Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 29 Apr 2004 10:21:37 -0700  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: whoa_nellie40@hotmail.com (whoa nellie) 
 

Title: Volte-face
Author: Whoa Nellie (whoa_nellie40@hotmail.com)
Series: TNG
New 2/5
Rating: NC-17
Codes: P/Vash
Summary: The most joyous time in the Picards' lives suddenly takes an
Author's note:  Feel free to archive to any pertinent site.  

Important detail:  This occurs in the Double Entendre timeline after
Reasons of the Heart (reminder:  in this universe, Worf is Chief of
Security and married to Deanna; there is no Crusher/Chakotay
relationship and Riker still has his beard).

As always: Paramount owns all the marbles, we just have a lot more fun
playing with them.
Feedback is always appreciated - posted or e-mail. 

Whoa Nellie's Picard/Vash Romance Fan Fiction website is at:
http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/Galaxy/7926/

Whoa Nellie's Sci-Fi Romance Fan Fiction website is at:
http://www.geocities.com/whoa_nellies2000/

Continued from Part 1

	"Go away," Vash grumped from her position on the couch.  After
leaving Sickbay, she had fled to their quarters for some privacy in
which to rant, rave and cry.  She threw an empty box of tissues across
the room as if to emphasize her point and snatched another box from
the coffee table.

	The door slid open to admit Beverly and Deanna.  Beverly held up a
tray of plump strawberries.  "The replicator records show that you're
eating a lot of fruit, so since you're not in the mood for chocolate,
we brought these."

	"With the requisite whipped cream," Deanna added, holding up the
large bowl she carried.

	"I said 'go away'," Vash pointed out, blowing her nose.  "I don't
want to talk to anyone."

	Taking the strawberries from Beverly, Deanna set them on the coffee
table with the cream.  She took one of the berries and dragged it
through the cream before settling down on the couch beside Vash and
taking a bite.  "We didn't ask if you wanted to talk."

	"Besides," Beverly replied, "we're not just anyone."  She ordered
three glasses of lemonade from the replicator and carried them over to
the sitting area.  Curling up in the chair next to the sofa, she
reached for a berry and dunked it in the whipped cream.  "These are
good berries."

	"My compliments to the replicator, it outdid itself with these
berries," Deanna agreed after eating a second one.

	"And the whipped cream seems especially . . . whippy," Beverly
remarked off-handedly.

	Vash listened to their inane chatter with growing frustration.  She
didn't like to cry in the first place, she certainly didn't want to do
it in front of an audience.  Ludicrously, it annoyed her that they
weren't even talking about the current situation; there was this huge,
honking elephant in the room and they were talking about whether some
replicators produced better comestibles than others.  "He seduced
her," she suddenly burst out.  "I know he initiated it, he
intentionally took some other woman off to a sleazy hotel to have sex
with her.  I know she didn't just jump him out of the clear, blue sky
and carry him off to that hotel against his will.  How could he hold
her, much less fuck her, and not be able to tell that it wasn't me? 
Godamnit, what about my wedding ring?  The thing's a fucking rock and
he didn't notice that 'I' wasn't wearing it?"

	Watching the very distraught Vash hold her wedding ring out as if
presenting a piece of evidence, Beverly calmly took a sip of lemonade.
 "Okay, you have a point there; but, how often do you make a point of
looking for his ring?"

	"Besides," Deanna piped up, "don't you both take your rings off at
one time or another for work-related reasons?"

	Vash skipped the strawberries and gathered a huge fingerful of the
cream.  "Shopping isn't exactly the same thing as 'desecrating ancient
burial sites' as my philandering husband has so eloquently described
my work."

	"That's not fair," Beverly interrupted, "calling him a philanderer
isn't exactly an accurate description."

	Deanna concurred.  "Technically he . . . 'spent the afternoon' with
you."

	"Bullshit," Vash snorted, tears welling up in her eyes again.  "He
had sex with a woman who wasn't his wife.  How could he not tell the
difference?"

	"You couldn't," Deanna pointed out softly.

	Vash was momentarily confused.  "What do you mean?"

