The BLTS Archive - Full Circle
by Terri Ponce (trponce@earthlink.net)

---

References: 'The Eyes of the Beholders', by A.C. Crispin,
for insights into Will's love life during his Academy days.

Another TNG novel, which I shamefully scouted at the local
bookstore but didn't record in my notes, that provided
material for Will Riker's ancestry.

Who Owns What: Paramount owns all TNG characters. A.C.
Crispin owns Paula Andropova.  Terri Ponce owns the
storyline and one additional character.

Archive?: Yes!!

Special Thanks: To Narelle for her mutual love of Riker and
JF, her incredible insights, and her gift of language.  I
wouldn't have been  able to keep my sanity intact while
writing 'Full Circle' without her.

Copyright 1999 Terri Ponce

---
PREFACE
---
One Year Ago...
---

The shuttlecraft touched down just at the edge of the
great expanse of lawn ahead.  On time.  Then again,
somehow she expected as much.  He was always a
stickler for punctuality.  Obviously still was.

She watched the craft settle into the grass, the
sound of its engines fading to a dull hum before
disappearing completely.  The aft seal opened and he
stepped out.  No baggage.  No gear.  Just him, and
the borrowed clothes on his back.

She held her breath, watching.  He was the same as
she remembered, yet so different.  He looked weary,
his body wearing the signs of his recent emotional
and physical struggles.  And he was leaner.  Almost
as thin as he was when they first met, but looking
stronger now, in spite of it all.  His face - his
entire being - was a montage of courage, and
determination and endurance.  It suited him.  She
laughed to herself at that thought.  Of course it
would.  She wouldn't have expected anything less from
him, because *he* wouldn't have expected anything
less from him.

She watched him linger on the aft shuttle deck a
moment and breathe in deeply, allowing his five
senses to savor the first taste of what he hadn't
been able to enjoy in way too long.  Sultry air,
sweetly fragrant to his nostrils.  A gentle and warm
breeze brushing against his skin.  The bright yellow
orb above, occasionally veiled by a stray, puffy
cloud as it took a leisurely stroll across the summer
sky.  She imagined, for him, that it must have been
perfect.  All he had hoped.  All he had dreamed.  All
he had wanted.

And all he had given up years ago.

He slowly stepped down onto the rich, green carpeting below.

Gracefully and calmly she strolled towards him, hand
extended, prepared to start anew.

As if a scene from some old, romantic movie, he took
her hand in his and bent over to drop a small, gentle
kiss on her fingertips.  He looked back up at her,
eyes grateful, bowing in her presence.  She smiled.

She pointed towards her home and they started to
walk.  "Welcome."

"I want to say thank you, but somehow I feel those
two words will never be enough.  I will forever be
indebted to you for what you have done."

Based on the long ago history between them, and her
attitude towards him in those early days, she was
certain he had not expected her to do this for him.
And because of it, the word 'indebted' seemed an
understatement.

She lifted her chin in a show of aristocracy and
waved a hand airily when she spoke.  "It was nothing.
I merely worked with them.  I knew what they wanted,
and I knew how to help."

He stopped mid-stride, and she followed suit.  He
turned and faced her, wanting to look her directly in
the eyes.  Wanting her to see his sincerity.  To feel
his gratitude.

"You took a risk.  For me."

"Does that surprise you?"

He nodded.  "Yes.  It does."

She smiled and slipped her arm into his and they
began their slow ascent up the front steps of the
house.  "It really wasn't all that much of a risk.  I
just had to pull a few strings.  Tug a little here,
push a little there."

"But you still did it for me.  That surprises me
because I know you really didn't like me all that
much when we first met.  I always got the feeling you
held...circumstances...against me.  Blamed me for the
way things turned out.  Considered me responsible."

"Times change.  And you...are not who you were."

He raised an eyebrow.  She was right about that.  In
more ways than one.

They stopped at the large doorway to the mansion,
which somehow had mysteriously opened while they
strolled towards it.  She walked inside and motioned
with her hand, prompting him to follow.

He breathed in deeply.  She reached out to him and
grasped onto his hand, the gesture providing him with
the inner strength she was sure he needed.  Helping
to curb the pain of the memory of the last time he
stood at these doors.  Easing the uncanniness of the
situation now.

"It's alright," she said, pulling him towards her.
"You're home now."

With her words, he cast all doubt aside and stepped
over the threshold.

---
END PREFACE
---
Present Day
---

Will Riker stared at himself long and hard in the mirror.

He hardly recognized himself.  He had been beardless
before.  In his youth.  In days when he didn't know
about the Borg.  When he didn't have the stamina to
fight a Targ with Worf.  During a time when the most
difficult decision he ever had to make was which
posting on which ship to take, ensuring continued
success in his career.

And yet, standing there, studying his reflection, he
barely recognized himself.

He let out one very loud, very long sigh.

Somehow the beard's absence felt more acute to him
now.  For what reason, though, he wasn't sure.  All
he knew was that he felt different.

<Maybe it's a midlife crisis,> he thought, the words
reminding him of his overture to Deanna in her office
last week.

<Then again, maybe it's not.>

He dipped the brush into the bowl of shaving cream,
then amply covered his cheeks with it.

He grinned.

The shaving cream's rich lather reminded him of one
particular racy afternoon with an equally racy
Beleusian woman and a bowl of whipped cream on Risa.

He began to shave with the straight edge, forcing
that long-ago memory to the depths of his mind.

That was then.

This was now.

Things had changed.

He continued his methodical process on the left side
of his face.  Shave.  Dip in water.  Shake.  Shave again.

He knew it wasn't just the beard that was bothering
him.  It was all the changes that had occurred in his
life within the past couple of years.  The
differences he felt within himself.  The growing
sense of maturity.  His steadfast self-assuredness.
The complacency...

He shook his head and frowned.

What had happened to him?  His spontaneity?  His
sense of fun and adventure?  Things that had always
seemed tried and true.  Things he always could count
on to be there.  To be a part of him.

Like his beard...

His *beard*.

He perched the razor mere inches from his right cheek
now.  It was a beautiful razor.  An antique from
Earth made of pure silver.  The very one Deanna had
used on him last week in his hot tub, and had given
to him as a gift afterward.

Riker was about to begin shaving the other side, but
couldn't help but notice the stubble that remained.
The shadow on his cheeks and chin appeared more
readily now, as if to constantly remind him - demand
of him even - of their urge to remain intact and
sculpted.  Not flushed down a sink full of water and
bubbles and soap.

It was still mostly black, that persistent beard of
his, but peppered with gray.  More gray than he
remembered having before.  Was that old wives' tale
true, he wondered.  Did the gray in a beard really
grow in more intensely once you began shaving it off?

Riker shook his head.  It was a silly thought, and he
did not entertain silly thoughts.

Not anymore, anyway.

He gave up on his musings and proceeded to finish the
job, gently scraping the sharp edge of the blade
against his delicate skin.  And yet still that gray
continued to haunt him.  It looked different.  He was
sure of it.  But it was more than that.  It wasn't
whether there was really more of the gray or not.  It
was what that gray represented.

Age.

Will Riker, like it or not, was getting older.

He brought the razor to his skin for one final
stroke.  As his hand drew it downward, he swore that
he could still smell Deanna's perfume on the fine
metal from that fateful day a week ago.  That day
that started it all.

Or rather, that day that started it all...again.

Yes, there was no doubt that Will had changed.  And
there was also no doubt that he was getting older.
But so was Deanna.

Which meant that it was now or never.

This would be their last chance.

---

"Will you stop that already?  You're making me dizzy!"

Beverly Crusher tried to remain patient and calm as
she sat on the sofa, watching a nervous Deanna pace
back and forth, constantly stopping to assess her
appearance in the full-length mirror in her outer quarters.

"The dress is perfect!" Crusher exclaimed in
exasperation.  "You know it's one of his favorites,
Deanna.  Just wear that and get going!  You're going
to be late!"

Deanna studied her reflection in the mirror, more
intently this time.  "I don't know, Beverly," she
hesitated.  "It feels different.  Tighter than it
used to be."

Beverly sprang to her feet out of desperation to get
this over with.  An hour of watching Counselor Troi
change attire over and over again was beginning to get 
on her nerves.  She came to stand just behind her friend.

"The dress doesn't look any different than any of the
other times you wore it," she protested.  "The angle
on the shoulder is still as appealing as ever, and the
blue-green color still offsets your dark hair
beautifully.  And as for tight...?"

She placed her hands on Deanna's shoulders and turned
her around once, in a circle, to get a complete view
of the dress.  "For the gods' sake, Deanna.  It's no
tighter now than it was the last time you wore it."

Deanna's voice grew testy.  "That's the point, Beverly.  
When was the last time I wore it?  Years ago?"

"Then you should be pleased that it still fits,"
Beverly reproached in good humor.

Troi didn't hear the complement.  She was too
preoccupied.  "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"What's gotten into you tonight, anyway?" Beverly
asked, pulling off a dark, loose strand of hair from
Troi's shoulder.  "The dress looks wonderful, and so
do you, and I don't understand why you're acting like
some insecure teenager over your appearance.  We're
long past the Briar Patch, Deanna.  What's with you?"

Deanna's face turned a shade paler, then she licked
her lips nervously.  "Will said he had a special
evening planned."

"So...?" Beverly questioned innocently.

"He said...'special'...Beverly."  Her dark eyebrows
arched upward to emphasize the point.

Beverly didn't get it.  Not immediately anyway.  She
opened her mouth to ask another question, then
quickly realized what Deanna's words intimated.  Her
lips slid into a perfectly curved smile.  "Aaah.
*Special*.  No wonder you're so restless!  Then you
better get moving!"

Deanna ignored Beverly's advice and continued staring
at herself in the mirror...

Then spun around and sped for her bedroom with
remarkable speed.  "No.  It's all wrong.  I'm going
to wear something else."

Crusher bolted after her and grasped hard onto her
arm.  She tugged on it, forcing the Betazoid
Counselor back towards the mirror, then repositioned
her in front of it.

"Oh no you don't," Beverly warned, short of breath.
"You've been trying on dresses for too long now.
This one is perfect for the occasion.  Wear it."

Deanna looked past her reflection and into Crusher's
eyes, unsure.  "Do you really think so?"

"I've said that a dozen times already, Deanna,"
Beverly said impatiently.  "My opinion hasn't changed
within the last five minutes."

The Betazoid took one single step closer to the
mirror and checked her makeup and hair.  "Do you
think the curls are too much?  Maybe I should have
left my hair straight.  I'm too old for these curls.
And the shadow on my eyes...I think it's a bit too
dark.  Maybe I should tone it down-"

Beverly rolled her eyes.  She swung Troi around in
the direction of her outer doors.

"Are you sure the effects of the Briar Patch aren't
still with you?  Honestly, Deanna!  You look *fine*!
And considering what Will obviously has planned for
tonight, I think the dress *and* the hair are the
perfect complement for it."

She gently pushed Troi out into the corridor.  "Go!
Considering all the years you two have waited, you
picked a helluva time to get cold feet!"

Deanna stood outside the doorway, looking nervously
back at Beverly, surprised by her own defensiveness.
"I don't have cold feet.  It's just-"

Beverly pressed the mechanism to shut the doors
tight.  From here on in, Deanna was on her own.

---

Any anxiety Deanna had been feeling about the evening
had quickly dissipated once she walked into Holodeck
Two.  She blinked her eyes once, then once again,
oblivious to the doors of the holodeck sealing shut
behind her.  The scene she had just entered was
breathtaking, and smelled and looked just exactly as
she remembered it.

"Well, what do you think?"

Deanna turned in the direction of Will's voice.  He
was resting on his elbows, legs extended, on a soft,
green blanket nestled on top of an equally green,
rich carpet of grass, dressed in his blue silk shirt
and black slacks.  Two empty wine glasses stood on
the blanket beside him, a bottle chilling in a wine
bucket just behind.  An oversized picnic basket was
positioned on the corner opposite him, open to
display an assortment of exotic foods.  He looked
confident.  Cool.  And handsome.

She glanced back at the waterfall in the distance and
nodded.  "It's beautiful.  And perfect."

Will twisted, to follow her gaze behind him and
admire the breathtaking beauty of the scenery
surrounding them.  "I wanted something appropriate.
It took a couple of times to get the program just
right, though.  I wanted to remember our last night
together.  Here at Jalaran Falls."

Deanna was about to take a step towards Will, then
faltered.  Those were words similar to what Tom had
said to her years ago, when he had presented her with
his laser etching in Ten Forward after being rescued
from Nervala IV.  Much to her relief, though, she was
able to recover before Will had seen her stumble, and
she casually sank down onto the blanket next to him.

He turned back to her and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

"So, did you bring chocolate?"

Will pulled away from her with a start.  "I go
through all this trouble, and all you can think about
is chocolate?"

"Funny," Deanna replied with a sly smile.  "I was
just thinking about how I went through all that
trouble to shave off your beard, and all you could
think about was sex."

He quirked an eyebrow at that but said nothing.  For
both of them, some things clearly hadn't changed
despite all the years that had passed.  He leaned
forward and tugged at the picnic basket, bringing it
closer for Deanna to inspect its contents.

She gently rifled through it, and once satisfied that
it did, indeed, contain her favorite indulgence, she
said, "Can we skip the meal and go right for dessert?"

Will pushed the basket away and began to coax Deanna
down on to the blanket.  "Well, if you insist..."

He didn't get very far, and Deanna pushed him back
up.  "I meant the chocolate, Will."

Somehow he had expected that reaction from her, and
so maneuvered back into his comfortable sitting
position.  There was no sense in rushing things.  The
entire night was still ahead of him.

"Right," he complied.  "The chocolate."

Will watched Deanna retrieve a rich, cream-filled
chocolate pastry and begin to lick the cream that
oozed from it with the tip of her tongue.  She closed
her eyes, let out a deep sigh, and licked again.  And
again.  She bit into the pastry, and its cream
dribbled on her lower lip and onto the corner of her
mouth.  She ran her moist tongue over the area,
completely losing herself to the sensuality and
decadence of the moment.

Will gulped, hard, likening the sensation of watching
Deanna indulge in the pastry to one of voyeurism.  In
spite of his efforts not to, he couldn't help but
lick his upper lip as well, as if sampling the sweet
and smooth concoction himself.  Then he shook his
head.  What in the universe, he thought, the Betazoid
Counselor found so appealing about chocolate he would
never know.  For him, it was a dessert that was way
too sweet for his tastes.  Then again, Will knew
better than to judge Deanna because of it.  Everyone
did have their own particular brand of weakness,
William T. Riker included.

Deanna looked over at him and suggestively licked the
fingers that had just held the dessert.

"Is that the end of your self-induced rapture?" he
asked with amusement, running his fingers over his
beard.

His beard.

His beard...

Will sighed, more loudly than he should have and with
more remorse than he had anticipated.

"Are you still missing it?" Deanna asked, knowing
full well what his answer would be.

He nodded half-heartedly.  "Funny.  I didn't think it
would be this difficult to adjust."  He laid back on
the blanket and rested on his elbows, then flashed
her a mischievous grin, his voice mirroring the
expression on his face.  "What in the universe was I
thinking in letting you convince me to get rid of it?"

Deanna began to dig around in the picnic basket
again.  "You weren't thinking.  At least not with
your brain anyway."

Will fingered the baby soft skin above and below his
lips, then sat back up, inching his way towards
Deanna.  "It's hard to imagine that we let twenty
years pass by before taking the plunge again."

"Twenty years that felt like a lifetime," Deanna
added.  "Particularly when compared to the mere days
we had together in the Jalara Jungle, and the single
few hours we spent in your hot tub and bedroom."

Will was moving closer still, and starting to lean
towards her.  He ran his lips across the softness of
her hair, inhaling the scent of it deeply into his
nostrils.  "Do you regret waiting all those years?
Wish you had done this sooner?"

Deanna felt her skin begin to tingle in response to
his ministrations, and turned her head slightly so
her dark eyes met his bright blue ones.  Eyes that
still looked as playful and as roguish as the day she
met him.  Maybe even more so, given what was
obviously on his mind.

"The Counselor inside me says 'no'," she replied.

Will leaned towards her again and brushed aside her
hair with his fingertips, then began to feather moist
kisses down the length of her neck.  "And the human
side...?" he mumbled into her flesh.

Deanna let out a sigh.  Will certainly knew what to
do with his mouth.  "The human side of me says that
the best things in life are worth waiting for."

Will's lips started their journey back up her neck
and across her jawbone.  He stopped, perching his
face mere inches from hers.  He ran his fingers up
and down the length of the zipper on the back of her
dress but not yet ready to pull it undone, and coaxed
her closer to him, fitting the curves of her body
into him.  His breath warmed her flesh and his eyes
devoured her hungrily.

"Then it's time we didn't wait anymore.  Don't you think?"

Deanna looked at him and felt her resolve weakening.
Will certainly knew how to seduce a woman, too.  "I
thought we already did that last week."

He kissed her on the mouth and remained that way,
lips resting against lips.  "No," he murmured.
"That's not what I'm talking about."

His gaze pierced right through her and Deanna
couldn't help but relive the passionate week they had
just spent together in her mind.  She could almost
see the provocative reflection of the two of them,
together, in his eyes.

She could barely get the question past her lips.
"What are you suggesting then?"

In a breath, the words slid from his mouth into hers.
"Marry me."

Deanna let out a quick gasp, which was received by
Will's passionate kiss.

She pulled him down onto the blanket with her.

---

"Come!"

Commander Riker strode into Captain Picard's Ready
Room at 0800 and found his commanding officer seated
at his desk, a full cup of tea to his right, his
elbows resting on the arms of his chair and his
fingers steepled before him.

It was a posture Riker was familiar with but didn't
see often.  He took one step into the Ready Room,
just far enough to permit the doors to hiss shut
behind him, preparing himself for the troubling news
he was sure he was about to hear.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

Picard peered up at Riker over his fingertips,
bleary-eyed, then rubbed the bare half-crown of his
head with both of his hands.  Then he dropped them
onto his lap.  "Yes, I did, Number One.  Sit down."

Riker strode across the floor, then took his
customary chair opposite the desk, all too aware that
he couldn't remember the last time he had straddled it.

The Captain let out a loud sigh and took a sip from
his glass mug.  The tea within it had become ice cold
from sitting untouched for too long and he put it
back down on his desk again, pushing the mug off to
the side and barely out of arm's reach.

"I've just been contacted by Admiral Nechayev," he
said flatly.

<That explains the body language>, Riker thought, not
bothering to hide his displeasure with a scowl.  He
felt the same way about the overbearing and demanding
Admiral as his Captain did.

"What did she contact you about?"

Picard sank back into his chair, his face devoid of
any emotion except for the confusion that fleeted
quickly across his hazel eyes.  Riker braced himself
for the trouble he knew was coming.

"There has been a report that Betazed is arming
itself, Number One."

The news had the effect Picard expected on his First
Officer.  Riker's eyebrows shot up while his voice
shot out.  "Betazed!  That's not possible, Captain.
They're one of the most peaceful people within the
Federation!"

Picard swiveled a quarter turn in his chair and
folded his hands on his lap.  "I was no less
surprised to hear the news than you, Number One.  But
apparently, it's true."

Riker looked past the Captain and out into deep, dark
space, watching the stars streak past, then settled
his gaze upon his Commanding Officer again.  "On
whose authority has this been happening?"

"No one's."

Riker's eyes widened.  "*No one* on Betazed has
authorized the procurement of weapons?"

Picard took in quick breath through his nose, then
let it out just as quickly through his mouth.  He
was still coming to terms with the news himself.
"According to Admiral Nechayev, there is at least one
cave on Betazed, deep within the hills of Casaveras,
that contains weaponry of all kinds.  Phasers.  Laser
rifles.  Mobile torpedo launchers.  They were
discovered, accidentally, by one of the higher-
ranking officials of the Betazed government during an
archaeological dig.  He took it upon himself to
contact Starfleet once the discovery was made."

Riker swallowed, forcing his anxiety downward and
permitting his more professional demeanor to
resurface.  "Storing arms deep within a cave doesn't
sound like an activity that is sanctioned by a
government, Captain."

"A valid observation, Number One."

"Do we know if this is the only location that
contains arms?"

"It's quite possible that there are more, but that
hasn't been proven either way yet."

Riker rubbed his hand over his bare chin, a habit
from his bearded days that he still hadn't been able
to overcome.  "If these weapons are unauthorized,
then why are they there?"

"That's what the Enterprise has to find out.
Nechayev contacted me and ordered us to investigate."

"Isn't there some other ship that is closer?"

"The Admiral was insistent that it be us, Number One.
She even gave the Enterprise approval to proceed to
Betazed at warp nine."

Riker's head came up with a start.  "Warp nine?
That's not permitted in this sector."

"I know that.  But Nechayev said that although the
Enterprise may not be the closest ship, we are the
most powerful in terms of weapons capabilities.  She
wants us there immediately, and gave us the clearance
to do so."

Riker's eyes darkened.  Picard's implication was not
a good one.  "Does the Admiral think the situation
will escalate to the point where we will need to
defend ourselves?"

"She didn't say it outright, but she did make it
clear that these are our orders and that we are to
follow them.  She did not entertain any further
questions from me after making that perfectly clear."

Riker's fingers moved from his upper lip to his brow,
his voice tentative. "I don't think I like what I'm hearing."

"Nor I, Number One," Picard breathed.  He glanced off
to the side a moment, gathering his thoughts, before
he turned back to his First Officer.  "I've been
sitting here for almost fifteen minutes, trying to
make some sense out of all of this.  But I can't.
When the Enterprise receives orders, the mission and
its purpose are always clear.  This time, they're
not.  To be honest Will, I have no idea what to
expect from this mission, or from Nechayev either -
who is being even more demanding and vague than usual -
and that's not making me feel particularly confident."

Riker didn't say anything.  It was very rare that the
Captain shared his personal feelings - about anything -
and he knew well enough not remark on those
admissions one way or the other.  To do so would
sever the deep trust that he had earned from Picard
over the years.  He waited until the visible tension
in Picard's temples eased before pursuing the
conversation further.

"Does anyone else know about this situation, Captain?"

"Fortunately, Chancellor Matoba was the only Betazoid
to find the arms.  And, other than him and a handful
of the very highest officials, no one else on Betazed
is aware of the situation - for security reasons
obviously.  Within Starfleet, it's just Admiral Hayes -
who was contacted by Chancellor Matoba - Admiral
Nechayev, myself and you.  Beyond that, I expect that
only the very senior crew of the Enterprise will be
made aware."

Riker nodded in affirmation.  "Of course, Sir.
Understood.  Are there any ideas as to who is involved?"

"No.  We don't know if it's a Betazoid person or
people, or some other faction from another race, or a
combination of both."

Riker's mind raced through all the possible
alternatives he could think of.  "There are several
possibilities that could explain these circumstances.
And I'm beginning to wonder if these arms were
brought onto Betazed as a result of the Dominion War."

"That thought crossed my mind as well, Number One.
Which is another reason why this isn't sitting well
with me.  And if that is true, it may also be the
reason Admiral Nechayev is behaving so
surreptitiously, so as not to stir up any unnecessary
alarm within the Federation.  The last thing Betazed -
or any other Federation planet - needs right now is
fear of another occupation."

Riker hesitated, scrutinizing his CO's posture and
expression.  "You don't seem entirely convinced of
that, though, Captain.  Do you think this might be
about something else?"

"Do you, Number One?"

It was a rhetorical question.  At that moment, Riker
realized that he and Captain Picard had, without
saying it outright, come to the same conclusion:  the
fact that some unknown group of people were storing
weapons on a peaceful planet for an unknown purpose
was troubling enough.  The fact that Admiral Nechayev
ordered the Enterprise on a mission with vague
undertones was even more so.  There was more to this
mission than just the arms discovered on Betazed.  He
was sure of it.

Picard handed a padd over to Riker containing the
sketchy details they had just discussed.
"Apparently, Chancellor Matoba had been scouting this
particular cave for quite some time prior to
beginning his dig.  He said that about two months'
time had passed in between visits, and it was on his
latest visit that he found the weapons.  Which, by
the way, was shortly after Betazed had officially
been liberated from Dominion rule."

Riker glanced up from the padd.  "Which means...what?
Exactly?  That some faction on Betazed wants to go
for blood because of what happened to their planet
during the War?  I find that very hard to believe,
Captain.  It's not fitting in with what you've told
me so far."

"I agree on that point as well, Number One.  Which
only makes this whole mission even more of a puzzle."
He pursed his lips, deep in thought.  "The Enterprise
is to rendezvous with Betazed in two days.  We will
be contacted by the Chancellor when we arrive."

