though.” He chuckles again.

“It’s not exactly the tropical island I had hoped for.” He relishes one more moment with her there, then stands to get back to work. “But, some things about this place are worth hanging on to.” Kissing her reaffirms why he’ll spend the rest of his life with her. Her laughter starts before she breaks off their kiss.

“You’re marrying me for my tongue?” He winks at her as they part, his eyes lowering to appreciate the finer points of her figure.

“Amongst other things of course.” A low growl finishes his thought for him.

“Good.” She replies. “At least after all that’s happened to you, you’re still the arrogantly obsessed with the physical young man-” He cuts her off abruptly with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“That your mother adores so?”

“That I fell in love with.” He melts. Something in her smile always had that sot of destructive effect to his knees. Not that he’d ever admit it, but he usually felt his own legendary charm was a pale shadow of the damage she did to his resolve. He thought for a long time, the dusky pathways of his mind searching for the appropriate comeback.

“Always your greatest character flaw.” Now she’s standing on her tiptoes, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, pulling his head down until she can reach the bottom of his ear. Tickling it with her lips.

“I will always be flawed when it comes to you imzadi.”

She walks quickly down the path, dragging the felled tree behind her. Had Worf not been present they would turned on each other in a way most unbecoming of Starfleet officers. Even those who happened to be engaged. And she was engaged. That filling thought helped her forget about the pain in her arms, and the stinging of her hands. She paused, releasing the rope and staring at her hands. A snatch of Lwaxana’s voice found her.

“Betazoid women used to pride themselves on their hands. How white and smooth they were. When I met your father I thought I had perfect hands.” Deanna had been very young, and she remembered her pudgy hands grasping her mother’s hands curiously away from their task of brushing her hair. She had stared at them then, looking for the smooth perfection her mother had described. But Lwaxana’s hands were the same olive as her own skin, faint blue veins marring them like unruly vines. On the back of one was a disappearing line of deep red. A scratch from the Ruvalht tree she had plucked Deanna out of just yesterday. She remembered her quizzical look at her mother, her innocent confusion. “But these Deanna are perfect hands.” Her mother’s eyes were light-years away. Then her father had appeared behind them and ticked her until she screamed.

Deanna shivered quietly out of her memories. Opening her eyes to rejoin the present and the growing pile of logs in front her. People emerged from the forest all around her, dragging what in large unworked pieces what would be a sailboat. She admired Will’s vision. To her it was a great pile of logs, still bearing the skin of bark around them. She leaves her burden by the pile and gives ensign arranging them a smile. His nod was the typical stoic response of his species, and she left the encampment, heading for the ocean. She is now painfully aware of the rivulets of sweat running escaping her hairline and trailing down her neck. Forming wet snakes that hide beneath the fabric of her shirt. She pauses on the rock outcropping overlooking the rocky shoreline. Great boulders, 8 or 10 meters across make up the beach beneath her. She climbs down slowly, feeling the hot afternoon sun burn through to her back. Smaller rocks, none much larger then her fist, crunch beneath
her feet as she heads down the beach farther away from the other refugees.

The ocean is still today. Almost silently lapping up against the grayish red rocks beneath her feet. She sits down for a moment and removes her boots, leaving forlornly awaiting her return on the rock. Her bare feet warm quickly with the sun kissed rock beneath them. She strips off the rest of her clothes. Her one outfit dirty and abused with long hours of work outdoors. A small hole has worn through her left knee. Disgusted and frustrated she threw them back to the rock, and let the warm breeze caress the bare skin of her body. The ocean tingles her feet as it laps up. She can see down to the smooth rock bottom below, judging by the deep green shadows it was at least 3 meters deep. Once her hair was secured tightly in a knot she dived into the water. Warm and comforting it pulls her in she swam down until the pressure in her ears becomes a dull ache, and she heads back to the surface. That first breath above the surface always reminded her she was alive. Alive an
d healthy and able to draw breath. The air is tangy with the smell of sea salt and tiny drops of sea water sting her eyes, but the cool water swells as she treads through it. Her mind drifting as lazily as the sea. Drifting back to the night previous.

May 10th, night

Lying in the arms of her imzadi always made the universe seem small. A tiny place where the light of all the starts burned in the shining black eyes of William Riker, eyes that hungrily ran over the naked skin of her breasts.

“Now this is art Deanna.” He teases, running a fingertip lazily along the hollow of bone between his true goals.

She giggles and deflects his hand from its course. “I think you’re a biased critic.” He lowers his head to follow his hand with his mouth, and the soft bristles of his beard.

“You’re just the only artwork I understand.” Impishly he tickles her navel with the tip of his tongue, and is promptly rewarded with a slight gasp. “You’re also interactive.”

Her patient hand impedes further downward movement. He looks up, mildly surprised. Opening his mind he can feel her questions, but not with any real accuracy. His confused expression brings a slight laugh to her lips.

“I was just thinking.” She curls against him, her head finding the flat place just beneath his collarbone.

“I can hear you, but I can’t tell what.” He draws her too him with a secure arm,

“I’m not sure yet.” Time passes slowly as they both watch the foreign stars of the South Pacific wheel overhead. They had stolen out to lie together in a small clearing almost a mile from the main colony. Here the trees parted around a slight rise in the terrain. It was there that they had spent the last few nights, after Will had been released from under the eyes of the Governor. They are lucky tonight, the sky is a great black tapestry of stars.

He feels the brimming of emotion in her mind. His curiosity hardly did her justice when he plucked finally the image out of her mind. She saw him playing with a little girl. A little girl with a mess of chaotic brown curls and a twinkle in her huge black eyes. She had her chubby hand firmly entangled in his beard, and they were both laughing. ((She’s very cute Deanna.)) He sent approvingly. And then he shared his dreams with her. Something he had rarely done.

She believed in her youth that his dreams had always consisted of the bridge of a starship. The hum of warp engines through the deckplating, and the hiss of phaser fire, glancing through space. But that was not the dream of William Riker. Deanna’s throat suddenly was far too tight. Breathing uncomfortably for a moment, she soon forgot to breathe at all as his dreams filled her mind. As imzadi, they were complete intimates, sharing most of their feelings, but the images that saturate her being were new to her.

A woman’s voice, soft and warm, but on the verge of laughter; a little boy, not even comfortable walking yet, running to her. His bright blue eyes glowing with love. It was the past. Thoughts of his mother that he had never shared with her before. His past fades away, the memories bitter with the pain of growing up without a mother. A short painful childhood with a reserved father had cut deeply. Tears ran unnoticed down her face. Hurrying thoughtlessly to pool in the curve beneath her neck. Will’s pain was hers, but even as it tore through her. He was conquering it. Letting go of the bitterness that had dragged him through childhood, all the way to the Academy. Now she felt only contentment.

Will’s dreams were sunlit. A clearing in the forest where she sees herself, as he sees her. The sunlight pouring through the tree seems to light her on fire. Smiling she kisses him, and he rests his hands on a faint roundness of her belly. His mind races through time, and finishes on a scene so real it starts a sharp pain in the pit of her stomach. She sees herself covered in sweat. Her hair a wet tangled mess, her eyes encircled by deep shadows, but the vision of herself was smiling. Smiling and holding up her arms, reaching for him, reaching for him and the baby he held in his arms. Their baby; a fragile spark of life that would depend on them, and that they would raise in love. For their child could only be love. A ten-fingered, ten-toed, ebony eyed, embodiment of their love.

When she reached for his face, bringing her eyes level with his, it was without surprise that she realized his tears echoed her own. Without words their lips found each other, and through that passionate physical connection their souls met again on the endless path of Imzadi.

May 11th afternoon
Now, as she lay stretched out nude in the warm sun. Feeling the rays caress her skin as the heat of the rock permeates her back. A mind brush over her imzadi found peace, and a sense of hope. A child, their baby was his hope. His pain, his bitterness, and his constant resentment were all fading. Creeping shadows destined to be destroyed by the coming of the dawn.

Part 14

May 11th, afternoon

Striking him as very catlike, Deanna’s mind was a contented knot of joy. Riker could feel her presence some distance away from the camp. She was relaxed, and deeply involved in a meditative centering. He opted not to bother her just yet and set out to walk the shoreline on his own. It required a significant dose of self-control, after all, she was alone and blissfully unencumbered by clothing, but he was newly patient. Patience appeared to be just one of the many differences in his recently Betazoid brain.

Up until a few moments ago he had worked diligently on the sailboat project, but his shift had ended. Functioning on a shift system had at first seemed absurd, but everyone was more comfortable with the structure. And even trapped in the past, Starfleet officers loved structure. He thought sardonically as he looked for a flat rock of the right size. Finding it slightly to the right of his foot, he lifts it, turns it over in his hand and coaxes four neat hops out over the still water. It still amazed him how warm the breeze from the ocean was. How still this ocean could be. He removed his boots and tied the laces together. Stuffing his socks inside he threw them over his shoulder in a manner he had not used in years, and strode whistling through the lazy surf.

The air around him was hot and oppressive. Full of a nagging humidity that brought with it the feeling of being covered in a thin layer of slime. The sweat, dirt and oil of his skin gave it a faintly shimmering appearance as he stripped off his shirt, and added it to the bundle of his boots. The prospect of a swim like Deanna’s seemed more and more welcoming as he continued his walk. He would get to it. For now, the former first officer of the /Enterprise/ wandered, looking for that perfect spot. Like Deanna he had little time to himself now. He had the double responsibility of working like anyone else, and of shepherding the crew. Keeping up morale was a constant struggle.

The captain was dead, and the crew had not yet even had time to mourn. The memorial service or Captain Picard and countless others dead at the hands of the Borg had finally been scheduled, at Deanna’s insistence. Even with his anguish still fresh, he had agreed. Everyone needed closure. He could see it in the haunted eyes of those who had lost a loved one. More intimately he could feel the continuous grating of depression from nearly everyone. Most buried themselves in the endless work of construction, and the struggle to survive here. Survival came first on any mission. But even their prospects for survival were starting to look bleak. Another emergency replicator had gone down, leaving them with a functioning three out of their original twenty-one. One replicator was reserved completely for medical emergencies, and the power cells of another were fading quickly. In a week they would have one replicator to produce food for the 246 survivors of the /Enterprise/, an
d enough tools and raw materials to build a self-sufficient colony. Power cells would be irrelevant if they had a dependable power source, but even with Geordi and everyone else with an advanced engineering background, almost 30 crewmembers, working on a power core…

He ended that train of thought. It was no use to focus on what they didn’t have. One thing he had learned from his friend, and often stoic captain, was that a leader never showed a moments lack of faith. He would have faith. He owed that to the crew. He paused and threw his glance up at the cloudless blue sky.

“I’ll keep my eye on them. Just as you did.” For a second he allowed himself the hope that he would be answered. “I have Deanna now. And she gives me enough to make this easy.” Another break in the one sided conversation where he listened for an impossible response. “I think you’d be proud of us. Or, at least suitably annoyed that it took us this long.” He let himself smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me for telling you this, but I always assumed you’d be the one to marry us, assuming we ever got it together enough to get married.” Riker continues his stroll through the ocean as he talks, the rocky shoreline smooth beneath his feet.

“I had this fantasy, oh, for several years at least. Ten forward would be full of flowers, gardenias. She loves gardenias. Her mother would be blissfully terrorizing my father as the ceremony began, and then she’d walk out of those double doors. Completely nude and utterly breathtaking. She’d walk towards me, those damn eyes of hers full of a secret smile. You’d look down at us and ask us if we were ready to spend our lives together. I’d look at her and…” He stops, looks up again and winks. “Well, at that point the fantasy disintegrates into something a bit too personal, but you get the idea.”

He rounds a outcropping into a tiny cove with a miniature beach of sand. Dark gray, it clings to his feet as he pauses to examine his pants. Finding them almost completely covered in mud and dirt, he tosses down his boots and shirt, and walks into the water up to his waist. Letting the slowly rolling water begin to erode the grime. “You’re memorial service is tomorrow. Came up too damn fast for me, but our wedding is just a few days afterwards. We both thought the colony could use a party.” He ducks under, feeling the water instantly cool his head. Tiny droplets cling to his beard and hair as he turns around and heads to shore to remove his pants.

“I know I could.” Her disembodied voice sent a thrill up his spine, and her laughter headed the sensation right back down.

“Not entertaining enough for you?” Deanna just smiles as his eyes roamed over her body, relishing that she had left her clothes behind. It is an interesting sensation, to share someone else’s complete fascination with every aspect of her body. To feel his eyes roam over the faint shadows beneath her breasts, and share his elation with at the sight of them.

“I’m surprised you remembered gardenias.” Its his turn to laugh as he dives beneath the water, coming up waist deep in the welcoming ocean.

“Sometimes I pay attention.” He teases with a wink. She lifts a hand and runs it in a lazy spiral over the skin of her breast. “Right now for example.”

She can feel it. The slow diversion of blood is causing gentle warmth that licks along his thighs, unchecked even by the water. Her own body begins to echo his sensations. His mind guides her fingertips to her nipple, and it hardens painfully, made worse by his continuous stare. She takes a few steps towards him. The ocean lapping eagerly at her ankles. He pictures his hands continuing to roam her chest in slow, torturous circles, but her hands make the motion. Riker took a slow step towards her, feeling the stinging in her chest as he reaches a gentle hand to her. Taking her hands and pulling them away. They close the distance. Standing hip deep in the quiet cove of water, as he guides her hands with his now. Large strong fingers covering her hands, and chasing them. Trailing behind just a little as he directs her hands down the smooth line of her stomach, dancing her hands dangerously just at the line of the water. Her exhalation ends with a slight laugh. He ti
lts his head for a moment, and then slides forward to cover her mouth with his. Tongues toy with each other with slightly more urgency. Growing faster still as the water surrounding them heats.

His knees brush her thighs, tickling slightly. Deanna’s nipples make contact with his skin next. The warmth of his chest is almost worse the sensation of his hands. The delicious friction as he moves closer to her, flattening her breasts and the rest of her body to him. His body, the crinkling hair of his chest, rushing the blood from her head down to pool right between her hip bones. In one smooth motion he lifts her from the water and carries her back to the sandy beach.

((Romantic of you imzadi)) She teases, enjoying the feel of his arms around her. He lays her back on the beach, gently parting her legs and taking the moment to run his fingers over the smooth wet lips, finding her and running a slow, taunting finger over gently. His lips are hot and vicious against her smooth breast.

((I just like being alone with you. With you in my mind.)) She starts laughing, and finishes with a gasp as he fits within her. In her past some had better, some had fit worse, but Will knew. Knew her all the way through. Making love with him was almost an instinct, something that came as naturally as breathing, gasping and screaming his name.

Part 15

May 11th, night

“When she’s ready imzadi!” Deanna insists tiredly, wrapping the blanket around her naked chest and sitting up. Staring up at the stars.

“You’ve said that already.” Riker snaps. “What if she can’t?” He sighs, lying back on the blanket beneath him. “She’s had time-” He ends abruptly, rage darkening his face.

“Bill.” Her calm contrasts with his anger, and he sighs, feeling it leave his chest. “’Use your mind. Reach out to her. Feel what Beverly feels, then tell me what we should do.” She turns her face to him, and her eyes shine briefly with tears.

He traces a finger gently down the valley of her spine. “You can feel her can’t you?” Deanna snuggles down to his chest. “What about shields?” Her head shakes almost imperceptibly.

“I can’t shield everything. Sometimes emotions wear their way through.” He laughs inappropriately. She slaps him lightly. “What?”

“You were thinking about your mother. You wish she was here.”

She allows herself a weak laugh. “She could help you. She’s a very accomplished telepath. Mother would also be thrilled.” Silence holds them for a long moment.

“I know. She’d be so pleased. Fussing over us. Teasing us about grandchildren.” He kisses her hair, and wraps it around his fingers. “Show me.” He whispers. “Guide me. Teach me how to help.” She sits up quickly, unable to look at him. Her eyes sting sharply. “I’m still unfocused. I don’t know if I can learn without your help.” She can’t bring herself to answer.

He stands, forgetting his nudity even in the night air. He bends down and pulls on his pants, pacing irritably. “I can feel Deanna. Without trying I can feel what everyone feels. But I can’t do anything. Walking past her-“ In the starlight she can see the muscles tense on his back. “Is like stabbing myself in the gut. I don’t know what to do. I can’t shut this out!” She wraps her arms around him from behind. Her breasts pressing tightly into the small of his back.

