Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: Sat, 31 Jan 2004 23:35:21 GMT  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: "Lori" zakhad@att.net 
 

Title: Test of Focus
Author: Lori (zakhad at att.net)
Series: TNG (Captain and Counselor)
Code: P/T
Rating: PG
Date: 1/31/04
Parts: 5/5
Archive: ASC, BLTS, www.zakhad.com

Summary: After trauma, there must be a period of healing. Sequel to Girl Mad




"I don't think the captain would take over the helm," Deanna said.

Karen Fanchon, Garrison Kaplan, and Reiza stared at her. It was Geordi's
twentieth visit in the month he'd been seeking Deanna's help, and in the
past two weeks they'd added three others to the group. Natalia had alpha
shift at ops for the next week, but the rest had come faithfully every other
day. Geordi himself had sometimes dropped in more often, either to just see
how she was doing or update her on how things were going.

Geordi, in a chair directly opposite Deanna, reached for one of the cookies
in the center of the table. "I don't think so, either," he said, popping the
mass of coconut and chocolate in his mouth. On the floor at Deanna's feet,
Fidele sighed loudly and rolled on his side, mimicking a real dog with
uncanny precision.

Reiza fluttered his ears. "The helmsman is paralyzed by fear," he said in
his usual monotone. His flat, gray cheeks flushed to gray-speckled black.
"The ship is in battle. Something needs to be done."

"The captain would order someone else to do it. Also he would try at least
once to snap the lieutenant out of whatever state he's in. Also, lieutenants
are not prone to freezing in fear by the time they're lieutenants, and
anyone who is given bridge duty has generally shown the ability to function
under pressure." Deanna shifted in her chair, winced, and resettled with her
arms crossed over the top of her belly.

"But the second officer -- "

"I wouldn't like it if the captain did that and I was on the helm," Kaplan
said. "Not that I'll ever get to the helm, but if I'm doing my job and I
freeze for a second or two, it'd be really demoralizing to have someone run
over and push me out of the way."

"I see. Thank you for the correction." Reiza's funnel-shaped ears flattened
against his head. He turned expectantly to look at Fanchon, as they were
taking turns and she was next.

"It's understandable that you weren't aware of how commanding officers
handle crisis situations," Deanna said. "You entered Starfleet after serving
in your homeworld's fleet and an abbreviated time at Starfleet Academy. Our
protocols are different than those to which you are accustomed."

Both ears sprang forward and oriented on her. "How do you know this?" Reiza
asked.

When Deanna glanced at him, questioning, Geordi explained. "You came aboard
after the commander went on leave. Commander Troi is the first officer. I'm
only filling in until she returns to duty. She's been keeping up on
personnel changes."

"I was not aware -- my apologies." Reiza inclined his head in Deanna's
direction, pursing his thick gray lips.

"No matter. Karen, would you like to read?" Deanna asked.

"All right." Fanchon brushed a stray wisp of blond hair back from her face
and raised her padd. "I'll read a couple of pages of what I've edited. I'd
like to know if it's improved. 'The away team materialized on the planet's
surface in moments. Immediately, Kerns saw the creature approaching at a
run. He raised his phaser and yelled for the commander to look out. The
creature leaped, claws gleaming, at the commander and Janice's phaser beam
caught it in the air.'"

"It's much better so far," Deanna said when Fanchon paused and didn't
continue. "Please continue."

"I -- can't," Fanchon mumbled. "It doesn't sound as good as I thought. I
mean, it doesn't even help you picture what the creature looks like."

"It's easy to get caught up in imagining what's going on and not describing
it. Don't worry about it," Geordi said.

"It just doesn't sound the way I thought it did. Something about reading it
aloud made me realize that."

"All you need is a little more description," Kaplan said. He smiled, took a
cookie, and nodded to her. "Keep reading, please. You have less to be
embarrassed about than I do."

"'Janice dropped the phaser and stared in shock at the other officers. "I
killed it," she screeched.' I can't read it, I'm sorry, it's horrible,"
Fanchon exclaimed, dropping the padd on the table with a clatter. "I can't
believe I wrote it. After what you said about the bridge officers and how
they would react -- Janice is supposed to be a lieutenant-commander and
she's screeching on a mission."

"You shouldn't be embarrassed by it. It's only a draft." Deanna touched
Fanchon's sleeve, leaning slightly in her direction. "It's a learning
process. We only improve by trying again until it's better. You've already
progressed and you've only been writing for a few months."

"Yes, but I only improved because I've been here a few times. Otherwise I'd
still be writing the way I was before." Forehead in hand, Fanchon propped
her elbow on the table and seemed to be trying to hide her red face behind
her arm. "I never thought it would be this hard. There's so many details."

"Okay, clarify something for me here," Kaplan said, reaching for Fanchon's
padd.  "We're writing fiction. Why can't characters behave differently? In
the published fiction I've seen that deals with Starfleet, it's not like
reality."

"That's true, I suppose, but I want mine to be different," Geordi said.
"That's like saying we can do something just because other people are doing
it. I'm a Starfleet officer -- if I go to an agent or publisher, they'll
probably want to put that in the bio. I can't let people think unrealistic
behavior like that actually happens because I wrote about it. I can't write
an autobiography because of classified material, so fictionalized truth will
have to do."

"You wanted to write an autobiography?" Deanna frowned, for the first time
that session.

"But I'm not. It would involve too many people's lives and too many missions
I'd get in trouble for mentioning. Don't worry, I wouldn't write about you."

"How long have you worked with Commander Troi?" Kaplan asked. "Have you been
aboard long?"

"Twelve years? Thirteen?" Geordi smiled at Deanna. "A lot of that while she
was ship's counselor."

Kaplan and Fanchon glanced from him to Deanna, nodding. "That's unusual, to
be stationed in one place for so long," Kaplan said.