"And then what do we do?" Riker asked, browsing over
the contents of the padd.

Picard picked up his glass mug and walked over to the
replicator to order himself a fresh cup of hot Earl
Gray.  "Investigate," he replied casually.  "Although
I'm not sure *what* it is, exactly, we're supposed to
investigate.  The arms and who is storing them, yes.
Beyond that, I'm not sure."

Riker glanced up from the padd to finish Picard's
thought.  "You have the feeling that our so-called
mission is a diversion for something bigger?"

The Captain brought the filled cup back to his desk
and sat down again.  "I don't know if 'bigger' is the
right word, Number One.  'Clandestine' might be more
correct."

Riker placed the padd back onto the Captain's desk.
"Is there anyone else we can talk to about this?
Someone we can bounce our thoughts off, just to make
sure we're not making more of this than there is?"

"I wish there were," Picard sighed.  "We are under
strict orders for all transmissions regarding this
mission to be directed solely to Admiral Nechayev.
Through me."

"How convenient," Riker replied dryly.

"My thoughts precisely."  Picard took a sip of his
tea.  "Well, Number One.  That's our exciting news
for the day."

"More like the *month*," Riker said, preoccupied.

"I want you to assemble the Senior Officers for a
meeting at ten-thirty hours today so we can brief them 
on these latest developments and plan out our mission."

"Yes, sir."

"And, unless there is anything else you need to discuss, 
I'll meet you out on the bridge in a few minutes."

Riker was about to agree and get up from his chair,
but reconsidered.  He leaned forward, closer to the
Captain's desk, hesitating only briefly before he
spoke.

"Captain?  There is one other matter I'd like to
discuss with you.  Unrelated to the developments on
Betazed, if you don't mind.  My timing may not be
appropriate, but then again, on the Enterprise I
don't know if there ever *is* a right time."

Picard recognized the change in Riker's tone of
voice.  He carefully put his cup back down on the
desk, and gave his First Officer his full attention.

"Go ahead, Commander."

"Well, I guess it's no secret to most of the crew by
now that Counselor Troi and I have...rekindled our
relationship, so to speak."

Picard smiled gently, suddenly getting the feeling
that he was being addressed more as Will Riker's
father than his Captain.

"But," Riker continued, "I wanted you to be the first
to know that, last night, I asked Deanna to marry me.
I would like you to preside over our ceremony, Captain."

The small smile on Picard's face broke out into one
that was wide and full.  He slid out of his chair,
walked around the desk and extended his arm to his
First Officer.

"Well, congratulations, Will!  I would be honored!"

Riker stood and vigorously shook the Captain's hand.
"Thank you, Sir."

Picard tugged down on his tunic.  Officiating a
wedding ceremony meant that he would have to wear the
newly designed, and incredibly uncomfortable,
Starfleet dress uniforms.  He tugged once again,
already uncomfortable with the prospect.  "Have you
two set a date yet, or discussed any of your plans?"

Images of the previous night flashed through Riker's
mind.  The only conversation he and Deanna had with
one another involved only moans and soft voices in
supplication.

"No, Sir," he replied.  "We haven't.  Although we
won't be waiting too long, I'm sure.  We've let too
many years pass by as it is."

Picard clasped Riker's hand again and shook it one
final time.  "Well, you just let me know what you
decide.  I'll make it a point to be available for
whatever date you choose.  In the meantime, I'll set
aside a rare bottle from the Picard vineyard just for
the special occasion."

---

Lwaxana Troi let out a loud and startled gasp, then
practically jumped out of her high-backed armchair in
her parlor.  The small computer on the fruitwood end
table beside her had begun to beep, indicating that
she had an incoming message.

"I always hated these things," she complained to
herself, looking at the computer as if she expected
it to grow a sharp set of teeth and bite her.
"They're so crude when compared with the much more
refined art of mental telepathy."

With an extended and overly cautious finger, Lwaxana
debated whether to touch the keypad or not.  It was
only after the war with the Dominion that *all*
Betazed officials and diplomats were required to keep
a computer in their home or office.  A Federation
requirement that Lwaxana fought tooth and nail every
step of the way, and one that she was unable to
overcome, despite all her verbal protestation.  She
reached down a bit further, and then, as if through
no volition of her own, tapped the console to
retrieve the message.

Deanna instantly appeared on the screen.

At that moment, Lwaxana completely forgot what she
had been complaining about.

"Little One!  What a pleasant surprise to hear from
you!  I thought you had met up with misfortune, dear,
it has been so long since I last heard from you."

Deanna's lips twisted into an amused smile despite
the left-handed complement.  By now, she was not only
used to it, she had come to expect it.

"I talked to you three weeks ago, Mother, and
yes...it's nice to see you too."

Lwaxana ran her hands down the front of her beaded,
purple gown, now standing before the computer screen.
Even though they were not face to face, she still
wanted Deanna to see that she was elegantly dressed,
and that life in the Fifth House was almost back to
normal after the War.  She extended her arms outward
and towards the monitor for a moment, then cupped her
hands as if to hold her daughter's face within her fingertips.

"Oh, don't you look lovely dear."  She took a step
closer, then bent down to more carefully study
Deanna's image.  "But...are those dark circles I see
under your eyes?"  She stood upright again, and shook
her head.  "Are you getting enough rest, Little One?
Or do I have to have a conversation with Jean-Luc for
working you too hard?"

"My work schedule is manageable, Mother," Deanna
replied calmly.  "But it's nice to know that you're
being as..."  She hesitated, trying to find the right
word, then said, "As...attentive...to me, as ever."

Lwaxana waved her hand as if to pass the comment off
as inconsequential.  "Now, now, Little One.  You know
how important your well-being is to me."  She let out
a dramatic sigh.  "It's just that I don't get to see
or hear from you as often as I would like, what with
you flying all over the galaxy in that tin can they
call a spaceship, doing the gods only know what.  So
it's only natural for me, as your mother, to pick up
on the little things that are changing your beauty."

Deanna rolled her eyes.  "*Mother*..."

"Oh, alright," Lwaxana conceded.  "You'll always be
beautiful to me, Little One..."

"Thank you."

"...No matter what happens to your face."

"*Mother*!"

Lwaxana frowned as if she were a five year old who
had just been dragged out of a candy store empty
handed.  She sank back down into her richly
upholstered armchair and cleared her throat.  This
time, when she spoke, her voice had taken on a much
more endearing tone.

"It is so wonderful to hear from you, Deanna.  I do
miss you, you know."

"I know.  I miss you, too."  Deanna shifted in her
seat.  "How is my little brother?"

"He's fine.  He's spending a few days with Chandra
and her Little One, Arius, at Solaran Beach.  The two
of them have become inseparable for the past year now."

Deanna smiled ruefully.  She hadn't seen her step-
brother in a little more than a year, and Chandra
since before Arius was born three years ago.  She was 
disappointed she was going to miss them once again.

"So, how are you handling the computer?"

"Oh, it's alright, I suppose.  It's still not the same,
though, as conversing the more normal way."

"Normal way?"  It was a loaded question, Deanna knew,
and she regretted asking it as soon as it had passed
her lips.

"Yes.  Through telepathy, of course."

Deanna slumped just slightly, despite the fact that
she had expected as much.  "Mother, did it ever occur
to you that-"

She didn't bother to continue.  The argument that was
sure to follow simply wasn't worth it.  She decided to 
change the subject.  "So what have you been up to lately?"

"Oh, Mr. Homm has finished working on the house,
dear.  It's not exactly what it used to be, but it's
close.  You know, we were one of the fortunate ones
here.  The Dominion destroyed so much..."

Her voice faded off with the memory.

Deanna let out a sympathetic, and somewhat relieved,
smile.  She knew that Betazed had suffered during the
Dominion occupation, but to what extent her own home
had been affected, she wasn't sure.  Up until now,
her mother didn't talk about it that much.

"But enough about me," Lwaxana said, interrupting
Deanna's thoughts.  "What about you?  Have you
finally found a man who wants to marry you?  Oh, what
am I thinking.  I just asked you that question three
weeks ago, the last time we talked.  I'm sure your
answer hasn't changed since then."

"Actually...that's one of the reasons I'm contacting
you, Mother."

"Little One," Lwaxana admonished in a stern voice,
"don't go teasing me like that."

"I'm not, Mother."

Lwaxana looked intently into her daughter's eyes.
"Are you telling me...?"

Deanna smiled.  "I'm getting married.  Will asked me
last night."

Lwaxana brought a clenched fist to her breast.  "Oh,
Little One!  How wonderful!  It's about time you
found yourself a husband to take care of you and work
for you and make you breakfast and lunch and dinner and-"

"Will's going to be my *husband*, not my slave."

Lwaxana dropped her hand down on to her lap, feigning
defeat.  "Well...you certainly know how to take the
fun out of your surprises, Deanna."  She paused, then
perked her head up, adding, "Does this mean you'll be
coming to Betazed to make your formal announcement
any time soon?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact-"

Lwaxana jumped to her feet and began to pace in a
small circle in front of the computer console.  She
waved her arms about excitedly, her brain in high
gear and her feet unable to keep up with the pace.
"How wonderful!  I'll set up a huge reception, in
your honor, and we'll invite everyone we know.  It'll
be magnificent.  With flowers.  And a band.  And
wonderful food.  Oh, but this house...it's still not
right for this type of affair.  And the garden needs
to be tended to.  And-"

In her enthusiasm, Lwaxana had forgotten he was
there.  She abruptly stopped mid-thought.  She didn't
need to turn around to see him sitting on the chair
in the opposite corner of the room.  Looking right at
her.  Watching.  Listening.

"Mother?" Deanna asked, worried.  "Is something wrong?"

Lwaxana spun around at the sound of her daughter's
voice and brought a shaking hand to her forehead.
She started to feel dizzy.  "Oh no.  No.  Nothing is
the matter, Little One.  I'm just...overwhelmed by
the news.  That's all."

Deanna watched Lwaxana's mouth twitch oddly as she
spoke.  "You're lying, Mother. What are you hiding?"

Lwaxana's voice went up an octave.  "Hiding?  Me?
Nothing at all.  So when will you be here?"

Deanna's eyes narrowed.  "Mother...changing the
subject won't get me to overlook this.  Now, answer
the question."

"When will you be here, Deanna?  I need to prepare!"

"Mother..."

It was pointless for Deanna to push the issue right
now, she knew.  Her mother was obviously hiding
something from her, but unwilling to tell her what it
was.  She decided it might be better to confront her
about it when she arrived home.   "We'll be there in
two days.  Will and I will discuss our arrangements
with you then."

"Two days!  That doesn't leave me much time to
prepare, Little One."

"I realize that, but-"

Deanna's comm badge chirped.  It was Will, summoning
the senior staff of the Enterprise to the Observation
Lounge for a meeting.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Deanna quickly apologized.  "But
I have to go."

Lwaxana tried to hide her disappointment.  "I
understand, dear.  I look forward to seeing you soon.
We'll have so much fun planning your wedding."

"I look forward to it too, Mother.  Be well."

With that, Deanna severed the connection between them.

Lwaxana pressed the keypad so that the monitor went
blank.  He was still behind her, sitting on the chair,
and she could feel his intent gaze bore right through
her.   She brushed her hands down the purple gown to
smooth out wrinkles that weren't there.  Trying to think 
of something...anything...to say that would be appropriate.

She could think of nothing.

Lwaxana knew she shouldn't have felt insecure in his
presence.  That was an emotion she felt with no one.
But she had been careless and let him listen in on
her discussion with Deanna.  And that, she knew, had
been a terrible mistake.

She could still feel his eyes on her, watching her
every move closely.  Trying to study her emotions.
Trying to read her thoughts.

As if driven by some force she couldn't control,
Lwaxana finally turned around to look at the man
sitting on the overstuffed armchair in the farthest
corner of the parlor.  The window next to him was
open wide, and the summer breeze was blowing gently
against the fabric of his dark, silky shirt, causing
the collar to waft up and down to caress the chords
of his strong neck.

On the outside, he was the picture perfect vision of
calm, cool and collected.

On the inside, however, Lwaxana knew he was a raging
inferno.

Fate had a lousy way of dealing its cards sometimes,
Lwaxana thought.  And for him, she recognized that he
had been dealt more than his fair share.  She
probably should have told him to leave the room when
Deanna's call first came in, but she was so excited
to hear from her that she had completely forgotten
about tact.  Besides, she knew, he would never have
left her alone.  For two reasons:  one, because he
would have recognized her ploy for what it was.  And
two, because he never did anything unless it was of
his own will.

She walked over to him and placed a comforting hand
on his shoulder.  "I'm sorry.  I hope that you
understand that I-"

He pushed her hand off his shoulder and lurched to
his feet.  <I'll be back later,> he sent to her
telepathically.  <I'm going for a walk.>

Lwaxana watched him head out the front doors of the
Troi mansion and towards the garden, and didn't try
to stop him.

She knew he would eventually return.

He had to.

---

The place may have been different, but the people weren't.

Guinan served the next round of drinks to a
particular group of patrons who were nestled in the
corner of the ship's mess hall, and who were growing
a little louder and a little more ribald with each
passing hour.  The rec room was a smaller, more
functional dining area than that of Ten Forward on
the Enterprise-D, but the El-Aurian didn't care.  To
her, the Enterprise's rec room was home.  It didn't
matter what letter of the alphabet was assigned to
the ship, as long as the people she had grown close
to were with her.

She placed the drinks on the round table and took a
seat at it, unnoticed at first by the rest of the
officers.  It had been a long night for her, and she
wanted to rest.  Besides, resting seemed as good an
excuse as any, as long as she was able to hear the
rest of Commander Riker's incredibly juicy story.
Guinan folded her arms and rested them on the top of
the table, looking her usual, placid self.  A large,
saucer-shaped teal hat was perched on her head, and
her body was ensconced within a matching, wide-
sleeved gown.  Riker sat to her right, Counselor Troi
beside him, followed by Dr. Crusher, Commander Data
and Lt. Commander Geordi LaForge to her left.

Guinan sat, quietly, for about fifteen minutes, as
the senior officers shared stories of indecent
escapades and mischievous pranks experienced during
their Academy days.

"Glad to see that some things haven't changed," she
eventually mused out loud.

Riker put down his glass of ale and looked at Guinan.
He found her lips curved into a teasing smile, her
browless eyes arched slightly.  Evidence that she was
enjoying their boisterous conversation immensely.

He swirled the half-empty glass of ale around in his
hand, watching the suds bubble and pop, then rivaled
her playful grin with one of his own.  "Are you
poking fun at us, Guinan?"

She gently tipped her head to the right.  "No.  It's
just nice to see everyone on this ship almost back to
their usual selves again, that's all."

Data was not able to comprehend the subtlety of her
remark.  "Are you implying that you were not pleased
with how the crew of the Enterprise behaved prior to
tonight, Guinan?"

"No, I wouldn't say that, Data.  All I'm saying
is...it feels good to have everyone behaving more the
way they used to.  The way they were before the
Enterprise's last mission."

"Ah."  Data cocked his head and pressed his lips
together into a thin line, an indication that he was
processing Guinan's thought.  "Then you are implying
that you did not like how the crew behaved *during*
the mission?"

Guinan thought about his question for a moment.  "I
wouldn't say that I didn't like it, Data.  It's more
that it felt...awkward."

The El-Aurian's reply reminded Deanna of something
she had wanted to address with her for some time.
"Guinan," she inquired, "I've had many crewmembers
come to see me after the Enterprise left the Briar
Patch seven days ago.  Many of them had difficulties
readjusting back to their old selves, and even felt a
sense of loss when the ship left the youthful effects
of the planet's atmosphere.  But, now that I think of
it, you never did.  In fact, you had nothing to say
about that mission at all."

Riker turned inquisitive eyes on Guinan.  "Deanna's
right.  What happened to those words of wisdom you
usually share with us after a mission?  You had
nothing to say, at all, this time around."

"I didn't say anything," Guinan replied with an air
of indifference, "because I didn't have any insights
that I wanted to share."

"That's a first," Riker remarked.

"There always is for everything," Guinan quickly shot back.

Riker's curiosity was piqued.  "I'm curious about
something, Guinan.  Did the planet's atmosphere have
any affect on you at all?"

"As I said before, Commander...it felt awkward for me."

"Then it bothered you."

"No."

Riker did a double-take.  "Then you liked it?"

"I didn't *like* it, and I didn't *not* like it.  It
just felt awkward."

Riker rubbed his brow, confused.  Either he had had
too much to drink, or Guinan had just perfected the
art of circular reasoning.  He glanced over at
Deanna, who seemed to be the only party at the table
able to follow Guinan's logic.  Then again, she was
also the only one who hadn't been imbibing that much.

"So," Deanna asked, "what felt awkward, Guinan?  The
fact that everyone else was experiencing something
youthful, while you weren't?"

Guinan shook her head again and smiled, a serene,
insightful expression in her eyes.  "I never feel as
if I'm missing out on something, Counselor, even when
everyone else is experiencing something I'm not.  I
have seen many things in my lifetime, and done many
things in my lifetime.  Some good.  Some bad.  Some
enjoyable.  Some not."

"So was this particular experience was good or bad?"

"Neither.  It was both."

"Well," Troi said, tossing her napkin on the table in
defeat.  "I'm lost."

Guinan leaned forward just slightly, in Deanna's
direction.  "Tell me something, Counselor.  Did you
ever experience a day, or a moment in your life, that
you felt was both good and bad at the same time?"

"I have," Riker interrupted, his words laced with
rueful undertones.  "The day my father came to the
Enterprise when I was offered the Aries."

Guinan looked at the First Officer now.  "And what
was good about it?"

"The fact that I had been offered a commission.  That
I had a shot at Command."

"And what was bad?"

"That my father, with whom I had been estranged for
years and with whom I barely had a civil relationship
with, was the one who was trying to convince me to
accept the promotion."

"So it felt awkward," Guinan interpreted.  "Right?"

"I guess.  It felt wrong, and it felt right.  Even
after my decision had been made not to accept the
promotion.  Even after my father and I had sort of
come to terms with one another.  Life felt back on
track, but at the same time, it didn't."

Riker downed the painful memory with another sip of
his cold ale.

"Well, that's exactly what I mean about this past
mission.  Life didn't feel on track while we were in
the Briar Patch," Guinan said.  "Some things felt out
of place, while others didn't.  If anything, it just
felt like a necessary means to an end.  A...destiny,
if you will, that had to be followed for life on the
Enterprise to be set right again.  A destiny that
still has not been fulfilled completely."

Beverly's forehead knitted in confusion.  "Are you
saying that something was wrong with the mission?"

"Not so much 'wrong' with the mission as with the
people on board this ship.  Their chosen paths.
Their relationships.  Their character.  Some of them
were out of sync."

"Out of sync?" Data questioned.  "With what?  I am
afraid I do not comprehend that analogy."

"Sometimes, Data," Guinan explained, "when life gets
off course, it has to be brought back *on* course.
In this case, it was the Briar Patch that served as
the means to do that."

"I think I should get the crystal ball, Guinan,"
Riker teased.  "You're starting to sound prophetic."

The El-Aurian looked the Alaskan directly in the
eyes, her gaze unflinching.  "Then how do you explain
Thomas?  Do you really, truly, believe he was a freak
accident?  That his life was created merely by
chance?  Or do you think, perhaps, that there was
some force, greater than you - than any of us - that
decided there was a need for him?"

Riker flicked a glance at Deanna, then downed the
last of his drink, debating whether he should go and
get another one.

Guinan rested a comforting hand on Riker's forearm.
"I'm not saying this to make you feel uncomfortable,
Commander.  All I'm saying is that life has to be
readjusted sometimes.  Even here on the Enterprise."

"But you said before that this 'readjustment' isn't
complete," LaForge reminded.

"Some of it is, some of it isn't," Guinan replied
coolly.  "Time will tie up all those loose ends
eventually.  It has to, because that's what time does."

"Guinan," Data asked, his face exhibiting a
comprehension that he didn't have earlier.  "Would
Captain Picard be considered one of those
readjustments?"

"I'd say so," Crusher noted dryly.  "A personal
crisis will do that to a person."

"I believe you are incorrect in your assumption about
Captain Picard, Doctor," Data corrected.  "According
to Commander Riker, the personal crisis experienced
by him was only a small part of his change.  The
Commander said that the Captain met a woman while he
was planetside, and this woman helped him not only
understand what really is important in life, but also
caused all the blood in his body to go to his-"

"Data!"  Riker let out a nervous chuckle and tossed
an apologetic look at Beverly.  "I think you're
misquoting me."

Data studied Commander Riker curiously.  "No, Sir.
As you know, I am incapable of misquotation or error.
However, I am still confused by your concept - how
can all the blood in a human male collect in just one
organ?  Would that not stop his body from
functioning?"

Riker ignored Data's question and decided it was time
for that refill after all.  He speared the android a
look, his expression telling him they were going to
continue this discussion later - and in private -
then placed his empty glass back on the table and
stood up.

"If you'll excuse me," he said with a brief nod of
his head, "but I need another drink."

Riker bent down to whisper an apology to Crusher as
he passed by, which she gracefully accepted.

Guinan watched the First Officer maneuver throughout
the crowd to the bar, then turned a meaningful gaze
upon Deanna.  "I see that Captain Picard was not the
only one who had a change of heart after this mission,
Counselor.  I heard the news about you and Commander Riker."

Troi's mouth crept up into a satisfied smile.  "I
suppose my relationship with Will is another one of
those situations that is 'righting' itself, Guinan."

The El-Aurian nodded her head once but remained
expressionless.  She looked past Deanna and towards
the bar, and watched the clean-shaven XO engage in
conversation with a female Lieutenant - Casey
Stratton from Tactical.

"Yes, Counselor," she advised.  "I would say that it
definitely is."

---

Will Riker sat at the conference table, his
concentration fading in and out between listening to
Captain Picard's voice and watching Deanna's reaction
to their mission.

It couldn't have been comfortable for her, he
thought. Sitting in that huge room with the rest of
the senior officers, preparing for their mission,
while the magnificence of Betazed hung behind her,
nestled within the deep, velvet expanse of outer space.

Riker wished it were under better circumstances that
they were there. Deanna hadn't set foot on Betazed
since before the Dominion War began. And for Will, it
had been even longer. Years longer. He idly wondered
how Betazed had suffered during the occupation. In
fact, it was a thought shared by all of the senior
officers at the conference table. And not having an
answer to that thought - but knowing it would come
once they set foot on Betazoid soil that afternoon -
made them all restless. But most of all, Deanna.

And with good cause. Coming back to one's homeworld
should have been a joyous occasion. For Troi, though,
it was, at best, a battle of mixed emotions. Because
what should have been an exciting chapter in her life -
the announcement of their engagement to her family
and friends - was being overshadowed by the
uncertainty of her planet's future.

Riker ran a hand over his bare upper lip and allowed
Picard's voice to gently coax him back into the
present. He swiveled in his seat towards the head of
the long conference table, focused his eyes on the
compact, but commanding stature of the ship's
Commanding Officer, and gave the Captain his
undivided attention. It was time to separate personal
from professional life once again.

"I was contacted by Chancellor Matoba of Betazed
approximately thirty minutes ago," Picard announced,
"and they are prepared to receive us. Although we had
a briefing two days ago, I called you here again this
afternoon because Data has made an important
discovery with respect to the weapons being
stockpiled on Betazed, and who may be behind it. Data?"

The android moved forward, his back rigidly straight,
and began to address the group. "As you are already
aware, Captain Picard was contacted by Starfleet to
investigate what appears to be an underground
operation that was organized just after the
liberation of Betazed, involving the storage of
weapons in a cave deep beneath the surface of the
planet. At that time, we had no knowledge of who was
participating in this operation or the purpose behind
it. However, under the direction of Commander Riker,
I maintained constant observation of Betazed,
specifically looking for any unusual activity or
transmissions to or from the planet that might provide
any missing information we require."

"I take it you found something, Data?" LaForge asked.

"Yes, I did. Within the past four hours, there have
been three transmissions with a Cardassian ship that
is approaching Betazed. At present course and speed,
that ship is expected to arrive in orbit in less than
one day."

Riker was stunned. "Cardassians!"

"What are they up to now?" Crusher worried aloud.

"I am not certain of their intent," Data replied.
"But, the transmissions took place at regularly
scheduled intervals - every seventy five minutes, to
be precise - on a subspace frequency not typically
used by the Federation due to its unreliable nature
as a transmission source."

"Where did the transmissions originate on Betazed?"
Riker asked.

"From the cave in Casaveras," Data replied.

Riker swiveled in his chair to face Picard. "The one
that contains all the weapons."