((Imzadi.)) He lifts her hands, placing around his neck as he turns around, relishing the feel of her skin on his.

((I’m sorry Bill.)) Large and liquid, her eyes glimmer in the light. ((I never meant to-)) He kisses her, distracting her thoughts.

“My dear Miss Troi. You should never apologize to the likes of me.” A tear runs to the left of her nose.

Leaning down slowly, he kisses it away. ((Guide me. Teach me to help. Teach me to take away the pain.)) His eyes, so familiar but so alien, bore into her. They sink to the blankets, and she opens her mind. Reaching out first to Riker, filling his mind with the sensation of her presence. Deanna fills his senses. The smell of her hair, the warmth of her hands, the light of her eyes, the taste of her lips, and her voice, ringing through him, all in the same instant.

((Come.)) She whispers, and the colony opens to their minds as they reach out as one. Together they brush lightly over the sleeping minds beneath them. Deanna guiding, steering him through the cacophony of voices. Thousands of thoughts shoot him at once conquering his mind. Uselessly he claps his hands over his ears. Deanna’s mind calms him. Enveloping his mind as she wraps her arms around him. She prods him on towards their goal. Gently, she settles them on the unaware mind of Dr. Crusher.

He falls into a cold, whirling maelstrom. Water runs into his nose. Stinging and burning it’s way down to his mouth. He chokes, fighting against the flow of brackish water as it threatens to flow into his lungs. Deanna breathes into him. The water recedes, falling away. Her shields close solidly around him.

((What is that?)) He asks, still in panic.

((Guilt. Despair. When we’re sleeping, our emotions run rampant, unchecked by our better impulses.)) He sighs, still feeling the pounding against her shields. ((The better I know someone, the more intensely I feel her emotions.))

((It’s because of me.)) Realization thuds in his mind. ((I’m connected to her.)) For a moment, they lay silently. Feeling the reflection of the endless universe above them echo in their souls. ((Ever since Odan-)) He starts with embarrassment. Unsure and hesitant.

((She loved him. And for a while, he was you.)) She runs her hand lightly over his chest, resting it on his heart. ((Love is what connects minds together. Imzadi binds us together, but love can enhance your attachment to anyone. ))

“Somehow, I’m connected to Beverly?” His voice seems overly loud.

Deanna sighs. “It’s a crude explanation. I’m not completely sure I’m correct. But it has some merit.” Her voice seems suddenly heavy. “You have an incredible sense of what she’s feeling.” She pauses briefly. “Better then I have.”

His heart thumps painfully and he can feel her fear. “What can I do?” He asks calmly, slipping into the familiar persona of command.

Unsteady she responds, “My mother would find the memories triggering the emotion, and read them. Giving herself a clear mental picture of the mind she was working with.”

He makes a soft sound of awe. “I never really appreciated how much I should have feared your mother.”

Deanna manages a weak smile. “You’ll make a good son-in-law yet.” She pulls closer to him. Pressing every spare bit of skin against him. “Just look. Keep an open mind.” He breathes in quickly, and she can sense his firm resolve.

“I remember. First see, then understand.” He replies softly. She squeezes his hand tightly.

And he saw. Will Riker had expected shields. A fight, even barriers that had to be beaten past, but there was nothing. He was in Starbase One. Standing looking over the blue-green curve of Earth, while a young Captain Picard with thinning red hair leaned into to kiss his cheek fondly. He was smiling brightly and wearing the maroon dress uniform of some time ago, and the lines around his eyes were less pronounced. He embraced him heartily and kissed the other cheek, lingering only a moment.

Deanna’s amusement tickled his mind. Will finds himself thoroughly fascinated by the way Beverly sat, crossing her legs neatly under the skirt of the dress uniform. Will stole a look down at ‘himself’. Her deep maroon dress uniform fit tightly over her chest and dived inward at the waist, ending smartly at her hips. His right hand was intertwined tightly with that of the boyish man at his side. He had mussed red hair, brown eyes and a shining smile that never left his mouth. The eyes of Jack Crusher did something to Beverly’s stomach he thought had been unique between him and Deanna.

Her laughter fills his mind again. ((These aren’t your memories. Don’t get to carried away.))

Will quickly ceased his fascinated observation of Beverly’s gently rounded breasts. They spun away from that memory, and for a instant his head pounded white with pain as he felt Jack kiss him, Beverly and Deanna all in the same moment.

Then a dazzling flash of pain ripped across his back and through his stomach. From behind Beverly’s eyes he felt her sobbing on Jack’s shoulder. Jack holding a squirming red creature that could only be Wesley. Warmth ran up his body from the bottoms of his toes. She would do anything to protect that tiny creature. Love like he had never felt poured through him, and he knew Deanna was crying.

Another moment later his tears joined her. They walked down a long hallway. An endless hallway filled with the sounds of their feet. Crusher’s heart was stone. Her voice alien as she thanked Jean-Luc. Picard was decades older. His face lined with new cuts that would never fade. His hair losing the battle. Their eyes met and he saw the painful hole in being that he had seen a long time ago. When Lwaxana Troi slammed a door in his face. When Deanna had given him up for a life of duty. He knew the pain in his former commander’s face. He had felt it blast through him.

A campfire cracked merrily somewhere on an empty planet. Beverly sat across from Picard with her knees tucked up to her chest. He was pretending to be immersed in tending the fire. Will could feel that she had missed it. He felt Deanna’s pang of awareness. The forced distance in the Captain’s eyes carried much more behind it then his usual composure.

He felt her ask; “Why didn’t you every tell me you were in love with me?”

The Picard across from her had never shown defeat before his crew, but he was honest. “You were married to my best friend.” Always the gentleman he paused, and the space tore at the spectators. Riker desperately wanted to shout at them that they had no time for these games. That for them there would never be enough time. He felt himself trembling slightly and he clings to Deanna. Fortune, luck or perhaps the gods had given them a chance.

The campfire faded into the twinkling lights of starlines outside the Captain’s quarters. Once again, he felt himself speak Beverly’s words.

“Perhaps we should be afraid.” She stood, and walked slowly out. Never looking back. She went directly to her quarters, the doors hissing open as memory leapt from D to E.

Gray replaced beige as the walls melted away. She was in the bathroom, the floor hard and unfriendly beneath her knees. Will felt the furious wave of nausea hit him. Deanna sought him and they protected each other. Beverly vomited into the sonic shower. He hair hastily pulled back with a thin piece of ribbon. Her navy blue pajamas were slightly sticky with sweat. She stood with effort. The wall was solid, and she hunched over the sink. Splashing her face with cold water and accidentally catching her reflection in the mirror. He felt the odd duality of emotion. The doctor calmly analyzing the symptoms, but the woman was dreading her diagnosis.

She had just grabbed a towel from the wall when she dropped hard to her knees. He could feel the angry bruise on her left knee. The towel fell forgotten as she wretched again. Beverly’s shoulders shook violently as she activated the unit and it obediently vanished the mess. Her face was ice in the mirror as she started to brush her hair. Irritably she snapped at the computer.

“Time remaining until senior staff meeting?”

Unperturbed the computer responded. “23 minutes.” She sighed heavily, and he felt his stomach sink. She gave up on her hair and headed for the closet and her uniform. She stripped quickly out of her pajamas and threw them in a heap. She started with the gray of Starfleet underwear.

“Computer?” Her voice uneasy, “Tie in with the main database in Sickbay and run a full bioscan of Dr. Beverly Crusher.

“Working.” It replies quickly. He felt her hands tremble as she pulled on the gray tank and long sleeved blue medical undershirt. “Dr. Beverly Crusher bioscan complete.”

She pulled on the black of her uniform and ordered curtly, “Report.” She sat and fumbled with the zipper on her left boot. Only succeeding on the third try.

“Heartrate elevated at 77 bpm. Blood pressure elevated 135/71. Breathing erratic, but not physically distressed.” The computer prattled on into cellular metabolism, and continued to the hemoglobin count. He knew of course, but the bottoming out of her stomach somewhere in her feet sealed it. Deanna’s mind was warm with pity. “Dr. Crusher is suffering from agitation, dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, mild anemia-“ Beverly cut off the list. She didn’t need to ask. Her voice was hollow when she did.

“Diagnosis?”

“Dr. Crusher is 6 weeks pregnant and should begin prenatal care immediately. “ The computer replied as coolly as if she had ordered a cup of tea. “Date of conception, Stardate 50792.9. Fully human. With a margin of error of .003 percent, Captain Jean-Luc Picard is the leading paternal candidate. Probable due date Stardate 51618.3.” She sat completely still on the bed. Her black and gray uniform jacket sat forgotten on her desk. After a long moment she buried her face in her hands. Will and Deanna were filled with the unmistakable sensation of a horrible story being proved frighteningly true. Seconds dragged into minutes, and the door chime shattered the silence. Her feelings crusted over crudely, like hot lava running into a lake and freezing solid. She stood, pulling on her jacket and smiling as if nothing was wrong.

The last sight before the burning in his mind became intolerable, was of Deanna’s peaceful smile haloed in the light from the corridor.

Falling into his body was a rough drop. His head swims, blood running weakly out of his nose and staining Deanna’s cheek. She wipes it carefully with her hand.

“Imzadi?” He nods quickly, calming her.

“I’m all right. Just a bit of a headache.” She kisses him, her lips salty from the tears clinging to her eyelashes. He guides her tears off her face and looses himself in her eyes.

“How’d I do?” She sits up. Her face freshly concerned.

“You were incredible.” Deanna shakes her head and runs a nervous hand through her hair. “The clarity and depth of your perception, the detail-“ He takes her nervous hand and calms it between his. “I remember that morning Bill.”

Curious, he props himself up on an elbow. “Do tell.”

“It was the staff meeting about the Borg. She was very reserved all the way up. After then meeting I just thought the Captain had told her about the Borg first. “ She drifts off.

He finishes her thought. “After that moment, it was chaotic, the battle, time travel, Zefram Cochrane, evacuation-“ His eyes itch. “She just never got a chance.”

Deanna kisses him again, and he pulls her back against him. One misstep and could be either one of them. Left alone, their heart turning to a knot of ice. Their eyes met and they cycled their emotions together. Pity, bitter remorse, and lastly, relief. They had each other. In the middle of all the confusion and doubt they were imzadi.

Part 16

May 12th, morning

Her head pounds. Beverly rolls over and runs a hand over the uncomfortable crust underneath her nose. Dried blood flakes off reddish brown in her hand. She looks at it in confusion, and pulls herself out of bed. A sharp pain drills into her skull right behind her eyes. She stumbles out of bed, trying to shake it off. Using the blanket she manages to get more of the blood off her face. She pulls the blanket around her, morning is chill through her shirt.

She had taken to hiding in the medical building. It was difficult to hide the attacks of nausea that found her at night, and the thought of explaining her pregnancy to the crew just added to her headache. It was fading, but her mouth tasted of blood. She grabs the medical tricorder off the stand. She turns it on herself, closing her eyes as she ran the module around her head. She forces her eyes back open and studies the display. Nothing, just a nosebleed. She sighs, watching the indicator lights on the bottom of the tricorder flash angrily. The doctor notes that her patient is underweight, exhausted and bordering on electrolyte imbalance. The patient does not care.

She lay back on the bed, curling around herself. If she doesn’t move her head seems stiller. The blood rushing through her ears not quite as loud. When she was pregnant with Wesley things were right. She had Jack, and they had all the time in the world. He found so much joy in her body changing, in watching mesmerized as their baby grew. She wasn’t even ill when she carried Wes. Maybe a little tired, but she thought morning sickness was a myth. An exaggeration of women swapping horror stories of being pregnant, most certainly not a constant companion. Between her head and the protestations of her awakening stomach make her wish for her grandmother. Felisia Howard had always had the unique talent of banishing the ills of a little girl. Returning to the status of little girl under her grandmother’s watchful eye, seems like a blissful dream.

Beverly did not realize she had fallen back asleep until the hand shook her shoulder.

“Good morning.” Will Riker’s smiling face looks annoyingly cheerful in the pale light.

She sits up quickly. His hands grip her shoulders to prevent her falling back. “What is it Will?” She asks while irritably shaking him off. “What do you want?” Without waiting an answer she gets up and crosses the room, her back to him.

“I forgot how perky you are in the morning.” He replies sardonically, pulling up a backwards chair and sitting down, arms folded neatly over the back.

She sighs, holding her back rigid. “Do you have a point to make?”

“I just thought you might like to talk.” He rests his head on his arms. Black eyes full of understanding. “Deanna thought you might like to say a few words about the captain. She’s going to give a eulogy for the crew that was lost.”

“That’s nice. “ She responds coolly. “ She’s an excellent choice. Everyone knows Deanna.” She steels her expression and turns to face him, her eyes icy.

“You knew the captain best. I still have trouble calling him by his first name.” He provokes no response, even though he can feel the suspicion radiate off her. “He let you in. You knew him.”

“I knew nothing about him.” Electricity crackles just behind her eyes. “He kept me at arms length. He was the most private, most reserved, most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

Will smiles softly. “But you loved him.”

“I did.” He can barely hear her. She makes a choked noise in her throat. Part sob, part laugh, but full of desperation. “Not that it mattered.” He can’t help the shiver. Her mind is a cesspool of self-hatred, pouring out into him. His fragile shields surround him like a bubble in a thunderstorm. “I was afraid. I was terrified of what it was to love him. What it was to have him love me.” Beverly holds like a statue. Her body trembling with the effort.

He pulls himself off the chair. Walking slowly, keeping his body neutral. His first impulse is pull her into his arms. To hold her, protect and let her grieve in the safety of a friend. It would work on Deanna, but Deanna’s eyes have never held that anger. “I understand.” He offers delicately.

“Do you?” Her voice is caustic. He lays a hand on her shoulder. Feeling the muscles grow taut.

“I know how you feel. “ He adds another hand to her shoulder. The doctor doesn’t move. The pain in her eyes freezes into something more sinister.

“I had strange dreams last night.”

Will tilts his head to the side curiously. “What about?”

“I dreamt you and Deanna were watching my life.”

The hair on the back of his neck raises quickly. “I’m sorry. She’s been teaching me to harness my powers. We were just trying to help.”

Her eyes narrow, the blue draining, paling into a cold fury. “You read my mind?”

“Yes-“ She throws off his arms, ending the opportunity to finish his thought as she slams her hand across his face. It cracks against his face and stings her hand. Her palm reddens slightly, her fingers tingle.

“How dare you.” No question, no room for reply as she stands there. Her body stone as he stares back. A Ferengi banker could have read the contents of Riker’s mind. Confusion is written boldly in every line of his face. He takes a step backward. She remains rooted to the floor. “My thoughts are mine.” Venom drips from her words, and causes palpable pain in the back of his skull. “Get out.” She hisses, her entire body trembling in rage.

“Beverly-” He starts softly.

Shaking, she wraps her arms around her chest. “Don’t.”

He takes a step towards her. “This is crazy.”

She laughs, tearing the air. “Crazy?” There are tears in her eyes as she shakes her head. “Crazy is being trapped 300 hundred years before I was born.” Anger exhausted, she rests her hand on the table, steadying herself. “I’m carrying the child of a dead man. His only wish was to see his family continues, but it will continue without him into his past. Maybe it’s a predestination paradox. Maybe my child is an integral part of the Picard line. I could be carrying the woman who grows to finish what Colonel Green started. ”

“I’m sorry.” Hopeful but full of regret, he takes another step towards her. She doesn’t notice, a flash of pain inside her left hip softens the anger etched in her forehead. He senses the darting pain, and closes the distance between them. His hand gently finds her hip, and she grasps his wrist firmly. Her hand is surprisingly cold and slightly damp from sweat. “What is that? Are you all right?”

She shoves him irritably away, but weaker then he expects. “It’s a ligament adjusting.” He carefully twists his hand around to take hers.

“It’s painful. Isn’t it?” He realizes bluntly. A sarcastic thought of hers answers his question for him. “Maybe you should lie down.”

Her knees buckle slowly, and her lingering nausea rises in the back of her throat. His hand on her elbow is firm, and frustratingly comforting. Giving up, she allows him to lead back to the bed. The rebellious ligament throbs angrily. He maneuvers expertly to behind her, forming a solid barrier. Keeping up the righteous shield of anger takes much of her energy. Her hand feels safe inside his, and the urge to rage quickly loses ground to the safety of being taken care of.