"The *Enterprise* is a good place to be." Geordi gestured at Fanchon with
his half-eaten cookie. "Are you going to keep reading?"

"No. I'll edit it and read next time." Though her face was still flushed,
she seemed to have recovered. She even smiled tentatively in answer to
Deanna's warm acceptance. Geordi had seen this many times; whether it was
being a counselor or just some innate ability, Deanna could communicate more
through body language than he seemed able to manage.

"Then it's my turn." Deanna picked up her padd, brushing crumbs off it. She
read for some time, about Romulans and pretending to be Tal Shiar. Kaplan
stared until, unable to contain it, he snorted. Deanna stopped reading and
questioned him silently with a look.

"I thought it was supposed to be believable."

"Deanna isn't intending to publish that -- she's writing for the exercise of
it. I challenged her to write about that," Geordi said, leaning forward. "I
don't think she could publish it. Remember what we asked when you came in --
not to repeat anything you hear in our group?"

"I should have read something else," Deanna said. She put the padd down and
smoothed her red dress over her belly, sweeping away stray coconut bits.
"That's the difficult part of writing about anything that's not widely
known, yet people know exists -- it's easy to be accused of making it up.
Perhaps I should go back to writing about Betazoids."

"Yeah, like the time your mother came aboard and wanted the captain to
perform her wedding." Geordi laughed at the memory of the captain's
expression while dealing with Lwaxana's outrageousness.

"On second thought, that might be a bad idea as well." Deanna seemed amused,
but shook her head. "It would be impossible to capture in words the look on
his face whenever my mother mentioned what she would -- or wouldn't,
actually -- be wearing."

Kaplan's and Fanchon's eyes widened, and Reiza's ears twisted as he tried to
follow this conversation. He opened his mouth, but the doors sighed open
behind him, and in came the captain. All eyes went to him, and he stopped to
return the stares in kind.

"I'm sorry," he exclaimed. "I forgot the time."

"That's all right," Deanna said, the brightness of her smile increasing
exponentially. "We were just discussing nudity. Would you like to join us?"

Geordi tried not to smile in anticipation. The captain paused, stunned and
uncertain, then his eyes shifted right to take /in those gathered at the
table. "No, I have other things I must do this afternoon. I only came to get
something -- I'll be out of the way in a moment." As he spoke, he sidled
right and disappeared into the bedroom.

Fanchon gaped openly at Deanna. Kaplan raised an eyebrow and eyed Geordi,
hoping for explanation, and Reiza had begun to sway in his chair, which
brought his chin perilously close to striking the edge of the table. The
captain left seconds later, almost jogging, something Geordi couldn't
identify in his right hand.

"I'm sorry, I thought you all knew -- I'm the captain's wife," Deanna said.
"Geordi, could you push those over here?"

He picked up the plate and held it up while she selected one. "Which
explains how he's learned to tolerate teasing that way."

"I don't know how to take this," Kaplan blurted. "Romulan spy, counselor,
first officer, and now captain's wife?"

"I take it you haven't been aboard for long, either?" Deanna nibbled her
cookie and tried to mask mischievousness with an innocent expression.

"Not long enough to be subjected to transporter accidents or alien
influence," Geordi said. "Or find out how far awry diplomatic endeavors can
turn. I've been just waiting for the current one to blow up in my face."

"I think it's interesting that fiction demands that we twist the truth,"
Deanna added. "Just because something is true, it doesn't make it
believable."

"I'd never heard of a captain marrying one of his own officers until I came
aboard," Fanchon said.

"I didn't think they allowed that," Kaplan exclaimed. "I've read
regulations." It came out almost as an accusation.

"There's nothing prohibiting it. Command discourages it, but what they
prohibit is favoritism." Geordi reached for a cookie. "Let's get back to
fiction."

"All right. How do we make the unbelievable truth believable, then?" Karen
Fanchon asked.

"That's a matter of setting, I think," Deanna said, pointedly not looking at
Kaplan. "The story itself should be consistent and believable at least for
the duration of the reading. For me, that means something different than
someone who isn't in Starfleet and knows no one who is. I can't read about a
captain who pushes a crew member out of the way to fly the ship himself
because I know the truth about command and all that it entails -- I wouldn't
do that myself, unless the circumstances were so dire and compelling that it
necessitated the action. So the key to making a captain believably do such a
thing would be to create such circumstances."

"And if the captain flying the ship isn't really necessary to the plot
overall in some way, there's no need to have him do it," Geordi said. "I
only remember Captain Picard at the helm once, and he had a solid,
compelling reason to do it." Picking up his empty cup, he headed for the
replicator. "Everything in the story should serve the story somehow. Things
that erode believability don't belong, nor do things that have no
consequence in the plot. In the real world, most things have consequences,
big and small. In fiction, the rules are slightly different. Depending on
the author's reason for writing the story, the necessary details are
different for each story."

"All I want to do is write a story," Fanchon said, laughing breathlessly.
"You make it sound so complicated!"

"Well, in a way, writing *is* complicated. There's so much one could do, so
many ways to say things. Personally, I prefer reading fiction that allows me
to draw my own conclusions," Deanna said. Sweeping her hair back from her
face, she finished the last bite of her cookie and eyed her empty cup, then
the replicator, as if trying to decide if it was worth getting up. Geordi
saved her the trouble by taking the cup over for a refill. "Thank you,
Geordi. Anyway, I prefer the subtle and evocative story over one that
explains everything and leaves little to the imagination. I enjoy filling in
the gaps myself. That's what I'm trying to do in my story. It's interesting
how much more I appreciate a well-crafted novel after I've tried to write
one myself."

"It does not appear difficult." Reiza finally tried a cookie. After touching
it with his tongue, he fluttered his ears, laid them back, and put the
cookie on the table. "But it is not easy to understand the difficulty until
one has begun to write, rather than read."