The Captain nodded his head, agreeing with the
observation. "Although I am still uncertain about
this mission and our role within it, I must admit
that this revelation changes my perception somewhat."

"Do we know if there has been any change in the
quantity of weaponry that has been stored so far?"
LaForge inquired.

"It does not appear that the number has increased or
decreased within the past forty-eight hours. But
sensors indicate that these weapons are being held
within the one location only. It is a significant
collection of state-of-the-art phasers, laser rifles
and mobile torpedo launchers."

"Something here doesn't make sense," Deanna
announced, directing her thoughts more to Picard than
anyone else in the room. "Betazoids are empaths. Any
one of them would be able to sense the odd behavior
of those involved in this operation. How has it been
able to go undetected for so long?"

"I'm not certain, Counselor," Picard replied. "But it
obviously has."

"But keeping yourself closed off from a whole
population of empaths is a very difficult thing to do
on Betazed, Captain," Troi argued strongly.

"Unless that Betazoid is an advanced empath and
telepath, and possesses a superior ability in mental
control. Is that not true, Counselor?"
Deanna thought about Data's point briefly, then
nodded uncomfortably in resignation.

"Counselor, you asked how this has been able to go
undetected, given the abilities of the Betazed
people. What we're overlooking here," Riker said, now
addressing his statement to the entire group, "is the
fact that it might *not* be a Betazoid who is
involved. Based on what I'm hearing, I'm willing to bet
that's the case."

"How so, Number One?" Picard asked.

Riker turned to his superior officer. "Well, if we
are to take this mission at face value, it appears
that this operation is being run covertly, Sir,
unknown to the Betazoid population. Why else would
the weapons be stored in a cave so deep and so out of
the way? And why would the Cardassians be en route to
Betazed? To me, that doesn't sound like just coincidence."

"That is a very solid theory, Commander," Data
adjoined. "If the weapons are kept deep within a cave
that is far from the villages, such as they are now,
it is not likely that anyone from Betazed would
stumble upon them. And, there would be no restraints
to the Cardassians. They would be able to freely move
about, without fear of being discovered, because of
the remote location of the cave and the fact that
Betazed has not yet fully recovered from its
occupation during the war. That would provide the
Cardassians with the ability to beam back and forth
from the planet without worry of being monitored."

"But with what purpose?" Troi asked.

"To launch an unexpected attack on the Betazoid
government," Data replied innocuously.

"Do you really believe that the Cardassians are
looking to topple Betazed?" Deanna asked, concerned.
"I thought that we were uncertain of what was going
on planetside."

"The arms that are being stored on Betazed is fact,"
Riker reminded. "Our feelings about Starfleet and our
involvement in this mission are just that - feelings.
We cannot afford, given the latest developments we've
learned regarding the Cardassians, to confuse the two.
It would be dangerous."

"The Commander is right, Counselor," Picard said.  "Which
is exactly why I want us to conduct this investigation
based on the actual information provided to us thus far
by Admiral Nechayev. If anything further is discovered
after the fact, we will reassess our mission at that
time. But until then, it is, as Commander Riker said
before, to be handled on 'face value'."

"Do you think the Cardassians know that the
Enterprise is in this sector?" LaForge asked.

"I am counting on it," Picard replied.

"Captain," Crusher asked, "given the new variables
presented here, how is the crew of the Enterprise
supposed to infiltrate the Cardassian's activities?
Our presence is an open invitation to them to wage
battle with us."

"That may be what Admiral Nechayev was expecting.
But, given the ETA of the Cardassians into Betazed's
orbit, we have enough time to begin our investigation
of the cave at daybreak tomorrow."

"Sir," Riker argued strongly. "I still believe you
should stay on the bridge while I lead the Away Team."

"I appreciate your concern, Number One," came
Picard's involuntary reply to an ages-old issue
between them. "But Chancellor Matoba requested my
presence and I will honor it. I will, however, note
your objection in my logs."

Picard rose to his feet and stood before the group.
"I cannot emphasize enough the importance of keeping
this mission classified. We are under direct orders
from Starfleet, through my discussion with Admiral
Nechayev again today, to work with Chancellor Matoba
in getting to the bottom of this situation and in
arresting the Cardassian's actions before it is too
late. This mission is not to be discussed with
anyone, with the exception of those individuals
designated by the Chancellor, and any communications
to Starfleet on the matter are to be directed through
me. I want you to keep your eyes and ears open, and
be careful. Is that understood?"

Captain Picard waited for the officers' nods of
approval, then dismissed the group.

---

Six uniformed Starfleet officers materialized in
Chancellor Matoba's makeshift office at fifteen
hundred hours.  It was a twenty by twenty space that
contained only the basic necessities:  a single
wooden desk upon which lay a computer console; a
large, wooden desk chair; and three cushioned chairs
placed on the opposite side of the desk for visitors.
A metal table sat off to the side near the only
window in the room, which contained a three-
dimensional holographic image of the area with color
coded markings upon it, indicating previously
occupied Betazed territories from the War.  A
reminder, no doubt, of troubles recently past.

The burly, friendly-faced Chancellor, dressed in
traditional Betazed crimson robing, extended his hand
towards Captain Picard, almost as immediately as he
had materialized.

"Captain Picard," Matoba said, "I am so pleased that
you were able to come on such short notice.  I am
sorry I was not able to provide a more elegant
setting for your arrival, but the Administration's
building was destroyed during the occupation and we
have only basic amenities available."  The Chancellor
gestured to the sparse, albeit functional, space he
was currently occupying.  "We're in the process of
rebuilding what we can, but it is very slow going.
Some people were fortunate and did not suffer such a
loss as we did.  Others..."

His voice drifted off, his mind taken back to the
days of war and pillage and destruction.  "Well,
others...they were not as lucky."

"I am sorry about Betazed's plight," Picard announced
diplomatically.  "War is never fair...for either side."

"That it all too true, Captain."

The men separated from their handshake and
introductions ensued.

"This is my First Officer," Picard began, motioning
towards his XO, "Commander Riker.  Ship's Doctor,
Beverly Crusher.  Counselor Deanna Troi, Commander
Data and Lt. Commander Geordi LaForge."

Chancellor Matoba greeted each one, then turned to
his right, addressing two men who were also dressed
in traditional Betazed garb.  "This is Vice
Chancellor Ordine," he said, announcing the thin,
balding man next to him, "and Vice Chancellor Shoko."
He pointed towards a stocky, black-haired man on the
other side, then immediately walked over to Deanna.

"Counselor Troi," Matoba said, "it's a pleasure to
finally make your acquaintance.  Lwaxana has told me
so much about you."

Troi stifled a grin.  "Somehow, I'm not surprised to
hear that, Chancellor."

Matoba turned to Picard again.  "Speaking of Lwaxana,
I promised her I would not keep you long in my
briefing.  She has planned a dinner for all of you
and made me promise that you wouldn't be late.  And
you know how persuasive Lwaxana Troi can be."

Picard tossed Riker a look, indicating that the
Chancellor's description of Mrs. Troi was grossly
understated, then immediately engaged the Chancellor
in an overview of their mission.

While the other officers discussed the most recent
developments on Betazed and outlined their plan
against the Cardassians, Deanna walked towards the
single pane glass window, overlooking what used to be
known as the Square.  The town was mostly rubble and
dust and dirt now.  Gone were the aromatic and
colorful flowers and plant specimens that adorned the
streets.  The ornate stone buildings that housed the
offices of Betazed's governing body.  The art museums
that contained precious and rare artifacts.  The
bakeries and restaurants and shops.

It had all been destroyed.

Deanna felt the sadness and disappointment well up
inside her, to become a tightening knot in the pit of
her stomach.  She had expected the worst as she
beamed down.  Expected to see the vast destruction
that had left only debris on the streets and fonder
memories in the Betazed people's minds.  But seeing
it first-hand only made her feel worse.

<No wonder Mother never talked about the War,> she
thought sadly.

As if Lwaxana had just heard her, Deanna felt some
unseen force coaxing her to lift her head and look
out into the distant hills.  Her eyes scanned the
landscape to try and find her home.  Much to her
relief, she discovered that the surrounding village
had survived a little better than where she was
standing now.  Most of the homes were still intact,
although clearly exhibiting signs of their recent
turmoil.  Some had been charred by fire, but were
stubborn enough to have survived and remain
relatively intact.  Some were missing roofs or
exterior walls from phaser fire and torpedoes.  And
yet others had been spared disaster entirely, most
probably by some fortunate lot of fate.

Vice Chancellor Ordine's voice prompted Troi out of
her reverie, and she turned back around to join the
other officers at the makeshift desk as they wrapped
up their discussion.

"I cannot tell you how worried we are, Captain
Picard, about the Cardassians.  Finding out about the
weapons in that cave was troubling enough, but now
knowing who is probably involved..."  He rubbed his
bald head agitatedly.  "Well, I don't need to tell
you what is going through my mind right now, empath
or not."

"I trust that no one else knows about these latest
developments, Vice Chancellor?"

"It is only the three of us, Captain," Vice
Chancellor Shoko replied.  "You may not be aware, but
one of the requirements of holding a seat within the
Betazed Council is a high level of mental control.
Although we are a peaceful people, this quality
provides a fail-safe, so to speak, for rare times
just like these.  It helps keep restricted and
confidential information within the governing body
where it should be, and the general public
understands and accepts that."

"I can assure you," Picard announced, "that the crew
of the Enterprise will do everything within its power
to arrest this situation with the Cardassians
quickly.  And with as little intrusion to life here
on Betazed as we can."

"I hope you can, Captain," Matoba said.  "While the
Betazed people are historically adaptable by nature,
I am not certain they will be able to withstand
another occupation - one that might very well prove
to be worse than the first."

"I understand, Chancellor," Picard said.  "The
Enterprise is in orbit and monitoring the Cardassian
ship that is en route as we speak.  My crew are under
orders to alert us as soon as that ship enters orbit,
so we can initiate diplomatic relations with them immediately."

"And if that fails?" Ordine prompted.

Picard's hazel eyes riveted to Ordine's dark brown
ones.  "I can only hope that it doesn't."

---

"How much longer are we keeping all this stuff in here?"

The human man uncoiled from his haunches and rose to
his full height within the depths of the dark cave.
He closed the lid on the metal container holding the
arms he had been inspecting and secured it by keying
in a code on its keypad.  It was not likely that
anyone would find the weapons in such a well-hidden
place, but he wasn't about to take any chances.
History had taught him to trust no one, and he wasn't
about to change that attitude now.

He swatted his brown pants and black shirt with his
large hands, dusting the thin layer of grit off of
his clothing, then positioned the palm-sized
flashlight he carried so he could see his two
partners more clearly.

An older Betazoid male, dressed in equally functional
attire, squinted, then brought his forearm to his
head to screen out the bright light directed right at
him.  "It will be kept in here for only another day
or so."

The human let out a derogatory noise that sounded
like a muffled curse.  "Another day!  How the hell is
this plan to succeed, Chafaraa, when we're so far
behind schedule!?"

Neither the Betazoid nor the Cardassian flinched as
the Terran's loud protestation echoed off the rocky
cave walls.  High expectations were thoroughly
ingrained into his personality and, over time, they
had learned not only to accept it, but to expect it.

"We will be able to set the plan in motion," the
Cardassian said coolly.  "We may be a little behind
schedule, but nothing will get in the way of our
success.  I am sure of it."

"Even if we were to be intercepted by Starfleet?"

The Cardassian's leathery gray forehead knitted in
confusion.  "What is that supposed to mean?"

The Terran took three long, determined strides to
close the distance between them.  "Sounds like your
friends aboard the Bakthara haven't been keeping you
informed, Drakkar," he mocked.  "Oh...but that's
right.  How would you have known that the Enterprise
is on its way?  You fell out of touch with your
Cardassian troupe two days ago."

One side of Drakkar's mouth ticked nervously and he
quickly ran a hand over it to hide his unease.  "That
was not of my doing.  I tried to contact them but-"

"You tried nothing!" the Terran spat.  Angry, he
grabbed Drakkar by the collar of his silver,
Cardassian robe, then effortlessly forced him up
against the cold, hard walls of the cave, and held
him there.  "You tried nothing!"

"You, Human," Drakkar rebuked calmly, staring back
into the Terran's eyes, "are in no position to complain.
So I would be careful what I say and do if I were you.
You are not as likely to be blessed with good fortune
twice in your lifetime."

The human's gaze pierced right through the
Cardassian's as he considered the words of wisdom.
And then he let go.

He retreated back a short distance and reassessed his
argument.  "These weapons have been here for over two
months already, Drakkar.  That's one week over
schedule, and still the Bakthara isn't here."

The massive Cardassian chuckled, the corded ribbing
on each side of his neck bobbing up and down with the
irregular movement.  "Are you suddenly getting
nervous, Human?"

"Not nervous," the man corrected.  "Just highly
skeptical.  We've come too far for this to fall apart
now.  The Cardassian empire has spent almost six
months preparing for this moment, to alter the course
of history, and countless thousands of individuals
are waiting to get their hands on their fair share."

Chafaraa moved in closer, to cast his own doubts into
the conversation.  "He's right, Drakkar.  Where are
the others?  How are we supposed to re-establish
Betazed as a base and place our own people in control
if the very people who are funding this endeavor are
not here to back us up?"

The Cardassian whirled around in the Betazoid's
direction.  "They're coming!" he snarled.  "They said
they would be here tomorrow.  And they *will* be here!"

"They better be, Drakkar," the human warned.  "Or
*you* are not as likely to be blessed with good
fortune yourself."

---

Riker craned his neck up.  And up.  And up.

If it were physically possible, he would have sworn
that Mr. Homm had grown taller since he last saw him.

On perfect cue, the dutiful and ever-faithful servant
to Lwaxana Troi stepped aside, bowed his head once,
and silently gestured for the uniformed senior crew
of the USS Enterprise-E to enter.

Lwaxana was talking before they were all completely
inside the door.

"Oh Little One!  You're here!" she exclaimed.  She
extended her arms dramatically outward as she sped
across the large foyer.  She pulled her daughter into
a tight hug, squeezing her until Deanna's face turned red.

"Oh, and Will..."  She released Deanna and claimed
the First Officer in an equally enthusiastic hug.
"It's so wonderful to-"

Lwaxana stopped, cocked her head, and stared up at
him with a perplexed expression.  "What happened to
the beard?"

She took Riker's face in a hand and squeezed, moving
his head from side to side to inspect him more
closely.  Then she abruptly let go.  "Oh.  I see that
you've been sexually active with my daughter again.
And what is this thing you have with ice cubes-?"

"Mother!  Stop meddling into his thoughts!"

Lwaxana spun around to find Deanna's jaw dropped open
in shock.  "What's the matter Deanna?  You don't
think he's that creative in the bed-?"

"Mrs. Troi," Captain Picard interrupted, tossing a
sideways glance at his First Officer as he walked
towards her, "it is so nice to see you again."

Lwaxana immediately forgot about her previous
conversation and presented Picard with the back of
her hand.  "Oh, Jean-Luc.  It is so nice to have you
here in my home again."  She waited until he had
kissed her hand, then purred, "And I'm flattered you
still fantasize about me in that way."

"Lwaxana, I-"

Picard's jaw seized.  He wanted to furnish a
rebuttal, just as he always had when Lwaxana prodded
him like that.  But he had finally learned his lesson
and decided that, from here on in, he wasn't going to
get drawn into her game.

He said nothing.

Lwaxana's grin grew more sly, and her voice turned
husky and provocative.  "Oh, Jean-Luc.  It's about
time you stopped fighting me and gave in to your
baser emotions."

Picard's face fell, realizing his efforts to
forestall Lwaxana's overture had backfired on him.

Much to his immediate relief, Mr. Homm motioned for
the group to gather in the formal dining room.  That
relief turned to anxiety again when Lwaxana looped
her arm through his.  Picard walked over the
threshold, as if a man being drawn to the gallows,
silently hoping his place setting was at the far
opposite side of Lwaxana's.

"I see that your home was spared during the war,"
Riker said, taking note of the antique furniture,
fine china, crystal and silverware that decorated the
elegant room.

"Yes," Lwaxana replied, taking her customary seat at
the head of the long, highly glossed wood table.
"Some of the rooms did suffer damage, but the House
of Troi is almost completely back in order now,
thanks to Mr. Homm."

The tall, pale servant closed his eyes and nodded his
head once, silently acknowledging the complement.
Then he went about his business of pouring a bottle
of red wine while the others settled into their
seats, occasionally sneaking a sip for himself.

"Well, it looks perfect, Mother," Deanna offered.  "I
suppose that you were one of the fortunate ones
during the war."

"Yes, Little One," Lwaxana sighed, "we were."

Deanna settled into her seat, as did they others, and
placed the linen napkin on her lap.  She reached for
a roll from a silver basket, but fumbled as she
brought it back to her plate.  She let out a startled
gasp, suddenly unable to focus on anyone or anything.

Concern immediately washed over Will's face.
"Deanna?  Are you alright?"

"I'm...I'm fine," she replied weakly.  "I just...I
just had an odd sensation.  That's all."

"What kind of sensation?"

"I...I can't explain it."  Deanna took in a deep,
calming breath, and tried to get more comfortable in
her chair.  "It was just...odd.  But I'll be alright."

Riker's eyes narrowed and he locked a steadfast gaze
on Troi, his warning very clear as he spoke her name.
"Deanna..."

She smiled feebly back at him.  "Forget it, Will.
It's nothing."

Riker's eyes darted to Lwaxana, who was buttering her
own roll.  If she was disturbed by her daughter's
sudden shift in behavior, it wasn't showing at all.
He turned back to Deanna.  Good manners prevented him
from saying anything more, knowing that this was not
the place nor the time to push the issue further.  It
would have to wait until later.

He picked up his own roll, choosing to let the matter
pass, but deciding he would keep a close watch on
Deanna the rest of the night.  A very close watch.

---

The evening, after that, continued companionably
enough, as everyone shared personal anecdotes,
discussed the pending wedding, and even talked about
the war.

Everyone, that is, except Deanna.

Although she was able to maintain a calm façade, Troi
had been unable to rid herself of the odd feeling
that continued to haunt her for the past two hours,
much less understand where the sensation came from.
And the more she tried to comprehend its strong hold
on her, the more confused she became.  Something
about the sensation felt wrong, and yet something
about it felt right.  It was as if there was another
presence in the house.  Not a spirit, but someone
real.  Someone alive.

Someone she knew.

She looked at her mother, hoping to discover that the
feeling was emanating from her.  But it wasn't.
Lwaxana's emotions were as familiar to Deanna as her
own skin, and these did not belong to her.  She then
looked at Will, and felt the familiar ebb and flow
within him as well, but even his emotions seemed to
pale in comparison.  It was as if they were being
forced aside and out of the way, by someone or
something that felt threatened by him.

Not knowing what else to do, Deanna finally decided
to close her eyes.  Perhaps it would be more helpful
to try and relax, and allow the strong emotions
overtake her.  Only then might she be able to-

Deanna's eyes flew open.  Her hands began to shake,
her heart began to pound inside her chest and her
emotions were thrown into a turmoil she hadn't
experienced in years.  It was now inside her.  The
presence she had felt all evening had now made its
way deep inside her.

Quickly, she breathed an apology and excused herself
from dessert and the table.  Unaware that Will
followed close behind.

---

Deanna stared, dumbfounded, at Thomas Riker.

He had been sitting on a bench just outside the back
door to her mother's mansion, gazing out at the
formal, colorful garden growing there, just before
she bounded out the door and discovered him.

He looked back at her, silent, and she could sense
his heart leap at the very sight of her.

Deanna was unable to speak.

Thomas looked so very different from the last time
she had seen him, when he left the Enterprise for a
commission on the Gandhi.  A neatly trimmed goatee
now framed his strong chin, accentuating the chiseled
features of his face.  His eyes were still a vibrant
blue, but now harbored a hunger that she had never
seen in either Riker man before.  His body was
leaner, but muscular and well-toned, and some of the
scarring on his chest - a remnant from his
incarceration on Lazon II - showed through the open
buttons on the black shirt he wore.  He had an
enigmatic air about him that was indescribable - many
things about him had changed.  His demeanor.  His
confidence.  His inner strength.  His *hair*...

It had grown into a massive mane of dark brown that
was pulled back into a Klingon-style braid, which
rested six inches below his shoulders.

"It was you...?  That I felt?  Inside?"  Deanna was
barely able to get the words past her lips.

Thomas rose slowly to his feet, a slightly apologetic
look on his face.  "Let's go someplace more private.
We don't have much time."

He slipped his hand around hers and began leading her
off into the secluded garden.

"I promised Lwaxana I would wait until later, when
the timing would have been better," he whispered over
his shoulder, guiding her through the entrance to a
thick row of sweet, cherry-colored blossoms and
thick, shoulder-high foliage.  "But I couldn't.  I
needed to see you again, Deanna.  Now."

With her initial shock starting to wear off, Deanna
stopped, forcing Tom to a standstill in front of her.
He turned back around, his muscular body framed by
moonlight, his eyes bright and vibrant despite the
darkness that surrounded him.

"I thought you were on Lazon II."  She took a step
backwards, confused.  Dozens of questions raced
through her head.  "I didn't know...when were you
released?  How did you get here?  Why are you here?
Are you okay?  What are you-?"

"Deanna, let's go someplace more private.  We can
talk there.  I'm not all that comfortable-"

"Deanna!  Are you alright-?"  Will Riker skidded to a
halt several feet behind Deanna and Tom.  He did a
double take at his twin before his eyes finally
settled onto their interlocked hands.  "What the...?"

Feeling more than self-conscious, Deanna slipped her
hand from Tom's grip and took a more neutral position
off to the side.

Tom stifled a sigh.  So much for privacy.  "Well
hello, brother," he said, a slightly acerbic edge to
his tone.  "Guess you didn't expect to see me after
all these years, hmm?"

Will took a step closer, fixing a scrutinizing gaze
on his find.  "What are you doing here?  I thought
you were on Lazon II."

"I was.  But I'm not anymore."

"I can see that," Will said testily, annoyed with
Tom's sarcasm.  "According to Starfleet records,
you're still supposed to be incarcerated."

"Then I guess the records must be wrong."

Deanna watched the interplay between the two brothers
as it unfolded and took a step forward, preparing to
intervene if necessary.  She could sense the growing
rivalry and impatience between them - that had always
existed between them - and knew someone had to be
ready for damage control.  Even if that someone was
almost a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter.

Instinctively, Will prepared to tap his comm badge.

"Still the consummate Starfleet officer I see," Tom
noted scornfully.  "William T. Riker, the man who
shoots first and asks questions later."

Will dropped his hand back down to his side,
irritated.  "You're a fugitive, Thomas.  Wanted by
Starfleet for commandeering a Starfleet vessel
without permission, and for aiding in a Maquis
operation against the Obsidian Order.  What sort of
reaction did you expect I should have?  For all I
know, you could have escaped Lazon II."

"For all you know," Tom shot back, "maybe I didn't."

Deanna gently touched Will's arm, the gesture
indicating for him to say nothing more and to keep
his mind open.  "I'm sure there is a good explanation
for all of this, Will."  She turned back to Tom.
"Right Thomas?"

"If there is going to be any explaining to do,
Deanna," Will charged, "Thomas is going to do it in
the brig.  As far as Starfleet is concerned, he's
still wanted for crimes committed when he went AWOL
and stole the Defiant."

"Is that the only solution, though?  Isn't there
another way this can be handled?  This is all
happening quickly, Will.  Let's just take a little
time to talk this out first."

Will looked directly at Deanna, his posture no longer
one of lover but of senior officer.  "And what
suggestion do you have, Deanna?"

She had none.  He knew she wouldn't.

"I can't let this go," Will continued.  "It's against
regs, Deanna.  It goes against everything I believe
in and fight for."

"Not to mention that if he did let me go, he'd risk
marring that perfect record of his," Tom added icily.

Will spun around to Thomas.

"Tom, please," Deanna pleaded.  She looked back up at
Will again.  "If Tom really were an escapee Will, do
you really think he would have been so careless as to
allow you to find him like this?  Here?  Tonight?"

Will eyed Tom speculatively.  He wasn't sure.  It was
possible, but knowing what he did about Tom's past,
he just wasn't sure.  The disapproval he felt at his
twin's reappearance was more than evident in his
expression, but it was there for more than just one
reason alone.  Looking at Tom now - his longer hair,
sharply defined facial features, and muscular build -
and Will's memory was promptly wrenched back to a
conversation he had with a fellow Starfleet officer
years ago.  Lt. Astrid Kemal had been informing him
of some of the findings provided by her research into
Khan Noonien Singh.  And those findings, she
indicated, led straight to Will Riker's heritage.