“On the Enterprise a shot of dopamine would end it.” The wince escapes her guard as she sits on the edge. Without invite, Will sits on the head of the bed, and pulls her head to the pillow balanced on his lap. “Here, I wait and eventually it stops.” He reaches a warm hand down and rests it gently just above the pinching ligament.

“Does this bother you often?”

“Often enough,” she snaps curtly, and removes his hand. “I hate it.” He calmly escapes her grip and rubs his hand over her hip. His mind guiding his hand as if the pain were part of his body. Everything about being pregnant is my constant reminder that Jean-Luc’s,“ she pauses. “Gone.” A breath passes before either speaks.

Riker’s voice carries his smile from behind her head. “I can’t decide if he’d be thrilled or terrified.”

She coughs once, suspiciously. “Definitely terrified. For all Jean-Luc wishes, wished-“ She corrects quickly. “For a family. Children make him nostalgic of the good old days, when starships were clean, sparkling and bereft of families.”

“Do you think he would have ever adjusted?” Will asks.

“When did you get so sensitive?” Sitting up quickly makes her head spin again. “And what did you do in my mind? My head-”

“Human telepathy is unprecedented. No one knows how it effects the minds of others.” Deanna stands in the doorway, eyes only for Will. “Good morning Imzadi.” She crosses to them and kisses him slowly. “I am sorry it hurt you Beverly. I’m afraid it’s my fault. I’ve been teaching Will, but I had no idea he was so powerful.”

“I think you’d learn not to underestimate me.” He winks.

“It’s time.” The telling collapse of her shoulders reminds him just how hard today is for all of them. “The crew is gathered on the beach. They’re waiting.” Deanna stands patient as Will extracts himself from the bed.

“We’re coming.” He reaches a hand to Beverly, who brushes him off.

“I’m all right.”

“You’re in pain?” Shock and concern flooding into Deanna’s face.

I’m just sore.” Her friends are not convinced. “I’m a doctor dammit! I would know if it was serious.” Thoroughly indignant she pushes past both of them and out the door.

The path winds through the trees to the ocean. Beverly walks ahead, her mind a tight knot of determination. Deanna pulls close to him. Leaning into him. She can feel his quiet concern. His profound sense of loss quietly controlled by his desire to help, to shield others from the pain in his heart.

((How is she?)) She accompanies her thoughts with a gentle brush of a hand across his arm. He captures it and kisses it.

((She’s exhausted, mentally and physically. She’s often ill. But she’s fiercely stubborn.))

((You feel more for the captain.)) It is clear in his mind. A deep sense of loss for what will never be.

((I’ve never really seen him love freely. If he was here now with her…)) They both stop, pulling together in a long embrace. Deanna rests her head under his chin. Taking in the calming scent of him. Her eyes already growing full.

((I wish we never had to say goodbye.)) His kiss gently assures her that they will never truly say goodbye. After an eternity of walking they reach the ocean, deep and gray like the eyes of their lost captain. The sky echoes the sea, steadily darkening. The air smells of rain.

Beverly stands slightly to the side, stoic and pale. The faces spread before them are taut, most eyes liquid, the soft skin noticeably pink. The murmuring hush fades into only the lapping of the ocean. All attention turns to the small form of Counselor Deanna Troi. Will’s mind is with her and with him as her strength she begins.

“Good morning. “ She pauses slightly, bolstering her shields against the waves of emotion buffeting her. “I know that many of you have been dreading this day. I found myself dreading it on many occasions. Grief and loss are most difficult of emotions to deal with because we so often find ourselves trapped. Made helpless by circumstances beyond our control. Death is never something we can control.” She’s surprised by the calm in her own voice. Her stomach ties itself into a continually worsening knot. Cramping angrily as the agony forced from her voice finds purchase.

“But we can keep it from controlling us. We can do as Captain Picard would have wanted, as all of those we loved would have wanted and go on with our lives.” Her own emotions tear into her, worse then she expected, her voice threatens to grow tremulous. “We have a responsibility as Starfleet officers, as the crew of the noble Enterprise. We will survive, we will flourish, because the love of those beyond us will hold us. Just as we can never forget, neither will those who loved us, who served with us, and our beloved captain who led us. ” Her vision looses color, everything fading to gray around her. Something hot and liquid pours down the inner skin of he thighs, soaking through her pants and staining her hands dark. An iron hand reaches inside her and pulls her heart down through her hips, clawing at her organs as it goes. Will Riker has never looked so terrified. The murmuring around her must be talking, perhaps even her own screaming, but it’s as meaningless as the sound of the water around her. Just as if the water had reached from the ocean and sucked her down, she fades from life. Her mind mercifully giving out to the pain.

Part 17
Unknown

The shuttle tumbles erratically through space, the stars outside the window arcing and curving in dizzying spirals. The cabin is dark, filled with smoke, and without light from anything but a burning conduit under the navigation console. Across the cabin, sprawled on his back, awkwardly coaxing a few more hours of life out of the failing life support system lies the distinguished Captain Jean-Luc Picard. His uniform stained with smoke, dirty with burns, and grime of the destroyed shuttle.

He had been too late. Data was fully seduced by the Borg queen. Joined with the collective, a perfect android lap dog. The self-destruct was deactivated. The Borg would take his ship and destroy his people, then the Federation. He had done the only thing left to him. He ran. He ran through the bowels of the ship those only ensigns on the worst of terms with their commanders’ saw. And he fought. He used the rifle until they adapted, used it as a club until it shattered on the body armor of a drone, then he kicked, punched, and tore his way through to the shuttlebay. Adrenaline was still pouring through him when he blasted his way out of the shuttlebay, pulled back and started dodging torpedoes.

Data was an excellent shot, nearly perfect, but the Picard maneuver wasn’t just any old fluke of flying. He pulled the shuttle into a nearly impossible dive, bounced it off the structural integrity field, and ended up precisely where he wanted to be. The /Enterprise/ soared above him and filled the window of the tiny shuttle. His hand flew over the panel in front of him. He fired and the graceful curving hull of the /Enterprise-E/ exploded inward. Shards of hull disappearing and reappearing molten with anti-matter; it was incredibly beautiful. The blossom of white-hot fire bloomed outward to violently caress the shuttlecraft.

When he came to the shuttle was a smoking cave. His body ached from a hundred untended injuries, and shook from leftover adrenaline. That was several hours ago. Maybe even days. He fell in and out of consciousness. When he was awake, he worked. He ate emergency rations and left the wrappers to join the debris on the floor. He clumsily patched his body together with the medkit. His uniform crunched with dried blood, but he could function without thought. Picard was still fighting. And he would fight until the shuttle caved in around him.

The gentle humming noise that bathed the cabin in a warm blue light was certainly the afterlife coming for him. But that tingling feeling was unmistakable as the transporter. The whine was a slightly different pitch. The ride smoother, and the room he rematerialized into smaller and more streamlined.

A solitary woman stood in front of him, smiling. Her red hair piled neatly on her head, and something oddly familiar in her eyes. She wore an odd uniform. A dark blue tunic clings tightly to her figure then cuts down to black pants and tall black boots. A deep maroon sash reminiscent of Worf’s baldric went from her right shoulder to her hip. Four gold stripes matched the four silver pips on her collar.

And there, just above her left breast, gleaming with hope was the familiar golden delta of the Starfleet. It brought him a sense of peace, even her strange welcome could not destroy. “Captain Jean-Luc Picard, welcome to the future.”

He takes a slow step off the transporter platform, and she meets him, hand outstretched in welcome. He shakes it with more shock then anything. “The future you say? Last I knew, I was in the past.”

She laughs, a warm rich sound with a hint of mischief. “You never did have a strong grasp of temporal mechanics.”

May 12th, 2063
Late morning

It replayed over and over in his mind. The images burned into his eyelids. Torturing him, reminding him that death is only a heartbeat away. Deanna calmly speaks at the memorial. The blood pours onto the stone beneath her feet. Pooling in a grotesque mockery around her boots. The transparency of her skin matching the whites of her eyes as they roll back into her head. She makes no sound as she falls. The blinding pain that fills her mind abruptly gone from his as she collapses, unconscious.

He leans back against the rough wood wall of the medical building. The bark still on the crudely hewn longs digs into his back through his shirt. He doesn’t care. Her blood stains his shirt, the front of his pants and even the toes of his boots. The bright red dries slowly without sunlight. The black of the cloud overhead hints at his mood. Will Riker can’t feel anything, even the huge droplets of rain that pour from the abused sky don’t induce him to move. He waits.

Lighting arcs between thunderheads. The rain falls harder, running off his clothing in stained pink rivulets. Even the storm smells iron like her blood. It is still in the lines of his hands. His hands that couldn’t carry her fast enough to prevent her blood spilling on to the ground. Dr. Selar, Nurse Ogawa, and Beverly had run around him, all their faces chalk white. None as white as Deanna. When he had held her, his heart was racing too loudly to hear her breathing. Maybe she wasn’t.

The rain continues, soaking the ground beneath him. His clothes stick dully to his skin. Deanna is still missing from his mind. He wonders bleakly if he would know if she died. How advanced is his telepathy? No. Even without telepathy he would know when Deanna died. His heart would stop. A new sense of exhaustion touches his thoughts. He stands quickly, whirling around to face Beverly Crusher.

“Deanna.” His voice cracks more then he intended it too. Her hand is faintly warm on his wet shoulder.

“She’s going to be fine. Dr. Selar and Alyssa are repairing the vascular damage while she sleeps.” Professional confidence can only do so much to disguise the guilt. Her eyes are pink. With the rainwater, it’s impossible to tell if she is crying. “Deanna was pregnant. “ She could knocked him down for less impact. Beverly’s hand brushes her dripping hair hurriedly from her eyes, and her voice breaks. She can’t speak.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Riker’s holding her around the shoulders. His hands clamping down on her, and he shakes her. Beverly’s teeth snap together, and pain stabs into his mind. “Beverly,” He growls, and stares her down.

She’s sobbing freely now, leaning into his grasp for the support her legs don’t want to give. “She didn’t know. Deanna had no idea. She was only a few weeks along Will.” She starts to shiver, words tumbling freely from her mouth. “Early pregnancies just fail sometimes. Betazoid-human genetic makeup is more complex then human genes. Almost half of all fertilized eggs don’t make it through the first month and Deanna hemorrhaged. Her body didn’t stop the bleeding when it should have. But we got to her in time. She’s going to be all right. She’s going to be all right Will.” He doesn’t release her.

“Well there’s an irony isn’t it?” His tone laced with bitterness. “Deanna and I want a child. So did Captain Picard. But he dies without ever knowing he has one. She looses our baby and almost dies.” His fingers cut into her shoulders, iron with rage. “But you, you’re fine. You don’t even seem to care enough to tell anyone that you’re pregnant. I don’t know if it’s guilt, or some kind of noble self-sacrificial silence. But you could give our people hope. Hope that even here, life goes on.” He releases her. With the sudden loss of his supporting arms she falls. Her knees smack into the mud, and she falls forward. Her hands sink up to her wrists.

Will kneels next to her, ignoring the softness of the mud. His eyes are black ice. “All we have left of the Captain is within you. He meant so much, to everyone.” His hands fall defeated in his lap. She cannot bring herself to speak around the stone in her throat. “We’ve all lost. But you don’t see that.” His hands wrap around hers. “Pain is lesser when shared.”

“It’s so damn easy to say isn’t it?” She pulls her hands angrily away. Drawing a line of mud across her forehead as she pushes a sodden lock of hair out of her eyes. Fury rises in her throat, dragging her stomach up with it. “Not now.” Dr. Crusher whispers violently to herself.

Will Riker doesn’t need to hear. He can feel the churning beneath her diaphragm, and the sickly sweet taste in the back of her mouth. “Grief is never easy. “

“So they say.” She glares, and lets her words bite into him. “You and Deanna certainly found a convenient way to forget. Why bother with loss? Sex makes it all simpler.” Dumfounded, he stares at her. “Don’t lecture me on pain.” She continues viciously. “When you’re ready to discuss something you understand, we’ll talk about lovemaking.”

Anger pulses through him, running like fire out to his hands. His hands grab her roughly, one under her arm, and one threatening to close around her neck. The fire begs him to close his fingers, bring fingertips together through the smooth skin. Punish her for being unable to help Deanna; for being too weak to save their child. Anger finding an ally in desperation. Both vying to expel the pain, to force the stone out of his heart and somewhere, anywhere, else. Choking, she cuffs him across the face and he drops his hold watching in horror as she stumbles a few steps away, coughing, and struggling for breath.

He closes to her. Taking her shoulders softly as he feels the tears start in his eyes. She whirls around, hands up and muscles taut. Ready to fight him off. A trickle of blood runs red from the corner of her mouth. “Beverly… I’m sorry.” She looks up into his eyes. Those terrible black eyes soft with regret. A sharp wail escapes her control, but he muffles it with his chest. Embracing him tightly, something cracks within her.

Her tortured voice is barely audible, even next to his ear. “In there. I watched Selar and Alyssa working on her. Repairing the veins, patching her uterus and replacing her blood. I kept thinking that it could be me. It should be me.” Sobbing burns her throat.

“Beverly, don’t.” Her forehead rests heavily on his shoulder. Her tears adding to the rain. The sky booms almost sympathetically. Pent up emotion rules her. Forcing it’s way out as she exhausts herself. An unseen smile passes across his mouth. After her sobs have stilled, he raises her face gently. Staring into her bloodshot eyes. Tears on his cheeks are mirrored as he lowers his lips and kisses her. Still startled as their lips part, she lets him speak while exhaustion tries to shut her eyes. “We need you here.” His hand is incredibly warm through the cold fabric as it caresses her stomach. “Both of you.”

“Thank you.” His beard is soft as she kisses his cheek.

Impressively calm, Will manages a smile as he addresses her belly. “Deanna and I are young yet. I don’t think either of us will let you go without a playmate for long.” She smiles weakly, and her eyes roll back as she starts to lose consciousness. Her body goes quickly limp, folding in on itself. He secures her arm around his neck and lifts her.

Her mind is a patch of gray fog. As he walks back to the medical building she mumbles. “I mustn’t fall asleep. I must keep conscious.”

“It would be useful.” He retorts, hiking her body up in a better hold so he can open the door. The warmth of the building reaches out to him, welcoming him inside.

He sets her on the wooden floor gingerly and hurries to the closed door on the other side of the entry.

“Dr. Selar? Nurse Ogawa?” He knocks lightly, relishing being able to do something. Dr. Selar’s voice, calm and commanding, cuts through the door.

“Commander, this a difficult and demanding procedure. We cannot allow you to see the counselor. It is illogical for you to distract us further. Dr. Crusher will answer your questions. Please desist your attempt immediately.”

He sighs deeply. “I guess it’s just the old academy training. “ He visually inventories his surroundings. Beverly’s desk and three chairs, one behind it, sit in the corner. Across from the doorway obscuring his imzadi, a sheet forms a makeshift barrier. He heads for it, pulling it aside to find a rumpled cot, complete with a lumpy pillow and two blankets. He grabs one and heads back to his charge.

Dr. Crusher has her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. Her entire body shivers as she mutters intelligibly to ghosts of memory. He strips her clothes gently from her body. Peeling the dripping fabric from the wet skin. A salvaged plasma coil provides some weak heat from beside the desk, and he drags it to next to her. Her shivering only increases even as he wraps her in a blanket. He drapes her clothes unceremoniously over one of the wooden chairs. The trail of droplets he’s leaving behind convinces him to strip off his clothes as well. Standing nude, but wrapped in the other blanket. He feels rather foolish as he ties it like an ancient toga. With his hands free he rescues her from the floor and carefully settles her on the cot.

Still she shivers, her lips a pale shade of lilac. He sighs again and runs a hand over her forehead. “I suppose we are both adults. You just better not kill me when you warm up.” He climbs into bed with her. Securing her tight against his chest and leaving her blanket around her as he covers them with his. He didn’t intend to close his eyes, but hours later they flew open to meet the only set of irises on Earth that match his own. And Deanna’s eyes could have been cut from marble as they stare unblinking at him as her voice cuts sharply into his mind.

((Well imzadi. Once again it only takes a few hours for you to find a suitable warm female to cozy up with. But Beverly? Why not just torture my mother with a salad fork?))

Part 18
Stardate 83271.6

It had only taken a few moments walk through the corridor to see how much the universe had changed. Klingons and Romulans, both wearing versions of the same uniform and working together. The Romulan uniform is slate gray, and the Klingon uniform rich brown trimmed with leather armor. All the crew they pass nod deferentially to the captain. He misses command. Not the incredibly responsibility, but the feeling of being useful. On this ship he’s a curiosity, even a hindrance. He nameless rescuer has a well-trained crew. There is barely an odd look in his direction. Maybe a flicker of the eyes here and there, but no prolonged staring.