	Beverly picked up on Deanna's train of thought.  "The alternate
version of the captain your first night on the Enterprise."

	Vash flushed.  "I wasn't married to Jean-Luc and I hadn't had sex
with him in several years.  Jean-Luc and I have been married for
several years and we just had sex last night.  Maybe he didn't want to
see the difference," tears flowed freely now, her words interrupted
with choking sobs.  "He probably thought it was great, it was like it
was for us in the beginning.  Now I'm just an old ball-and-chain and
about to start resembling a penguin waddling everywhere.  She's wild
and exciting while I'm thinking about comfortable shoes and my wildest
fantasy right now is a nice, long, hot bubble bath and yes," she
snapped at Beverly, "I know I can't have one during my pregnancy."

	"You can have a bath," Beverly said.  "It just can't be long or hot."

	Deanna slipped into her counselor role.  "Captain Picard is very
excited about the baby, it's something he had convinced himself that
he'd never have--a family of his own--and you're the one giving it to
him.  He loves you more now than ever."

	"That didn't stop him from screwing another woman," Vash sniffled.

	Beverly spoke up.  "If I recall, even when you knew that the
alternate Picard wasn't your Jean-Luc, you were still physically
attracted to him; you didn't love him but you were still confused by
your reaction to him."

	"The captain didn't know that it wasn't you," Deanna pointed out. 
"Alternate universe cross-over isn't something people expect to
encounter or even think about until it happens."

	Vash grabbed another tissue and blew her nose.  "Given our history,
he should have thought about it.  He's a Starfleet officer, the
Captain of the flagship, he should be more observant."

	Beverly made an observation.  "Jean-Luc had a very similar reaction
when the shoe was on the other foot.  I believe your exact words at
the time were 'Picard, you arrogant son-of-a-bitch'."

	Deanna began chuckling softly.  "Not that he would try that maneuver
with you."

	Seeing the hint of a smile on her friend's face, Beverly played up
the idea.  "And in the center ring, Jean-Luc Picard pushes the
envelope on death-defying stunts as he attempts to use his wife's own
words against her."

	All three women were openly laughing at the visual painted by
Beverly's 'announcement'.  After a couple of moments, Deanna got back
to the subject at hand.  "We're not saying that you don't have reason
to be upset," she said.  "We're here as your friends to help you sort
things out.  Do you remember how you felt when you first found out
that you'd been with an alternate version of the captain?"

	"Sick."

	"How do you think Jean-Luc is feeling right now?" Beverly asked.

	Vash pulled a pillow from behind her and cradled it against her
stomach.  "That's not fair, I'm tired, I'm queasy and I'm upset.  I
should be able to yell at my husband for having sex with another woman
without his crew defending him to me--Oh God!" she gasped suddenly.

	Beverly was reaching for her tricorder as she asked, "What is it?"

	"Everybody knows," she wailed.  "Everyone on the ship knows that my
husband cuckolded me."

	Deanna tried to sort through the jumble of emotions looking for some
way to get through to her.  She decided to try another approach. 
"There are so many things wrong with that sentence that I barely know
where to begin.  First, not everyone on the ship knows what happened;
I'm sure there are at least a couple of the lower decks where they
haven't heard about it yet.  Second, so what?  Everybody on the ship
knows how much the two of you love each other and the incident with
the alternate Picard was common knowledge.  Third, a cuckold is a man
whose wife is having an affair.  If you're going to be melodramatic,
at least be accurate."

	"I realize that this might be a bad time to ask this," Beverly began,
"but what is the comparable term for a woman?"

	"Pathetic," Vash sniffled.  "Actually, there is no term in Federation
Standard although several matriarchal societies have specific terms
for such a woman; however, they typically lack a term for a man in
those situations.  If you're trying to distract me, this isn't the
topic I'd recommend."

	"Look," Deanna said.  "Yell at him all you want; knowing you, I know
it'll make you feel better.  Just don't shut him out, listen to him
and realize that he's hurting too.  This should be the happiest time
in your life and Captain Picard wants very much to be a part of it."