At the time, Will denied it vehemently.  There was no
way, he contended, that someone like him could
possibly trace back to someone like Khan.  But Astrid
had persisted, reminding him that Khan's immediate
family and 'disciples' had traveled to Alaska
hundreds of years ago, seeking safety and asylum.  A
place to live and to bring up their families without
fear of Starfleet intruding on their affairs, only to
relocate them to some fate far worse than their
people had already seen.  A place where Will had been
born and had grown up himself.  Astrid had also
gently reminded Riker of his assets, which were
tangible enough to parallel Khan's own superiority.
His high intelligence quotient.  His strong build and
tall stature.  His athletic abilities.  His self-
confidence, that at times bordered on arrogance.

She tried to persuade Will to prove her wrong.  But
he wouldn't.  And only now, as Will carefully
scrutinized his brother's appearance and mannerisms,
did he realize why.  It was out of a morbid sense of
fear of finding out that Lt. Astrid Kemal might very
well have been correct in her deduction after all.

Instinctively, Will pulled Deanna closer to him.  He
was not one to show insecurity, nor was he even one
to be so blatantly chauvinistic.  But some baser part
of him felt raw and vulnerable, and he discovered he
was starting to feel uncomfortable with the competition.

"I have to report this finding to Captain Picard and
to Starfleet," Will declared, making it clear that
there would be no disputing any of his decisions from
this point forward.

"Great," Tom said dryly.  "Now I've been reduced to a
'finding'.  Somehow, I think I liked the word
'doppelganger' better."

Deanna gently chided Tom's misplaced humor.  "Tom...
please."

Tom frowned, but kept his mouth shut.  Whatever
needed to be said, he would have to say it later.

Will tapped his communicator, not once taking his eyes 
off Tom, and informed Captain Picard of his discovery.

Several minutes later, the senior officers of the
Enterprise-E were back on board the ship.  And Thomas
Riker was being held in the brig.

---

"Mind telling me what went on down there?"

Will had settled into the sofa in Deanna's quarters
and watched her as she stared out the viewport in the
main living area of her room.  Her back was presented
to him and her dark eyes were glued to the blues and
greens and whites that swirled around Betazed's
atmosphere below.

They had transported back to the Enterprise in
relative silence.  Thomas Riker's reappearance had
marred their evening and, although not entirely in a
bad way, it did cause the both of them to question
where they were now headed.

Which was most certainly not to Will's bedroom.

On any other night, the couple would have headed
straight to the First Officer's quarters.  On any
other night, they would have dispensed with their
professional personas and engaged in activities that
were more instinctual and less cerebral.

But, this was not any other night.

"You know what happened, Will," she finally replied.
"He's going to be sent back to prison.  There's
nothing mysterious about that."

One eyebrow crept up at her brusque attitude.  "And
you're blaming me for it, aren't you."

Deanna let out a loud and long sigh.  "No.  Not now,
anyway.  You did the right thing...I think."  She
stared down at Betazed a while longer, organizing her
thoughts, then turned back around to face Will.  "I'm
sorry," she said, making her way back to the sofa to
sit next to him.  "It's just that tonight was filled
with more surprises than I was prepared for.  As much
as I had expected what condition Betazed might be in
after the war, the sight of it not only shocked me,
it scared me."  She turned her dark, liquid eyes
upward, to lose herself in Will's understanding blue
ones.  "All I kept thinking in Chancellor Matoba's
office was how close I might have come to losing my
mother.  She's all I have left, Will, and this war
could have taken her away from me forever."

"But it didn't," he gently reminded.

"But it could have," she said with remorse.  "And
then...there was Thomas."

"Deanna, I couldn't have lived with myself if I let
him go," he said, feeling the need to explain his
decision.  "Despite what he's been through, I just
couldn't do it.  For me, it wouldn't have been right."

"I know," came her mumbled reply.

"How did it feel for you to see him again?"  Although
Will already knew Deanna's answer, he asked the
question anyway.  He had to hear it directly from her.

"Confusing."  She began to fidget with a small pull
on the black pants of her uniform.

"Why?"

"Will..."  Deanna wasn't ready to go down that road
just yet.

But Will was.

"Why?" he persisted.  He sat up and positioned himself 
to look at her more directly.  "Deanna...you have to 
tell me what is going through your mind right now."

Deanna's fingers tugged at the small snag, then she
looked back up at him.  "Why don't you tell me what's
going through yours?  Obviously something about Tom's
presence is bothering you and it's causing you to
question your status with me.  Otherwise you wouldn't
be pushing so hard to get an answer."

"Touche', Counselor Troi, but psychoanalysis isn't
going to work with me.  Besides...I asked first."

Deanna's shoulders sank.  He wasn't going to make
this easy for her.

Will watched the confusion spread over her features.
"Deanna, I saw the way you reacted tonight.  I saw
your face when you discovered Tom.  And I know you.
I know who you are, probably even better than your
mother does.  You can't hide this from me.  So spill it."

"Will..."

"Spill it.  Now...or forever hold your peace."

Without even looking at him, she could feel his eyes
bore into her, spearing through her flesh to search,
unabashedly, for what he needed to know.  It was a
method he used often with subordinates, to throw them
off guard and have them succumb, and it was always successful.

But not tonight.

Still, she refused to answer.

Frustrated, Will sank back into the sofa.  "What is
it that confuses you so in seeing him again?  Three
years ago, I could understand this behavior.  You and
I had decided to remain friends, and then Tom came
along, offering you what you had always wanted from
me, but that I wasn't able to give.  That made sense.
But now, you and I are together.  We've finally made
our decision to be together for the long-haul -
*I've* finally made the decision for the long-haul -
and yet you still seem drawn to Thomas.  I saw it
when we were in your mother's garden, and I don't
understand.  And quite frankly Deanna, I don't have
the patience to play games about it.  Either you tell
me what you're thinking, and what you're feeling, or
maybe you and I should reconsider our engagement."

Deanna's head sprang up.  "Will, you can't possibly-"

"I mean it Deanna!" he snapped.  It was the first
time Will had felt impatient with her in years.  "I'm
already past forty, and not getting any younger.  The
last thing I want is to spend my life with a woman
who questions whether she should have married me or not."

She looked at him, shocked.  "Who says I'm
questioning my decision to marry you?"

Will lurched to his feet and began to pace her outer
quarters restlessly.  "I think it's obvious.
Particularly after tonight."

"You know," she said, watching Will tread the carpet,
"if I didn't know better, I'd say you were the one
having second thoughts about our marriage, and not me."

Will stopped in the middle of the room and looked
down at her.  "I'm not falling for the reverse
psychology trick either."  He rubbed a hand over the
back of his neck, trying to alleviate the tension he
felt there, then frontward and over his bare chin.
Too much was going on lately.  Too much, too fast.

"You're feeling vulnerable," Deanna observed.  "And
the absence of your beard is a sore reminder of it.
You feel exposed.  Unable to hide."

"From what I saw tonight, I think the same applies to
you, Deanna."  He paused, then added, "Minus the
beard part, of course."

Deanna smiled slightly.  Even in the most difficult
of situations, somehow Will Riker always managed to
find humor.

Will dropped his hand back down to his side.  "Why
isn't Tom easy for us to handle?  *Shouldn't* this be
easy for us?  Particularly now?"

"I suppose it should..."

"Then what do you think it means that we can't?"

It was the second question he asked that night that
went unanswered.

Will turned away and walked towards the viewport to
where Deanna had been standing moments earlier.  But
instead of seeing new worlds to explore and other
galaxies to discover, all he saw were faded memories
and a past that was slipping away through his fingertips.

Along with the ghost of Tom's reflection.

"Deanna...do you think I've hit a mid-life crisis?"

She considered his question a moment, understanding
what might have prompted him to ask it, then shrugged. 
"You've changed Will.  That comes with maturity."

"Gods, I hate that word.  It's almost as bad as
'seasoned'."

"There's nothing wrong with maturity.  It happens to
all of us."

He let out a low chuckle, as if her remark were
derogatory.  "Do you know what I once said to Captain
Picard, after the Enterprise went down after we
battled the Duras sisters?"  He continued to stare
past his reflection in the viewport and into the
black depths of outer space.  "I told him that I
planned to live forever."  He shook his head, as if
disappointed that he could have ever conceived such a
presumptuous thought.

Deanna came up behind him and placed a comforting
hand on his shoulder.  "That's normal Will.
Delusions of grandeur are a common thread among high-
ranking officers in Starfleet."

Will's blue eyes crinkled as he smiled at the tease,
probably because it was the truth.  "Maybe you're
right...about my feeling vulnerable.  Maybe Tom
bothers me because I see in him what I used to have.
Ambition.  Spontaneity.  Courage."

"You still have those qualities, Will.  You've just
let time sneak them away from you a little, but that
doesn't mean you can't get them back.  You're also
overlooking the fact that the last few years have
been incredibly hard on you.  Losing the 'D' during
the battle with the Duras sisters was a very
difficult thing for you to accept.  Starfleet's
investigation into that mission was demanding on you,
and on top of that, it took a long time for you to
let go of the guilt.  But that didn't happen without
your paying the price - the price that comes with
command.  It's become a part of you now, just as it
has always been a part of Captain Picard."

He remained quiet a while, absorbing Deanna's
comments.  Trying to make sense of it all.  His
future.  His career.  His life.

"What's bothering you so?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," he replied, disappointed that he had
no answer.  He began to rub his chin again.
"Deanna, are Tom and I really that much alike?"

"The same.  And different."

Will shook his head.  "This is all so strange.  When
I look at Thomas, I see...I see a reflection of me."
His eyes refocused back on his duplicate image in the
viewport.  "But one that seems...off, somehow.  Like
I'm looking in a mirror, but the reflection isn't right."

"As if Thomas reminds you of the path you didn't take?"
"More like that path I *could* have taken."

"Does that frighten you?"

Will's expression arched.

"Let me rephrase that," Deanna quickly said,
realizing that Will rarely, if ever, felt frightened
by anything.  "Does it disturb you?"

"I guess, in a way.  He's me, and I'm him, but yet he
made different choices.  About you.  About his
career.  About much of his life in general.  And look
how he turned out."

"You say that as if he turned out badly, Will.  He didn't."

Will spun around to look at Deanna, surprised.

"Despite his actions with Starfleet and the Maquis,
he's not a bad person.  I can sense it in him as
clearly as I sense it in you."  Deanna looked down
and studied her feet for a moment.  "That's one of
the reasons I had a hard time separating my feelings
for the two of you when Tom was first discovered on
Nervala IV.  He was you.  *Is* you.  He has all the
qualities about you that I love.  And hate."

Will realized how much it must have taken for her to
admit that, particularly to him.  "And the other
reason you had a hard time?"

Deanna wouldn't look up from her feet.  "Because Will...
I mean, *Tom*...wanted *me*.  Again.  Like you and I
used to be.  Before..."

Her voice and thoughts drifted off, to memories of
long ago.  Wonderful, but painfully confusing, memories.

"And," Deanna eventually added after a long silence,
"if truth be told...I seem to be having a hard time
separating the two of you again now, too.  I suppose
I shouldn't be, but I am."

Will said nothing.

Deanna knew why.

She looked back up at him.  "That doesn't mean I'm
having second thoughts about you and me, though."

"Right," Will replied, not sure if he believed her.
He paused for a beat, then asked, "Deanna...?  Do you
miss the Briar Patch?"

"Sometimes, I suppose."

Riker's eyes riveted back to his own uniformed, beardless
reflection in the viewport.  "Hmm.  So do I."

At that moment, there seemed nothing else to say.  No
matter how much Will wanted it, no amount of talking
or soul-searching was going to provide any answers
for him tonight.

He turned back around and kissed Deanna, chastely, on
the cheek.  "I think we should rest up for tomorrow's
mission, Deanna.  Sleep well."

It was over.  Just like that, it was over.

And he wasn't staying for breakfast.

Quietly, Deanna walked Will to the door, realizing
that something had irrevocably changed between the
two of them that night.  For good or bad, though, she
couldn't tell.

Only time would do that.

---

Picard sat at the computer console in his private
quarters and immediately opened a channel to
Starfleet Headquarters.  Within a few seconds, a
thin-faced blonde with hard-set blue eyes appeared on
the small viewscreen, her hair perfectly bound into a
regulation twist, her petite figure outfitted in a
regulation Starfleet black, gray and red uniform.

"Captain Picard," Admiral Nechayev said with as much
impassivity in her tone as there was in her
expression.  "Good evening."

Picard dispensed with all formalities and niceties.
There was a far more important matter at hand than
proper salutation and trivial conversation.
"Admiral, the Enterprise Away Team has just returned
from its initial meeting with Chancellor Matoba on
Betazed.  While we were there, we discovered Thomas
Riker, Commander William Riker's duplicate."

Nechayev's expression remained neutral.  "And how did
your meeting go with the Chancellor?"

Picard hesitated, then replied, "It went very well,
Admiral."  He quickly changed the conversation back
to the issue he wanted addressed first.  "Admiral,
with all due respect...did you hear what I said about
Thomas Riker?"

"Yes.  I did."

"But..."  Picard had the distinct impression that his
position regarding Will Riker's twin was being
challenged.  And he wasn't sure why.  "Admiral...
Thomas Riker is ex-Maquis.  He is wanted by the
Federation for the theft of a Starfleet ship, and for
impersonating a senior officer in his bid to secure
that ship.  Subsequent to a failed effort with
respect to Orias III, Thomas Riker was handed over to
the Cardassians to carry out a lifetime sentence on
Lazon II."

"I am aware of Thomas Riker's service record,
Captain, just as almost everyone else in Starfleet
is," Nechayev announced coolly.  "There is no need to
remind me of it, and it is not what is important
right now."

Picard was having a difficult time controlling his
growing irritation.  "Admiral, I realize that the
mission with Betazed is crucial, and my crew has
everything under control.  What I *don't* have under
control is Thomas Riker.  Based on the crimes
committed by him, and the fact that he has now been
discovered by Starfleet, you should be aware that I
have taken him into custody.  As far as we are
concerned, his is an escapee, and therefore is
currently being held in the ship's brig."

"Thomas Riker is to remain untouched, Captain.  Let
him go.  He is not of your concern.  The Cardassians are."

Picard shifted restlessly in his seat.  "Admiral, I
understand what you are trying to say, but Starfleet
Regulations clearly state that any-"

"I am fully aware of Starfleet Regulations, Captain
Picard, and my orders stand.  Thomas Riker is to be
freed and returned to Betazed."

"But there are no records indicating that-"

"Exactly what part of my orders are you not
understanding, Captain?" Nechayev snapped.

Nechayev's hard stare sent a chill down Picard's
spine.  Her position was a brick wall that had no
hope of penetration.  Picard took in one quiet, quick
breath, and gave up.  Orders were orders.
"Understood, Admiral."

"Good.  From here on in, you are to concentrate on
your mission with the Cardassians, and nothing else.
Thomas Riker is not an issue for you."  Nechayev
leaned forward, as if she were about to sever their
comm link, then added, "Oh, and Captain...?"

Picard looked at Nechayev numbly.  "Yes, Admiral?"

"This conversation we just had remains between us.
Nechayev out."

The screen promptly went blank.

---

Will sat at the corner table in the rec room, deep in
thought, an almost empty glass of ale in his hand.
He had just received word from the Captain that
Thomas had been released from the brig and been
summarily chastised for requesting an explanation as
to why.  He shook his head, baffled by the way the
entire night had begun.  And how it continued to unfold.

"Is there a problem with your drink?"

Riker lifted his head and found Guinan just next to
him, intently studying his cold beverage along with
him.  "Hmm?"

She pointed a finger to the glass.  "Your ale.
You've been holding it the same way, staring at it,
for the past five minutes.  Is there an Andorian
swamp bug in it or something?"

Riker smiled at her, then placed the tall glass back
on top of the table.  "No.  It's just fine, Guinan.
Thanks."

"Oh.  Well, in that case..."

She sidled into the seat opposite him.

Riker watched the El-Aurian settle in, amazed by her
natural brazenness.  "Guinan," he began, "I don't
mean to be rude but...I'm really not in the mood for
talking tonight."

"Is that why you invited three Romulan ales to join
you in the past hour instead?  Because they can't speak?"

Riker downed what was left in the glass.  "I know
what you're trying to do, Guinan.  It isn't going to
work with me."

"What is it you think I'm trying to do?"

"You're trying to tell me, in your own El-Aurian way,
that if there's something bothering me, I should be
talking to you about it, instead of drowning my
problems in alcohol."

Guinan sank self-assuredly back into her chair and
slipped her hands into the deep sleeves of her berry-
red gown.  She looked at him from under the shadow of
her large, matching hat.  "And you don't want to do that?"

"No offense, but...no."

"Oh."  Guinan's gaze idly scanned from Riker to the
viewport next to them, and she sat there, contentedly
watching Betazed spin on its axis.

"Guinan," Riker said, now realizing she had become a
permanent fixture at his table, "is there something else?"

She turned her head back to him.  "No," she replied
complacently, then looked back out the viewport
again.  When she realized he was still staring at
her, she added, "You said you weren't in the mood for
talking, Commander.  You said nothing about not
wanting company."

Riker realized he was stuck with her now.  He shook
his head, amazed.

"How do you do that?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Figure out what people really want without them
actually saying it to you?"

Guinan looked back at Riker again.  She shrugged. "I
wouldn't say that *I'm* the one who figures it out,
Commander.  I'd classify myself more as a catalyst.
I find ways to nudge the other person along - so they
can figure out what it is they need by themselves."

"Hmm."

"So..."  Guinan idly glanced out the viewport again.
"What happened between you and the Counselor?"

"What makes you think something happened?"

This time, when Guinan looked back at the First
Officer again, her gaze remained fixed.  "Three ales.
Sitting alone in the rec room during your time off.
Not wanting to talk.  I'd say those are telltale
signs that all is not well with Commander Riker's
love life."

Riker motioned for the bartender to get him a refill.

"Did she dump you?"

He shook his head.  "No.  But then again...I'm not
sure what happened tonight."

"What do you *think* happened?"  She sensed the XO's
hesitation, then said, "But you don't have to tell me
if you don't want to."

A male waiter placed another tall glass of ale in
front of his patron, promptly removed the empty one
and went back to his station at the bar.

As Riker sipped from his refreshed glass, he weighed
the pros and cons of telling Guinan what was on his
mind.  He wasn't a man who bared his soul to just
anyone.  In fact, despite the large circle of friends
he had, Riker only shared his deeper side with a
handful of people.  Deanna.  Beverly.  Captain
Picard.  And, on rare occasion, Guinan as well.

He wondered if this was one of those rare occasions,
then decided he had had enough thinking for one
night.  And he let it all out.  Every single detail
from Lwaxana's dinner to meeting up with Tom Riker,
to his conversation with Deanna later on - minus the
small item of Tom's confinement to the brig.  And it
felt good, as if an enormous weight had been lifted
from his soul.

"After all these years," he concluded, "after all the
time Deanna and I waited, now we've come to this."

"And what, exactly, is 'this'?"

"A crossroads."

"For whom?  You and Deanna?  Or just you?"

Riker drew from his glass again.  "Now I *know*
you're getting prophetic," he murmured, reminding her
of their conversation the night before.

"Not prophetic.  Just staying clear-sighted."

"Are you saying I'm not?"

"I don't know.  Are you?"

Riker studied the glass in his hand.  "Not with four
Romulan ales, I'm not."  He put the glass back down
on the table, where it would remain untouched for
quite some time.

"I wish I knew how she feels about him."

"Is that important for you to know, Commander?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Because..."  Riker didn't finish his thought,
somehow expecting that his response would be enough
for her.

It wasn't.

Guinan leaned forward in her seat, prompting him
further.  "Because...?"

"Because it just is."

"Commander, an answer like that would never be good
enough for you.  What makes you think that it's good
enough for me?"  Guinan settled back into her chair
and looked at him pointedly.  "Are you uncertain
about where you stand with the Counselor now?
Because of your brother?"

"He's not my brother!" he countered quickly.

"Than what is he?"

"He's...he's..."  Riker tried to find the right word,
but couldn't.  "I don't know what he is.  I just know
what he's not."

"That being...?"

"He's not me, that's for sure."

"Is that why he bothers you so much?"

"Who says he bothers me!" Riker exclaimed in
exasperation.

"I'm sorry, Commander," Guinan said calmly.  "I
didn't mean to get you angry."

Riker sighed aloud and rubbed the tension between his
eyes with his fingertips.  "No, it's alright.  I
guess Tom's a thorn in my side, that's all."

"Is he causing you trouble?"

"You could say that."

"Between you and Counselor Troi?"

Riker nodded, deep in thought.  "Before tonight, I
thought I knew what I wanted, Guinan."

"And now you're not sure."

"No, I'm not."

"Because of Tom."

"Tom.  Deanna.  Me.  This tri-relationship, if you
can call it that, seems to have gotten messy with his
reappearance into our lives."

"Life does get messy sometimes, Commander.  If it
were always neat and easy, we wouldn't know how to
appreciate it."

Riker didn't respond.  Sometimes, Guinan said things
that were meant more to get you to think, than to respond.

He sat, thinking.

"So, what is it you want?" she finally asked.

"I want Deanna to be happy.  *I* want to be happy."

"And you're not?"

"Not with Tom around."

"Are you sure you're not happy just because of Tom?"
She waited a while, to see if he would answer, but
knew he wouldn't.  She pressed forward.  "You're a
man who knows what he wants, Commander.  And how to
get it.  Why should Tom, or anyone or anything else
for that matter, stand in your way of achieving that
happiness?"

"Because I'm not certain if Deanna wants him more
than me, despite his past.  Despite the fact that he
reappeared so quickly."

"Well...this is a first," Guinan said dryly.

"What is?"

"Seeing William T. Riker *wait* for a woman, as
opposed to going and chasing after her."

"Maybe I've changed."

"Sure.  And maybe I've grown to hate hats."

Riker's eyebrow sprang up.

Guinan leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, 
with her undivided attention placed solely on him.  "Why 
do you think Counselor Troi might want Tom more?"

"Because she had chosen him, years ago, and I did
nothing to stand in her way when she did it."  Riker
paused, then said, "No.  That's not true.  I gave her
my blessing to pursue a relationship with him."

"And you think what you did back then set a
precedent?"

"I'm not sure what it means."

"What do *you* think it means?"

Riker sat, quiet and introspective a while.  "I'm not
sure of that either.  I know why I did what I did
back then, and why I reacted the way I did.  But now..."

His thoughts drifted off.

"Having second thoughts, Commander?" Guinan observed.

"No."

"Then why are you sitting in here, questioning yourself?"

"I'm not questioning *myself*.  I'm questioning *him*."

"Are you sure about that?"  Guinan tilted her head,
considering their discussion more deeply.  "Do you
somehow feel that the Counselor will want to rekindle
her experience with Tom again?"

"Maybe."

"But, years ago, wasn't Counselor Troi actually rekindling 
her experience with you?  Even if it was with Tom?"

Riker extended his arms dramatically.  "Therein lies
the dilemma."

"Ahhh.  Now I get the picture.  And the question of the 
day is...which Imzadi does the Betazoid Counselor want?"

"He is not her Imzadi, Guinan.  I am."

Guinan remained placid, despite Riker's
uncharacteristically defensive tone.  She hadn't seen
him this troubled since he had decided to throw his
career away and go after Soren.

"But," she argued, "I thought you were both 'Will',
and that he merely changed his name to Thomas to
differentiate himself as best he could."

"We are.  And he did."

"So why isn't he her Imzadi, too?"

"Because there can be only one."

"But there are *two* of you."

Riker stared at her, speechless.  It was almost a
full minute before he was able to break his own
silence.  "I stayed away from Counselor Troi all
these years because I knew I wouldn't be able to make
her happy.  I knew I couldn't give her everything she
wanted.  That I couldn't be the devoted husband she
needed.  Or be the perfect father to the houseful
children she wanted.  Or give her my vow of undying
love, when she knew that my career would always come
first.  I wasn't ready to settle down yet.  There was
too much I still wanted to do.  Too many experiences
I wanted to have and enjoy.  By myself...with other
women..."

"And you can give all of that to her now?"

"I think I can."

"You *think*?  That doesn't sound all that convincing
to me, Commander."

Riker leaned back in his chair, then cast a sideways
glance at the people milling at the bar.  He caught
sight of Lt. Casey Stratton sitting at it, amongst a
group of friends.  He turned back to Guinan again.

"I'll never know for certain if I can, Guinan.  Part
of me will always wonder about the road not taken."