Without conversation the Captain leads him to sickbay. His respect deepens as he notes the technology of this vessel. The holographic interfaces spring to life at the touch of a Betazoid nurse on his left. Three biobeds line the far wall, and in the far corner next to the surgical suite is the small office of the petite Romulan CMO.

“Hello Captain Picard.” She begins warmly. Jean-Luc begins to reply, but the Captain speaks first.

“This is my ship’s doctor, Veddra. Doctor, this is captain Jean-Luc Picard.” She sizes up his injuries with a practiced eye.

“It is pleasant to meet you.” This doctor was all business. She advances to his side, and a hypo hisses at his neck. The cries of his aching muscles are quickly silenced. She hums to herself quietly as she sees to his injuries. Steering him to sit on the biobed as she patches him up.

His rescuer sighs and answers his question before he can ask. “The temporal prime directive requires me to tell you nothing. But you know as well as I do that rules only work perfectly in the room they are drafted.” She crosses her arms and gives him a hard look. “I’m going to tell you what you need to know about the future, but, if you use it to damage my past-“

“I understand.” He starts to nod, but the Romulan doctor turns his head to treat a lump on the back.

“It’s stardate 83271.6, in the old Terran calendar it’s the year 2407. You and the Enterprise-E disappeared 36 years ago, while fighting a Borg sphere. One year after that the Borg attack the Gamma Quadrant with devastating new force. In 2 years of horrible bloodshed, the remainders of the Dominion will fall. Then they came for us. The Cardassians are almost completely wiped out. The Klingons, the Romulans and the Federation will take such extreme casualties that they will join force to stay alive. The Treaty of Vulcan will unite the UFP and both empires into the Triumvirate Alliance. ” She sits on the biobed next to him. Her face is grim, and looks much older. “Your crew will miraculously return. Restoring and continuing this timeline.” She sighs deeply. “However this timeline is fluid, and constantly shifting around many points. A mission specialist has been brought in to help us navigate this sensitive situation.”

“My crew returns. But I do not?” He asks wryly. Feeling the odd itching as his broken rib knits back together.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you.” Her Captain’s control slipped only enough to let him see the pain lit through her eyes. “I’ve heard stories of course. But until a few days ago you were dead.”

“Dead?” He was suddenly thankful he was sitting on the dammed biobed. “I’ve been dead thirty years?” She nods weakly in response. “My crew? Will? Geordi?” Shock had made his body numb. “Beverly- What have they done by this time? Are they even still alive?“

“It’s complicated Jean-Luc.” He recognizes the softness in her voice for the defeat he’s felt on far too many occasions.

“How many will die?” He asks softly.

“One or a thousand, it’s always too many.” Her communicator chimes brightly, disrupting the grim silence.

“Bridge to Picard.” He reaches instinctively for his own commbadge and he gapes at her when she answers the page with an apologetic smile.

“Picard here Bridge.” She leaves the bed and takes a few steps toward the surgical suite. “Has the mission specialist arrived?”

“Yes captain. He will lead a briefing at 0800. Will our other guest be in attendance?” The voice from the bridge is harsh, and unmistakably Klingon.

“He will indeed Korvash.” She turns back to Jean-Luc and smiles. “Oh, and ask the mission specialist to join me for breakfast. ”

“He has already suggested Vulcan omelets and toast.” The sneer in Korvash’s voice conveyed his opinion of Vulcan cuisine.

“Tell him it’s a date.” This Captain Picard patted Dr. Veddra on the shoulder in gratitude and the Romulan disappeared into her office without a word. “Come Jean-Luc. Let’s go break the temporal prime directive.”

May 12th, night
2063

He stands up slowly, careful not to wake the sleeping doctor. Deanna wishes she had woken up. She wanted to tear them apart. Both of them. She knows it’s an illogical impulse, but she wants to rake her nails across his bare chest. Her mind burns with anger and her body still aches. Tears run down her face as she glares at him. He wasn’t there. When the blackness faded into the worried face of Alyssa Ogawa. Who had the distinct misfortune of explaining why her body had bled the unformed baby of her imzadi on to the ground. Why the outfit she had been wearing since she had beamed into the past was being scrubbed in the hopes of removing the bloodstains.

Dr. Selar had quietly explained that pregnancies sometimes failed for reason no logic, medical or otherwise could explain. She had asked them to leave. Dr. Selar had added that Will was with Dr. Crusher. That Dr. Crusher was ill, but recovering. Will Riker. Her imzadi was with Beverly, because Beverly was ill. And he wasn’t there. He wasn’t with her as she sobbed her eyes raw into the pillow. When she lost Ian something within her had been ripped out. But deep down she had never really doubted she would get another chance. Now that chance had failed. Something of her and Will had died, and it was maddening that she was still living. Worst still that he obviously hadn’t cared. She was the worst kind of fool. Anger got her to her feet. The medical room was cold and drafty. A fact made more apparent by her nudity.

Her clothes lay forlorn on the chair. Someone, most likely Nurse Ogawa, had managed to coax most of the bloodstains out. Deanna stood and headed for the pile. Her thin blue shirt had grown threadbare. A small hole adorned the left elbow, and all of the hems were fraying. Her vest had survived remarkably well, and she clutches it closed over her chest. Now no longer concerned with dressing, her mind registers the soreness behind her navel. When she stands still it lessens, and her brain realizes numbly how exhausted she is. Her vision blurred slightly, and all her muscles seem slow. Weaker then usual, and full of the same fuzzy white exhaustion that filled her mind.

Painfully she crossed the room, and then through the door to the next room. Following the thread of life that was her imzadi. Her feet were slow, and numb to the floor beneath them. He was there, and that drove her to the bed. Anger almost gone, faded behind the fog the filled her mind so effectively.

Beverly’s head was nestled between his head and his shoulder. A lock of reddish blonde lying across his shoulder shockingly bright against his skin. His bare skin, for his clothes were hung carelessly over a rafter of the low ceiling. Beverly’s were neatly on the chair beside the bed. Her thoughts crawled at a minuscule fraction of impulse. Bringing her to a dragging conclusion. They were both naked, lying there together.

Someone had ripped her exhaustion from her. Her muscles tensed, and returned the dull cramping to her stomach. ((Well imzadi. Once again it only takes a few hours for you to find a suitable warm female to cozy up with. But Beverly? Why not just torture my mother with a salad fork?))

He was instantly awake and staring up at her with confused eyes. ((Deanna?))

She turns her back, hearing the floor creak slightly as he extracts himself out of bed and heads for his clothes. ((Why weren’t you there?))

Silently he turns her around with a hand on her shoulder. His eyebrows up in mild surprise, but he ignores her question. ((Aren’t there better ways to torture Lwaxana then cutlery?))
She almost smiled. There he was, barefoot and shirtless, looking innocent. He took a step closer. His skin smells clean like rainwater. Will stilled his mind and reached for her again. Deanna allowed him to caress her cheek.

((I’ll be more careful choosing my words.)) She sent quietly. Then he kissed her. She was struck with the unfairness of it all. No matter what happened between them. No matter what he did, his lips ended it. He was smiling gently as he held her face next to hers. She wanted to cry. Her eyes hurt from the effort of holding back tears, but he was still smiling. Deanna’s thoughts couldn’t make sense of it.

((Don’t cry imzadi.)) That was enough. He might have gone insane, but Deanna Troi understood the cruel facts he refused to feel. Her nails rake across his chest, leaving thin lines of blood in their wake.

Her breath hurt, and burned hot and ragged through her chest. She can’t feel his thoughts anymore. She had pushed him so far away that her mind was alone. Which is what she wants; to be alone. She turned her back. One step and she turned to him. Her eyes cold, but defeated. ((Don’t you understand?)) With the second step her hand was on the door. Then she was gone.

Will Riker took the chair, removed Beverly’s clothes and set them folded on the end of the bed. He dragged it to the window, threw his legs over it and rested his head on his hands. Deanna’s long hair fanned out behind her head even though she walked slowly. Predictably, she didn’t look back.

Stardate 83271.6

Captain Jean-Luc Picard sat across from the young woman who shared both his name and rank. His tea cup rested untouched between his fingertips. The hot earl gray steaming gently. Blue gray eyes bored deep into hazel and conversation began haltingly.

“At least you don’t have my hair.” He finally said dryly. Words had been few since sickbay. Is body was whole again. Stiff in places, but whole. His mind was another story. For the eternity of the walk to her quarters he had been unable to take his off this woman. The resemblance was there in her legs, in the gentle curvature of the spine, and in the grace that permeated her every movement.

“Mama always said it was too much like yours. Too red and unruly for it’s own good.” She smiled almost shyly as she shook it out of the tight knot and it cascaded down her shoulders.

“Only a few people remember that I even ever had hair. Your mother met me then, but it was already on it’s way out by the time we spent any time together.” He shakes his head. Amazingly he wanted to cry, and Captain Jean-Luc Picard had not cried in a very long time. “Why didn’t she tell me?” He wonders aloud. “I never knew. Never suspected.”

“We have so many reasons to hide things, even from the people we love. Sometimes we just can’t find the words in the time we have.” Her tea warms her hands, and he saw Beverly’s hands across from him at so many breakfasts, so long ago. She took a deep breath like a storyteller beginning her tale.

“Will Riker told me that she didn’t have time. Mama would never discuss how I came to be, but to say that I was conceived in love, and that my father would have loved me more then any father had ever loved a little girl.” He set down his teacup and folded his hands to stop the trembling. This was his little girl. Grown up elegant and composed. A proper and intelligent Starfleet officer, and a Captain at that.

“I would have loved to see you grow up.” Jean-Luc’s voice was soft. Softer then he remembered hearing it, and tears were becoming more urgent. “I’m afraid I haven’t even learned your name.”

“Felisa Bette Picard. Felisa for my great grandmother. Bette was Will’s choice, after his mother. Your number one was my surrogate father. He used to pick me up, put me on his shoulders and take me on lone walks through the woods.” Her face beamed with memory. “He told stories. About how you saved the alien creature at Farpoint station. How Q could never beat you, no matter how often he tried. And about how much you loved your crew. Loved them enough to sacrifice everything so your crew would live.”

This beautiful, fascinating woman was his daughter, and she had grown up without him simply because he put his crew first. He hardly saw how that was worth the admiration in her voice. He drank his tea slowly, and made sure it was still before he spoke. “Did she ever forgive me? Did Beverly understand?”

Felisa smiled gently. “Of course she forgave you.” Her hand is surprisingly strong as she grasps his hand tightly. “You had a greater responsibility. Starship Captain’s are the duty before they are themselves.” She released him. Refilling their cups and sitting back in her chair. “I know she forgave you, but she never stopped loving you. Even when she remarried.”

He had just taken a sip when this newest bombshell connected with his heart. He swallowed his tea quickly. Ignoring the stinging in his throat as he choked out his question. “Remarried? Remarried to who?

Her blue eyes are unreadable, and her face apologetic. She sighs quietly. “To my step-father. William Thomas Riker.”

Part 19
June 7th, midmorning
Earth

Will sat quietly, legs folded beneath him and eyes closed. Beverly lay back on the ground nearby. Riker mused a moment on how quickly she gravitated to him when he meditated. Deanna on the other hand, avoided both of them as if they had both become infected with Terellian Plague.

Even today, as he reached for her mind, he could see the wall. The stony shields his imzadi held stubbornly in place. Deanna was an accomplished and excellently shielded empath, and there she hid. The queen protected by the walls of her castle. Waiting for Riker to ride up his white horse and knock on the gate. Waiting for him to lay siege, to beg, to apologize, to do something that he, admittedly stubborn, had no intention of winning. She must expect him to give up and wait. The gallant knight, defeated, but patient on his valiant steed.

But Riker had wings. It was incredible how easily it came to him now. As a young man he had once through an amazing effort of mental heroics, touched her mind. The flame of that potential had been caught in the whirlwind of emotion and exploded. Now, sitting in the confines of his mind of his mind, Riker fully appreciated how different he had become. Instead of the quiet, solitary darkness of the cave of human intellect, he had the smooth glass of a telepath.

From the center, the thoughts of others darted around him, as if he were sitting in a bubble of air in a fishbowl. Deanna’s mind taunted him, like the moon above the surface of the water. Closer at hand, Beverly’s mind moved sleepily, but she was starting to reach a feeble acceptance of Picard’s fate. The dark cloud that covered her thoughts was weaker, even broken by points of light. He brushed it aside, and joined her thoughts. Crusher’s thoughts drift lazily like leaves on a pond. Too tired to move quickly, and reaching a slow, lazy state of chaos. Will listened, something he had not understood until a few weeks previous. He had never really heard anything before he had shared. No pithy conversation, no gasp of air in throat could ever compare to the simplicity that was sharing thoughts. Thoughts required no grammar or explanation, because thoughts just existed.

Beverly’s were painful. Her emotions spotted and stained with loss. Missing faces danced slowly around him. The mother she barely knew, a father that she didn’t, Jack who she loved, Nana who loved her, Wesley who had vanished and Jean-Luc… Memories of Jean-Luc hurt physically, like a slowly bleeding gash across his chest. Something was missing, and Will knew that feeling. Remembered that sensation from the years of separation, and Deanna’s time with Worf. When she had turned away from him for the touch of another man. An ugly desperation propelled him across Grevette island into the mind of Deanna Troi.

It was so simple to fly over her defenses. Dodging the towers of thought and barrier. Riker observed passively, a silent wraith in her mind. Allowing his thoughts to blend with the flotsam of her mind. Worf was speaking to Deanna now. The deep bass of his voice was unmistakable as Will heard it drift through her ears. Deanna’s own voice echoed oddly as she spoke, but what she was saying was immaterial, because nestled in the center of her being, was him. Will’s mind leapt so violently that he was certain she’d feel his presence and find a way to cast him from her mind.

He stared into the depths of her mind and found Will Riker staring back. In the great hall of Deanna’s mind, filled with thousands of well-ordered thoughts careening about like so many fireflies in summer, in the center was the calm and stoic figure of him. Something inside felt suddenly justified. He had always carried her, the breath and beauty of her, since their time together in the jungle. Now he allowed himself the revelry of superiority because Deanna Troi carried a scorching torch for him. And in that awestruck moment, he erred, and revealed to his imzadi that he had invaded.

===
Across the forest, Deanna Troi poured her heart out to a stoic Klingon for distinctly calming reason that he was there.

“I can’t understand him Worf. He’s so arrogant, egotistical, and completely shut off. The entire crew watched me lose his child, and he doesn’t want to talk about it.” Her black eyes full of that half-moon line of tears, threatening to overrun her eyelashes. “And he always with Beverly! Maybe he should just marry her.” She finished spitefully and Worf stared purposely at his sword.

He had managed, through a feat of blacksmithing that surprised many, to pound out a functional bat’leth. Now he sharpened it. Rhythmically running a flat stone along the edge while he listened. “I do not believe that is what you want Counselor.”

Troi’s rage did not allow her the luxury of a comeback, and he continued uninterrupted. “You have always been in love with Commander Riker. I have recently become involved with Jadzia Dax, and now I understand that kind of love. Something we never had together.”

She started to speak, and her entire face was a question, but Worf placed a huge hand on her shoulder and stopped her. “I do not regret our relationship Deanna. It was an excellent learning experience. I am just trying to give you my opinion of your current situation.”

She smiled. Full of renewed respect for the gruff Klingon. “And what would you do in my current situation?”

Internally Worf doubted he would ever be put in that position, however, he gave it serious thought. Finally he concluded, “I would be direct with commander Riker. Although he is often a frivolous and jovial man, he would not contemplate a lasting relationship with you unless he was serious about it. Especially if he values his body parts.” He added the last as he stood and tested his new edge on a young sapling. The sapling obediently halved along the edge of the sword, and for a moment, Deanna wondered if Worf had winked at her.

She stood, finally noticing as she relaxed, the knot of excitement hiding in the depths of her mind. Deanna studied it cautiously. Will was far more advanced then she had given him credit for being, but he was after all, only human. She carefully sealed him away safely, and thanked Worf for his ear.