"It's not  -- "

A beeping interrupted Deanna. Fanchon grabbed her padd. "That's me -- I have
to go," she exclaimed, rising. "Thanks, everyone, for all the help. See you
next time." She hurried out the door.

"I should probably get back to engineering." Kaplan stood slowly, looking
down at Reiza -- the Hesmed  seemed even shorter with the six-foot-two
engineer standing next to his chair. "I expect you'll be along shortly,
Ensign?"

"Yes, sir." Reiza trained an ear on the lieutenant as Kaplan nodded to
Geordi and Deanna then departed at an unhurried walk.

"How are things going in engineering?" Geordi asked once the doors closed.
"If you're having any cross-cultural difficulties, I'd like to know so we
can address them."

"It is difficult." Reiza's blunt muzzle wrinkled as if he smelled something
bad. "But I am managing. Counselor Davidson has helped me."

After one more question about dialogue, which Geordi tried to help Deanna
answer and probably failed to explain adequately, Reiza left as well. Geordi
picked up after the group, empty cups and cookie crumbs and napkins going
into the recycler, along with what was left of the cookies after Deanna took
two more.

"Kaplan won't be back," she said into the silence, wistfully.

"He thinks we're off base. He'll learn. Or not -- it doesn't matter."
Without waiting for her to ask, Geordi held out a hand. She hardly leaned on
him, but it was ritual. In the past three weeks, she'd returned to the habit
of wearing makeup, seemed to have more energy, smiled more often, and in
spite of the uncomfortable and ungainly bulge in her long, loose dresses,
she held herself upright -- almost back to normal. He glanced down as she
turned and brushed against him by accident.

"Sorry," she said, patting her abdomen. "For some reason I still forget to
compensate for width."

"You amaze me," he began, surprising himself, and continued only because of
the surprise in her eyes. "The kids, I mean. On a ship, with the captain. It
still amazes me how everything's changed."

Dimples appeared in her cheeks this time. "You've changed along with us,
Geordi." She took his hand as he opened his mouth; the act stole his words
before he could speak and left him gaping at her. A thousand memories of his
time aboard the *Enterprise* crowded into his thoughts. Her fingers pressed
into his palm for a few seconds, then slipped away.

"Not like you have. Not like -- I thought -- I used to think there might be
a chance, before I knew you better. . . ."

"I know," she murmured, then leaned and kissed his cheek. "I knew."

"That was when I stopped imagining I might have a chance, when I realized
you probably could tell. It's not easy when you know someone's aware of
everything you feel, maybe even what you think -- it's intimidating. When I
got to know you better, I wasn't so afraid, but then we were friends and it
wasn't the same."

"I understand." She had slipped into "counselor mode," her eyes full of
sympathy and concern.

"But you weren't the sort of friend who makes a lot of demands on her
friends. You always supported, always helped, listened, empathized -- I know
you're just that way, but it seems to me you don't like accepting help from
others."

"What?" Parallel creases appeared over her nose as she frowned. "Guinan
helps all the time. And I know perfectly well why you kept coming back even
though you flinched every time I criticized your story."

Geordi took a deep breath. "You were helping me. That's why I kept coming
back. Helping me was helping you. I couldn't figure out why the captain came
to thank me for visiting you, but I think I finally understand -- he wanted
to help you and didn't know how, or maybe you were doing to him what you did
to me, refusing his attempts. I can see how you might think he shouldn't be
bothered with your problems in addition to his, but. . . ."

She looked away, out the viewports over their heads, and turned her body as
she did so. He waited for a response but received none. When he tried to
approach she waddled off to the desk in the corner and placed her hands on
it, bending forward as if in pain.

"Deanna?"

"I'm all right." She didn't sound it. "Thank you, Geordi. You've been a true
friend. I appreciate everything. You've done a wonderful job as first
officer."

It seemed to be a faint and wistful dismissal, but he stayed. "No problem. I
appreciate the opportunity."

"You've also apparently branched out into counseling," she continued, her
voice rougher but with a hint of amusement.

"I had a good teacher. And I don't mean Davidson -- he's not as good as you,
adequate maybe, but if I'd asked you for some insight into what's making the
captain moody, you would have found a way to enlighten me without
compromising confidentiality."

She bowed her head, her hair tumbling forward around her face. "Possibly."

"Anything else I can do before I go run a bunch of ensigns through one of
Natalia's humiliating scenarios on the holodeck? She's concocted a
particularly twisted one this month."

"No, thank you, Geordi. I'll be fine. Dr. Mengis told me yesterday that I'd
recovered well enough to get more exercise -- I'm going down to Ten Forward
and have a cup of tea with Guinan."

"Great! I'll walk with you. I've got a few more minutes."

When she turned, brushing her hair back, he smiled without faltering,
ignoring the tears on her face and turning to walk with her toward the door.

In the corridor, as the door closed, she stopped and looked at the floor. "I
owe you my life many times over, after all the times your engineering skills
saved us, but somehow I feel this debt more than that one."

"You don't owe -- "

"But I do. Even if this little group you've put together falls apart, I want
you to know that I'll help you with the novel if you want me to, for as long
as you want. And anything else you need help with. Even counseling. I'm
still licensed, you know." She turned to look him in the eye. Again,
tears -- she used the edge of the long, billowing sleeve of her dress to dab
them away.

The knot in his throat wouldn't loosen. He smiled, squeezed her arm briefly,
and started for the turbolift. On the way down to deck ten, he finally said,
"Thanks."

She tucked her arm through his for the remainder of the ride, only
separating when the doors opened.

~^~^~^~^~^~

"Good afternoon," Davidson said as he came in. "I can't remember the last
time you called me into the ready room -- is there anything I can do for
you, sir?"

"Yes, please, sit."

Davidson did so, glancing at the stray teacup on his side of Picard's desk.
"That was one of the ambassadors I passed on her way to the lift?"