	"Don't let my hormones overload my sensibilities," Vash summarized. 
"I know I'm hormonal, I'm pregnant and I was looking forward to nine
months of wild mood swings free and clear--a biological dispensation
from rational thought.  This is just sucking all of the fun right out
of it."

....................................

	Picard steeled himself before striding through the door to the brig. 
The alternate Vash was sitting cross-legged on the bunk in her cell,
idly examining her fingernails.  He studied her, looking for
something--anything--that should have tipped him off that this woman
wasn't his wife.  He motioned for the security officer on duty to
leave the room.

	The alternate Vash waited for several silent moments after the door
slid closed before raising her attention to her guest standing on the
other side of the forcefield.  "Ready for round two, lover?  Or would
that be round three?  You were quite impressive this afternoon, I
can't recall the last time my itch was so well scratched."

	"Who are you and how did you get here?"  He kept his voice
controlled, not betraying the turmoil in his heart.  Nothing; as far
as he could tell, he was talking to his wife.

	Stretching indolently, she casually rose and strutted across her cell
to stand in front of him separated only by the forcefield.  "You
first, lover--you know, it occurs to me that I never got around to
learning your name.  I had more interesting things on . . . my mind,"
she purred suggestively.

	"Then what about this afternoon?" Picard asked.  "Why did you . . . "

	"Seemed like a good idea at the time," she shrugged.  "A sexy,
virile, powerful man buys me expensive jewelry and comes onto me--"

	"Not you," Picard interrupted, "my wife."

	The alternate Vash gave a careless wave of one hand while caressing
the necklace she still wore with the other.  "Semantics, at any rate
it was a most satisfying way to spend the afternoon.  Pity you had to
spoil what could have been a nice memory with your little Starfleet
routine, Captain . . ."

	"Picard," he supplied, "Jean-Luc Picard and you are?"

	"Vash," she grinned.  "You certainly gasped it often enough while you
were in the throes--"

	"What are you doing here?" Picard interjected quickly.

	"Well, Jean-Luc," she drawled, "obviously this isn't quite where I
intended to be.  My transporter must have malfunctioned; if you'll
just return my property to me, I'll get out of your hair . . .
figuratively speaking, of course," she amended with a wink.

	Picard resisted the urge to pace, if he turned away from her she
might see it as a weakness.  In spite of her sense of humor being a
slightly harder version of his Vash's, the wry look on her face and
the lilt to her tone was so much like his Vash's that it was difficult
to keep in mind who he was and wasn't talking to.  She couldn't know
how much she was affecting him.  Being even remotely like his Vash,
she would use any advantage to her own benefit; being even remotely as
intelligent as his Vash, that would make her very dangerous.  "Where,
exactly, did you intend to be?" he asked instead.

	The alternate Vash considered her answer for a moment.  "Anywhere
except where I was when I activated it."

	Bowing his head in tacit acknowledgment, Picard gave a knowing smirk.
 "Point taken, you're not going to tell me anything you don't want to.
 What do you want to tell me?"

	"There's a fascinating game that was played by Earth children called
Truth or Dare.  Are you familiar with it?" she asked.

	"Yes," he replied cautiously.

	Her hands on her hips, she tilted her head to one side.  "Let's skip
the Dare part and we each answer a question from the other honestly. 
I'll go first.  Was this afternoon's romp the best sex you've ever
had?"

	"No," he answered, honestly and succinctly.  "Where did you get the
device that you used to transport between realities?"

	"Risa," she responded just as succinctly.  "Where did we--rather my
other self--and you meet?"

	"Risa."  He stopped and thought for a moment.  "Is that a Vorgon
transporter?"

	"Yes," the other Vash gasped, startled at the accuracy of his
question.  "How do you know about Vorgons?"

	Picard realized that he'd thrown her off her game with his last
question.  Maybe the secret to getting to her was as simple as the
plain, unvarnished truth.  "I had a run-in with them on Risa; that was
where I met my Vash incidentally.  How did you get a transporter away
from them?"  He was very curious about that considering the Vorgons
activated their transporters by touching the side of their head.