“I am glad to be of service. However, I must return to my team. Excuse me.” Worf walked quickly out of the clearing and headed for the deep forest, where his carefully assembled team of hunters waited for him. She watched his back retreat into the trees, and stood up. Will’s mind called to her so that even if she closed her eyes, and put her hands over her ears, she could find him. Due to the trees, neither action seemed like a good idea, so both hearing and seeing, she set off for him.

===
“Will? Will!” First it was Beverly’s voice, and then her hand on his shoulder, finally it was the sudden urgency of her mind swelling up like cold water thrown against him that brought him out of his meditation. She was kneeling in front of him, her face pale, and her free hand wrapped across her belly.

“What? What is it?” She seemed to be having trouble forming words, and her blue eyes were wide with shock. “Relax.” He caught her shoulders and Beverly’s free hand fell to his arm. “What?” Her head fell to his shoulder, and she moved his hand to rest on her stomach.

“Can you feel that?” His eyebrows flew up in amazement. Beneath her skin something tiny fluttered against the palm of his hand, like a trapped insect. Beverly was breathing quickly, and her hand trembled against his arm. Calmly, he stroked her hair and waited.

“I hoped- I mean- I thought- it wasn’t real.” Riker chuckled and hugged her. Something she never would have allowed a month ago, but now it brought a feeling of safety. “Don’t laugh. It could have been something else. I’m almost 49 years old. I could have been insane. For that matter, I am, I am insane. ” Dr. Crusher’s rambling would have continued, but Riker hushed her.

“You aren’t insane.”

“I’m having a dead man’s child while trapped 300 years in the past.” She added quickly, her voice threatening to break. “Hell, I could be his great-great-great-great-”

“You’re not.” Riker interrupted.

“You’ve experienced our advanced medical resources. What if I die in childbirth?” His tactics, though simple, were actually taking some steam out of her sarcasm.

“You won’t.” Will said softly.

Her tongue was quick, far quicker then her mind as; “You’ve never had a child. How can you be so confident?” left her lips. Beverly was instantly sorry, and pulled away from him. Giving him the space to retreat.

When lined with sorrow his face seemed 10 years older, and he sighed deeply. "Because enough horrible things have happened. Because I need to hope. And you and this baby rascal of a bastard frenchman, give me an excellent excuse to be optimistic.” Riker settled back against a tree. Beverly nestled against him, both of their hands waiting for the baby to move again. “And in this god-forsaken paradise, we all need every excuse we get.”

Part 20

June 7th,
Midmorning
Earth

Deanna Troi looked in on her amazed and felt like she was watching a painting. It was a completely intimate moment. Beverly lay across his lap, her eyes closed. Troi couldn't hear them speaking, but she pictured their voices rising and falling with the gentle cadence lovers use. Will was toying with Beverly's long golden-red hair, and his hand moved with his knowledge. The way it always did when he was lost in thought.

Deanna Troi, who was always conscious of her emotions. Who spent years of her adult life immersed in the study of thought and feeling, was caught. Trapped in a whirling dance of grief, anger and love. Love kept her dancing, but grief dogged her feet. Before her in the clearing, her amazed found comfort talking to someone else. He was still speaking, but his lips barely moved, and someone else lay in his arms. On the deepest most primal level of thought that she rarely admitted to herself, she hated Beverly Crusher.

The dance called her, and she stood on the crumbling precipice of choice. She took a step toward them. Then she paused. In that moment the universe paused with her. A quiet, collective wondering of all the infinitely diverse parts of the universe stopped in the intricate dance to acknowledge Deanna Troi's next movement.

Deanna Troi walked into the clearing and managed to smile.

Deanna Troi turned and let grief lead her away.

The universe obliged. Infinite divided and infinite grew larger as reality provided two partners for Deanna Troi. Somewhere in the cosmos, and everywhere at once, the universal dance gained one more step.

June 7th,
midmorning
Earth
Alpha

Deanna Troi walked into the clearing and managed to smile. Her reward was just as immediate. Her amazed, for whom she held so much doubt, filled her mind with warmth. She shivered involuntarily even though that was the incorrect response.

((Imzadi?)) His mind trailed languidly across hers.

((I'm here.)) She sent back quickly. After that her mind became less coherent. Thoughts flew from her like stray bits of energy escaping a star. ((I'm sorry-I'm never leaving again-I hate Beverly-I love you-I'm frightened-I'm guilty-It's my fault-It's yours-I hate you-Do you love her?-Do you love me?))

Deanna was failing. She always had control. Now only the strength of his mind kept hers from falling apart. Will's eyes were closed as she drew within a few steps. His mind was quiet, even serene, and without moving he responded completely with his mind.

((I asked you to marry me Imzadi.)) His mind held nothing back. None of the roiling torrent of guilt that ate at her touched him. He was free. No questions. Dumbfounded and confused she reached for him physically, wanting to take his hands, to fall into his arms and be safe. Protected from herself.
A mental hand stopped her gently. ((You’ll wake her Deanna.)) As much as she tried to hide it. He felt it. Felt the sudden change in her mind as if she had slapped him across the face. Will let it go.

Deanna couldn't. ((Do you love her?)) She had the sudden image of him laughing, but he remained still.

The moment dragged, became a pause and continued to stretch. He sighed audibly, but not loud enough to wake the sleeping doctor. ((Of course I do.)) He betrayed no shame, no hint of remorse. Honesty and a sense of duty stained his thoughts, but he didn't stop. He didn't release the hold he had on her mind. ((I love Beverly. She's like a cross between my sister and a step-mother. She's my friend. She's alone and the Captain would want-))

((The Captain.)) She echoed, and Raker's resolve shattered and drew her in with the shards. Imagery, random, but united with a thread of pain. The Captain fading into the green of the Borg transporter as he was kidnapped away. Captain Picard broken and grizzled when he returned from the Cardassian torturers.

"It's always been about the captain." Her voice was incredibly loud as it echoed in his ears.

"I failed him." Will admitted softly. "It should have been me Deanna. It's the first officer's job to throw himself in the line of fire. I should have been on the Enterprise. I should be scattered across the universe right now and he should be with the woman he loved and their child."

Deanna actually laughed. Something tickled her mind in just the right place and she continued laughing. Riker raised an eyebrow but watched with amusement. Her eyes glistened but with a light he clung to. A light he needed to feel whole. ((Listen to your logic imzadi.)) She took a slow breath and caressed his mind. Feeling his confusion as she let herself go. ((I believe that Captain should be here.))

Riker stiffened instantly. Her laughter had been hysteric and his imzadi actually wanted him dead.

But her face betrayed no anger. ((But so should you. You should be with the woman you love.)) She closed the distance between them and leaned over the sleeping doctor to kiss his forehead. ((I love you imzadi.))

Riker's heart reached warp 9 in his chest. He was dumb, both mouth and mind refusing to speak for him. Deanna leaned closer still to him, letting her lips tickle his ear. "Dammit Riker. I'm not going to let Starfleet's most eligible bachelor remain that way."

Deanna's smile was the most beautiful act ever committed by a living being. And Riker chuckled. The infamous Riker luck had won out. His imzadi nudged Beverly awake. The doctor responding slowly and even recoiling from the brunette leaning over her. Will stood and pulled her into a tight hug. Released but staggered Dr. Crusher could only continue to be confused as Deanna caught her with tears in her eyes.

"Marry us Beverly." She suggested impulsively. Will grasped Beverly's hand enthusiastically.

"Today." He added.

"Right now." Deanna affirmed.

Beverly Crusher backed away from them both, shaking her head and trying to regain her footing. "How long have I been asleep?" With a joy that could have filled several starships Riker caught Beverly in a short and irreverent kiss.

"Eternity." He chortled gleefully and Deanna wrapped her arms around his waist and matched his smile.

"You're both insane." Her voice was serious but she too couldn't help smiling.

"You'll be all right." Deanna assured the stunned doctor. "Shock wears off in a few hours."

Will lost his hand in Deanna's hair. "Besides," he teased with a mischievous wink, "I'd save some of your annoyance for how you're going to look nude." Beverly could have sworn they were skipping as they left her and headed for camp. Alone by the ocean she tilted her head skyward and shook it in disgust.

"This is your fault Jean-Luc. And I'll never forgive you." Whether it was to agree, or to defend her father, the life within her turned sharply. She let herself smile. With right hand against her stomach she followed the path back to camp.

June 28th, 2063
Earth
Beta

Deanna Troi turned and let her grief lead her away.

As is the case of the universe, it was easier to slip into a dull sort of ignorance. Will let her avoid him, and Deanna had no desire to speak with him. A kind of dull haze settled over her and clung to her heart like frost on a winder morning. Like a tropical flower caught in that frost her heart withered. Something changed within her.

Deanna bathed in the calm seawater. Letting it run off her nude body as she dried in the sun. She swung her hair over her head and picked out the snarls with her fingers. After a few minutes she stopped. There, between strands of rich black, was silver. She shook it away, but there was another. After the seventh or so she stopped counting. For the first time since landing in this forsaken place, she was glad there was no mirror.

Troi dressed quickly once she was dry. For the past few weeks she had dived into work. Counseling the crew members more distraught then she. Out of their almost three hundred many hearts were broken, and even a few marriages had fallen in the face of a separation of centuries. She lived for others, thriving on pain because she was too numb to feel any more.

The path to the ocean was starting to become worn, and was easily trod by her uncomplaining feet. Ensign Lauren Harrison and Ellix Jova passed her on their way to the ocean. Jova radiated her typical cheer and waved happily to the counselor. Harrison was coughing as she passed and couldn't acknowledge her. Deanna smiled. It was becoming fairly easy to smile without meaning it. Her muscles becoming accustomed even as her emotions forgot the gesture.

Will Riker stopped at the edge of the ocean and stared at himself. His eyes were fading. The black that had shocked him so for the weeks he had been here was fading. Only slightly but his eyes know hinted more of stormy blue then of the Betazoid onyx.

"You're right. They are fading." He conceded wearily to Beverly Crusher as he caught his reflection in the back of a knife.

"Your brain might be returning to normal. You haven't used your telepathy for awhile." She sat beside him at the long table and stretched her hand towards his half-empty plate. "Going to eat this?"

Will pushed the fish and rice towards her. "Don't tell me you like this?" He teased, raising an eyebrow as she quickly attacked it.

She chewed for a few moments and then tried not to sound defensive. "I'm hungry and there isn't much of a selection."

He nodded absently. "If it weren't for Worf's hunting parties we probably would have starved by now."

Beverly paused between mouthfuls to reply. "Some of the farming is working. We have rice."

"And urhati. Don't forget that." He teased and reached for a basket of rolls in front of Barclay. Urhati was a Vulcan tuber that seemed to be capable of growing anywhere. Although they looked faintly like malformed potatoes, they tasted more like weak cinnamon.

She glared, but Barclay laughed. "I don't mind it. It's all right once you get used to it."

"I'd rather not be used to it Reg." Geordi added as he sat down on Beverly's other side. "You and the Vulcans seem to be the only ones who will eat it without a fight."

Barclay laughed and was off guard as Ellix Jova caught him from behind. He turned to kiss her lightly, and Beverly shot Riker a knowing look. Reg Barclay's fledgling relationship was one of the biggest surprises of Gravette Island, but from time to time Will claimed to have predicted it.

Behind them Dr. Selar stopped Lauren Harrison, who was still coughing, and lead her off to the side. Riker watched her study her medical tricorder and look serious. Although Vulcans typically looked serious, he was uncomfortable. Beverly was still eating so he leaned to her ear and whispered.

"If you keep eating like this everyone will know." Her face threatened to blush but she kept h
er composure by hitting his shoulder with a free hand.

"Careful doc. Osteoregenerators are still a bit down the list." Geordi teased, but kept a hopeful tone in his voice. "We should have indoor lighting tonight however." A rash of applause broke out down the table. The engineering crew, the hardest workers since they had arrived, smiled and relaxed for a moment in the flush of gratitude.

Riker looked to his left and caught Lieutenant Bragan coughing into his shoulder as Dr. Selar pulled him aside. Uneasy, he searched the people eating lunch beside them and counted the people he saw coughing. At least 6 or 7, a few more were reaching for their water glasses as the came to the end of a fit. "Excuse me for a moment." He stood up, handed his untouched roll to Dr. Crusher and headed for Dr. Selar.

Her eyes registered his concern. "Commander, I require your assistance in the medical building." She requested sharply and they walked away from camp. They walked in silence for several long minutes. No one was behind them.

Riker dived into it immediately. No reason to hold back with a Vulcan. "Is it some kind of outbreak?"

"I've been scanning the crew and 14 show identical symptoms. Coughing, inability to draw a full breath, lightheadedness- I believe it is some kind of viral infection and I would like to begin quarantines procedures immediately."

"That serious?" He asked softly but his question needed no answer from Selar as Geordi ran down the path toward them.

"Doctor, commander Riker, we need you back at lunch. People are collapsing." Selar and Riker ran back to camp.

Six people were on their knees on the ground, forming knots of activity as friends and shipmates crowded around them. Ensign Harrison was the first they reached. She was coughing violently now, blood trailing from her lips and covering the back of her hand and she choked against the liquid in her lungs. Lt. Voes was unconscious and Alyssa Ogawa was struggling to empty his lungs.

"What happened?" Riker demanded. Andrew Powell looked up at him helplessly from nurse Ogawa's side.

"They can't breath. Most of them have been coughing all day, and they just started collapsing." Dr. Selar knelt next to Jacob Voes who was starting to turn blue, tricorder immediately in hand.

"His lungs are liquefying. Move on to the next patient." Ogawa's eyes filled with tears for a split second, but she stood and jogged over to the next knot of people. Dr. Selar paused a moment to close Voes' eyes and then stood up. "Get all non-medical personnel out of here now commander."

Riker nodded leaving her to deal with her patients. He jumped on the bench and bellowed over the crowd. "Anyone who doesn't have advanced med training, let's get out of the way. Now!" Even off ship for months, the first officer was still the first officer and the crew jumped to obey. "Clear out! Let's go!" From nowhere Worf was at his side.

"I will take them to the beach commander. We can regroup there." Riker nodded briskly.

"Everyone hear the Klingon? Head for the beach!" People drained from the clearing but a flash of red hair still in the clearing stopped him from following. Riker turned to Worf. "Keep them calm. Remind them they are Starfleet officers and they will follow orders. I'll be right behind you." Worf nodded and headed to the column of retreating crew.

Riker ran across the emptied clearing. Nine people lay on the ground. Some were moving but one or two were completely still. He buried the sense of failure and caught Beverly Crusher roughly by the arm. "Let's go Beverly."

She whirled on him, her eyes burning. "I am the chief medical officer. You cannot order me around nor can you manhandle me into doing what you say. Do you understand?"

Riker was ice. He leaned close to her, his voice low and cold. "If you put the captain's baby in danger I will knock you senseless and carry you out of here. Now. Let's go."

Dr. Crusher's face went white and all the fight drained out of her. She lowered her head and took his hand, silently letting him lead her away. Dr. Selar was assembling her teams. Deanna Troi, the love of his life, stood beside Alyssa Ogawa. Her clothes were spattered with blood, but her face was defiant.

((Imzadi?)) He sent towards her, hoping vainly that she would respond. She met his gaze and their eyes locked. There was a coldness in her eyes he had never seen. An edge to her beauty like a rose made of razors. ((At least be careful.)) She did not care to respond or even give him the satisfaction of letting him know she heard. Will turned from her, wrapping an arm around Beverly's back as she craned her head to look back at the patients she was abandoning.

Deanna Troi watched her imzadi retreat into the forest. His mind still echoing in her ears. Her eyes stung but she locked them on Dr. Selar and listened. As she bolstered her shields her mind hardened once more against her imzadi.

Part 21

Stardate 83271.6
UTF Wells
Beta

In thirty years briefing rooms hadn’t changed. The glass table still started with the captain and pulled back away in a graceful arc. And Captain Picard sat at the head. Her red hair pulled tightly back in sharp contrast to her mother, who had worn hers loose, and she sat rigidly upright, avoiding Dr. Crusher’s tendency to fold inward. Jean-Luc stood in the shadows looking over her staff.. He looked over her senior staff, an unfamiliar Klingon with a brooding expression, a Vulcan engineer nodded his head, Dr. Veddra smiled, but it was the woman next to her that stopped his eye.

She was small, delicately boned and featured. Her huge black eyes were smooth and cold in her olive skin. Her face was still smooth and seemed ignored by age. Her black hair was streaked heavily with silver, but it only made her appear more elegant in the simple knot on the back of her head. After thirty years Deanna Troi was still a distracting woman. Instead of age she had gathered dignity, and a sense of quiet refinement that seemed unable to come from the genes of Lwaxana Troi.