"Yes. The Chancellor of Krios-Valt wished to thank me for. . . . But that's
not why I called you. I suppose I ought to begin at the beginning."

He did so, reluctant and yet knowing that the details would remain
confidential. The beginning he chose was more recent, the thoughts of
retirement, but as he talked more details emerged about his conversation
with Kamala and how that had impacted his thought process, which then
required backtracking along more compromising and distant history with her.
Davidson's surprise expressed itself only in raised eyebrows; he'd been
aboard long enough to know that unusual was status quo. At the end of
Picard's monologue he pursed his lips, sat back in his chair, and nodded.

"You thought about retiring because you perceive Deanna needs you more than
Starfleet does. Then Kamala reminds you of duty, and this confuses the issue
further. Now you are resolved to continue as things have been, but you are
still concerned for your wife's welfare."

"That would seem accurate, yes."

"Seem? In what way is it inaccurate?"

"I. . . I'm not certain. It's easy for me to think about my options, but I'm
having difficulty with the actual decision."

Davidson appeared to contemplate this seriously. "I understand a few weeks
ago there was a bit of a scare -- placenta previa, as I recall? You haven't
mentioned it. She did, when I stopped in to see her two weeks ago."

"That hasn't recurred, and the doctor is reporting that her condition has
improved overall. Her mood has been improving as well. Partially because of
the writing group, I think. It's done her a lot of good."

"That would be the group including Geordi. She mentioned that, too. I think
you're right. And her improvements have made you happier?" It must have
shown in Picard's face; the counselor hesitated only a moment before
continuing. "You seem anxious, Captain. Would you share what you're
thinking?"

"I am a bit worried, I suppose."

"About her? Yourself?"

"Our relationship. When I think about retirement, or continuing in my
current posting, she is the first thing on my mind."

"Tell me more about this." Davidson shifted and leaned heavily on the arm of
his chair.

"I think of her and wonder about my real reasons for considering retirement.
I can't help thinking how it might be better for her career, or the
children -- or how it would eliminate future situations that might stress
her to the point of ill health."

"You're more worried about her than anything else."

"I'm not really worried. . . ." Picard stared at his counselor. "Yes. I
worry, but I know that it's not necessary. She's capable of handling. . . .
But I'm her husband."

"You feel duty-bound to help her? Obligated to be a certain way?"

"I obligated myself when we married."

Davidson looked away for a few moments, eyes lingering on the ready-room
fish as they chased each other around the tank. He almost-glanced at Picard,
his gaze falling to the desk instead. "Do you think Deanna expects this of
you, or is this solely your expectation?"

Picard snorted. "I don't see how that matters."

"Is it Deanna's wishes you are considering, or your own? Or would she wish
you to simply be yourself, rather than attempt to fill a role?"

Speechless, Picard sought the response that would fend off the counselor,
placate him, assuage his concerns, and remembered -- counselors were not
adversaries. The primary function of any therapist was to help the client
focus and clarify for the client's own benefit. Perception of the therapist
as anything other than a facilitator only reflected the mindset of the
client.

"It's an issue I'll discuss with her later. Thank you for stopping by,
Counselor, you've been very helpful."

Davidson smiled, seeming almost sad. "I'm glad I could help. I'll see you
later." Rising, the counselor left the room.

Picard realized only then what he'd done -- they hadn't been finished, far
from it, and he'd sent the counselor away without any sort of closure.
Deanna would tell him such a dismissal eroded the counselor-client
relationship. At this point, however, the thought of discussing the
situation alarmed him in ways he couldn't verbalize. Something more than his
concerns for her was contributing to his uneasiness now, and he must think
it through before he could talk to anyone.

Picard returned to the review of status reports and the preliminary briefing
for the next assignment, resolved to think about personal issues later.

~^~^~^~^~^~

"I wished to see you once more before I leave," Kamala said. She hesitated
where she'd stopped, just out of the door sensor's range, clasping her hands
before her and bowing her head as if in submission.

This was something Deanna had expected. As Dr. Mengis eased his restrictions
on her movements, she'd started going for walks, usually in the less
official areas of the ship and especially in the arboretum. Each time,
somehow, Kamala had managed to be somewhere nearby and made a point of
chatting with her. On two occasions she had appeared in the arboretum while
Deanna sat meditating among the roses and struck up conversations that had
ended only when Deanna expressed a need to leave. Kamala had hesitated each
time upon sensing annoyance, but smiled when Deanna let go of the irritation
and responded positively. Kamala was only lonely and seeking companionship,
after all.

However, it wasn't easy to talk to her. She would go on forever on any
subject, showing herself to be a source of endless facts about anything, but
something was missing; Deanna finally identified the difficulty as a lack of
emotional engagement. Kamala had been very carefully trained in everything
from music-making to politics, from a very young age, and after a life of
performing for others' benefit, she knew nothing else. Or, she feared being
genuine with Deanna for some reason.

Deanna smiled and gestured to her left at the rest of the sofa. "I'm glad
you came. Would you care for anything to drink?"

"No, thank you." She closed the few meters between them and settled on the
edge of a cushion, folding her hands in her lap. "He is not happy."

Kamala's concern for Jean-Luc had been obvious. Each time they had met, she
had carefully asked after his welfare. Perhaps now that she was about to
leave the ship, she could voice her worry safely. "I realize this," Deanna
replied.

"You haven't addressed it?"

"I can't do that yet." There were many other issues to consider as well but
she would need context to understand them, and that would take many
explanations.

"You're feeling protective of him. Does he need that?"

An interesting question. Deanna kept smiling, knowing her guest could see
through any of her usual facades and resorting to them anyway out of habit.
"Perhaps I need to protect him."

"A more selfish approach than I would expect from you. He believes he is
indebted to you."

"Perhaps that's true. I am also in his debt."