"Such as Tom is," the El-Aurian concluded.  She
glanced over to the bar herself and, after seeing
what had caught Riker's attention, casually turned
back to him again.  "Commander, what makes you think
that either of you will wind up with Counselor Troi?
Did it ever occur to you that she won't marry any
Riker at all?"

Riker's gaze had started to drift towards the bar
again, then suddenly darted back to Guinan.  "You
were the one talking about fate yesterday," he
rebutted.  "And fate was what brought Deanna and me
together to begin with."

"And separated you as well," she reminded.  "Maybe
what is bothering you, Commander, isn't really what
is bothering you, but rather what you *think* is
bothering you."

Riker fired her a look.  "In English, Guinan. Please?"

"That was English.  You're just not listening."

Riker blew frustrated air through his lips.  "Are you
saying that you already know how all of this is going
to work out?" he asked tiredly.

Guinan shrugged.  "And even if I did...?"

He chuckled.  "You certainly wouldn't be telling me."

"Commander," Guinan explained, "this universe is
filled with countless numbers of people.  Many of
whom impact our lives, whether by just saying 'hello'
to us, or by giving us help when we need it, or by
serving us a drink at a bar, or by falling in love
with us.  But if you could find out beforehand how
each one of those people would impact your life,
would you really want to know?"

An image of Tom fleeted through Riker's mind, and his
reply came more easily and more quickly than he had
expected.  "I suppose not.  That would destroy the
beauty of each relationship.  You'd be spending all
your time waiting for someone or something specific,
only to miss out on everything else that's important
along the way.  And maybe even damage a future
relationship without even realizing it."

"Exactly."

"So you're telling me to enjoy Deanna's company, even
though she might choose Tom?"

"No.  I'm telling you to enjoy the Counselor's
company because you enjoy the Counselor's company,
regardless of circumstances.  Let the rest take care
of itself.  There are some things in life, Commander,
that just can't be commanded and shouldn't be
overanalyzed.  They will be the way they will be.
So, just go with the flow and be receptive to
whatever this situation brings.  You just might be
pleasantly surprised with what life has to offer you
this time around."

Satisfied that her point had been made, Guinan rose
to her feet and headed back for the bar.  Leaving
Will Riker to stare pensively out the viewport,
contemplating his future.

---

Deanna stood, leaning against a centuries old
Betazoid Verdante tree, its large, elephant-like
leaves swaying with the late evening breeze.

Unfortunately, the leaves on the richly knotted
Verdante did little to comfort her from the midsummer
humidity on Betazed.  Nor did they provide the
serenity she desired, the way they used to when she
came to this particular tree years ago, to find peace
for her troubled heart over Will Riker's decision to
pursue his career on board the Potemkin.  And, she
realized, although the place may not have been
perfect, it was far better than staying aboard the
Enterprise.  Where Will was.  And Tom.  And the
confusion she felt over the both of them.

She looked up into the majestic midnight sky, her
gaze scanning the thousands of bright pinpoints of
light that were nestled within it, until it came to
rest on one stationery object above - the Enterprise.
And as she looked at it, she concluded that her
decision to beam back down to Betazed was probably a
good one, and that she just might be better off
staying with her mother that night after all.

Deanna lowered her head in disgust, silently berating
herself for handling the situation so poorly.  <This
should be easy, Deanna!  This is different now!  It's
all different now!>

She looked back up at the Enterprise again.  "Isn't
it?" she questioned aloud.

"Isn't it what?"

Deanna spun around.  She hadn't expected anyone to be
there, and was surprised that her empathic abilities
had failed to warn her of the other person's
presence.  Only when she saw him emerge from the
darkness did Deanna realize how preoccupied she had
been, allowing herself a rare occasion of self-doubt
and self-pity.

Tom came to stand next to her.  He shoved a hand
comfortably into his brown pants and looked upwards
to the very spot that had captivated her moments ago.

She was mesmerized by his presence and the moonlit
outline of his stature.  He was tall and commanding,
but mostly confident.  Not quite the man who had left
for the Gandhi years ago.  He had become so much
more.  More like...

Deanna closed her eyes to shut off the thought.
Comparisons of the two men were no longer allowed.

"I thought you were in the brig," she finally said.

"Got released."

"How?  Why?"

A host of different reasons to explain his release
fleeted through Tom's mind.  He gave Deanna the best
answer he could.  "I guess Captain Picard and
Starfleet came to some sort of agreement about me."

He shifted on his feet, as if suddenly uncomfortable.
As if that answer he had just provided was not good
enough.  It didn't matter though.  If it wasn't, she
wasn't saying anything.

Tom's eyes skirted the breadth of the night sky until
they settled on the Enterprise like Deanna's had done
moments before.  Immediately, he felt the envy within
him begin to emerge.  Will was up there, Tom knew. And 
once again he was reminded of everything his Starfleet 
brother had:  His life.  His career.  His Deanna.

Tom's jaw clenched and he forced the uncomfortable
feeling into a deep, dark place inside him, where all
his other painful memories resided.

"How did you know I was here?" Deanna asked in a
half-whisper, looking back up into the dark blue sky
along with him.

Tom hesitated briefly, not realizing until now how
much he had missed the sound of her voice while they
were apart.  "I just knew."  He continued studying
the Enterprise a while longer, then said, "He's still
up there, isn't he."

Deanna didn't pretend not to know who he was talking
about.  "Yes, he is."

He sensed her disappointment.  "I'm surprised.  I
thought you would have remained there with him. Together."

"I changed my mind."  Deanna forced composure into
her reply.  She was not going to let Tom see her
fight the tears, or hear the hurt in her voice.  She
dropped her gaze back to the thick horizon of trees
just off in the distance, her straight, dark hair
falling forward to hide her face.  "Are you angry
with him for putting you in the brig?"

"No," Tom replied.  "Well, not anymore."

Deanna smiled halfheartedly.  If there was one thing
about Riker men that was a constant, it was their
honesty.

"You seem a little unhappy," Tom noted.  "Did you two
have a fight?"

"No.  Just...taking a little breather."

"Hmm.  I've heard that women like to do that with us
Rikers now and then. From what I understand, we can
be a bit much to handle at times."

Deanna chuckled.  "Yes, that much is very true."  She
flicked a lock of hair off her face and tilted her
head slightly, so she could see Tom better.  "By the
way," she added, "the hair suits you."  She reached
out to touch the thick mane that framed his handsome
face, but quickly withdrew her hand.

"There was a time when you didn't fear touching me,"
Tom observed, disappointed.  "In fact, there was a
time when you couldn't touch me enough."

Deanna felt contrite.  "I'm sorry, Tom.  I'm still
adjusting to the fact that you're here.  That you're
free.  I thought that...well, it doesn't matter what
I thought."

Tom's voice lowered and he tossed her a familiar
smile, attempting to soften her mood.  "Forgot about
me so quickly?"

"Oh no.  No..."

Deanna's voice drifted off, and this time, when she
reached up to Tom again, she didn't pull away.
Gently, she stroked his hair, from topwards down,
cosseting the plaiting of his thick, silky braid.
Her fingertips glided forward and she cupped his
goateed chin in her hand.  He tilted his head into
the affectionate gesture.

"No," she murmured.  "I never forgot about you."

Instinctively, Deanna's gaze was drawn into the
piercing blueness of his eyes.  There was something
about Will's eyes...Tom's eyes...that haunted her.
Not so much their vivid color, but the fire and the
passion that blazed within them.  In that instant,
Deanna realized why women so easily fell prey to Will
Riker's brand of seduction.

"It must have been horrible for you," she said in a
soft voice, still being pulled deeper and deeper into
the very depths of him.  "I could only imagine what
it was like on Lazon II."

Tom didn't answer as the painful memories, both
physical and emotional, were wrenched from his gut.
He could taste the acidic bile that ate away at his
throat and feel the pain that twisted his stomach
from going days without food.  He could smell the
foul stench of death that burned his nose, as other
prisoners succumbed to mutilation and torture.  He
could hear the sound of his own hoarse voice,
screaming out at the top of his lungs as the
Cardassians brutalized his body and tormented his
mind.  The-

Deanna gasped.

Her dark eyes grew wide with fear and her mouth hung
open in shock.  She could feel Tom's pain.  She could
see his memories.  *See* his memories.

She took an involuntary step backward.  "I had no idea..."

A cold shiver ran down Deanna's spine, and briskly
rubbing her hands up and down her arms did nothing to
alleviate the chilled shudders overwhelming her body.

Suddenly, her expression of fear turned to one of
inquiry.  "When...?"  She stammered, and took another
step backwards.

Tom closed his eyes, trying to find his center of
control, then opened them again.  "I'm sorry, Deanna.
I'm very sorry.  I try so hard to forget what the
Cardassians had done, but when you asked-"

"No.  That's not what I meant."  Deanna took a step
forward, closer to him, still unable to fully
comprehend what had just occurred.  "I saw what you
went through, Tom.  As if I had been there myself.
Without you uttering one single word to me, I saw
it."  She took another step forward, to where she had
originally stood.  "You shared your thoughts with me."

Tom slumped resignedly against the knotty Verdante
tree next to them.  <Your mother taught me.  Or
rather, is teaching me.>

Deanna's knees buckled and Tom swiftly reached out to
catch her before she fell.

"That must be why I was able to sense you so strongly
before," Deanna thought numbly, allowing Tom's grip
to persuade her to sit on the grass.  "I've always
been able to sense Will.  Always been able to know
how he felt.  But tonight, when I was getting ready
for dinner at Mother's house...it was as if you were
a part of me!"

Tom settled into the grass next to her.  "I thought
I'd never see you again, Deanna.  I waited a whole
year to see you...longer, really.  And tonight, when
I knew you were finally coming home...well, I knew I
should have waited.  I was supposed to wait.  But I
couldn't."

Deanna said nothing.  There was something so sweet,
yet so desperate, in his declaration to her.

Tom looked back up at the midnight sky, deciding that
it might be a good time to change the subject.  "So
when is the big day?"

"What?"

"The big day," he repeated.  "Did you and Will set a
date for the wedding yet?"

"Um...no.  Not yet."

A wary, half-smile appeared on his face.  "That
surprises me.  After all these years of waiting, I
didn't think I had it in me to be so patient.
Particularly with you."

"Are you implying that you would have done things
differently?"

He looked back at her.  "Does it matter?"

Deanna shifted position.  Did it?

"I know what you're thinking, Deanna.  And yes, I
still can't help but compare myself to him."  Tom's
jaw set tightly, resentment threatening to blister to
the surface.  "Ever since I came back from Nervala
IV, I was always considered *Will's* duplicate.  Or
*Will's* opposite.  I was always compared to *Will*.
In his personality.  In his career.  In his tastes.
His mannerisms.  His largess with women.  Whatever it
was, with whomever it was, it was *Will* they saw.
It was never me.  It was never *Tom*."

He shook his head in disgust.

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  "But
*I* see you, Tom."

"Do you?  Really?"

"You say that like you don't believe me."  Deanna
dropped her hand back down into her lap and her eyes
sought out his.  She had to make sure he understood.
"You know it's the truth, Tom.  You can feel it."

He delicately caressed her cheek with his hand, then
held it there, holding her face almost reverently.
His expression slowly transforming.  Becoming hungry.
Unrestrained.  "Then you know what is going through
my mind right now as well, don't you.  You know what
it is I'm feeling."  Tom slid closer to Deanna, his
thigh touching hers.  It had been so very long for
the two of them...

"You know what thoughts I have," he muttered in a
husky voice.  "Still have.  For you."

"Tom..." Deanna demurred.  "I'm not so sure about
this..."

Despite her mixed emotions, Deanna was unable to
steel her gaze away from him.  From his hold, on her.

"Why?"  He tipped her head upwards and brought his
face near to hers.  "Because of him?"

"That's part of it."  <A big part of it.>

"I heard that, Deanna," he whispered.  His lips
gently caressed hers.  "Listen to your heart.  Stop
trying to rationalize this and let it go."  He
brushed aside her hair, then tugged down on the
zipper of her uniform to loosen the collar slightly.
His warm lips began to navigate her jawbone, then
move downward to the hollow of her throat.

<Let it go, Deanna...>

Deanna closed her eyes, unable to fight the desire
that he was igniting within her.  The pull
Will...Tom...the both of them, had on her.

Tom's lips started their journey back up her neck and
across her jawbone.  He stopped, perching his face
mere inches from hers.  He ran his fingers up and
down the length of her spine and coaxed her closer to
him.  His breath warmed her flesh, and his eyes
devoured her hungrily.

"I don't think we should wait anymore," he breathed.

Deanna looked at him and felt her resolve weakening.
"Wait...?  I'm not sure I understand.  After all
these years-"

He kissed her on the mouth and remained that way,
lips resting against lips.  "No," he murmured.
"That's not what I'm talking about."

She was barely able to speak.  Barely able to move.
"What are you suggesting then?"

In a breath, the words slid from his mouth into hers.
"Marry me."  He tugged down on the zipper a little
more.  <Marry me instead, Deanna.>

Deanna opened her mouth, trying to think of something
to say.

Tom's mouth seized hers in a passionate kiss.  She
felt foggy.  Dizzy.  Limp.

<This can't be happening.>

<Why not?>

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice
inside her head, and she discovered she was no longer
sitting up, but laying down on a bed of thick grass.
Tom was on top of her.  Wanting.  Waiting.

Her hands moved up his broad chest and over his wide
shoulders without volition, pulling him into a
familiar embrace.  As if she had done this dozens of
times with him before.  And, in a way, she had.  She
inhaled the characteristic male essence of him, which
always became more masculine and musky from arousal.
That scent, too, had been burned into memory.  From
days past.  And nights recent.  She felt the swollen
ache between his thighs, acutely aware of his
insatiable appetite and the libidinous pleasure he
enjoyed.  His hand maneuvered expertly down her belly
and to her thigh, while the other molded her body
into him.  Curves into hollows.  Soft against firm.
Coaxing her into one of his more favorite sexual
positions.  But not the only.

He kissed her, tentatively this time.  Testing her
acceptance of him.  Her willingness to succumb.

She pulled him down fully on top of her.

---

"You look like you could use some company.  Mind if I
join you?"

Riker saw a familiar reflection in the viewport he
had been staring out.  He turned to his guest and
smiled.

Lt. Casey Stratton was standing on the other side of
the small, round table, beside the chair recently
vacated by Guinan.  Her gold Starfleet uniform had
been replaced with a low-cut, tight-bodiced blue
velvet dress with a full, flowing skirt.  Her long
blonde hair, typically bound in a french twist, hung
loose about her shoulders.  Her full lips were
colored an appealing shade of red and her bright
green eyes had been accented with just a little more
mascara and earth-toned shadows.

It was the first time Riker had seen Lt. Stratton
dressed in something other than a uniform.  It was
also the first time he had really seen her as Casey.

He considered declining her offer, mostly because he
wasn't in the mood to entertain, but Guinan's earlier
advice still haunted him.

He gestured to the seat on the other side of the
table.  "Please.  Sit down."

Stratton pulled out the chair and settled into it,
with movement that was more graceful than Riker had
come to expect from the Starfleet officer who manned
Tactical.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Commander," she said,
positioning the full skirt on her dress so it hung
freely about her long legs.  "I thought you were down
on Betazed."

Riker was about to pick up his almost-abandoned
drink, then put it back down.  He looked at her
curiously.  "How did you know where I was supposed to be?"

"Small ship," she replied casually.  "News carries
around fast."

Riker glanced around the rec room, which was now
starting to thin out from the late hour.  He wondered
who, specifically, might have spread that piece of news.

"I see," he said.

"I take it you had a change of plans?"

Riker picked up the glass of ale and took a sip, then
held it before him, intently watching the amber
liquid swirl around inside.  "Something like that."

She was as amazed as he was by his unexpected
honesty.  "That's too bad."

Riker stopped swirling the ale and peered over the
top of his glass, straight into Stratton's green
eyes.  "Why do you say that?"

"Considering the look on your face, I'd say you
didn't have the evening you quite expected.  Then
wound up back here because of it."

Riker put down the ale.  "Well...aren't you a forward one."

Stratton's expression immediately turned somber,
uncertain how to interpret Riker's tone.
Instinctively, she straightened her posture and
assumed a more professional demeanor.

"I'm sorry, Commander," she quickly apologized.  "I
have a bad habit of speaking my mind too often.  I
should have shown more respect.  And tact.  Sir."

"Don't apologize for telling the truth," Riker
quickly suggested.  "Honesty is a very admirable
trait.  I only wish more people had it."

Stratton hadn't realized until now that she had been
holding her breath.  Getting on a senior officer's
wrong side was bad enough.  But doing it to Commander
William Riker...well, she had heard about how he
dressed down officers who stepped out of line.  And
she didn't particularly want to experience that
situation firsthand.

She let out a quiet sigh of relief.  "Thank you,
Commander.  I appreciate the compliment."

"Please, Casey, call me Will.  When I'm off duty, I really 
prefer people to call me Will.  It's much less stuffy."

Casey tried to hold back the smile, but couldn't.
She was more than pleased that he felt comfortable
with her, and that she was able to get him to shed
the first layer of his Starfleet persona.

His name passed her lips with only slight
vacillation.  "Okay...Will."

Riker took another sip of his drink.  "So, is my
disappointment that obvious?"

"To me it is," she replied.  "Usually your body
language is self-assured and your posture is ramrod
straight.  But tonight, neither are as they should be."

"You're not only forward, Casey," Riker chuckled,
"but you're observant too."

Stratton shrugged.  "The forwardness I was born with.
The ability to observe was learned in Starfleet.
Comes with the job in Tactical, I guess."

Riker slid what remained in the glass down his
throat, then realized he had misplaced his manners.
"Would you like something to drink?"

The Lieutenant shook her head.  "No thanks.
Actually, I have to be on duty at oh-six hundred, and
it's late enough as it is.  I was just about to leave
with some friends, and when I saw you here I decided
to stop by and make sure you were alright."

"But, as you know," he challenged playfully, "making
sure a *Commander* is alright on a personal basis is
improper decorum for a Starfleet *Lieutenant*."

"And with all due respect, Will," Casey disputed with
equal humor, "I did ask permission to join you.  And
you did give it to me.  According to regs, that's
hardly improper protocol for me.  Maybe for *you*,
but not for me."  Then she added, "Sir."

Riker's trademark grin appeared, then just as quickly
disappeared.  The evening seemed ready to progress
down a dangerous, irreversible path.  He was fairly
certain he shouldn't take it.

"Maybe it's a good idea to call it a night after all,
Casey," he agreed, rising from his chair.  "How about
I walk you back to the turbolift so we can both get
the shuteye we need."

"Aren't you worried about what the others might think
if we leave together?" she asked, getting up as well.
"Especially since you came down here alone to begin with?"

Riker leaned towards Stratton conspiratorially, his
eyes mischievous.  "What is it you think they'll
think?"

"Well...I..."  Stratton shook her head.  Hell, if he
wasn't concerned, then she shouldn't be either.

The two officers left the rec room, heading directly
for the turbolift down the adjacent corridor.  They
both stepped in and waited for the doors to close
them inside.

"Deck Eight," Stratton ordered.  Still facing
forward, she said, "I was engaged once too, you know."

Will's head snapped right, in Casey's direction.
<Where the hell did that come from!?>

"Really?" he asked, unsure of why she was sharing
such personal information, but wanting to know more.

"Yes."

"What happened?"

She cast him a furtive glance.  "He left me for my
best friend.  They've been married for four years
now.  Two kids.  House near the Italian Alps."

One syllable was all that would pass his lips.
"Ouch."

She upped the ante by two.  "Major ouch."

The turbolift doors opened to Deck Eight and Casey
stepped out into the vacant corridor.  It was almost
2350 hours and most of the crew were sleeping in
their quarters.  She made a half turn and looked at
Riker with unshakable interest.

"I told you this, Will, because I just want you to
know that I've been in a similar situation as you.
My story may have turned out differently, but the
events that led up to it were similar.  So, my point
is...if you need anyone to talk to, you can talk to
me.  Because I understand what it is you're going
through."

The doors promptly shut in front of Riker, confining
him to solitude.  And leaving him to wonder if there
were now two El-Aurians on board.

---

Tom quietly slipped inside the front door to
Lwaxana's mansion, then twisted the shiny metal knob
on the door so it closed without making a sound.  It
was late and he didn't want to bring attention to
himself, for more reasons than one.  He took long,
silent strides through the foyer to the staircase and
began to ascend the wooden steps.

"Thomas?" Lwaxana inquired from the other room.
"Where are you going?"

Tom took another step up.  "To bed.  I'm very tired."

"With what you've been doing for the past two hours,
I would imagine that you are."

Tom's right foot hung just above the next step.  She
had known about him and Deanna.  Then again, of
course she would.  It seemed she always did.

He placed his foot down and remained there, in the
dark of the staircase, immobile.

"Come down to the parlor, Thomas.  I want to talk to you."

He hesitated.  Lwaxana had called him by his formal
name.  Twice.  Which was something she did when she
was either angry with him, or when she had a point to
make.  And right now, Tom figured he was in for an earful.

He debated going up to his room and ignoring her
completely, but knew he couldn't.  Over the past
year, this woman had nurtured his soul, nourished his
spirit, and helped him heal - mentally, emotionally
and physically.  There was no way he could turn his
back on her now.

Resignedly, Tom headed back down the stairs and for
the parlor.

Lwaxana patted the empty cushion next to her on the
tapestried sofa, inviting him to sit down.

He did.

"What were you thinking, Thomas?  You should have
waited to see Deanna.  Until later."

He didn't back down from her dark-eyed, penetrating
gaze, and rivaled it with one of his own.  "I needed
to see her, Lwaxana.  I didn't know if I'd ever get
the chance again."

"So that gave you the right to just waltz back into
her life again?  Without thinking of the
consequences?  There's a lot at stake here."

"You think I don't know that!?" he argued in knee-
jerk response.  When he saw Lwaxana's stern look, he
softened his demeanor and his voice.  She deserved
more respect than he was showing her.  "I know that."

"I'm surprised with your behavior, Thomas," Lwaxana
reproached, sounding more like his mother than
anything else.  "After everything you've been
through, and are going through, I expected more.
Unfortunately, just like twenty years ago, you still
think with the wrong part of your anatomy."

He was insulted, but didn't belabor her opinion.  She
was entitled to it, even if he did think it was
wrong.  "I didn't jeopardize anything, Lwaxana."

"Didn't you?"

Tom sat, still and silent, now realizing that they
were talking about two entirely different things.
"The crew of the Enterprise would have discovered me
soon enough.  I didn't risk anything greater by
searching out Deanna than I already was before.  Give
me more credit than that, Lwaxana.  I know where my
priorities lie."

"That's exactly my point.  The thing that bothers me
is, will your priorities once again be at Deanna's expense?"

"I don't intend to hurt her."

"You never do.  But yet the both of you continue to do it."

"That wasn't fair," Tom rejoined.

"Maybe not, but it is the truth."

Tom slumped back into the sofa.  Was Lwaxana right?
Had he and Will perfected the art of hurting Deanna's
feelings over the years?  And would either one of
them ever be able to do right by her?

Lwaxana just sat and watched him.  For a long while.
She knew what he was thinking.

"You're hoping Deanna will change her mind," she
alleged.  "If all of this works, you're hoping she
changes her mind about Will."

He looked at her pointedly.  "It *will* work."

Lwaxana let out a low sound of disapproval.
"Overconfidence is dangerous, Thomas.  It makes us
make critical mistakes.  You can't afford them now."

"If you're implying that I can't separate my
professional life from my personal one, I don't think
you know me as well as you think you do."

"And even if you're successful with what is ahead of
you, what makes you really believe that Deanna will
change her mind?  Sex isn't going to be enough for
her," she reminded.  "It never was.  She needs more
than that."

"Tonight was more than just sex, Lwaxana.  I wouldn't
have made love to her if I thought is wasn't and you
know it."

She did.  She paused a beat, then asked, "So where is
Deanna now?"

"Back on the Enterprise."

Lwaxana rolled her eyes.  "Honestly, the three of you
are making my head spin.  I can't keep up with your antics!"

Tom's mouth twisted, trying to hide his
discouragement.  "I'd hardly call them 'antics'.  I
love her, Lwaxana.  I always did."

"So does Will."

"Then we'll see what tomorrow brings.  We'll all have
our answer by then, won't we."

"Thomas, tomorrow might very well bring all of you
more than you bargained for."

---

Deanna couldn't sleep.  She had been tossing and
turning in bed for the past half hour, and no matter
how much she tried, her body and mind were unable to
succumb to much-needed slumber.