“Still takes your breath away doesn’t she?” A quiet voice startled him and he turned slowly. A man deeper shadowed then he stood behind him. Middle aged with a touch of gray in his hair, but his eyes were young. They held the soft innocence of a perpetual child. The hand on Jean-Luc’s shoulder was warm and heavy, but the speaker seemed almost insubstantial, as if something could pass through him. “I used to have this crush on her. I know she was way out of my league, but every once in a while she’d smile at me on the bridge, and I’d match my uniform.”

Captain Picard caught the hand on his shoulder and shook it warmly between both of his. “Wesley! I- I never really thought I’d see you again.”

His face seeming older, Wesley Crusher sighed. “Neither did mom really.” He kissed his former captain on both cheeks and paused for a moment with his hands on the shoulders of the older man. “But that’s a long tale for another time.” On the other side of the room, Captain Felicia Picard began the briefing. Jean-Luc headed for the table, but Wesley shook his head.

“Private briefing for you captain. I can only tell my sister so much of the past, but you will have to know everything.” Wesley’s hand rested on his shoulder again and the briefing room dissolved into horizontal lines that faded to black. His sight came back much the same way and he was standing on a small hill, overlooking a wild looking vineyard in France. To his right a stand of Irish roses seemed as wild as the vines and the smell made the air thick and sweet.

“She’s only your half sister.” Picard correctly automatically as he turned in a slow circle to take in the grounds.

“Felicia and I are close. So it’s sister. Half-sister sounds somewhat inhuman to me.” Wesley replied cheerily, leaning back against a spreading tree.

“Tell me about her.” Picard voice held command.

“You mean tell you about mom.” Wesley corrected with a wink. “Maybe you should be telling me about her. After all, can you imagine my shock when I sensed her go into labor?”

“Shock is learning that your previously unknown daughter is the captain of a starship.” Picard crossed his legs in the grass and sat.

“Timeship captain. The UTF timeship Wells to be exact. Designed by yours truly. Capable of traveling through time and space. Maximum cruising speed of warp 9.69 and temporal drive capable of a single jump of 1.2 thousand years.” Wesley cautiously plucked a rose and sat rakishly next to the captain.

“UTF?” Picard queried.

“United Triumviate Fleet. Mouthful isn’t it?” Wesley handed Picard the rose. “Aren’t they lovely? Precisely the right shade of golden red. It will take you years to prefect these. You named them after mom too. She hated that. “ He laughed lightly. “Don’t make such faces captain. You won’t settle down to a life of horticulture until after you tire of a long and distinguished career in Starfleet.”

“You shouldn’t tell me what will happen in the future.” Jean-Luc couldn’t risk the timeline. Even if the Borg overran the quadrant.

“I wouldn’t worry so much. The future is incredibly malleable, more so then any of you realize.” Wesley stood and began pacing. “You saw Deanna Troi.”

Picard nodded. “I’m not sure I follow, Wesley.”

“She is a focal point.” Wesley plucked another rose. This time his hurry caused him to prick his finger. He held up his hands. One rose in his left, and one in his right. The right dripping with blood. “They come from the same starting point; the ground, and reach the same place; an encounter with my hand. Except one caused me pain, one did not. I made the choice of which rose to pick, and when. Changing the timeline. Deanna, without any knowledge of what she was doing, made a similar choice.“

He began to pace faster, tossing the roses to the ground at Picard’s feet. “You see captain, I started studying the experiences of the crew on Gravette Island. Fascinating stuff really. Temporal causality and fractal space can create infinite variation from on simple event. This one only created two distinct timelines. One of which you’ve already experienced.”

“Which one is correct?” Picard asked quietly. Picking up the discarded roses and musing.

“Not the one you know. At least, that’s my hypothesis so far.” Wesley threw himself to the ground next to Picard. “You’ve been there.”

Jean-Luc nodded slowly. “I don’t have grandchildren.”

Wesley laughed. “The great and lonely captain Picard concerned over grandchildren.”

“What’s the use of Felicia continuing the Picard family name if my daughter lives the same life of solitude that I did?” He wondered seriously, but his voice continued a deep hint of bitterness.

Wesley leapt up, his face suddenly energized. “Let’s find out. “ Before Jean-Luc had a chance to comment, time and space moved past him without noticing or acknowledging his astonishment.

Although he had enough time to speculate as to where Wesley Crusher would take him. Jean-Luc would not have guessed what he saw first with any kind of accuracy. Not even if he had all the time in the universe.

June 7th, 2063
Gravette Island
Alpha

The air was hot and heavy. Even the wind blowing lazily across the ocean was warm and smelled of flowers. Geordi was for the first time since she had arrived in this quiet corner of the south pacific, glad for the heat. Without it, it would have been a bit to cold for Will and Deanna’s plans. Worf stood at one side. His muscles were tensed and tight under his skin like a crouched predator. The crew was arrayed in clumps. Some were blushing and nervous chatter filled the clearing.

Geordi coughed dryly to hide a snicker as Worf fumbled with his hands for a long moment, before settling them tightly at his sides.

“I do not find this amusing.” Worf rumbled.

“They’re our friends. So we forgive them and let them take our dignity for awhile.” He smiled weakly, and wondered if he would have been less uncomfortable if he still had his visor. Behind it the nude bodies around him would have at least not be in full and vivid color. He tried to focus on faces, and not to let his eyes drift below the collarbones on most of the very lovely young junior officers. For his part, Worf kept his eyes above the crew, aloof and removed. Though this was not a battle, Worf had found few situations in life that did not benefit from being treated like one.

===

The scene before him, the several hundred nude bodies nervously together in the wet heat, were nothing more then background dressing. A young Jean-Luc had manipulated, even toyed with woman. An older Jean-Luc finally understood why Will Riker could not enter a room without scanning it for Deanna. From behind the blur of Geordi and Worf, her pale skin gleamed against the backdrop of green.

Her hair was down, free and longer then he remember, but only long enough to tease her shoulders. Beverly Crusher diverted and swallowed his attention with the ferocity of a black hole. Her collarbones arched and elegant against the curves of her chest. Hadn't it been yesterday when she had offered those breasts to him in his quarters? But her body was different now, the curve inward between ribs and hips less strict as her stomach rounded outward faintly. Reluctantly, and with a trace of chagrin he raised his eyes to Beverly's face.

She was speaking. Her blue eyes soft with emotion. "It is my privilege as your friend, and my duty as ranking officer, to summon you to be married."

"Married?" Picard's face echoed the question. Wesley smiled pragmatically.

"In this timeline, what I believe is the right timeline. Riker and Troi were married." Something dark haunted Wesley's face for a moment before he continued. "You need to see this before I show you the timeline you know." Jean-Luc would have pried, but Wesley joined the crew in applause as Troi and Riker emerged from the crowd.

"Shhh...you'll ruin the ceremony." Wesley ordered and pointed to the couple emerging from the crowd.

===

Deanna's hair was bound in a wreath of flowers. Pink and red bright against the flowing black. They were also nude. Maybe it was something about the way they held hands, but a sense of contentment visibly calmed the shuffling people. All eyes joined Jean-Luc's on Beverly.

Dr. Crusher smiled and alternated her gaze from Will to Deanna as she spoke. "My friends. Although marriage ceremonies were no covered in the bridge officers exam, I have a value recollection of the ancient history where I was once married, to draw on for reference."

It was Deanna who caught her eye and winked. Will seemed completely lost in the moment and in the part of his soul standing next to him.

Beverly continued, hope adding a richness to her voice. "Betazoids attending joining ceremonies nude, indicating that there is nothing to hide. Although this makes humans, myself included, more then a little nervous, I- And yes, those of you who are red in the face can blame me- I believed that the Betazoid tradition was the only fitting way to honor the bond between these two people." She raised her hands slowly. Placing one on each shoulder of the couple before her.

"Commander William Thomas Riker. Born in the frigid wilderness of Alaska, you found the other part of yourself dwelling near the jungles of Betazed." Will's face lit with a devious grin.

((Actually, I found her most intriguing *in* the jungles of Betazed.)) Deanna kept a straight face, but her musical laughter made a repeat visit to his mind.

Beverly lost the struggle to control the corner of her mouth and smirked in unbridled satisfaction. "Commander Deanna Troi, Daughter of the Fifth House of Betazed, you brought the calm humor of your father and the strength of your mother to an ambitious young officer who was more the willing to trade your knowledge for a sense of adventure."

Deanna was crying. Tears unhindered on their trek from eye to the valley between her breasts.

"Through the years I've known you both, I've watched you grow together and grow apart. Though I've lost more then you know betting that someday you'd both live up to your reputations as intelligent people and concede to the inevitable, I am only mildly surprised that it took 300 years to figure it out." She gestured for them to turn to each other.

"Will, Deanna- may you have the passion of youth, the wisdom of age, and the experience of every moment together. Just as all of us can hide nothing as we stand with you, so may it be between you as you let all the universe bind you together."

Will was convince his voice was off planet somewhere until he heard the words from his mouth echoed by Deanna.

"As it was with our souls imzadi, let our lives be one." Then he found a much more familiar use for his mouth as he melted into Deanna. Cheers, whistles and wild applause filled his ears, but could not be heard over the insane beating of his heart. When they parted, onyx eyes locked with onyx eyes, his mind was hers.

When she spoke, "I love you Bill." He knew what she would say, as he had always known that this moment existed. Will did not have to reach for her mind, nor would he ever again, because she was there. Deanna was his mind as she laughed at his astonishment. Her words, the only words that ever meant anything because everything else he had heard was noise, lodged in his mind and would stay there.

((Yes imzadi. I understand.))

Part 22

Gravette Island,
Earth
July 23rd, 2063
Beta

"How many does this make?" Will Riker's voice cracked with strain.

Dr. Selar sighed deeply. For a moment despair boiled up behind the mask of her face. "One hundred seven including the nine today. Almost one third of our numbers."

His hand shot into the tree quickly enough to hiss through the air. The wood thudded deeply and echoed. The branches shook leaves whispering peacefully. A sob choked his throat. "How many are testing positive?"

"An additional 51 have tested positive for the virus. Thirteen are in comas in the encampment."

He had the sudden urge to slam his throbbing hand into her stoic face. "All human?"

Selar nodded. "It is difficult to tell with only one tricorder still functioning, but I hypothesize that someone became infected with it after coming in contact with dead tissue."

Will folded his hands behind him. His swelling right hand burned against his left. "When I was at school. We read about the Third World War. The catastrophic death toll in battle, the collapse of infrastructure, and the plagues that swept through the population afterwards."

At her sides, Dr. Selar's hands trembled slightly. "I believe that we are facing a mutated, antibiotic resistant virus. After coming in contact with individual humans mutated by radiation damage, it mutated as well. I also believe that this virus was irradicated to long ago for humans to retain any lasting immunity. The virus however seems unable to adapt to non-human genetics. Counselor Troi-"

Something kicked his gut. Deanna had not spoken to him for weeks. His eyes were bright blue again and she held no sway in his mind. But her name stung fresh.

"Ellix Jova, Retyaw, myself and the other Vulcans all show no sign of the virus."

"Any chance we can use that to help us?" Fragile, but beautiful hope drifted down to him like a fat Alaskan snowflake. "I do not have the equipment necessary to modify an individuals genome. Perhaps if the power core had been a success-" He waved a hand rudely and cut her off.

"Get some rest doctor. If they are all comatose, there's nothing else you can do." It hurt to smile, but he had to. Even if the gesture was lost on a Vulcan, something inside of him had to keep of his poker face. Almost as if he had pulled it out of his aching heart with bloody fingers. "The rest of us will still need you."

Again she nodded, and she acknowledged her own exhaustion by crossing her arms in front of her chest tightly. "Dr. Crusher?"

"She's tired." Will shook his head slowly. "But it keeps her away from the plague victims. I think she'll feel better when Worf's team returns. He promised us carnivore’s fish. And I think Reg will make sure even you vegetarians get some seaweed or something."

She raised a stoic eyebrow. "Indeed commander."

He was shocked to feel himself chuckling. "Good luck doctor."

Selar nodded her head and disappeared into the trees. "One hundred seven..." He whispered to himself. The number lost had on this mission become unfathomable. He had tried to send as many humans as he could away with Worf.

While his mind wandered, his feet brought him back to camp. From this rocky rise in the coastline long shadows covered the ground. The sun had set without ceremony. The real nightly ceremony began on the beach down from him about 40 meters.

A small knot of people pushed a crudely and hastily constructed barge of wood out into the water. The retreating waves caught it and it slowly drifted out away from the cluster of mourners. Without a word a phaser blast shot through the darkness and illuminated the bodies on the raft. Covered with dry wood, they burst into flames. The people parted into darkness and the fire burned on unheeded.

"Will?" The voice behind him was insistent. Beverly came willingly to his arms. She buried her head on his shoulder. "How many more?"

"Nine." He responded softly. Beverly lifted her head, and Will's eyes found the familiar angry tears adorning her eyelashes.

"Deanna?" She pressed on. His arm swung around her back, stabilizing her against him.

"Is still alive."

"Will." She reprimanded harshly.

"Dammit Beverly!" He released her roughly and stomped towards the edge of the cliff. "She doesn't want to see me. That's it. She may never want to see me again. But I think it's the least of my problems." Will grabbed a rock off the ground and pelted it as hard as he could into the water. Watching it sink as he balled his anger away. He let the anger go. Feeling it float out of his body and return it to the deep feeling of emptiness. He watched the water in silence. Waves lapping back and forth on the rocky beach, whispering and clinking through the growing darkness. "I'm sorry." Her hand was on his shoulder, soft and light compared to the weight of his guilt.

"Come on Will." As he stood he brought the hand on his shoulder to his chest and held it quietly. She smiled weakly in response, and hand in hand they walked to the tents. Just outside of earshot of camp he stopped suddenly.

"Geordi, when he died, he talked about the captain." Beverly's eyes filled with tears incredibly quickly. "Jova said he talked as if he were there."

"Maybe he was. Maybe he's waiting for all of us." Will noticed that unlike Deanna, when Beverly cried her chin didn't tremble. Her face grew rigid, tightly controlled, but upset so deeply within that tears ran into the worn shoulder of his jacket. The baby, now large enough to deform her figure, jabbed twice into his stomach. "Seeking revenge on the man who made mommy cry?" Will’s voice wondered.

"I didn't know her opinion of her mother was that high." Beverly managed bravely. Will's eyes roamed her face. Even in the weak light her cheekbones seemed very sharp, her eyes very bright against the dark circles marring her pale skin.

Riker decided to dodge the subject. "Worf's team should be back tomorrow. Good food. Maybe even a little party. Get our spirits up."

"Maybe we can move morale up to wretched instead of morbidly depressed-" Beverly winced, dropping his hand and placing both hands on her lower back. "Damn." Will helped her to the ground and listened to her breathing slowly.
"It's that thing again isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes. "I've explained it twice." Her breath hissed in her teeth.

"Third times the charm." He winked rakishly and turned her away from him so his strong hands found her aching lower back. "Maybe I just like making you explain it."

"Maybe you're an idiot." She bit back, digging her fingers into the backs of her knees as he kneaded the frustrated muscles at the base of her spine. Riker placed two sets of knuckles on either side of her spine and pushed, digging into the stiff fibers and feeling them slide under his hands. Beverly gasped sharply, her breathing taking on a pained edge.

"Maybe I'm a sadist."

"You ARE a sadist." He stopped his hands, and she turned with a pitiable expression.

"That doesn't mean you should stop." She reached back a hand. Her fingers found his and Riker brought her cold fingers to her lips. He closed her fingers into the warmth of his hand. Beverly's soft blue eyes were very close. She turned to him, her pregnant belly brushed gently against his knee.

His free hand ran over the fullness of her belly. "What’s it like?" Her eyes searched his face. It held an innocence the calmed her. A tendency for youth that hid behind the fine lines at the corners of his mouth suggested an odd sense of hope. Beverly leaned marginally closer.

"Having something move inside me?" Will watched her hair spill over her shoulder. It was down, free and curling gently around her face. An odd memory, a memory that wasn’t his, broached a fondness for burying his hands in that hair. It was soft, silky and cold, running through his fingers like droplets of water. Sliding as easily as the tears in her eyelashes. Her lips were cold. His mouth was warm and comforting. He wasn’t hers, but she kissed back. Will’s lips were heated, blood racing to the thin layer of skin. Heat racing against the thin lay of her skin. His tongue was practiced, roaming, teasing, filling her mouth and darting away.