Kamala tilted her head and studied Deanna seriously. "You don't think I can
be accurate. Perhaps I cannot, but there are so many things you have not
discussed, and I do not believe he would wish you to avoid him this way."

"I realize that." Did Kamala honestly not realize what she was doing?
Probably she'd never confronted this sort of thing before, if her only
friends were employees or other politicians.

"You are not concerned that you are hiding things from him."

"Yes, but I'm more concerned about him."

They fell silent and stared at each other in a peaceful standoff; neither of
them sounded hostile. The confrontation had been soft-spoken and almost
pleasant.

"I suppose I do not understand well enough," Kamala said at last. "I do not
know the circumstances, nor do I understand what he has been through. He
will not speak of it in any detail."

"His discomfort and secrecy is understandable. I'm sorry he's so
uncomfortable with you. He was in love with you once, in a way."

Kamala's wistfulness returned. "Yes, and I was not able to return his
affections. He was very careful and respectful of that."

Deanna waited, arms around her unborn daughter, fingers intertwined. The
silence resulted in Kamala's discomfort; breaking eye contact, she looked
around the room, tension around her mouth and in her brows. When she met
Deanna's eyes again, she pursed her lips. "You are not as open to me as I
had thought."

"What would you do in my place?"

A cryptic smile at that. "I do not think I would wish to be in your place."

"But you thought you might want to be, when you came aboard."

Kamala's smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed. Once again, they contemplated
each other in silence.

"Of course, I understand the impulse," Deanna continued. Amy shifted in a
series of wiggles, bumping against her mother's left arm in the process, and
settled again. "You aren't the only one."

"I'm not certain I understand why he chose you."

"Is that always something that can be understood?"

Kamala tilted her head. "I am not your enemy, Deanna. There is no need to
feel threatened by my presence, as you have each time we've met."

"I'm half human. It's quite human to instinctually react to something
perceived as a possible threat. Potentially, you might have caused him harm
without intending it."

Another pause. While Kamala assessed her, Deanna checked on her husband and
found him upset. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Worry, guilt and
self-inflicted persecution had his full attention, and it took a few moments
to break through it. The instant he sensed her attempt all the anxiety
melted away and he 'reached' for her, surprised and pleased. Which reminded
her that she hadn't done this in a long time -- since his return to sanity
she had been careful to leave him be, giving him the space she thought he
needed and making contact only when he wanted it.

She enjoyed the contact with him until something distracted him -- probably
someone requesting admittance to the ready room -- and drifted away after
giving him a parting burst of warmth as a farewell. When she opened her
eyes, she found Kamala staring at her.

"This is what your bond is," she murmured. "It isn't what I expected. It is
not what I shared with him before."

"It wouldn't be -- you are not Betazoid."

Kamala raised her head, looked away at the door, at the shelves on the wall
between it and the bedroom door, and for a few moments experienced a
melancholy that brought tears to Deanna's eyes. Her hair shone with soft
highlights; swept up into a rosette of curls, it had a lacquered appearance
with not even a single stray wisp at the nape of her neck. She was so
perfect, and yet so wounded by her fate. Deanna contemplated going further,
and decided to continue being forthright.

"Did you hope something would happen between you?"

Kamala's melancholy ebbed into begrudging acceptance. "Perhaps. However, I
see now that I would not be what he needs."

"If I were not his wife, his needs would be different. Kamala, you can't
possibly judge what might have been by examining what is. We all change and
adapt to our circumstances, or we work to alter the circumstance. He is as
he is now because we have shaped our lives a certain way, and when he was
injured our relationship suffered. If we had never married, this situation
you find us in would never have occurred. It's likely that he would be
retired and I would have moved on to another counseling position."

"I see how that might be so." Kamala's brittle smile saddened Deanna. "I'm
sorry to have bothered you with my regrets."

"You came to express your concern. I can't be upset by that. Would you like
tea? I'm thirsty."

Getting up and replicating tea occupied Deanna for a few minutes. When she
returned with two cups, Kamala's mood had changed again. Now she gazed at
the floor, hands folded in her lap, and seemed startled as Deanna's return
disturbed her thoughts. She took the offered cup with an attempt at a smile.

"You are a good match for him," Kamala said. "A challenge, to keep him
alert."

"Why would you say that?" Deanna blurted, caught off guard.

"I find you challenging. Unpredictable." Kamala smiled again. "His goal has
always been to move forward, to be challenged. The difficulty he has had,
however -- this vacillating between his career and duty to his family, seems
a less-welcome challenge. He is tired, and not just physically. It seems
he's reached some clarity since I have been here, but he still worries -- I
think he must be uncertain of how you have changed. The way he interacts
with you -- he begins to speak, the impulse is there, but checks himself and
rephrases or says nothing."

Deanna lost patience at last with Kamala's persistence. Obviously no one
else had ever pushed back, and it was time to change that. "I understand
your concern and focus -- I can see that it's very important to you that
he's happy, as you care quite a lot for him. But it's not good that you
continually push for the happiness of others, whether that's your people or
Jean-Luc Picard, while abandoning your own."

"Abandon? I have abandoned nothing!" Kamala gaped, poised in spite of her
internal turmoil.

"You make yourself responsible for the welfare of others but not for
yourself. You want a family of your own, you want relationships, yet you
pretend that there is nothing you can do."

"Who are you to judge me this way? I am responsible -- it is who I am! It's
what I must be!"

"You were raised to be the wife of a leader, not a leader. You are who you
have decided to be, and no one has forced you to do it. That you are unhappy
is also a decision you made, not something that is forced upon you -- if
it's so difficult to accomplish all that you've done, and yet you have done
it, then what's so hard about making your own happiness possible?"

Kamala put her cup on the table and swiftly rose from the couch. "You do not
understand my life. You do not know what you are saying."