She rolled over onto her left side, fluffed up the
pillow, and tugged up on her sheets.  The computer
console began to beep, alerting her to an incoming
communique.

She let out a frustrated sigh and glanced over at the
computer that gently illuminated her darkened
bedroom.  Despite the fact that no image was present
on the monitor yet, she knew exactly who was
attempting to contact her.

Brushing the fatigue away from her eyes, Deanna
padded her way to the console and ordered the
computer to turn quarter lights on in the room.  She
tapped the keypad and her mother's somber face
appeared on the screen.

"Somehow, I had a feeling I'd be hearing from you
tonight," Deanna said wryly, settling into a chair.

"I was expecting you to stay at home tonight.  I
didn't expect Tom would be the one to tell me that
you weren't."

Deanna brushed a hand through her hair.  <Here comes
the speech,> she thought, noting that her mother had
dropped her more typical eccentric attitude and
adopted her more rare, matronly one.

"Will you talk to me, please?  I'm very worried about
you, Little One."

Deanna had expected her mother to criticize her.  To
share a long diatribe imparting words of wisdom about
her earlier behavior with Tom.  To convey her
disapproval.  To give her advice.  To tell her what
to do.  What to un-do.

Instead, all she felt was her mother's deep concern
and all-abiding love, for her.

She began to cry.

"I'm very confused, Mother," Deanna mumbled, brushing
away tears that flowed too freely and too quickly
down her cheeks.

"I would imagine that you are.  But Deanna, what are
you thinking?  What are you doing?"

"I wish I knew."  Deanna slumped back into her chair,
rested her elbow on the armrest, and dropped a weary
head into her hand.

"I want to help you, Little One."

"I don't know if you can.  Only I can figure this
out.  No one else can do that for me."

"You've made quite a mess for yourself, you know."

Deanna sat, with her head in her hand and her heart
heavy.  "I know."

"Well," Lwaxana said, "if it makes you feel any
better, you should know that it is possible for you
to take the both of them into your life if you want.
Not only will it solve your dilemma, but it might
make for some very interesting evenings as well."

Deanna's head sprang up.  "Mother!  You can't
possibly be serious!"

Lwaxana grinned impishly.

Deanna let out a small smile.

But the moment of humorous relief passed quickly.

"Now," Lwaxana began, her voice more serious now.
"Will you tell me what you were thinking?"

"I want them both, Mother.  You may have teased about
it, but I *do* want them both.  Crazy as it sounds, I do."

"But you can't have them both.  Not in the same way,
anyway."

"Why did this have to happen?  Why did Tom have to
come back into my life?  Everything was so...
settled...until he reappeared."

"Then why did you let him back in?"

"Because..."  Deanna searched, wholeheartedly, for an
answer.  She couldn't find one.  "I don't know why,
Mother."  She grabbed for a tissue and dabbed it
beneath her eyes.  As she did so, one important, and
as yet unanswered, question came to mind.  "How long
has Tom been with you?"

"About a year now."

Deanna's saddened features turned aghast.  "A year!
And you never said anything!?  How long were you
planning on keeping this a secret?"

"Not forever."

"Why is he with you?  You should have told me,
Mother.  You should have said something." "Why?"

"*Why*?" Deanna repeated agitatedly.  "Because that
would have been the right thing to do!  Starfleet
needed to know!  I needed to know!"

"It wouldn't have been right to do that."

"How could you possibly say something like that?"

"Calm down, Little One.  I'm not going to make
excuses for why I didn't handle things with Thomas
differently.  Granted, maybe I should have, but I had
my reasons for doing what I did.  I can't explain
them now, but in time, you will know."

Deanna desperately wanted to know more, but her
Mother was blocking her out emotionally.  That was
something she only did when she had something serious
to hide, or when she needed to spare Deanna's
feelings.  Or both.

"Tell me now, Mother."

"I can't."

"*Now*."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Little One, stop being pushy.  It is not becoming
behavior for a daughter of the Fifth House."

"You're hiding something."

"No.  *You* are."

Deanna felt as if she had just been slapped.  Not so
much by a physical hand, but by reality itself.  Her
mind drifted back to the more important matter at
hand.  The one being re-addressed by her mother now.

"Why Thomas is with me and how long he has been with
me is not what is important," Lwaxana said.  "What
*is* important is that the three of you are in one
serious state of affairs, with no immediate hope of
reprieve.  You're all running around in circles and I
really don't know which of you is worse.  One still
isn't sure what he wants from you, and is on board
the Enterprise questioning what he wants out of life
and with whom he wants to share it.  The other is so
blinded by passion that he's having trouble focusing
on the big picture in front of him.  And *you* can't
seem to stay out of the sack with either of them!"

"Thanks for the insights, Mother," Deanna said
contemptuously.  "I don't think I would have been
able to recognize them without your help."

"Little One," Lwaxana said.  "As much as I want to
wring your neck and knock some sense into you, I know
I can't do that.  I just want you to think,
carefully, about what you have done.  There's a lot
more at stake here than you realize."

---

"Hello, Will.  I got your note.  You wanted to see me
before we went down to the cave?"

Will Riker stood, uniformed, by the antique wooden
bench situated just east of the Jalara Jungle,
admiring the warm morning sky.  He studied the deep
expanse of the Jungle, thick with lush green
vegetation, breathing in its sweetness, and admiring
the distant, barely hidden view of the Falls within
the dense forest.  He closed his eyes and listened to
the thundering sound of the water as it cascaded a
thousand feet into a crystal blue river at its foot.

He finally turned, just enough so that she could see
him, and studied her.  Intently.

He motioned with his hand to the bench next to him,
not once blinking.  Not once taking his eyes off her.

"Sit down, Deanna."

A shiver ran down Deanna's spine upon hearing his
cool tone.  <He knows,> she thought.  <He *knows*.>

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Deanna sat on
the bench, built just for two.  She watched Will
settle in next to her, only now noticing that he
hadn't shaved that morning.  Not in his usual manner
anyway.  The stubble was there, thicker and longer
than usual, and it had been sculpted, to take the
shape of the dark, chiseled beard that would frame
his handsome face by the end of the week.

His quiet, meditative mood was too much to bear.
"Will," Deanna began, feeling the need to explain
what had happened between her and Tom last night, "I
want you to know that-"

Will held up his hand and she stopped.  "There's no
need to explain last night, Deanna.  Truth be told, I
don't think I want you to."

Deanna pulled back from Will, unable to hide her
shock, and looked into his eyes.  She could see pain,
filtered with understanding, within their bright
blueness.  Her heart fell into her stomach.

"How did you know?"

His lips curled up slightly into a bittersweet smile.
"That look in your eyes.  I recognized it years ago
when Tom first appeared.  I recognize it now.
Ironically, that look hasn't changed."

He settled into the bench, in no mood to argue or to
lose himself to a jealous tirade.  None of that would
do either one of them any good.  Instead, Will pulled
her in close to him and wrapped his arm around her
protectively, leaning her head onto his shoulder and
his cheek on top of her.

"I've been sitting here and thinking," he said, the
stubble from his newborn beard rasping slightly,
invitingly even, against the top of her head.  "It's
funny how life comes full circle at times."

"Doing some soul searching?" she asked, feeling the
waves of jumbled emotions that coursed through her lover.

"I get the feeling we all are."

She nodded.

"And it occurred to me this morning, as I sat here on
this bench, that you never did answer me when I asked
you to marry me the other night."

Deanna sat, silent, reliving that evening together on
the Holodeck when Will had proposed.  And until now,
she had never realized that she didn't answer him.
Or that, other than requesting 'more' or 'do it this
way', they had barely spoken to one another that
night at all.

"Anyway," Will continued, "it got me to thinking
about our past.  And I thought how ironic it is that
whenever you and I get romantically involved with one
another, we just can't seem to find conversation.
It's as if our ability to communicate shuts down.
And yet, before you and I ever made love almost
twenty years ago, we seemed to talk all the time."

"More like argued," Deanna added, with a chuckle.

"But they were good arguments.  Healthy ones, I
think.  We learned a lot about each other during
those weeks.  But then, in the Jalara Jungle, once we
decided to take that one step further, to share
ourselves physically, we barely talked at all.  We
spent more time communicating horizontally than doing
anything else.  And then, there was that time you
stayed in my quarters after a poker game years ago.
We barely talked then, too.  And now, ever since we
left the Briar Patch, it's been pretty much the same
thing.  We've been spending all our free time in my
bed, but not doing much of anything else.  When we
were 'just friends', Deanna, we seemed to be more
open with each other.  And when we become intimate,
we clam up.  I wonder why that is."

It was a rhetorical question and Deanna let it remain
unanswered.

Maybe because she wasn't sure she had an answer to give.

She nestled in more closely to Will, snuggling into
his embrace and against his broad, barrel chest,
allowing his strength to envelop her completely.

"So, all that said, I think it's time we finally did
talk, Deanna."

The nervousness she felt at the prospect was quickly
replaced with relief.  She understood that she and
Will needed to do this.

"I have the impression that there's already something
specific you have in mind that you want to discuss."

"Yes."

"Tom?"

"Yes."  Will moved away from Deanna just slightly and
twisted in his seat so he could face her completely.

"Will, I-"

"No.  Let me say what I have to say, Deanna."  He
took in a quiet breath, gathering his thoughts, and
slipped her hands into his.  "I can only imagine how
difficult this must be for you.  The gods only know
it's difficult for me too.  We had plans for our
future, you and me, and now things have taken a
complete turn that none of us expected."

"That doesn't mean I don't love you, Will.  That also
doesn't even mean I'm not marrying you."

"And what about Tom?  The same applies to him.  What
are you going to do?  Marry us both?"

Deanna spluttered.  "How...?  How did you know he asked?"

Will rolled his eyes, then shrugged.  "Lwaxana was
never one to keep secrets.  She told me this morning.
I ran into her shortly after I beamed down."

"I think I better have another talk with her," Deanna
retorted, her jaw tightly clenched.  "That woman still 
seems to think it's necessary to meddle into my affairs."

"I'm sure she was only trying to help," Will offered lamely.

Deanna sliced him a sideways glance.

"In her own way, of course," he added with a lopsided grin.

Deanna slumped slightly.  "So where do we go from here?"

Will's answer came easily.  "You know me well enough,
Deanna, to realize that I don't grovel at a woman's
feet.  I can't beg for you to choose me, and at the
same time, I can't advise you to go with Tom.  That's
just not my nature.  How could I possibly try to
convince you to stay with me if there is doubt in
your mind, no matter how small it might be?  I need a
woman by my side who chooses me because she wants to
be with *me*, one hundred percent.  In a relationship
based on equal footing.  And with Tom, it would be no
different.  He would have those very same
expectations of you as well.  I'm sure of it."
Will's expression softened, mirroring the solemn tone
of his voice.  "Be careful, Deanna.  Think this
through, thoroughly.  Please?  Before you make any
decision, think this through.  Because your happiness
is very important to me."

"I'm disappointed in you, Will," Deanna said
bitterly.  "I expected more of a fight out of you
over me."

"Deanna...I can honestly say that I expected the same
thing from you."

A hand to her cheek would have felt better than that.
Deanna sat, stinging from his words.  "I'm sorry,
Will.  I-"

"Deanna," Will interrupted.  "Let's just let this go
for now, okay?  It's not my intention to pick a fight
over what happened.  It'll only make things worse."

She sensed the emotional turmoil within him and only
now began to realize what her mother had been hinting
at the night before.  Getting through the ordeal
between the three of them was going to be far more
difficult than she had imagined.

"All I'm saying is," Will began again, "please be
careful."

"I know what you're getting at Will, but I trust Tom.
As much as I trust you.  It sounds crazy, I know,
given his past.  But I know he's a good person.  I
know it."

"I hope you're right, Deanna," Will replied, sinking
back in the old, wooden bench and pulling her back
next to him.  "You and I have both been in love
before.  And we both know that it can cloud
judgement."

"Then my judgement is clouded by the both of you."

Deanna's intimation was not lost on Will.  He knew
she loved them both.  It was painfully obvious.  Too
painfully obvious.

Deanna let out a loud and remorseful sigh.  "You're
always looking after me, aren't you Will."

He nuzzled his nose into her hair, taking a deep
breath of its sweetness.  "As a husband, or a lover,
or a friend...I'll always look after you."

Deanna felt the tears begin to burn inside her dark
eyes.  "You're making this very difficult for me, Will."

"Funny...I thought I was making it easier."

---

The air was musty and dry.  The surroundings were as
dark as a black hole.  And what had begun as a
relatively easy journey into the first three hundred
meters of the cave had now become riddled with
dangerous navigation and unsteady footing.

Riker, leading Picard, then Crusher, Troi and Data
into the deepest bowels of Betazed, turned his head
away from the group and stifled a dry cough.  Despite
the fact that they still had another twenty yards to
traverse until their destination, he didn't want to
bring attention to himself or the other officers.
Lt. Stratton, still on board the Enterprise, had
informed them earlier that sensors picked up three
life signs inside the cave.  But because of the
mineral compounds that comprised the cavern, she was
unable to determine, specifically, just what types of
life forms they were.  And considering this was
unfamiliar terrain, Riker had no idea how much even
the smallest of noises would echo, or how far.  It
was a chance he was not willing to take, and the
precise reason he and Picard agreed to remain out of
contact with the 'E' unless an emergency situation
arose.  It was also the precise reason they chose not
to beam directly into what might be a potentially
hostile situation, but to advance into it by foot instead.

Taking a few more quiet and cautious steps forward,
the First Officer stopped to assess their position
once again.  The passages of the cave were becoming
smaller and tighter, and if it weren't for the tiny,
hand-held electronic  navigator he carried, Riker
would not have been able to maneuver through the
intricate and web-like offshoots that characterized
this particular cave.

He squinted his eyes, trying to focus between the
brightness of the flashlight he held and the utter
darkness that surrounded them like a tight blindfold,
then rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.  Being
the tallest out of the five of them, Riker was forced
to hunch for most of the past twenty minutes.  His
neck ached, his shoulders hurt, and his back
desperately required the attention of a pair of soft
hands to work out the knots that now seemed
permanently ingrained into his muscles.

He directed the flashlight to a small opening that
led to three other narrow passageways.  He studied
the dark chasms for a while, then the navigator, then
the chasms again.  With a quick nod of his head,
Riker motioned for the group to follow him inside the
passage leading east.  He got on his hands and knees
and began to crawl into the ebony abyss.

After ten minutes of laborious effort, the five
officers emerged from the small hole and into a
larger opening.  It was an area that comfortably
accommodated Riker's height, and that was subtly
illuminated from an adjoining area just around the
next bend.

Realizing that there was no longer a need for it,
Picard flicked off his flashlight, then silently
indicated for the rest of the group to follow suit.
His eyes scanned them over, one by one, ascertaining
how they had fared the difficult journey.  His own
hands and forehead were dirty, bruised and scraped.
Riker's uniform had been completely covered with
soot, particularly around his shoulders and down his
back.  Crusher's cheeks were smudged with dust and
dirt, and her makeup was almost entirely gone.
Troi's hair, which had been swept up into a loose
bun, now hung limply around her face and neck, and
there was a small tear on the knee of her uniform.
Data, however, looked as fresh and crisp as ever.

Riker clipped his flashlight to the holster on his
belt, then carefully maneuvered towards the bend just
ahead of them.  He stopped short of the corner,
leaning directly against the rough, metallic cave
wall, and looked back at Picard.

The Captain's hazel eyes warned his First Officer to
be careful.

Riker nodded, once, then twisted his body against the
hard edge of the corner.  He craned his neck and took
a peek inside.

Within the large, closed-in cavern lay dozens of
stacked metal cases of armaments on top of the cold,
rocky floor.  All were sealed and readied for
beamout.  There were no signs of anyone there.

Riker turned back to Picard, then mouthed, "It's all
in here."

The Captain gave his nod of approval for his XO to proceed.

Riker pulled out his phaser, checked that it was set
to 'stun', then indicated for the others to do the
same.  Once confident that they were prepared, he turned 
back to the corner, took in a deep breath, and stepped inside.

A phaser blast screeched past his ear.

On instinct, Riker spun around and hit the ground,
automatically thumbing the phaser setting to 'kill'.
Kicking up dust and debris with his legs as he
scrambled for cover, he cursed the sight of Thomas, a
Cardassian and a Betazoid, none of whom he had seen before.

"Take cover!" he shouted from behind a large rock.

Picard sprang out in Riker's direction and aimed his
phaser, firing blindly at whatever moved in front of
him.  The Cardassian's phaser speared towards the
other officers huddled behind the far corner, while
the Betazoid aimed for Picard and Riker.  Blinding
red streaks pierced through the semi-blackness.
Chunks of metal rock exploded into tiny pieces.
Bodies crouched behind rock.  Voices barked orders.
Walls rumbled.  And hazy dust filled the air.

Tom's shaky hands fumbled with his comm badge as all
hell broke loose around him.  He flinched as a phaser
breezed past his head.  "Bakthara!  Can you hear me!"

"Riker...?"  A distant voice crackled through the
badge and the confusion.  "What is going on!?"

Tom swung his body to avoid another shot, stumbled
and fell to the ground.  "Start beaming out!" he
yelled, rolling for protection.  "*Now*! Get the
weapons out of here now!"

Will fired at Tom.  Tom fired back.

"Stop them!" Picard yelled.  Shiny, brittle pieces of
stone exploded just to his right, showering him with
thousands of sharp little spears.  He ducked,
shielding his face and head from the debris.

The weapons began to shimmer and coalesce.

"You won't get away with this!" Riker yelled over the
jarring noise.  His phaser shot a brilliant streak
over a rock and towards Drakkar.

"It's too late!"  Drakkar swung his phaser at Data.

Riker slammed his fist to his comm badge. "Enterprise-!"

Stratton's voice crackled over the comm system.
"Captain Picard!  The Cardassians...approaching.  We
are now..."

Rocks tumbled wildly to the floor.  The cavern walls
began to shake and rumble.

"...seismic activity...unstable..."

"Get us the hell out of here!" Picard roared.

"...attempting to lock coordinates..."

Picard swung around and fell into Riker as another
phaser blast whizzed by.

"Take the Captain!"  Riker threw himself in front of
the Captain and thrust his phaser towards Tom.
Another blast shrieked past, a near miss to his chest.

"We can't get a fix...coordinates...too much...
composition in cave..."  Stratton's voice disappeared.

Riker punched his fist against his badge again.
"Stratton!"  No answer.  "Shit!  Stratton!  Get the
Captain *first*!"  He fired blindly at the enemy.

"...trying to get a lock...not sure who..."

Troi's crouched body disappeared.

The cave floor began to shake violently.  Fissures
began to erupt, crackling open to the surface.  Smoke
hissed upward.  Rubble began to freefall in a
thundering rainstorm.

"Get us the hell out of here!" Tom screamed,
stumbling recklessly on his feet.  He let out a loud
grunt as a small boulder bashed into his upper back.

Stratton's voice broke in.  "Cardassians...preparing
to fire...!"

Riker's head pounded from the deafening noise around
him.  "Get a lock on the Captain!  Get him on board-!"

Something punched Riker in the shoulder, slamming him
hard against the cave wall.  Heat seared into his
chest and through his left arm.  He slumped down to
the ground, in shock, the top of his uniform charred
and smoking.

Picard pivoted towards Drakkar and mercilessly opened
fire on his First Officer's would-be assassin.

Data raced out into the middle of the crossfire,
spearing his weapon at Chafaraa.  His body coalesced,
then disappeared.  Phaser fire knifed through his
dematerialized image.

Riker groaned, scrambling to his feet, trying to
focus his blurry vision on anyone who wasn't wearing
a uniform.

A sharp rock suddenly emerged upwards, between Tom's
legs, forcing him to balance precariously on either
side of a widening fissure.  He lurched to the right
for more solid footing, then his image faded away.

Riker fired at Tom, but it was too late.  He quickly
diverted his blurred gaze on Chafaraa, and aimed,
hitting the Betazoid square in the back.  The
Betazoid slumped to the cave floor in a heap of dead
weight, then transformed into a gelatinous pool of
silver liquid, before pouring down a ravenous breach
in the ground.

Drakkar screamed out crudely, infuriated that his
Changeling counterpart had been injured, or worse,
and turned his weapon directly on Picard, preparing
to tackle him like a savage beast.  Riker fired at
Drakkar, but missed.  The Cardassian's blast forced
the Captain's arms outward, propelling him against a
stone wall, searing a hole right above his heart.  He
fell into a heap on a pile of stone rubble.

Drakkar beamed out.

Crusher threw herself at Picard's side on the ground,
checking him for vital signs.

Riker's lungs heaved, short of oxygen, and the cavern
walls began to tumble down on the three of them.
"Enterprise!" he yelled, watching in horror as all
color drained from Picard's body.  "The Captain's
been injured!  Beam us directly into sickbay!"

"Sir...Cardassian ship...firing on the Enterprise now...!"

---

Tom bounded down onto Baktharas' dark, metal-colored
bridge, Drakkar just behind.  His hair hanging
loosely in its braid, his gunmetal combat fatigues
torn across the chest, and murder in his blue eyes.

"Chafaraa is dead," he gasped, taking over Tactical
controls.  He looked at Karak, the massive Cardassian
Captain of the Bakthara who had just risen from the
center seat on the bridge.  "All weapons beamed on board?"

Karak nodded suspiciously as he came up the ramp to
Tactical, his boots clanging loudly against the metal
grating under his feet.  "Yes."

Tom's fingers danced over the console.  "Torpedoes
loaded?"

Karak's hand clamped down on Tom's wrist, arresting
his movement.

Tom didn't flinch.  He locked gazes with the
Cardassian's steel-gray eyes.  "Let go of me."

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Karak
hissed.  "This is *my* ship!  You have had *enough*
control of this mission, Human!"

Tom's eyes bored right through the Cardassian
Captain.  "What do you think the Enterprise is going
to do?  Just sit there and idly watch us as we
attempt to take over Betazed?"

"This is *MY* ship, Human" he snarled through
clenched teeth.  He squeezed Tom's wrist tighter,
cutting off circulation until it turned white.  "*I*
will be the one to make the decisions!"

Tom drew his strong, goateed chin up in defiance.
"And with what strategy do you plan to take out the
Enterprise, Karak?  Picard is injured, maybe even
dead.  So who do you think is Captain of Starfleet's
flagship now, hmm?"

Karak's eyes narrowed, thinking.  He released his grip.

"That's right," Tom said with contempt.  "Commander
Riker."  His fingers went back to the console and an
image of the Enterprise appeared on the large
viewscreen before him.  He grinned.  "So, all things
considered, Karak, who knows me - and my battle
strategy - better than me?"  He shot Karak a piercing
look, daring the Cardassian to oppose his plan.  Then
he made a general announcement to the entire crew of
the Bakthara.  "This is Thomas Riker.  As of right
now, I am in command of this vessel and this mission.
Any orders are to come from me.  Any requests,
through me."

"We will not permit this to become a personal
vendetta, Human," Drakkar snarled from behind.

Tom's brow left crept up and he around to look behind
him.  "I did not realize you were in a position to
defy me, Drakkar," he provoked.  "I will be the one
to take on Riker.  I will be the one to call his bluff."

"Sensors show that the Enterprise Away Team is back
on their bridge!" a voice interjected from Ops.
"They are loading torpedo bays!"

Tom's head snapped forward to look at the Enterprise
again, his tousled braid whipping around behind him
with the movement.

Karak studied Tom's hungry profile.  "Do it right,"
he threatened.  "One false move, Human, and you're
back on Lazon II."

Tom grinned mischievously and stepped backwards, away
from Tactical.  "Then the weapons console is yours,
Karak.  If you want it."

---

Riker barreled unsteadily towards the command chair
on the Enterprise bridge, his uniform torn at the
shoulders, chest and one knee, his cheek gashed
deeply, the upper portion of his uniform charred,
every muscle in his body protesting their abuse.

"Shields up!  Red alert!  Viewscreen on!  Man battle
stations!"

The Enterprise shook violently with the first blast,
throwing Riker over the chair and onto the floor.  He
stared up from the carpet at the image of the
Bakthara, now bearing down on them.  "Damage report!"

Troi helped him back to his feet.

Data's hands flew over the console with striking
speed.  "Minimal, Sir."

Riker glared into the viewscreen.  "Lock onto their
torpedo banks and fire at will!  Take out their
weapons array!  Then knock out their bridge!  Life
support!  Whatever the hell you can do to get them to stop!"

Phaser fire seared across the blanket of space
between the two ships, slicing its blackness in half.
The shields on the Bakthara burned a bright red-orange, 
objecting to the invasion of the enemy's firepower.