She felt her breath quicken. The hand on her stomach was drifting- his fingertips grazed the shadowed curve of her breast. The sensation magnified by the soreness of pregnancy, and her skin grew more alert. Riker’s other hand was on her back, fighting the distance between them.

In the words, something snapped with the crack of dead wood. Will held a finger over his lips, hushing her as he stood and faced off with the trees. "Hello?" He took a step closer. "Is someone there?"

===

Death permeated her clothing. When her hair hung in her face, it smelled of decay. Death hid beneath her fingernails when she ran her hands over her face. The salty vague smells of her own sweat were almost comforting as she walked through the lines of the sick. Death had a distinct sweetness that lingered in the back of her throat, hiding behind the nausea that came with the blood.

They coughed up blood. Droplets foaming on their lips as their eyes rolled frantic in their heads. Bright red arterial blood full of oxygen that would never reach the heart was wasted. Life that would never run through beneath the skin and perpetuate ran onto the ground. Coma was the calmest state of dying. Deanna Troi, the woman who calmed the souls of the dying relished comas because they brought the calm she could not. Coma held a dark and shadowed peace she coveted.

The crew died quietly. Most now were comatose when their lungs spat themselves to the ground at the side of their cots. Some spoke in broken sentences. Geordi had talked to the captain. He had smiled. Smiled with blood running down his chin. Smiled when his lungs gasped wetly and his words gurgled in his throat. Smiled up at her when she closed his eyes. Smiled as Retyaw and Elori came to help her add his body to the pyre. Geordi La Forge was still smiling as Deanna kissed his forehead and pulls a rag over his face. Covering his smile forever.

She had been past retching. In the last weeks she had moved past the desperate sobbing that left bitterness in her stomach so great that it must rise out of her throat. Deanna wiped her mouth on her sleeve, wiped her eyes with her thumbs and looked down at the hard metal that cut into her knee. A crushed, dirty fragment of another life where she had been happy felt gritty as she lifted it from the ground and stared at it. "Zero Backward." Reg Barclay’s cheerful face on the shack where food was served had been a hovel a month ago. It was a relic now.

"Counselor?" The tentative voice of the young Bajoran was light-years away. "Counselor? Ensign Elvarez is –"
The metal clattered dully on the packed earth floor. Deanna rubbed her hands briskly together, watching as the dust settled in the air. Her head was held high as she strode out of the doorway. Her hands at her side, the latest bloodstain on her pant leg drying slowly in the darkening light.

===

Jean-Luc held his head in his hands. The muscles in his neck seeming wholly inadequate for the task. His head was heavier then it had been watching the wedding, but his heart was lodged somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Silence walked a long while with them. Wesley’s face was empty and inscrutable. He had not spoken since he had held the hand of his mentor and watched him cough the tissue from his lungs. Jean-Luc had no words, but his mouth opened and closed once as he looked up from his perch on a dead tree to look up at the timeless young Crusher.

"How many?" He croaked dryly. "How many will never return?"

Wesley was a grim statue at his side. "More then half. Without Geordi they will never scrape together a stable power generator. Without power even an unexpected storm can be fatal." He collapsed down next to the captain. "I will enter this timeline to return the survivors home almost a year from now. "

"Why so long?" Picard asked with genuine curiosity. "Why not before this plague?" His voice rising quickly to a crescendo. "Why not prevent this?"

Wesley shook his head. "I can’t."

"You can’t?"

Wesley dropped his arms to his knees and his head to his arms. "I don’t know how."

Part 23

Stardate 83271.6
UTF Wells
Beta

"Thank you. That concludes the briefing. We'll convene again at 21:00." Her senior officiers stood and left wordlessly. Deanna Troi stood, but turned to watch the cold stars of space. Felicia Picard frowned as an instubstantial memory insisted that Deanna Troi belonged to the stars.

===
Stardate 55218.6
USS Enterprise-F
Beta

"She was a brilliant part of my life. She burned me, consumed me and spit me out." Captain Riker's calloused hand touseled the child's unruly red hair. "But I would do it all again if she asked me too." Her tiny hand had pulled on his uniform, and her huge gray eyes drilled into his face. Full of questions. "But she never will darling. She's cold now. Just like those little bits of light. It must be where she belongs." He pounced on her, scooping her up and carrying her crazily across the room as she squealed with happiness. She had immediately gone for her toys in the corner.

She did not watch him sit on the sofa on her mother's quarters lower his head and sob freely. It was only after a few long minutes that Captain William Riker looked up into the deeply serious face of the child before him. Concern made her seem decades older, and in that moment her gray eyes held a depth he had only seen in her father. He scooped her up. She curled in his lap without complaint. Riker's lap was safe. He was a refuge from nightmares and closet monsters. His tears feel freely in her hair, and she explored the mountains of his shoulders with a tiny wooden bear cub no bigger then her fist.
===
That afternoon Deanna had stopped by the nursery school and picked up Felicia Picard early. They had gone to the officer's mess and Deanna had passed on the wisdom of chocolate sundaes to the younger generation.

Felicia was four years old, shy and slow to speak. Her head topped with a mass of rambunctious red curls, and penetrating gray eyes betrayed her constant search for knowledge. She was unnatturally quiet, ignored other children and had a precious understanding of computer terminals. Dr. Crusher had gone over her daughter many times in sickbay after their return, and there was no medical reason for Felicia's behavior. Deanna was one of few people she spoke freely too. The Betazoid was one of her favorite people. It was something about Deanna's easy manner. Her willingness not to talk. The way Deanna could wait patiently for hours had endeared her deeply to the child. Counselor Troi had eventually decided that Felicia did not speak until she had something to say, and considering the enormous stress of her early childhood, she was not surpised.

Deanna had given in and now she sat across from a four year old girl spattered with chocolate ice cream as she giggled cheerfully through Deanna's story. "And your father, Jean-Luc, quoted poetry to the Ferengi." Felicia cocked her her in a question.

"Ferengi." Deanna replied, cupping her hands around her ears and wrinkling her nose in an exaggerated expression of disgust.

Felicia nodded, patting her hair down on her head and pushing back her hairline with her hands. "No hair." She answered. "Like latinum."

Troi smiled brightly. "Exactly." She paused to run her spoon around the outside of her sundae. "Jean-Luc told the Ferengi that if he couldn't have Lwaxana, no one would! So he had Worf power up all the phasers and photon torpedoes and started counting down from ten."

This was the best part of the story. Felicia was kneeling on her chair, spoon forgotten as she hung on Deanna's words. Deanna's voice dropped almost two octaves, and she adopted a clipped english accent. "If Lwaxana Troi is not in my arms in ten seconds, throw everything you've got at them. Nine, eight, seven-" She wrinkled her nose and did a remarkable impression of a sneer. "But a battle would destroy Lwaxana as well!"

"Six, five-" She continued in her Picard voice, unconciously straightening her uniform and narrating the actions in a stagewhisper. "He turned his back on the screen and threw up his hands."

'Picard' continued the charade. "Tis better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all!" She sat regally back in her chair as if it were Picard's throne of command. "Three, two-"

"Lwaxana beamed onto the bridge." Felicia finished, settling back to her ice cream.

Deanna nodded happily. "The Ferengi beamed her back over. And she flounced right up to the captain and sat down in his lap. And your father turned bright red like his uniform."

Felicia crowed with laughter. She had heard the story before. She had met the infamous Lwaxana Troi, who sent her gifts on her birthdays and often sent long communiques that Felicia would watch and rewatch with great interest. She had once confided in Deanna that she liked watching Lwaxana talk because she was always so interesting. Their relationship brought Deanna a strange kind of peace as this little girl inherited her long suffering nickname. Deanna would never be able to have children. The miscarriage back on Gravette Island had destroyed her chances of ever being a mother. She often mused that it was just another addition to the insurmountable stack of odds against her imzadi. Against her own happiness.

The psychiatrist inside told her this was a defeatist line of thought, but some part of her had changed. Some part of her heart was so worn by time and death that she no longer cared for love. Her heart had hardened on Earth. Something had been lost and it was useless to search for it. Maybe, a small voice wondered, maybe if Will was with me. But that was impossible. Will Riker was as far from her as she could have pushed him, and she had pushed him right into the grieving heart of her best friend. Will hadn't been there when she wanted him, but he had been by Dr. Crusher's side when she needed him. Will had even delivered the child holding her hand as they walked to the turbolift. He was the man who filled the absent role of father, and it somehow seemed right.

She had always been deeply in tune with the thoughts of Will Riker. When his thoughts on the bridge drifted time and time again to thoughts of red curls, she knew it was time.

Deanna brought her charge to the ready room, her hands still sticky from ice cream. Will was pleased to see them. He always was. She watched with unshed tears in her eyes as he took Felicia to the bathroom to wash her hands. A sharp twist of regret tugged at her heart, but Deanna Troi no longer had the strength to fight for her heart. The pain was easier to live with.

Will's hair was only faintly gray. His eyes and face were still young and vital. His laughter infectious as he made a towel attack Felicia's hands with great gusto. His beard was neatly trimmed and his mind calm. Of all the minds rescued from the Gravette Island tragedy, his had rebounded. He was Captain. He was a charasmatic and capable leader that any crew member would follow to the death. He would be an excellent father. A caring and loving husband.

It was the boyish smile that she etched in her mind. Carving every feature of his face into her memory. She walked with him to Beverly's quarters. The CMO was in surgery and Will would be watching Felicia until she returned home. She paused in the doorway. Will's eyes had returned to blue. His mind had recovered and he was once again fully human. All that had been required was a lack of her intrusion. That was all his life really needed.

She would take her heart and bury it in work. Betazed had asked her to become it's first ambassador to Romulus. A whole new culture, an empire of people with a vast and unstudied history, a planet light years away from tall, handsome Starfleet captains. Her heart deserved it's rest, and without her, his life would continue. His heart would heal as her own never could.

"Goodnight Bill." Unexpectly he hugged her tightly, noting for the first and last time that her hair no longer smelled like flowers.

"Goodnight Deanna." His first officer, a young man with a brilliant Starfleet record had come to Dr. Crusher's quarters not even an hour after she was gone. Harry Kim had handed him the PADD with an odd look on his face.

"She asked that I deliver this personally. After her runabout left." Captain Riker nodded dumbly, and his first officer exited quickly. Safely on the other side of the door Harry shook his head in pity. Captain Riker was a good man. An amazing leader, but it seemed that much like his previous captain, all the odd in the universe were stacked against him.

The PADD was short, impersonal and contained only one line from Deanna. "Forgive me, but I couldn't say goodbye imzadi." The rest he barely comprehended. When he set it down on the table, small hands found it and she read through it slowly. He was lost in a dark fog when Felicia tugged his hand and demanded his attention.

"Where's Rom-u-lus?" She asked slowly, guessing the pronounciation of the unfamiliar word. He lifted her up and carried her to the window.

"See all the stars?" She nodded, and he pointed with a free hand at a tiny one lightyears away. "It's that one."

His solemn pronouncement won him several minutes of silence. Finally, "Deanna's in the stars now?" she asked.

He nodded, feeling like his head was moving without him. "That's where Deanna belongs baby. She's always been like a star."
===
When Dr. Beverly Crusher arrived exhausted to her quarters, her daughter was fast asleep in the arms of the Captain. His eyes were red and abused. Without a word she stripped off her labcoat and curled catlike at his side. Searching fingers found her hand and she squeezed his back. The warmth of his body suffusing her hand. He stood, carrying the sleeping girl to her room. Still silent he returned to the living room and Beverly caught his hand again.

"I read the transfer." She offered weakly.

"Romulus." He replied with a long sigh. "She thinks it's for the best." Beverly didn't ask how he knew. She had come to accept that when it came to Deanna Troi, there were somethings he just knew. They stood, hands clasped lightly in the center of her quarters. Time left them alone. Her mouth was warm, her lips supple and welcoming. She wrapped her arms around his neck and the full length of her body pressed against him.

Kissing Beverly was becoming familiar. A stolen moment in sickbay late at night, a lingering pause in his ready room; they had been in a slow spiral of doubt since that first kiss in the woods of the island.

Spirals had an inevitable conclusion. Deanna Troi knew that perhaps better then either of them as the runabout flew through the lines of light. She felt the heady rush of blood throughout her body. The echoing of Will's heartbeat in her ears found her across the space between them. Her imagination added the rustling of uniforms and the dull thud of a commbadge tossed to the floor. She left her pilot to his boredom in the cockpit and turned out the lights in the rear cabin. Curled into a ball in the corner Deanna listened to the quickness of his breathing. Deanna felt the cold fingertips run across his back and tasted the sweat in her mouth.

She could have shut it out. Deanna could have closed her mind and meditated herself to a blissful state of calm. Instead she shared in the inevitable she helped create. She shared the building intensity, the pounding in her head, the burning along her thighs, the stinging tightness that begged for Will to join with her. To fill her body and spill over into her soul.

But Will was somewhere else. Someone else was running her toungue across his neck. Someone else was straddling his hips and he buried himself inside of her. Someone else was being torn inside out as his hands tortured her breasts as they made way for his mouth. As his teeth grazed her skin ever so gently underneath her nipple she came for the first time. Will's sense of pride flashing momentarily through the sensations he unknowingly shared with his imzadi. Beverly's back arched, the muscles of her body growing taunt through her pale skin as Will's eyes feasted on the sight of her. Will's own orgasm blasted through Deanna's mind as if one of the lines of light outside her cabin and broken in and pierced her soul.

Covered in sweat, exhausted and trembling, Deanna stripped off her uniform and climbed into the dark sonic shower. There in the blackness of the runabout she sobbed silently against the cold metal until Will Riker's mind had been relagated entirely to memory.

Covered in sweat, exhausted and trembling, Will and Beverly found each others arms for the first time. They talked in whispers of many things, but love was unspoken. As friends they had been lovers, and now they would stay. Loneliness played a far better matchmaker then logic. When Felicia Picard woke and came sleepily out of her room, Captain Riker stood by the table, dressed only in a pair of loose pajama pants. He pulled out her chair and set a plate in front of her. Beverly got out of the sonic shower and sat beside her daughter. Laughing and joking as he coaxed omelets from a set of eggs from the replicator, Will made breakfast. He made breakfast the next day, and the next.

A week later Felicia had a new room in a larger set of quarters, and breakfast every morning. One night, after her mother had rescued her from the nursery, she watched her mother and the captain make dinner. While Will argued with the replicator her mother made faces at her from behind his back, and when he turned around and caught her, he kissed her firmly on the mouth. Felicia smiled as she watched them. Her mother was happy. The captain was happy. When she had the nightmares she didn't understand and ran to the safety of her mother's bed, the captain moved over and let her sleep between them, with their arms protecting her. That morning, her mother had asked her to call him Will, or even dad if she wanted too. And quietly the serious man that she knew only from the holodeck and a holo her mother took out only when she thought Felicia was asleep, remained her father, but Will Riker was dad.
===

"I thought you might not come Ambassador." Felicia ventured bravely. As much unwelcome discomfort as the surprising return of Deanna brought. It was her ship, and she could talk to anyone however she wanted on her ship.

Deanna Troi, Senior Romulan Envoy of the Triumviate, wore simple black beneath her regal gray robe of office. Silver medallions, some from the old Federation, some from the Empire, and some from the new Triumviate, made the robe heavy. Metal clinked against metal as she raised her right hand to her head. Felicia Picard felt embarassingly plain. Even the envoy's hair was metallic silver against the ebony black remaining from her youth. A delicate filagree tiara encircled her head, and the great bird of Romulus clutched the twin planets in the backdrop of her hair. Deanna removed it with a sigh. Setting it to gleam on the black glass of the conference table. She ran both hands through her hair and it fell in long ribbons past her waist.

"Forgive me my familiarity, but my hair can be very heavy on my head." A gentle smile had no impact on those deep black eyes, but softened the stiffness in Felicia's posture and she smiled in return.

"I understand. It's still very beautiful. I hope I've that much color left when I'm-" She caught herself to late. Felicia's carefully controlled blush only had time to grace her cheeks before Deanna laughed musically.

"Seventy." She sat easily in the chair. A ghost of a smile hovering around her eyes. "I'll be seventy next month, not that I think about it much." Felicia nodded and titled her head in awe of the etheral legend before her that had haunted her youth. She went to the replicator.