Deanna hesitated, her stomach churning from all the anger and hostility
bombarding her. It swept over her suddenly -- she did understand Kamala's
life. She had nearly lived a similar one. If not for her mother's continual
flouting of tradition, she would have lived a life apart with no social
contacts apart from other House children. She would have been as insulated
from others as Kamala had been, raised in isolation to fulfill a specific
role and as eccentric as her mother.

"What did you think you would do, when you met him again?" Deanna remained
seated, calming herself and bolstering her shields as much as she could.
"Did you think he would cease to be a starship captain and join you? Change
to meet your needs? I didn't ask him to do that -- he didn't ask that I
change, either. But both of us did change, and we have been happy, and
neither of us has given up the belief that we will be happy again."

"I have been trying to help you," Kamala exclaimed, pacing away furiously
and wringing her hands. "I have no doubt that you love each other and -- "

"It's never been about us, Kamala. You need to be happy, and you need
companionship that you lack. You've become very isolated -- you always have
been, in fact. Taken from your parents and raised in seclusion. I have some
inkling of what that's like myself. But I was allowed freedom of
self-determination, where you were not. I'm very sorry that you lacked that
freedom. It seems to me that you have gained it in your rise to political
power, however, but have not taken advantage of it. Perhaps you didn't
realize it?"

"You are suggesting that I become selfish and ignore my duties!"

"Is that what you think Jean-Luc has done in marrying me?"

"I would not suggest that," Kamala said, halting on the other side of the
coffee table and glaring down at her. "I have more manners than to make
assumptions -- "

" -- and yet you have the temerity to make suggestion after suggestion on
how to improve to my relationship with my husband. Interesting."

Kamala gaped for a moment, then gradually lost the indignation. "I only
wished to help."

"I understand. But we can only help those who wish to be helped."

After another few moments of consideration, Kamala shook her head. "And it
is arrogant of me to assume I know what could help you, when I have had so
little experience with relationships myself," she murmured, surprising
Deanna. She came around the table and sat again, sighing heavily. "Forgive
me. I sensed so much, and understood so little. It is so rare that I am able
to witness that side of a relationship -- everyone around me on Krios or
Valt only focuses on being businesslike and proper. I did want to help. . .
."

That she could realize and accept this encouraged Deanna to go on,
explicitly and plainly. "I had to learn how to be uninvolved and silent on
such things, too. I was a counselor, though, and that helped -- part of my
training was in objectivity and personal boundaries. I could tell you meant
well, Kamala, and that you have not confronted this difficulty often."

"And so you confronted me, which is also something I am not accustomed to --
" She put a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.

Of course Kamala would have difficulty expressing her own conflicting
emotions. Years of repressing them in the pursuit of duty would result in an
inability to handle them. Deanna folded her hands over her belly and drew
upon her long experience with her captain in dealing with this -- she did
not reach out as she would with so many others, nor did she soften what had
gone before with apology or platitudes.

"Thank you for your concern for us, Kamala. I know you only mean to help us.
I've never sensed anything to the contrary."

Kamala looked up, dropping her hand. She sensed the sincerity, no doubt.
"Can you help me?"

"I can connect you with someone who could." There were any number of
therapists on Betazed who would leap at the chance to go to Krios-Valt,
given the research possibilities. That seemed to be the only way Kamala
would find someone with the objectivity she needed.

"But not you," Kamala murmured, edging into despair. She had been despondent
so often over the past week, but had always pulled herself back repeatedly
by force of will. That wasn't working as well now. More than anything else,
Deanna realized, Kamala had come searching for companionship. She must have
come to reach out to the only other authority figure she knew, someone she
recognized as an equal and sympathetic to her -- the starship captain who
had helped her prepare for her future.

"I believe you need a friend as well as a counselor. I can be a friend."

Kamala's wide eyes met hers, and a real smile began to appear. "Is it
possible for me to exchange messages with you, now that Krios-Valt is a
Federation member?"

Deanna smiled as she settled back into the cushions. "Oh, yes. I can help
you with that."

"I appreciate your candor and your acceptance."

"Being in a position of leadership can be lonely."

They considered each other seriously. Kamala nodded, looked down into her
cup, and smoothed her skirt over her thigh unnecessarily. "I thought I was
lonely before, being raised apart from other children and expected only to
prepare for my role as a wife. In some respects, my responsibilities are
preferable to the role I was expected to fill; in others, it only increased
the loneliness."

"I used to guess at what made Jean-Luc so distant and alone. When he was
injured and I had to command the ship in the ongoing crisis while he
suffered, I finally understood the distance he maintained for so long."

"But he didn't continue to distance himself. He decided to end his
isolation."

"And the consequences have been more or less as we expected, but still, I
don't believe either of us regrets the choice."

"Perhaps there is a way to change the law regarding remarriage," Kamala
mused softly.

Deanna smiled. "I believe that there must be a way to do any impossible task
you believe in doing. We make a habit of it."

~^~^~^~^~^~

Geordi stopped in for a cup of Guinan's coffee. He laughed with her over the
time of day and his sudden increase of coffee intake over the past couple of
weeks, then turned to go. When he noticed Counselor Davidson sitting alone
in a corner, however, he paused. Davidson seemed deep in thought and
somewhat troubled. Geordi thought about something Deanna had said about his
story, about the first officer's behavior toward a junior officer he didn't
care for and how short-sighted it was, and headed for the far end of Ten
Forward instead of leaving.

"Hi, Counselor."

Davidson looked up from his PADD. Geordi caught a glimpse of a description
of thrusters and a line of dialogue ordering someone to fire at another ship
before the screen went dark.

"Hello, Geordi. What are you doing here this late in the afternoon?"

 He held up the coffee by way of explanation. "I could ask the same. Writing
reports?"

"No, this is leisure reading. Taking some time off after a difficult
client."

Geordi straddled a chair and sipped his coffee. "I'm starting to wonder how
counselors get through it all and stay sane. I'm dealing with some
interesting group dynamics myself at the moment, between needy ambassadors
and the entire ops department wanting to rearrange their schedule daily."