"Unable to penetrate their shields, Sir," Stratton
announced from Tactical, struggling to keep her
balance as the Enterprise rocked below her feet.

"Then keep at it until you do!" Riker barked.

Stratton reconfigured the controls, but another blast
from the Bakthara hammered the ship.  A loud boom
echoed over the outer hull, propelling personnel from
their stations to the floor.  Stratton barely hung
onto the edge of her console, Riker to the edge of
his chair.  The Enterprise shuddered from all
directions, its hull bowing inward and outward like a
cheap tin can.

"What kind of torpedo was that!?" Riker asked vehemently.

Klaxons started to wail.

"Not sure, Sir!" Stratton yelled back over the noise,
climbing back to her station to assess her readouts.

"Shields at seventy percent," Data announced.

Another direct hit pounded the Enterprise, brutally
jerking the ship.  Electronics sizzled and popped.
Small fires erupted.  Sparks flew out from nowhere,
searing flesh and uniforms and hair.

Stratton fired torpedoes again.  Then again.  And again.

Another blast rocketed from the Bakthara.  Bodies
slammed into walls and consoles and chairs.  Smoke
began to fill the bridge.  Vision was minimal.
Oxygen levels dropping.

"Life support at fifty percent," the computer announced.

"Damage?" Riker coughed, struggling back to his feet,
watching the next series of Enterprise torpedoes melt
against the Cardassian ship's shields like butter in
a hot frying pan.

"Hull breach imminent on decks twelve through
twenty," Data stated, his fingers flying over the
computer console.  "Our weapons appear to be no match
to that of the Bakthara."

"Seal off decks twelve through twenty!" Riker
ordered, clamoring back into the center chair.  His
hands dug into the armrests for support.  "Clear out
personnel!  Divert all auxiliary power to shields
and-"

The Enterprise lurched back, whipping Riker hard
against his chair. Stratton hurtled backwards and
into the wall directly behind.  She slid, stunned, to
the floor.  Ensign Barker lay slumped and unconscious
at the helm.

"Counselor!" Riker barked, pointing a resolute finger
at Troi, who was barely hanging on to her seat as
well.  "Take the helm!"

Troi scrambled across the floor to her newly
designated station, half crawling, half tripping in
the dark over the endless tangle of bodies and
equipment that cluttered the floor.

The Enterprise lurched again.

"Fire torpedoes, Stratton!" Riker bellowed, eyes
filled with rage.

No response.

"Stratton!  I ordered you to-!"

Riker swung around in the darkened bridge and
discovered the Lieutenant sprawled out on the floor
behind him.  He got to his feet...

Another blast hit the ship.

Klaxons continued to blare.

"Shut those damn things off!" Riker gasped loudly,
his legs teetering beneath him.

Emergency lights dimmed to almost negligible.

"Life support minimal.  Shields at fifteen percent,"
Data announced from the darkness.  "Torpedoes almost
depleted."

Smoke engulfed the bridge almost entirely.

"Counselor!" Riker coughed.  "Maneuver us about!  Get
us a better position!"  His eyes began to water and
burn, and he found he could barely see through the
thick haze.  His fingers blindly searched out the
computer console.  "The photon torpedoes!  Where the
hell are the photon torpedoes!?"

The Enterprise shuddered from violent impact again.

"Torpedoes are over here, Sir," came a hoarse female
voice from just to the right.  Stratton's bloodied
hands moved over Riker's as she worked the controls.
She struggled to maintain balance beside him,
forehead bruised, back hunched over, ribs broken.

Stratton armed and readied the last round of
torpedoes, firing an endless of stream of phaser fire
to buy some time.

Another powerful jolt throttled right through the
Enterprise.  Its hull buckled, then shuddered.  A
loud moaning sound filled the bridge as the
Enterprise began to succumb...

And then, nothing.

Riker stopped.

Chest heaving.  Waiting.  Listening.

He straightened upright.

A nod from Stratton told him that she was alright,
followed by one from Troi, then Data.  They were the
only four conscious people left on the bridge.

The Enterprise continued its sickly hum.

"Report Data?" Riker asked warily, trying his damnedest 
to keep his legs from buckling out from under him, and 
wondering why the Bakthara had stopped firing.

Data checked the console.  Then rechecked it again.
He spun around in his chair, posture rigid.  "That
last torpedo destroyed almost all our systems,
Commander, and casualties are minimal.  But the
Enterprise is..."  He paused, accessing the proper
adage, then said, "a 'sitting duck'."

Riker took in a deep breath, wincing from the pain in
his chest and stomach.  He looked at Stratton.  She
nodded her head in quiet agreement.

"We have two torpedoes left, Sir.  Nothing more."

He took in another deep breath, more gingerly this
time, then let it out with slow resignation.  "Send a
communique to Starfleet.  Inform them of our situation."

"Aye, Sir," Data replied, swiveling forward to his
console again.

Riker turned back to the viewscreen, to the waiting
Cardassian ship, and squared his shoulders.  At that
moment, he heard nothing.  There was only him.  The
sound of his heart beating.  His blood coursing
through his veins.

The enemy on the other side.

"Data!  Open hailing frequencies to that ship!"

Before Data could carry out the command, his console
began to chirp.

The First Officer's eyes drifted to the android.
"Data?"

The android's golden fingers flew over the console,
then he swiveled around to look at his Commanding
Officer.  "It is the Bakthara, Commander.  Thomas
Riker is requesting the terms of our surrender."

---

Riker's eyes riveted to the image of Tom Riker on the
viewscreen.  He turned to Troi.

"Don't bother asking Deanna what she senses in me,"
Tom interrupted.  "She'll only tell you that I'm
hiding something...but she's not sure what."

Riker faced his twin again.

Tom's image on the viewscreen distorted and
disappeared, then reappeared again. One of the
shattered computer consoles sizzled and snapped, then
went dead.

"Well?" Tom inquired, perched coolly in the metal
Captain's seat on the Bakthara.  "What terms shall we
discuss for your surrender?"

Riker stood, ramrod straight, ignoring the pain in
his battered body as he forced himself into picture-
perfect Starfleet posture.  "The Enterprise will
surrender over my dead body."

Tom shrugged indifferently.  "Very well.  If that is
what you wish."

The viewscreen promptly went blank.

That one moment of hesitation on Tom's part was all
Riker wanted.  He took one painful but determined
step forward.

"Lieutenant?" he asked, his back to Stratton, but his
inquiry clearly directed towards her.  "Any thoughts
as to what they're up to?"

"Not sure, Sir."  Stratton's fingers relayed her
query into the computer.  "Performing another sensor-"

She stopped, then muttered an apprehensive curse.
"Oh shit."

Riker turned around warily.  "What is it?"

Stratton's fingers began to furiously work the
tactical controls, her face knitted with worry.  "The
Bakthara is loading all torpedo bays!  All power is
being diverted to their weapons array!  *All* power!
They're going to dump everything they've got on us!
The sensors are going crazy!"

Riker spun back around to the viewscreen, eyes
blazing with fortitude.  "Fire remaining torpedoes,
Lieutenant!  *Now*!"

"Torpedoes away, Sir!"

"Data!  Report!"

"We will be unable to-"

"Don't tell me what we *can't* do, Data!  Tell me
what we *can*!"

"The first torpedo has been deflected off their
shields, Sir!" Stratton interjected.

"Commander,' Data's detached voice said, "the only
way to ensure that the Cardassians are not successful
is to set a collision course with them."

"Second torpedo deflected as well!"

"Counselor!" Riker barked.  "Set collision course-"

"Commander!"  Stratton was shocked.  "The Bakthara is
detonating!"

Riker's head came up.  "What?  How?"

He never got his answer.

The first few decks of the Bakthara began to explode in 
an ominous swelling of red and orange and yellow gases.

Riker's mind went into warp speed.  He sped hastily
towards the helm and Deanna, muscling the controls
rapidly.  "We're too close!  Reverse thrusters!  Pull
back, Deanna!  Pull back!"

Eyes locked on the viewscreen, Riker's hands
feverishly maneuvered over Troi's, forcing the
Enterprise to dip right and then downward, a near
miss with the exploding Cardassian ship.

He watched the Bakthara skirt by to port, each deck
slowly succumbing to detonation until it blew apart
in a brilliant flash of color, with nothing left but
fluttering sparks and debris.

Troi rose numbly to her feet and stared, silently, at
the cold abyss that had been occupied by the
Cardassian ship, and Thomas, just seconds ago.

Stratton shook her head warily at the viewscreen.
"We shouldn't be here, Commander.  It wouldn't have
taken much by the Bakthara to do it.  We shouldn't be
here."

"Agreed," Riker adjoined, fighting his injuries to
straighten up again, his voice mirroring the
Lieutenant's apprehension.  "Any ideas what just
happened?"

"Commander," Data announced from his station.
"Sensors are picking up a shuttlecraft off the
starboard bow."  He set unblinking yellow eyes on the
First Officer.  "There is one life sign aboard."

Riker knew exactly who was on that shuttle.

"Mr. Data?" he said, long strides taking him from the
bridge to the turbolift.  "Beam the survivor back
into the brig."

---

Will stood glaring at Tom through the containment
field holding him in the brig, arms folded across his
chest.  He was ignoring the pain that throbbed in his
arm, his pounding head and his aching legs.  All that
mattered to him now was learning about the Cardassian
efforts on Betazed, what had happened during the last
few minutes of their battle, and how Tom had managed
to escape Bakthara's destruction relatively unscathed -
except for the long tear that marred his metallic
fatigues.

Tom looked up at him from the single metal bench in
the brig, hunched forward, elbows on knees, hands
clasped together.  Looking confident and, oddly
enough, comfortable with his situation.

"Looks like you need a doctor," he observed dryly,
studying the torn and charred uniform the First
Officer was wearing along with the obvious injuries
he had sustained.

Will continued staring down at him, but said nothing.

Tom shifted on his chair, then finally sat upright.
"Why do you always look at me like that?  Like I'm
doing something wrong?"

"Maybe because you are," Will replied sternly.  He
began shaking his head and dropped his hands to his
sides in disgust, then folded them behind his back.
"It amazes me how you can cause such chaos everywhere
you go.  Everything you do seems to have far-reaching
ramifications."

"Dad always did say to do things big," Tom replied,
the resentment he felt towards his father evident in
his voice.  "And while we're speaking of Dad, it
seems to me that you're starting to sound just like
him.  You have his same posture, too."

Will ignored the bait Tom was dangling in front of
him, recognizing the ploy for what it was.  Tom was
trying to avoid discussing his association with the
Bakthara and its mission.  But Will wasn't going to
let him get away with it.

"What were you doing with the Cardassians?  What did
you possibly hope to gain by allying yourself with
them, particularly after your incarceration by them?"

Tom casually stretched his legs, then rose to his
full six foot four and began pacing off his small
area of confinement, his black boots thudding against
the floor in methodical rhythm.  It was an old habit
he had developed from his days spent in a small cell
on Lazon II, when his body and mind grew bored from
inactivity.

He continued pacing the small area for a few minutes,
then stopped.  He clasped his hands behind his back,
rivaling his brother's confident stature with his
own, and looked him straight in the eyes.

"I'm surprised you haven't figured that one out yet,
Will," Tom said coolly.  "For a highly decorated
Starfleet officer and brilliant strategist such as
you, I would have thought that you would have figured
me out by now."

"This is not a game," Will chided sternly.

Tom held out his hands in mock surrender.  "Who said
anything about playing games?  I'm merely providing
my appraisal of you, just as you have been so freely
doing with me."

Will's eyes narrowed.  They were both highly
intelligent men, but in his opinion, Tom seemed to
have suddenly grown too smart for his own good.

Tom sat back down on his bench and leaned his back
against the wall, legs outstretched.  "This is odd,
you know?  The fact that Deanna seems to know me
better than you.  Or should I say...*me*."

"Leave Deanna out of this.  She's been through enough."

Tom nodded in agreement.  "And that she has.  No
thanks to us."

"Stop changing the subject."

"Funny.  I was going to say the same thing to you."

Will's jaw began working overtime, the only outlet he
would provide for his rising blood pressure.  "Answer
my question."

Tom let out a bored sigh.  "I can't tell you about my
alliance with the Cardassians."

"Why not?"

Tom shrugged.  "It's classified."

Will looked at Tom with a start.  A sardonic grin
toyed with his lips.  "Classified," he repeated.

"Yes."

"By whom?" Will inquired, playing along.

"Sorry.  Can't say."

This time, the twisted grin emerged in full force.
"Really."  Will moved to the edge of the brig, folded
his arms across his chest, and leaned against its frame.

"You're disappointing me, Will," Tom offered, briskly
rising from his seat to mirror Will's stance from the
opposite side of the archway.  "This goes back to
what I was saying before.  About your not figuring me
out.  If you were to put your animosity towards me to
the side and think about the events of the past day
or two clearly, I bet you'd be able to do it."  He
rubbed his fingers over his goatee, then lifted a
forefinger to relay his point.  "But if it helps you
any, I'll give you a little hint: Think about why I
was placed in the brig last night, only to be
released almost thirty minutes later."

Will's brief, but heated, conversation with Captain
Picard regarding Tom's release the night before
flashed through his mind.  Then he quickly discarded
the thought, regarding this as another one of Tom's ploys.

"You are incredibly full of yourself," Will said, disgusted.

"Only when I'm around people I don't trust," Tom
replied with equal antipathy.

"Then you've got a lot to learn, Thomas."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Will.  I've
learned enough already...the hard way."  He studied
the floor a moment, deep in thought, but didn't look
back at his brother when he spoke.  "You know what's
so interesting about all of this?  This is really
only the second time you and I are spending time
together.  Alone."  He shoved his hands into the
pants pockets of his metallic combat fatigues, still
looking at the floor.  "And it's more obvious now,
than ever before, how much we can't seem to stand one
another."

"Too similar for our own good," Will offered.

Tom looked back at him.  "Or, maybe just too different."

Will said nothing again.  Light years of silence
stretched between them.

"You know," Tom eventually said.  "I think you have a
tendency to forget where you come from, Will.  Who
you are.  What you are.  Decisions you've made.  I
had a lot of time to think about that on Lazon II.
That, and the fact that we're more a product of Dad
than you realize.  We can both be contemptuous at
times.  Devoted to career."  He paused, meaningfully,
then added, "Unable to commit."

Will pushed off the wall and dropped his arms to his
sides, his stature clearly dictating his rank and his
fortitude.  "From your behavior lately, I'd classify
you as more the contemptuous one, Thomas.  And as for
career, well...you threw that one away years ago.
Seems that's never going to come back.  And as for
commitment?  In my opinion, you're *still* trying to
follow my footsteps in that regard.  Why else would
you have done what you did with Deanna last night?"

That last statement was like a phaser blast through
Tom's ego.  For the first time during their meeting,
his calm façade began to falter.  Anger, then
resentment, flushed across his face.

He recovered quickly.

"As I said before, I'm contemptuous only with those I
don't trust."  Tom maneuvered back to the bench.  "As
for my career...well, the die has been cast there.  I
do what I believe in.  What I consider good cause,
without having to worry about red tape and
bureaucracy.  But as for Deanna..."  His blue eyes
met Will's.  "At least *I* had an excuse for not
choosing to settle down with her when I got left
behind on Nervala IV.  Maybe you were able to remain
her friend all those years, but I certainly wouldn't
have."

"You would have made the same decisions I did," Will
reminded strongly.

"Would I?" Tom argued.  He shrugged.  "Then again, we
never will know for sure, will we."  He let out a low
chuckle, dredging up long-buried memories to make his
point.  "When you think about it, it is strange,
isn't it.  I mean, how you did to Deanna on Betazed
almost exactly what Paula did to us when we were in
the Academy."

A twinge of emotional pain twisted in Will's gut.
"That was very different."

"Was it?"

"Yes, it was.  For a host of reasons, not to mention
the fact that Paula was twice our age.  It never
would have worked."

"Maybe...then again, pain is pain, no matter what the
age.  Especially when love is involved."  Tom idly
ran a forefinger back and forth against the edge of
the bench.  "Did you ever think that you made your
career more of a priority because you just couldn't
bear the possibility of being abandoned again?  First
Mom.  Then Dad.  Then Paula.  It was easier to let
Deanna go.  Less painful for you, just so you could
always control.  Always have the upper hand.  Never
have to worry about losing love again."

"And I suppose that's why you threw your career away?
Because it was less painful for you than to have to
follow in my successful footsteps?"

Anger surged through Tom's veins, and he lurched to
his feet, prepare to take this to blows.

Then, just as quickly, he calmly settled back down
onto the bench.

"Now," Will said, tired of the escalating competition
between them.  "Let's get back to the heart of the
matter.  Tell me about your involvement with the
Cardassians."

"Over my dead body."

Will paused, then mimicked Tom's earlier words to
him.  "Very well.  If that is what you wish."

With that, Will motioned to the guard that he was
prepared to leave.  He turned his back on his brother
and walked out.

---

Without so much as a nod of acknowledgement to the
other senior officers as he strode into the
Observation Lounge, Riker automatically settled into
the head chair at the conference table.  Troubled
that Picard wasn't sitting in it, annoyed with Tom's
attitude, and disturbed by the fact that getting the
information he needed was going to be harder than he
bargained for.

"Do we have a final damage report yet?" he asked,
pulling his chair closer to the table.

"Decks twelve through twenty sustained heavy damage,"
Data replied, "but all personnel have been evacuated."

"The starboard nacelle took a bad hit," LaForge
adjoined.  "But it wasn't crippling to us.  And I can
have all engines back on line within twenty-four
hours, although not to capacity.  Life support is
operating at seventy-five percent, and shields are
holding, but only at a minimum.  We'll need to get to
a Starbase to get the Enterprise ship-shape again,
Commander.  These current repairs will be quick
fixes, at best."

Riker nodded.  "Understood.  Data...set a course for
the nearest Starbase immediately following our
debriefing.  Inform them of the damage the Enterprise
has sustained, so they know what to expect.  Also let
them know about the Bakthara.  Although that ship has
been destroyed, it may not mean that Betazed is out
of the woods yet.  Regardless of our condition, we
may have to remain here until backup arrives."

"Yes, Sir."

Riker sank awkwardly back into the large armchair,
favoring his injured shoulder and nursing a stabbing
pain down his right leg.  He still hadn't changed nor
cleaned up since the incident with the Cardassians,
and a quick glance around the table indicated that
none of the other officers had either.  He looked at
Crusher, fingers absently stroking his growing beard,
trying to conceal his concern.

He wasn't able to do it.

"What is the Captain's prognosis?"

"He's sedated now, but he'll be fine," she replied,
her professional voice masking her own personal
concern.  "The phaser blast hit him three inches
below his left shoulder.  Other than suffering from
shock and loss of blood, the Captain should be back
on duty within forty-eight hours."

"Good."  Riker's voice and gaze faded off to some
distant place.

"Will," Crusher said in a comforting tone,
understanding the apprehension he was trying to hide.
"You did everything you should have.  Captain Picard
is probably alive because of you.  If you hadn't
tried to block him, who knows what would have happened."

Riker's eyes slid up to meet hers.  He wanted to
question his actions in the cave.  Challenge her
opinion of him and everything he had done.  But he
knew it would do no good.  As First Officer, and now
Acting Captain, he could not allow self-doubt to
surface in public.  His primary responsibility was to
the ship.  Everything, and everyone else, came
second, including the Captain.

He made a mental note, though, that next time, Picard
was going to remain on the bridge during an Away
Mission.  Period.

"Are there any other injuries to report?" Riker
finally asked.

"Other than Captain Picard, no real serious ones.
Except for you two," Crusher quickly added, nodding
her head towards Riker and then Stratton. "And I
expect to see you in Sickbay immediately following
this meeting.  No excuses."

Riker glanced over at Stratton.  A top-to-bottom
assessment of her appearance indicated that she had
suffered just as badly as he did, and that she was
fighting her pain just as stubbornly.

"Stratton.  Report to Sickbay immediately.  An
injured Tactical Officer is of no use to me."

"With all due respect, Commander, I'll hit Sickbay
when you do."

Riker realized he had been unreasonably abrupt, and
it was small thanks for the invaluable job she had
performed on the bridge earlier, but, quite frankly,
she looked like she'd been to hell and back.  And he
probably looked as if he hadn't been far behind.

He felt like making an issue of it, but now was not
the time nor the place.  She would keep.

He turned his attention back to the entire group.
"Any ideas what the Bakthara was firing on us?"

Stratton pushed her loose blonde hair behind both
ears, which had come undone from its twist during
battle.  "Those torpedoes were twice as powerful as
anything I've ever encountered before."

"Do we know what kind of torpedoes they were?"

Stratton shook her head.  "No.  Although the computer
was able to determine their composition, it was
unable to match signatures.  So, for now, the
torpedoes remain an unknown."

"And probably always will," LaForge added,
"considering what remained had been destroyed with
the Bakthara."

"Are we sure about that?" Stratton challenged.  "How
do we know there aren't more somewhere else?  On some
other Cardassian ship or some other planet?"

"That is a very likely scenario," Data added.

"But not a very comforting one," Riker said to no one
in particular.  "And an issue I'll have to discuss
with Starfleet."

"There's still one thing that gets me, though,"
Stratton said.

Riker looked back at her.  "That being?"

"Considering the firepower contained within those
torpedoes, only three or four would have done us in:
one or two to wipe out the shields, and another one
or two direct hits to destroy us completely.  But
that never happened.  In my opinion, it's almost as
if the Bakthara was intentionally trying *not* to
destroy us."

"But that doesn't make sense," Crusher supplied.
"Based on the fact that they were stockpiling these
weapons and preparing to take over Betazed with them,
why would they let us go?  If anything, I would think
that the Cardassians would have wanted us terminated."

"Unless they had another agenda," Troi said, speaking
for the first time.  "Or, more precisely, *someone*
had another agenda."

Riker looked at Troi.  "Meaning?"

"Meaning...there was a small delay when Tom severed
his comm channel after requesting our surrender.  I
think he did that on purpose."

"Why would he do that?"

"I'm not sure.  I sensed a motive within him during
the entire battle, but I assumed it was one related
to his desire to get the Enterprise out of his way.
Now, in retrospect, I believe that motive may have
been related to something else."

"Commander," Data supplied.  "Her observation is a
valid one.  The last two torpedoes launched by the
Enterprise did not have enough power or force to penetrate 
the Bakthara shields, much less destroy the ship."

Riker turned a puzzled look on Data.  "Then if our
torpedoes didn't destroy the Cardassian ship, what did?"

Data's reply was matter-of-fact.  "Enterprise logs
indicate that the Bakthara was destroyed via an
internal command for self-destruct."

---

"Commander Riker," Nechayev announced, detached.  "I
understand that the Enterprise encountered a
situation with the Cardassians."

Riker studied the rigid image of the blonde Admiral
on the computer terminal, and fought off the strong
desire to correct her observation with more colorful
language.  It had been a very intense day, made even
more trying when Beverly had insisted that neither he
nor Stratton would be permitted to return to duty
until they visited Sickbay first.  It was a short,
albeit frustrating, argument that Beverly would have
lost had it not been for two things:  her tenacity,
and her authority as ship's physician to have the two
of them confined to quarters until they sought
medical treatment.  A few temporary quick fixes along
with some painkillers bought both he and Stratton
some time from the biobed, and a fresh uniform made
Riker presentable for his meeting with Nechayev now.
A meeting he would have rather avoided altogether.

"We engaged in battle, Admiral," he corrected firmly.
"The Bakthara has been destroyed."

"I see."

Nechayev shifted in her high-backed leather chair,
the move kicking Riker's poker instincts into high
gear.  Years of bluffing, both on and off the bridge,
had taught him the fine art of reading body language.
And he could see plainly that the Admiral was feeling
excited over their success, but concerned with
something on a deeper level.

He wondered what it was.

"Rather than wait for your formal report, Commander,"
Nechayev said, "I would like you to debrief me now."

It was not an unusual request and Riker readily
complied.  "The Away Team discovered Thomas Riker, a
Cardassian and a Changeling in the form of a Betazoid
preparing to beam out the stockpiled weapons to the
Cardassian ship.  When we arrived in the cave, they
fired first shot and a deadly conflict ensued.  The
Changeling disappeared and Captain Picard was injured."

Nechayev froze for a brief moment.  This was news she
had not expected to hear.  "He was?  What happened?"

Riker glanced at the fish tank.  Despite the damage
the Enterprise incurred under his command, Picard's
injury bothered him the most.  "He took a phaser hit
just below his left shoulder.  According to Doctor
Crusher, he should be able to return to duty after a
couple more days' rest."