"Hot Chocolate. Two." She set the teacup before Deanna and sat uneasily next to her. Words eluded the normally articulate Captain, but Deanna looked over her cup in amusement.

"This isn't the usual starfleet glass."

Startled, Felicia bumped her cup and had to use a second hand to steady it. "No...it's a china pattern my namesake had. Commander Barclay reprogrammed my computer to use them as a gift."

"Reg always was sweet." Deanna sipped her drink gratefully. "The Romulan Senate caterers have been kind enough to attempt hot chocolate on a few occasions, but I do miss a good old Starfleet replicator." Felicia nodded distractedly, and Deanna answered the question she hadn't asked. "I'm smaller then you remember. But you were very young when I last saw you, Captain."

Felicia nodded quickly. "I was four. You told me stories in the officer's mess. About Jean-Luc and Lwaxana." She swirled the liquid in her cup. "She still writes me. Even calls me little one. Wants me to get married."

Deanna laughed again, and this time there was a tiny spark of life in her eyes. "She still hasn't gotten over me. Seventy years old, and not even one marriage. I'm afraid I've lost count of hers."

"I went to Barin and Inora's anniversary last year. Mom and Dad came with. Betazed gets more lovely every time I visit."

Deanna's voice was calm with years of control. But 'Mom and Dad' brought an odd look to her face. "How many years has he been married?"

Felicia shook her head slowly and set down her cup. "12 years. To the same person. Lwaxana swears it's an accident that he's her son. Must have been switched at birth because no child of hers would stay married that long or get married at all. Do you ever wish-?"

The older woman cut off the question with a wave of her hand. "I always wish. Wishing keeps the past in perspective. But I'm not lonely, if that's what you're wondering. I have myself, and that's all I've needed."

A captain's instinct sensed the lie as well as a Betazoid could, but a captain's diplomacy hid her knowledge. "The same thing I tell my mother." Felicia agreed quickly.

"How is Beverly?" For the first time, Deanna's voice sounded aged.

"Lovely as ever, and just as stubborn. Dad, I mean, Will, finally got her to retire to Caldos. They moved into my great-grandmother's house." Deanna raised an eyebrow.

"What about the ghost? I thought she hated that house."

Felicia smirked mischeviously. "D- Will threatened to move to Alaska, and she compromised with Caldos."

"And Will agreed to live there?" She asked with equal surprise.

"It's not too much of a loss. Caldos agreed to host Deep Space Seventeen, and he gets to head up construction and a whole host of officers. Not to mention the entire Gaukora fleet."

Deanna nodded knowingly. "He'll make an excellent fleet commander. Just as long as he understands the Romulan sense of humor." The silence was as comfortable as Felicia remembered it.

"You met your father yesterday didn't you?" The question hung in the air, and Felicia noticed for the first time how piercing the gaze of the Senior Envoy could be.

"I did." She took a calming breath. "We rescued him about 24 hours ago, Wes showed us where to find him."

"Does Beverly know?"

Felicia shook her head. "Radio silence. We're skirting the edge of Borg space as it is. If they got their hands on the Wells." She made a quick gesture of a knife across her throat. "The end of us and everything we know."

"Jean-Luc tried to die to prevent that." Deanna added softly.

"And I would." Felicia finished firmly. "Nothing we have ever faced is more terrible then the Borg. That's why this mission is so important."

Deanna stood slowly and walked back to the window. The stars looked oddly washed out through the cloaking device the Wells used. "A universe without the Borg. With a free Terra." Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "It seems like a fairy tale."

"Interstellar travel was a fairy tale. The moon was made of cheese and Terra was flat." Captain Picard stood and walked to behind the elderly betazoid. "Our ancestors believed, and went against terrible odds to expand the universe. We owe them at the very least the courtesy of not giving up until the last human heart ceases to beat. We will beat the Borg. One way or another."

"Is it really worth all of that?" Deanna mused softly.

Her voice was far away, and as the young Captain Picard spoke. Deanna's ears heard the voice of an older Picard. Years and a lifetime away. "Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end." Felicia said quietly. "Forgive me if I want my minutes to mean something."

Deanna reached over and took the hand of the amazing young woman she had known only as a child. "Ever since your mother called you Picard. The minutes of your life could do nothing else."

Part 24

Gravette Island
Earth
July 23rd, 2063
Beta

Captain Picard's voice was incredulous. His back was straight and his eyes glinted with the inate fire that made him seem so much larger then his stature.
"What do you mean you can't?" His voice was calm, but sharp edged with threat.

"I can't." Wesley repeated impatiently. "I can't move hundreds of people through time. I can't move people through time."

"Mr Crusher, need I remind you that you have brought me back to this rock and here I stand in the past, watching my crew die around me." Picard's face was
flushed.

"We are out of time. YOU are out of time." Wesley laughed, almost hysterically. "You're a man out of time ever since I sent my sister to save you." His eyes
glinted with the cold frustration of a teacher with a very inept pupil.

Picard's anger faded in his confusion. "Explain that again please, Mr. Crusher."

"You were supposed to die captain. You were supposed to die with your ship. I couldn't let that happen. I thought-" He ran a trembling hand through windswept
brown hair. "I thought you were the key. I went to Starfleet in my time. In 2401, I told them I could build a timeship. That I would oversee the project. We
built it, the Wells was sent to save you, because I told Starfleet Command that it was absoutely vital to the timeline." He was pacing again, hands fluttering
like misdirected shuttlecraft.

Jean-Luc calmed his voice, hoping it would diffuse to the younger man. "You can't move others through time." Wesley nodded. "You had the Wells built to save
me." Another nod and Wesley's eyes soared with hope. "Why don't we just take the Wells back and save the crew?"

His face crashed and he exhaled with sharp frustration. "I did, and they came forward and the universe imploded. The Borg invaded. Billions die."

"Why not try another point?" Picard suggested, drawing on his infite reserve of calm.

"I bring the crew forward and they carry the disease that killed so many of them to Earth. A plague that spreads to every corner of the Federation before I can
ask Starfleet to build the Wells. With the people who will help me design it dead, I can't build it and then go back to save the crew to bring them forward
to kill." He shook his head ruefully, shaggy brown hair obsecuring his eyes for a moment. "Tampering with time leads to paradoxes which in turn lead to headache
and nosebleed. The timeline you saw. The timeline where Felicia rescued you works. It is continuous. Gravette Island and your crew are a vortex of
possibilities, most of them worse then the Borg."

Jean-Luc returned his head to his hands. When he looked up at the wild eyes of Wesley Crusher his gray ones held resignation and understanding. "We can't
affect this timeline. No one can see us. No one saw us at the wedding, and only Geordi saw me here."

Wesley's face crumpled with grief and his voice caught, "The dying are literally 'out of time' and can see with eyes unclouded. Unveiled."

"Like you." Picard observed softly. There was a dark hint in Wesley's face that disappeared beneath the surface before Jean-Luc spoke again. "So what can we
do?"

"We have to find the focal point. Figure out how to change it." His voice quavered, but his body language was resolute. "There has to be a way."

Jean-Luc reached across the years and held his shoulder like a father. "There is always a way Wes."

Wesley's eyes seemed to shine up from the depths of a lake. Wet and cold in his lined face. "Yes sir."

===

August 11th, 2063
Gravette Island
Earth
Alpha

"Two weeks is the absolutely the bare minimum anyone should ever be allowed as a honeymoon." Will Riker's eyes danced mischeviously over the curves of his
imzadi. She stood a meter in front of him on the deck of the small sailboat. Her body dark against the starlit waters. Black curves silhuetted with glistening
sea. His fingertips tingled, wanting to leave the wheel and return to their homes on those curves, caressing the long line of shoulder to hip.

She laughed and it echoed, blending with the whispering water in the symphony that was their time together. "You could turn us around, sail us back out into
the water." She suggested softly. Deanna's voice held more then impish glee and increased the restlessness of his hands.

Will swallowed quickly and found his voice unresponsive to his body's true needs. "It's going to rain. I can smell it in the air." She turned and walked to
him. Her body gradually gaining color as she closed the distance in the waning light. Black faded to gray, and gray gave way to the olive of her skin. The deep
brown of her hair as it hung down over her shoulders, caressing the spots of pink that brought the tingling of blood to another part of his body. Her hair
was curly in the humidity.

"And the boat can't get wet." She teased effortlessly as she slipped between his arms to lean back against the wheel. His efforts to steer the vessel now
hampered by the pounding of blood in his arms whenever they brushed her nude body.

Only the grim feeling in the back of his mind kept his hands on the wheel and his lips forming words instead of kisses. "We need to get back." Riker replied
simply. "I can feel it."

Deanna nodded, her eyes drinking in the muscles of his arms, tightened by hard labor. The darkness in his skin and the way it drew taunt over much used muscles
was completely distracting. She appreciated the distraction. He turned the boat as the dark line of Gravette Island came into view. His arm left a fiery trail
along her side. ((I know.)) She whispered in his mind, ((There's something coming.))

Riker appreciated again what it was not to have to explain his fear. She knew as surely as if the premonition had been her own dark warning. "So we go back." Her hand trailed from his shoulder to his arm, fingers cool against his skin. Will stared at it, wondering if the sensation she left behind was visible on his
skin.

((We have to.)) His heart and mind warned at the same time. Her mind was quiet with understanding. The wheel of the boat warmed to the skin of her back. The
wood smooth and nearly living. The sailboat was Will's pride and joy. It had taken weeks to complete it. To sand every surface smooth, to coat the hull with
pitch, to protect the gleaming wood from water and wind with resin. Their honeymoon had waited for the madien voyage of the Enterprise-F. Will had
insisted that the name should never be off a vessel, even if she only sailed a sea of water. It gave the crew a renewed sense of hope. They and the Enterprise,
went on.

Deanna turned her head to look over her shoulder at the approaching land. The motion pulled her hair across her bare chest and ever the faint friction brought
increased sensitivity to her nipples that her imzadi watched with increased interest. "It's a straight line to the island." She purred gently in his ear. He
took his eyes from the horizon and ran his tongue in a straight line from navel to throat.

Riker was rewarded with her short gasp. Her lungs filled with air and raised her breasts to brush against his chest. "Just like that." He replied gruffly. Deanna
nuzzled his neck, standing on tiptoes to run her tongue over his lips.

((There are better uses for these then speaking.)) Deanna reminded him as Riker lowered his mouth to hers to allow her better access.

((So I've been told.)) He replied as he eagerly fumbled his hands with a rope, binding the Enterprise on her course home. Will's hands then found the soft
playground of his imzadi, running down her back to cup the roundness of her butt. Her hands in turn were deftly freeing him from his only clothes, a loose
pair of pants, recently strained by his desire for her. They fell to the deck and nothing else was between them.

Deanna's breathing was fast on his neck as he turned her, placing her back against the mast. She wrapped her slender legs around his back, locking her
ankles as he found his home within her body. In a fit of retribution Deanna gave him the sensation. His eyes shot open wide as Riker understood what it was to be
filled. He breathe with her, feeling his hands on her breasts. Her mouth was twisted mischeviously. He reached for her mind but was unable to form words as
his body drove her madly towards orgasm.

Will would have bet an Enterprise full of latinum that he knew Deanna's body better then any other woman he had ever known. uring their honeymoon he had
learned that it was a useless bet. He couldn't know her body. She was an nessecary part of his existance.

Shared climax brought trembling to his hands, and a deeper shaking all through his body. Deanna's eyes were soft, and sweat added an extra dimension of curl to
her hair. Her quiet concern was understood unspoken, but her voice was gentle in his mind. ((And you didn't believe me when I told you what it was like.))

The lay on the warm wood of the deck. Stars smiling down their silent blessing on their frequent explorations of each other. He ran a lazy hand over the smooth
skin of her belly. ((I think this could be bad for my ego. I mean, now that I understand what it is to be made love too by myself.))

Her laughter echoed over the water. Her hands were a bit more adventurous, warranting a raised eyebrow as she stroked his damp skin. ((Somehow I think
you'll get over it.))

"Will I?" Riker's voice fell out of teasing pitch. "I don't think I'll ever get over you, imzadi." His sudden melancholy stopped her and she rolled onto his
chest, her hair curtaining her beloved's face as she bored into his eyes. Deanna kissed him, commiting him forever to memory.

"You know how I am at goodbyes." Her cheeks were wet beneath his fingertips. Her dark hair was haloed by the moonlight. He paused for a moment, drinking in
to radiance that was his imzadi. His goddess was glowing with more then moonlight, because there was no moon. Shock flew through her eyes. They stood
quickly, hands linked.

Warm light caressed even the shadows of Will's body. Deanna noticed with some amusement that even the fine hairs of his stomach were visible. The cove that
berthed the Enterprise was full of light. Three floodlights poured light from the treetops to the ocean surface.

Worf's deep laughter boomed like a war drum acorss the night stillness. "Welcome back commanders." Will met Deanna's gaze. Completely unabashed, she
shrugged and headed to the bow for her abandoned clothing. He pulled on his rumpled pants quickly and in his state of half dress leaped to the dock to help
Worf secure the elegant craft.

"Power?" He asked, completely intrigued. The path behind Worf was also lit. Worf was dressed in a simple black sleeveless tunic and what looked like
starfleet special ops trousers. The outfit was new, clean and undamaged. The burly Klingon nodded curtly.

"We now have a functioning power core. Both you and the counselor have new uniforms waiting for you."

Will whistled in awe. "Geordi just needed us gone to work a miracle." Deanna joined them from a few steps back. Her threadbare clothes made Worf look even
more intimidating and she smiled as she toyed with a whole near her elbow.

"It'll be a miracle to have a shirt without holes." Tiny white lights lined a path through the woods. A glowing through the trees called them. Deanna
squeezed his hand tightly as the instinctual thought teased his mind. ((Home?)) He wondered to Deanna.

((I understand.)) She responding soothingly. ((It is almost home isn't it?)) His arm encircled her, pulling her the inches closer. The refugees fallen from
the stars were gone and a colony stood in place of the crude camp.

The clearing was encircled with light. A large, even patch of ground formed the center. It was no longer bare packed earth, but held a ring of wildflowers.
Paths were lined with stones and each of the buildings were straight and built solidly of Federation duracrete. The infirmary was directly to their left. Next
to it a large building of many windows introduced itself as the mess hall. The male and female dormitories remained, but there were showers behind the
buildings. A large warehouse staked out the woods behind an elegant wooden building.

Will Riker's eyes paused on a smaller duracrete building spilling light into the clearing. Hand in hand with Deanna he strode towards it.

She squeezed his fingers and whispered, "Do you hear that?" Will did. As they got closer, it was impossible not too. Music and voices even a human would
recognize as happy, carried on with abandon. With left eyebrow raised, Will pushed open the swinging double doors. The building was a large rectangular
room. A circle of replicators owned the middle, but the rest was open, filled with stools and counters. Along the walls, hanging canvas formed chairs that
several crewmembers lounged in. The crew were all dressed similarly to Worf, but unlike the faded clothes they wore, the crew was clean.

Their appearance brought a hush, and then a rousing cheer. Geordi ran up to them, flanked by Andrew Powell and Alyssa Ogawa. "Welcome back." Geordi
offered with a facesplitting grin. "And welcome to the party."

Andrew and Alyssa chuckled. "Core two was finished today." Alyssa brightly continued. Deanna was deeply impressed. Will shook his head in amazement.

"You've really outdone yourself Geordi."

The good-natured engineer waved the praise off with a hand. "It was my crew, and everyone pitched in."

Andrew raised a steely gray mug to Geordi. "Here's to the most successful Starfleet colony in the 21st century!" Sarcasm drew scattered laughter and many
more cups were thrust into the air. With a final squeeze of his hand, Deanna parted, allowing herself to be pulled away to examine the replicators with Reg
Barcaly and Ellix Jova.

Worf joined the officers, pressing a mug of something aromatic into Riker's hand. "Drink." He encouraged firmly. "It is a glorious day. The hunting
parties were especially successful, tommorrow's dinner is already roasting outside."

Riker took a sip. The liquid was spicy and had the tang of hard cider. He swished it around his mouth, and then downed his glass. "I should go away more
often."

Worf laughed dryly. "I should think you'd need some time to recover."

Geordi's eyes twinkled with good humor. "We've all heard the horror stories of insatiable Betazoid women." Will bellowed his laughter and threw his arms
around his companions.

"Buy me another one of these and prepare yourself for a truly chilling tale." And the three men joined the fray.