"It's not that people are deliberately making my life difficult, either."
Davidson dropped the PADD to the table with a clatter and reached for his
own cup. "I know they don't intend any insult. But when it's obvious there's
something going on with them, they need to work it out to make their lives
happier and the stress more tolerable, and they turn around and hide from
it -- what good am I, really? And while I know the answers, even tell myself
it's nothing to take personally, here I am reading old science fiction to
distract me from it."

At this unexpected confession, Geordi leaned away from him and tried to find
something suitable to say. Something first-officer-ish. Since nothing came
he resorted to humor. "There are difficult clients aboard?"

Davidson snorted. "It's a sad thing, Geordi. The ones you know need it the
most are the ones who shut down, obfuscate, or intellectualize their
issues."

"If it's any help, I know at least one client who's benefitted from your
assistance. Reiza told me earlier you've been helping him adjust."

"Thanks." Davidson's smile was sad, however.

"Deanna seems to be doing better, too."

"She hasn't been so bad since she's been on leave, actually. But you're
right. Her health is improving as well -- Gregory tells me her pregnancy is
back on course with no apparent ill effects from all the weeks she spent
being stressed about duty and the captain."

"That's a relief." Geordi thought for a minute, studying his drink absently.
"I've seen both of them bounce back from some serious situations over the
years. I think it's getting harder for them to cope -- this time, there's an
added problem where they're caught up in looking out for each other, too.
Maybe it distracts each of them from their own recovery?"

"That's an interesting observation."

"Or maybe it's actually harder than it looks, and they're actually helping
each other recover faster than if they weren't together. Because he's only
getting older, and she's. . . well, pregnant."

"It's interesting -- I've read a lot of science fiction from different eras.
Countless space battles and alien encounters of all kinds, and only a
handful of stories even mention the aftermath. As if it's easy to adjust
after having someone invade your mind and telepathically rearrange things."
Davidson shook his head at the PADD in front of him. "It's as though authors
believe their audience won't be interested in reading about it."

"Ever write anything? Maybe you've found unexplored territory."

Davidson shook his head. "Thought about it. I'm too busy most of the time."

"Do you have time to act as a consultant on someone else's work?"

"I thought Deanna was in your writing group," Davidson said, raising
eyebrows and eyeing Geordi.

"There's no such thing as too much feedback. I'd like to hear any ideas you
might have, especially since you've read lots of fiction."

"Old science fiction," Davidson said. "Nothing really recent."

"That doesn't matter. I'm not really writing science fiction, either, just
trying to make it a good story. I'm probably missing out on some good
character insights; sounds like you could fill in some gaps."

"All right, sounds like fun." Davidson accepted the PADD and set it atop his
own. "How are you doing, by the way?"

"Great, but still busy. I should get back to the bridge. Thanks for taking a
look at my story. And if difficult clients turn into officers whose fitness
for duty comes into question, you'll let me know?"

"Absolutely. Thanks for the chat."

Geordi sniffed as he stood up. "I realize it's not easy, being partly
responsible for your senior officers' mental health."

Davidson's eyes narrowed. "Who made you the counselor's counselor?"

"I did, when I accepted a promotion and this job."

"I wouldn't have put it that way, but I suppose there's some truth to it."
He grinned. "Glad to see you've adjusted so well."

~^~^~^~^~^~

Picard stayed in the transporter room until beta shift, bidding farewell the
endless stream of ambassadors. The conference had taken a week, but the
route to drop everyone off took two. They were in orbit around Starbase 213
again, unable to dock and therefore using the transporters.

Kamala's group arrived late. Her bodyguard and two assistants were laden
with luggage, leaving her free to clasp his hand and say good-bye. "It has
been wonderful to see you and Deanna," she exclaimed. "I hope that I might
see you again. Perhaps when our civil difficulties are resolved I shall
invite you to Valt."

"We would enjoy that, thank you. I wish you all safe travels." He nodded to
Gruna, the ever-smiling, and received a nod in return.

"I'm very happy to see you have found someone like her." Kamala dropped her
hands and folded them in front of her. "I hope that you find a way to clear
the tension between you."

"Thank you," Picard said, uncertain of how else to answer. He gestured at
the transporter pad and stepped aside.

She took her place, her attendants arranging themselves around her, and it
was for a moment a step backwards in time. Kamala on her way to her destiny,
leaving him to his, both of them smiling. Again, he used a polite smile to
hide something, though this time it was only wondering how to discuss
Kamala's assertion with Deanna. The transporter beam took the Krios-Valtese
delegation away just as the Rigellians arrived.

Another four departures and his day was done. He thanked deOrda, left the
transporter room, and made his way home. Their quarters were too quiet and
clean. Picard stopped just inside, surprised by the departure from the norm.

"Yves? Deanna?"

"In here," Deanna called. He followed her voice through the open bedroom
door. She sat at her dressing table, studying her left hand. In her right
she held a tiny brush. She'd put up her hair, put on makeup -- very
different than the usual evening procedure of undoing such things.

"I'm sorry I'm so late. I hope you didn't wait for me for dinner."

"No, I'm only waiting for you. The doctor says I'm doing so well I don't
have to worry about too much activity any longer. I took the liberty of
arranging a babysitter." She applied lacquer to her middle fingernail,
taking her time with each stroke.

"How was the writing group? You've added another person." Noting the hint of
her favorite perfume still lingering in the air, he went to the closet as he
unfastened his jacket.

She said nothing. After changing into a different shirt, he glanced her way.
She finished her pinky nail,  put the brush aside, and waved her fingers in
the air. The red polish matched her lipstick and her dress. She sighed,
extending her leg and raising her bare foot.