"So his condition is stabilized?"

Riker looked back at the Admiral, his expression
neutral despite the concern he felt.  "Yes.  It is."

"That's good to hear, Commander.  I will pass that
information on to Starfleet immediately."  Nechayev
became all business again.  "What happened next?"

"Once all the weapons had been beamed aboard the
Bakthara, the ship began to fire on the Enterprise,"
Riker continued, fighting off the urge to rub his
weary eyes.  "We attempted to defend ourselves, but
our weapons proved to be no match to the torpedoes
launched by the Cardassians.  These weapons contained
double the firepower of anything ever encountered
before, and there were no matches to their type
logged into Starfleet databases.  When life support
and shields and weapons were almost depleted, Thomas
Riker demanded our terms for surrender.  We gave
none.  Instead, I ordered a collision course with the
Cardassians in the hopes of deterring their mission
in some way, and we fired our last two torpedoes as
we made our descent.  The Bakthara was destroyed
moments later."

"I thought you said the Enterprise was no match for
the Bakthara," Nechayev reminded.

"It wasn't.  Ship's logs indicate that a self-
destruct command had been issued on the Cardassian
ship prior to its destruction."

The Admiral leaned forward, intrigued.  "Really?"

Riker nodded.  "Yes.  Shipboard sensors then picked
up one survivor aboard a shuttlecraft who had managed
to escape the Bakthara.  It was Thomas Riker, and we
beamed him directly into the brig."

Nechayev's head came up slightly, then just as quickly 
she assumed her previous, more indifferent, posture.

The move may have been a subtle one, but Riker didn't
miss its meaning.  He remained silent a while, eyes
examining the Admiral's actions that clearly did not
correspond to her words.  Something was going on, he
realized.  And he was determined to figure out what
it was.

Riker leaned confidently back into the Captain's
chair.  He had the feeling he was close to something
and, although not sure exactly what it was just yet,
was prepared to call her bluff.

"We have contacted Starbase 15, Admiral," he said.
"The Enterprise is in need of repairs, but I will not
leave this sector until another ship arrives.  Do you
have an ETA on the nearest ship?"

He already knew her answer before she had even given it.

"We won't be sending another ship, Commander,"
Nechayev replied.  "You and the Enterprise may
proceed to Starbase 15 for your repairs as soon as
you are ready."

Riker sat back up, silently pleased.  She had taken
the bait.  "With all due respect, Admiral, the threat
to Betazed still remains.  Although all the weapons
that were in the cave had been beamed aboard the
Bakthara, we do not know for sure if more high-
powered torpedoes exist elsewhere.  It would be a
mistake to assume that they don't.  If we did, we
could be leaving Betazed open to capture again."

The Admiral's eyes focused intently on the First
Officer, now realizing that she had fallen into his
trap.  "That is not your concern now, Commander.
Starfleet will handle this situation from this point
forward."

"With all due respect again, Admiral, I believe it is
my concern."

"I appreciate that, but you have your orders
Commander."  Her voice brooked no opposition.  "You
are to proceed to Starbase 15 for your repairs.  In
addition, you are to release Thomas Riker from the
brig, then hand him back to Starfleet when you arrive
at your destination.  We will handle him from there."

That was all Riker needed to hear.  Whether Nechayev
knew it or not, she had just provided him with all
the answers he wanted.

He rested his arms on the desk.  "What kind of
operative is he?"

Nechayev's expression remained calm and collected.
"Who?"

Riker leaned forward a little bit more.  "Thomas.
What kind of operative is he?"

Nechayev's penetrating gaze would have made just
about anyone lose bodily fluids.

Riker wasn't anyone.

"I think you should have that bump on your head
examined, Commander.  You don't appear to be thinking
clearly right now."

"Oh, but I am," he challenged.  "The fact that Thomas
Riker was sentenced to life imprisonment on Lazon II
for the crimes he had supposedly committed seemed up-
front enough.  To someone on the outside, anyway.
But to someone on the inside..."

He let his voice drift off, his insinuation clear.

"The thing of it is, Tom's involvement with the
'Defiant' and his subsequent incarceration was just
the beginning, wasn't it?" he questioned aloud.
"From Lwaxana Troi to Captain Picard - who was
ordered to free him from the brig when we had found
him last night, with no explanation whatsoever - to
Tom's questionable connections with the Cardassians
and his even more questionable battle tactics, which
left the Bakthara as nothing but space dust, and
himself as the only survivor."

Nechayev ignored his diatribe and extended her
finger, preparing to sever their comm link.  "Just
proceed to Starbase 15, Commander.  This mission is
officially closed.  Nechayev out."

Riker watched the screen fade to black, then sank deeply
into the chair.  One final thought came to mind as he
began rubbing the stubble of his newborn beard.  He
sprang forward in his seat and began to quickly tap
fingertips on the computer console, attempting to retrieve
the record of the conversation he had just had with Nechayev.

An error message indicated that there were no such
logs in the Starfleet database.

---

"According to my calculations, you only have six more
left."

Tom was in the middle of doing push-ups on the brig's
floor when he heard Will's voice.  He stopped, pushed
off the floor to stand upright, and brushed off his hands.

"Six what?" he asked.

Will turned to the Lieutenant serving as brig's
Security, motioning with a nod of his head for him to
leave.  Once the doors had closed and Will was
satisfied they were alone, he turned back to his
brother.

"Lives," Will replied, half irritated, half amused.
"I'm beginning to think you are either a cat, or one
very lucky son of a bitch."  He pressed a code into
the brig's keypad, releasing its holding mechanism.

Tom eyed his brother and the brig's archway warily.

"It's alright," Will said, understanding the
hesitation.  "I'm not going to bite.  You're free to
go.  I came to take you to your quarters."

Tom stepped over the threshold.  "Who gave the order?"

"Admiral Nechayev," Will replied.  "The Enterprise is
en route to Starbase 15.  When we arrive, our orders
are to turn you over to Starfleet."

Tom started to brush away the dust that still
remained on his Cardassian military fatigues with his
hands.  Any animosity that had existed between the
two of them seemed to be disappearing.  Tom
immediately realized why.

Will had finally figured him out, as he had done of him.

"How long will it be until we arrive?" Tom asked.

"Approximately three days."

Tom nodded, his mind hurtling forward at warp speed.
He had a lot to plan and prepare from this point forward.

Will stepped in front of Tom and looked him directly
in the eyes.  "How long have you been involved?"

Tom returned the steady gaze.  There was no point in
lying.  Not to him, anyway.  "Since I left the Gandhi."

Will tried to hide his surprise.  Not at the answer
itself, but at the fact that Tom had actually given
him one.  Perhaps some deeper part of his twin was
beginning to trust him after all.

"Recruited?  Or volunteered?"

"Let's just say I was...persuaded."

Will recognized his own evasive tone of voice and
what it implied.  "By a woman?"

"Yes."

"But not Nechayev."

Tom's eyes briefly darted past Will, then back again.
"No."

Will didn't push the issue further, getting the
distinct impression that Tom couldn't say anything
more.  Or, more accurately, wouldn't.  He briefly
wondered who that woman was.  And if he knew her,
too.

They started for the doors leading out into the
corridor and Tom's renewed freedom.  As if on cue,
they both stopped after treading a few feet and
turned to face one another, somehow needing to make
one final, silent assessment of each other, their
similarities and differences.  Both were high-ranking
officers - one on the outside of Starfleet, the other
on the inside.  Both had dark hair - but one short-
cropped and the other braided into a long, silky
mane.  Both were intelligent, self-sufficient and
commanding men - but one using those qualities to
rise *through* Starfleet ranks, while the other
manipulated and maneuvered his way *beneath* them.
Both held a dynamic lust and passion for life.  And
both desired the same woman.

As if having the same thoughts, and at the same time,
Will and Tom started afoot again and headed out the
doors.  Some things, they had learned, were far
better off left to destiny.  Just like their semi-
duplicate lives, some things were better off not
being questioned or argued.  Not being pushed in one
direction or the other.  Just left to be, in the
hands of time and fate.

"You were the one who specifically requested that the
Enterprise help you out in your mission, weren't
you?" Will surmised, heading down the corridor with
Tom.  "You wanted us, because we were the only crew
you could trust to help destroy the arms and the
Cardassians in the way you needed, and make your
mission a success."

"Actually," Tom admitted, "I wanted *you*.  Commander
William T. Riker was the only one I could trust to
get this right.  I needed someone I knew inside and
out.  You were it."

"But what if I weren't available?  What if I were
somewhere else, too far away to help you?"

Tom shrugged casually.  "Moot point, don't you think?"

They rounded the first corner to the turbolift, their
long strides in unison, their postures imposing and
determined.  Their blue eyes set on the future.

---

"I'm glad you were able to meet me."

Tom helped Deanna into the chair in Ten Forward, then
took a seat at the small table in the corner for
himself.  He waited as a waiter placed two pale-
colored drinks in front of them before turning his
attention back on Deanna, silently admiring the aqua
blue dress she wore, and gathering his thoughts.

"I feel I owe you an explanation," he finally said
after a moment of awkward silence.  He began to
gingerly rub a sore area on his muscular chest that
was hidden beneath a dark green silk shirt, then
dropped his hands onto his black slacks.  "But I need
you to understand, Deanna, that whatever I tell you
tonight remains only between us.  It cannot go past
this table."

He waited for Deanna's quiet nod of acknowledgement,
knowing that he could truly trust her, but also
knowing that his supervising officers would plausibly
deny his story anyway, if there ever were a need to.

Tom took a sip from his drink, then settled the glass
down on the table.  He studied it, intently for a
while, before permitting his blue eyes to meet her
dark brown ones.

>From the expression on his face and the heaviness she
sensed within his heart, Deanna knew this was not
going to be easy for him.

"Several years ago," he began, "when I was posted to
the Gandhi, I became friends with some Maquis
sympathizers.  During that time, Starfleet recognized
in me things they could capitalize on.  Qualities
that were highly beneficial to them.  My athletic
abilities.  My training.  My likeness to Will.  To
them, I was a perfect fit..."  He paused.  "...For a
covert organization within Starfleet called Section 31."
Tom's fingers idly toyed with his goatee.  "It was then
that I...befriended...a high-ranking official within
the organization.  A woman named Ro Laren."

Deanna's face turned slightly ashen.  Despite all the
years that had passed since the Satarran incident,
the memory of Ensign Ro Laren still haunted her.

Tom pressed forward.  "After almost six months of
rigorous training, I received my first assignment,
but things went terribly wrong on that mission.
Things even the Section wasn't prepared for, and
believe me, we're prepared for just about everything.
I wound up a Cardassian prisoner as a result.  The
Section did everything in its power, and then some,
to try and locate me during my incarceration.
Unfortunately, the Cardassians were incredibly good
in keeping me hidden.  They knew what they had in me,
and they weren't willing to let go."

Tom took another long, thought-filled, sip from his
glass.  And then another.

"Ro had a hard time accepting the fact that no one
internally was making any progress, so she made it a
personal crusade to get me freed.  She even went so
far as to contact my father, in the hopes that he
would react the way any other father in this kind of
situation would.  She figured he would seek revenge
on the Cardassians, and make it his lifelong
commitment to find me.  She figured wrong.  My father
told Ro, and her commanding Admiral, that he was too
busy with peace negotiations on Nigera.  He requested
that someone else do the job for him."  Tom picked up
his glass again and washed down the bitter memories
with what was left.  "Oddly enough, not one day after
my father said he couldn't do it, Lwaxana said she would."

Deanna's hands turned cold and her heart skipped a
beat.  She began to drink from her glass now, too.

"Anyway, by the time I was released from Lazon II, I
was in pretty bad shape - physically, mentally and
otherwise.  The Section informed me that I couldn't
resume my position within the organization until I
had counseling.  That's when Lwaxana took me in."

Deanna could barely get her question past her lips.
"My mother knows about this Section 31?"

Tom hesitated, but Deanna needed to know the truth.
"Yes," he finally replied.

Deanna downed her drink.

Tom began rotating his empty glass on the table with
his two hands.  "About six months after I arrived on
Betazed, the Section contacted me about the
Cardassians and their intentions to strengthen their
empire.  I worked with the Section to arrange for
Betazed to become their target.  It turned out to be
relatively easy to get the Cardassians to trust me,
too.  Despite the fact that I had been imprisoned by
them, their hunger for power clouded any perception
that I actually might turn out to be their traitor."

"This whole thing was manipulated?" Deanna asked,
incredulous.  "By you?"

"I, or rather, *we* don't manipulate.  Strategize, or
plot maybe, is a more accurate description."

"But what if you had failed?  What would have
happened to Betazed?"

"We had fail-safes in place.  Betazed was never at
risk."

"So that's why you fired on the Enterprise, but
didn't destroy us?"

Tom nodded.  "I needed the Enterprise.  I knew what
she was capable of, and her crew."

"You mean you needed Will," Deanna concluded, now
understanding more clearly Tom's motives and his
position within Section 31.

"Yes," he concurred.  "I needed Will.  I knew that
Nechayev's orders might make him and Captain Picard
circumspect about the mission, but that didn't
matter.  Even if they figured things out before
everything went down, we would have been successful.
Either way, our side would have won.  And, like every
other mission the Section manages, no one would ever
really have known about it.  It would have seemed
like just another day in the galaxy, defending the
Federation and Starfleet."

Deanna glanced past Tom and the viewport beyond,
watching the brilliant streaks of light pass by as
the Enterprise coursed through space at warp six.

Tom slipped Deanna's hands inside his, reveling in
their smallness and warmth.  He leaned forward,
closer to her, and spoke in a deep, hushed voice.
There was something more important he wanted to
discuss with her now.

"I never stopped thinking about you, Deanna.  All
those years apart, all that time we couldn't be
together, I never stopped thinking about you.  Never
stopped loving you.  On Betazed.  On Nervala IV.  On
Lazon II.  Even on the Bakthara.  You were always
with me."

Deanna looked back at Tom and felt her heart creep up
into her throat, and felt herself being drawn into
the most vulnerable parts of him.  The desperation in
his eyes.  The sincerity in his voice.  The
tenderness in his heart.

She took in a deep breath, then let it out very
slowly.  All sense of self-control seemed to be
slipping away from her.

"I can only imagine how difficult this must be for
you, Deanna.  How very confusing it must feel to have
me come back into your life when you and Will have
decided to make your relationship more permanent."
Tom hands wrapped around hers more tightly.  His lips
twisted into a bittersweet smile.  "But I meant
everything I said.  Every kiss.  Every caress.
Everything.  And I do want you to marry me."

Deanna numbly studied their interlocked hands.

Tom let out a remorseful chuckle at her response.
"You know, Deanna, it didn't occur to me until now
that you never did give me an answer to my marriage
proposal last night."

Her eyes darted up to focus on him again and Deanna's
body immediately went limp.  Memories of their
passionate night together filled her mind.  She could
still feel every heated touch.  Hear every hungry
moan.  Taste every indulgent kiss.

She gently pulled her hands away from him.  "That's
because I'm not sure, Tom.  About where I stand or
what I should do with either of you."

Tom settled back into his chair.  "I guess I'm not
surprised to hear that."  He studied her confused
expression a while, then said, "Be careful, Deanna.
Think this through, thoroughly.  Please?  Before you
make any decision, think this through.  Because your
happiness is very important to me."

Tears threatened to tumble down Deanna's cheeks, and
her heart grew heavy.  No matter how much seemed
different between Tom and Will, so much of them was
still clearly the same.  The words Tom had just
spoken to her now were testament to that...

They were almost exactly what Will had said to her
this morning on Betazed.

Realizing there wasn't anything else for him to do or
say, Tom stood up. "I'll be on board for a few more
days until we reach Starbase 15," he said softly.
"You know where to find me, if and when you're
ready."  He kissed Deanna, chastely, on the cheek.
"Sleep well, Deanna.  Good night."

---

Stratton couldn't sit still.  She knew what was
coming next.  Knew what it would feel like.  Knew how
it would irritate her, even though everyone
constantly reminded her that this was all made up in
her head.

She closed her eyes, tightly, then winced.  Dr.
Crusher injected the antibiotics and painkillers into
her neck.  She began rubbing the sore area, then
glanced over at Riker.

"Two peas in a pod," she observed, amused, watching
as he massaged his neck too.

"I never was able to get used to these things," he
said, sliding off the biobed to land firmly on his feet.

"That's something I never could understand about you,
Will," Crusher tossed over her shoulder, now working
on Stratton's broken ribs and lacerations.  "You've
been broken, beaten, pulverized and stitched up more
often than I care to remember, and you never complain
about it.  But every time I place a harmless
hypospray on your neck, you suddenly react as if the
thing had teeth the size of a Targ."

Riker ignored the verbal jab and came to stand next
to Stratton.  She had long since exchanged her
tattered uniform for a pair of comfortable denim
overalls and a white tank top, and was looking far
better than before.

"You're looking closer to your usual self," he said,
watching Crusher mend her broken bones through the
clothing she wore.  He helped steady Stratton's body
while Crusher performed her magic, his hand lingering
on her shoulder a little longer than it should have.

When Riker discovered Beverly watching him, he
quickly dropped his hand back to his side.

Crusher went about her work as usual, despite the
awkward silence that now filled the room.  She wasn't
sure where the peculiar sensation came from - and
worse, didn't know what to do about it - but she
suddenly felt as if she had become an interloper, and
was eavesdropping on a conversation she shouldn't
have been privy to.  Despite her curiosity, Beverly
continued, quietly, until she declared the two
officers as good as new.  Then she excused herself
and dutifully disappeared inside her office.

Riker watched the door to Beverly's office close.
"I'm putting in for a promotion for you," he said,
turning back to Casey.  "In my opinion, you've more
than earned it."

Stratton looked at her commanding officer, unable to
hide her shock.  "But I'm not up for evaluation for
another nine months."

"I know that.  But your actions on the bridge before
were above and beyond the call.  Many officers
wouldn't have had the determination to get back on
their feet again like you did.  They would have
succumbed to their injuries."

"But it was my duty.  My job."

"For you, Casey, I think it was much more than that."
He helped her to her feet.

She slid off the biobed and quickly checked Crusher's
handiwork.  As usual, it was perfect.  She began to
walk towards the door.  "What can I say?  I guess I
aspire to the same standards you do.  That's a hard
thing to avoid when you get to work so closely with
your mentor every day."

Riker's head came up with a start.  Although they had
worked together on the Enterprise for the past
several months, this was the first time Stratton had
ever expressed her professional opinion about him.
It was also the first time he realized how very much
alike they were.  He darted after her and grasped
onto her elbow, swinging her around to face him.

Casey looked up at him, confident, poised, and
acutely aware that he wasn't letting go.

For both, the professional line was starting to blur
into the personal one.

She leaned forward, a little closer to him, and gazed
expectantly into his passionate eyes and bearded
face.  Her reaction to his gesture may have been
somewhat inappropriate, given his position on the
ship, but she was never one to hold back when it came
to anything she wanted, and she wasn't about to do it
now.

Besides, he wasn't objecting.

Their eyes locked, briefly, before Will realized what
was happening.  He pulled away and took a step
backward, distancing himself from her.  The
temptation he saw in her was far more dangerous and
forbidden than he had originally thought.  And he
didn't understand why it was there.

"I guess I'm not surprised with your reaction," Casey
said with a shrug, as if reading his mind.  "I've
been told your heart belongs to someone else."

Riker opened his mouth, prepared to say something,
but that something never came.  He motioned for the
door and the two began to walk towards it together.

"For what it's worth, Casey," he eventually said,
following her out into the corridor, "I'm sure it
would have been nice...but our situation and our timing
are off."

Casey strode, in step, with Riker towards the
turbolift.  She tossed him a mischievous look and
rallied back playfully.  "For what it's worth, Will...
if they weren't, I'm sure it would have been more
than just nice."

---

"You look like you could use one of these."

Guinan pushed a chocolate sundae directly in front of
Counselor Troi.

Deanna looked at the decadent dessert, mounded with
chocolate ice cream, chocolate whipped cream,
chocolate chips and chocolate fudge, then looked up
at the El-Aurian with a half-hearted smile.  She
wasn't really hungry, but when she was upset,
chocolate always seemed to help her feel better.

"You're right, Guinan.  I really could use one of
these.  Thanks."

She promptly picked up the spoon and began to taste
the sundae, the first indulgent mouthful sliding
easily down her throat.  She closed her eyes,
enjoying the sundae's rich, decadent taste.

"This is really good," she sighed through another
spoonful.

"You like it?"

Deanna's eyelids opened halfway, as if drugged.
"Like it?"  She took another unhurried taste, then
opened her eyes fully.  "I love it."  She studied the
sundae more carefully.  "What did you do differently
this time?  The sundae looks the same as usual, but
something about it seems different.  I'm sure of it."

Guinan was visibly pleased.  "You have a discerning
palate, Counselor."

Deanna took another bite.  "What can I say.  When it
comes to chocolate, I'm the master."

"And a proven one at that.  You're right about it
being different this time.  Because this particular
sundae is the real thing."

The Counselor held the spoon mere inches from her
mouth.  She peered up at Guinan, prepared to take
another bite.  "Real?  As in...not replicated?"

Guinan nodded and slipped her hands into the deep
sleeves of her emerald gown.  "Mmm hmm."

Deanna promptly put down her spoon.  "Then I better
take my time with this stuff.  The real thing only
comes around every so often and I don't want to waste
it."

"Actually," Guinan said, "I've managed to get my
hands on a whole stash.  Just for you.  You can now
indulge as often as you wish."

Deanna's eyes lit up.  "Really?"  She devoured half
the bowl of ice cream easily, then put the spoon back
onto the table and stared at it again.

"Is something wrong?" Guinan asked.

Deanna shook her head, still mesmerized by the
decadent treat in front of her.  "No, it's perfect.
It's just that I better be careful.  If I don't watch
myself, this entire sundae will go straight to my hips."

Guinan shrugged once.  "That doesn't mean you can't
enjoy it though."

"But it's not what I'm used to.  My usual sundaes I
can eat as often as I want, whenever I want, without
having to worry about the consequences.  This is far
more indulgent."

"And you're not allowed to indulge yourself?"

"Well, of course I am.  It's just that..."

"It's just that what?"

"It's just...nothing," Deanna sighed.

"I don't understand why you feel the need to hold
back, Counselor."

"I have to be careful, that's why," Deanna replied
defensively.

In that instant, Deanna had the strong feeling that
the meaning of her conversation with Guinan had
suddenly shifted.

"It's important to be careful, Counselor," Guinan
reminded.  "But it's also important to enjoy life."

"I know that."

"Then why do you feel so confused in having to choose
one over the other?  Both are enjoyable, although in
different ways and for different reasons.  That
doesn't make either one less than the other, you
know."

Now Deanna knew for certain that they weren't talking
about ice cream anymore.  She shifted in her chair.
"But one I'm used to.  I know what to expect from it."

"You know what to expect from both.  They just have
to be handled differently.  Incorporated into your
life the way they were meant to be.  Only that way
can you enjoy each of them to their fullest.  To do
anything else is to deny yourself - and them."

"But I can't have both at the same time, Guinan,"
Deanna replied, gazing at the sundae before her.

"I never said that you could.  I said that both
should be incorporated into your life the way they
were meant to be."

Deanna began to swirl the ice cream around in the
glass bowl with her spoon, suddenly wishing that Will
and Tom were as easy to differentiate and understand
as chocolate sundaes were.

"This has to do with that 'fate' thing you were
talking about the other day, doesn't it," Deanna said
noncommittally.

Guinan shrugged.  "Life always comes full circle,
Counselor.  You, of all people, should know that."

Deanna looked up at Guinan, troubled.  "But did it
have to drop me off here?  In the middle of confusion?"

Guinan smiled gently.  "The answer is right there in
front of you, Counselor.  Why don't you stop looking
so hard to try and find it."

---

Deanna stood, quiet and reflective, outside his
quarters.  Thinking.  Deciding.

She pressed the chime and anxiously waited for him to
answer.

The doors opened to reveal surprised blue eyes and a
characteristic grin.  He was more than glad to see her.

"Deanna!  I wasn't expecting you.  I thought you
would have been with-"

Deanna moved to him and quickly placed a finger to
his lips.  She was not going to allow him to speak anymore.

"You said that when you asked me to marry you, I
never gave you an answer."

She looked up at him, losing herself to the intensity
of his gaze, the warmth of his playful smile and the
passionate emotions he harbored, only for her.  And
wondered why she didn't do this years ago.

"Well, I'm giving you my answer now."  Her smile grew
as wide and as eager as his.

"Yes."

---

The End