Wanting to encourage this much-improved mood, Picard left the closet, picked
up the bottle of polish, and knelt before her. After some consideration of a
process he'd never cared to think about, he carefully swiped lacquer on the
largest toenail of her right foot. She held still, leaving her foot where
he'd propped it against his knee. After finishing the right foot and
reaching for the left , he glanced up and caught her in the act of trying to
wipe tears away before they fell.

"Dee?"

"I'm all right. I know I say that a lot -- but I really am." She smiled,
switching feet for him. "I was only thinking of how wonderful you've been. I
know I've been distracted and moody."

"It's perfectly understandable. I haven't exactly been myself either."

"There aren't many relationships that would survive the sorts of things we
endure."

"I tend to think it's why we do survive." The smaller toenails were easier;
the smallest took only a single pass to coat it. "We know too well what can
and does happen out here, so we're more patient with each other. You perhaps
better than any of the rest of us understand what people go through."

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

He looked up from tightening the cap on the bottle. She took it from him,
and he remained on one knee before her, not wanting to disrupt the
conversation though his knee ached. "Sorry?"

"You wanted to help me. I was frustrated that I couldn't help you -- I
thought you were still suffering symptoms of your injuries. I didn't want to
anger you by asking and when you were so preoccupied and moody I couldn't
think of what to do."

"You were thinking -- " He rose, offering a hand as she prepared to stand as
well. "Why weren't we talking about this? What happened to hajira?"

"It's not going to make us communicate automatically. I've also been
concerned that there's been some damage to the bond and afraid to test it.
Especially when I believed you were still healing. . . ." She reached for
him, spreading her hand over the back of his head and pulling him close.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't recognize you were so worried about me. I thought it
was. . . ."

"Stop this," he exclaimed roughly. "Stop. If there is blame to be had, I
share it."

Embracing her wasn't easy; from the front it became a game of leaning over
her belly, or of her turning and twisting to minimize the obstruction. He
solved the problem by stepping to one side and pulling her shoulder against
his. Her head against his shoulder, she kissed his jaw and rested in his
arms.

"I only wanted to do what was best for you," she murmured. "I should have
said something sooner than this."

And he felt her fear and hope as she let her defenses go, proving the bond
was there, as it had probably been all along -- waiting for them to realize
what they were doing to sabotage it, he realized bitterly. But she had no
patience with self-recriminations, and he couldn't remain angry with himself
while hajira pulled his attention to her.

"All right?" Whether he said it aloud or not, she heard him. She disengaged
slowly, wiping a few tears away with a wadded tissue she still held.

"Definitely, let's go out," she said. "Anywhere on the holodeck we haven't
been lately. Anywhere private."

"Outdoors?"

"Yes." She took his arm. "Further proof that empathy without communication
is not always useful."

"I'm not fragile," he exclaimed, escorting her out into the corridor.

"We all are. I was still too aware of that."

"Can we stop talking about this now?"

"For now." She remained silent as far as the nearest lift. "I wonder if
Geordi will use us in his novel?"

"What!" Picard hesitated in the open door, scowling.

"That's part of his plot -- the romance between the second officer and the
captain, which happened after the first officer died in the line of duty. I
wonder if by the end of the book it will all work out for them."

"He's writing about -- I don't know if I like that idea, Deanna. What if
people think -- "

"It's a completely different situation. She's Deltan, he's human, she's
captain, he's second officer, and they really don't want to admit they're
attracted to each other -- "

"Deltans are bald."

Deanna looked up innocently. "Are you implying there's a similarity between
you and a Deltan?"

"He'd better not write about anyone that resembles us," he exclaimed.

"He wouldn't do that." She kissed his cheek. "Not intentionally, anyway."

"Deanna -- "

"I'm his reader now. I wouldn't allow it."

"Hm." Picard smiled a little, letting his ire dissipate. "All right, then."

"So I suppose I should tell him to make the captain Vulcan, instead of
Deltan, because of the similarities."

He merely smiled at her. She raised eyebrows questioningly. Rather than
admit that he found her teasing encouraging, he shook his head and asked the
computer to resume. The lift doors opened on deck six moments later.

"Kamala had high hopes when she came aboard. I wonder if you were as
appealing to her as she imagined you would be?" Deanna mused, stepping
toward the door.

"Damn it, Dee!"

He caught himself before he could say anything else. Exiting the lift, he
stepped around her and faced her, ready to apologize and soothe, but the
expression on her face prevented it.

"She was right, you know," she murmured. "About some of the things she
observed. We've been too careful about each other." Before he could respond,
she cupped her hand over his cheek, her palm warm against his skin. "I
appreciate how concerned you are, Jean, but I'm much, much better now."

He exhaled slowly, composed himself, and said, "I understand this. But I
would feel better if. . . . I don't want to be cross with you, Cygne. Not
now." Rather than continue he waited, glancing down at her belly and giving
her the moment to sense how tired and wistful he was.

"Let's go," she whispered. He met her solemn eyes briefly, took her hand as
it fell away from his face, and escorted her down the corridor toward the
holodeck.

Perhaps they were avoiding serious discussion, but at least now they had
acknowledged it, along with their motives for silence. She was letting her
guard down; now, when he made the effort, he could tell how she felt --
pensive, worried, but accepting of his need to forestall further
conversation about sensitive issues. As they paused before the holodeck
controls and debated choice of program, she relaxed even more, her grip on
his fingers sure. She smiled at him, genuinely affectionate, when he
answered a question.

He could live with that, for now. She would let him work out whatever he
wished on his own terms. He wished he could find the words to thank her --
for all the things she'd done for him, for this continued forbearance, for
her tenacity in remaining committed to making the relationship and their
careers work -- but as he thought about it, she leaned closer. Her lips
tickled his ear as she whispered.

"You're welcome."

"Damned empath," he grumbled, leaning in to kiss her.

"I think," she murmured softly some time later, "that I would like a program
with moonlight. . . ."




--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Stories Only Forwarding

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