	"Very carefully," she smirked.  "I acquired it at the same time I
acquired the Tox Utat."

	"That was how I met my Vash except she didn't get the Tox Utat nor
did she acquire a Vorgon transporter."

	"She got you, instead," the alternate Vash remarked.  "Nice deal.  So
what'd you do, give the Utat to the Vorgons?"

	"No," he said.  "I destroyed it.  What did you do with the Utat?"

	A slow grin spread across her face.  "I made a very tidy profit with
it."

	"I thought you intended to present it to the Daystrom Institute."

	"They were in the bidding," she offered.  "They just didn't come up
with the winning bid.  Were you and my other self married right after
that little adventure?"

	Picard had already realized that, in her reality, they'd never met;
there could be any number of reasons that their initial meeting hadn't
happened, but the bottom line was that he was a complete stranger to
this woman.  "No, it was some time later when she was assigned by the
Archaeology Council as the Enterprise's Chief Archaeologist."

	"Archaeology Council, assigned," the alternate Vash snorted.  "What
did you do to me?  I can't even imagine being weak and insipid enough
to acknowledge the geezer group much less take orders from them or
anyone else."

	Picard had to grin at that last statement.  "My Vash doesn't take
orders and only considers suggestions when she's in the mood to. 
Where were you transporting from when your Vorgon device
malfunctioned?"

	Eyeing him speculatively, she answered.  "A passenger ship, in my
world the Federation is on the losing end of a war with an enemy known
as the Dominion.  The ship that I was traveling on was attacked and
destroyed.  I barely had time to activate the transporter--I didn't
have to input temporal coordinates so I should have transported to
Aldebaran III in the same time."

	"The energy from the ship's explosion might have caused the
malfunction," Picard offered.  "Why Aldebaran and not Risa?"

	"Not my taste," the alternate Vash retorted.  "Risa is a private
resort for . . . well, let's call it alternative sexual tastes. 
Whips, chains, sex slaves and the whole S/M thing isn't my pleasure;
although, having you across my knee for a good spanking is a very
appealing fantasy at the moment.  Interested?"

	"No."

	The alternate Vash sighed in mock disappointment.  "Pity, that
rock-hard ass of yours would shine a beautiful shade of red--command
uniform crimson.  Have I--rather, the other me--ever spanked you?"

	"No, how do you use the transporter?"  That wasn't how he'd wanted to
phrase that, but the woman was seriously rattling his composure.

	"It comes in very handy for acquiring archaeological treasures for
'very grateful' patrons," she shrugged.  "Am I in Starfleet here?"

	"No, my wife is a civilian," he replied.  Obviously she'd realized
that referring to his Vash and herself as one and the same bothered
him; he'd have to learn to ignore it.  "What archaeological treasure
were you after in a war zone?  Why didn't you just jump into the
future and avoid the war entirely?"

	The alternate Vash pointed a manicured finger at him.  "That's
cheating, Jean-Luc, one question at a time.  I'll just have to ask an
extra question or two of my own.  As far as your questions go, I do
live in a time after the war, but the artifacts that I was seeking
don't exist then.  I had to go back to when they existed in order to
procure them."

	"Steal them."

	She shot him a dirty look and continued.  "What I was retrieving for
the purpose of historical preservation were the two Orbs of the
Prophets on Bajor.  The seven on Cardassia survive the war and end up
in a private collection, but Bajor is completely destroyed along with
the two Orbs.  The only way to complete the collection was to go back
to when Bajor was still there along with the Orbs.  Of course, since
Bajor doesn't exist in my time, I couldn't input the spatial
coordinates; I entered the temporal coordinates and was traveling to
Bajor by ship."

	"You steal priceless, sometimes powerful relics from periods in
history and sell it to the highest bidder," Picard summarized.

	The alternate Vash gave him a pointed look.  "I *rescue* significant
pieces of history from Starfleet captains with a propensity for
destroying them.  My patrons value the pieces much too highly to ever
wantonly do such a thing."

	That struck a nerve with Picard; the times in which he'd been forced
to choose his duty over his interest in archaeology were a constant
source of badgering from his wife.  His Vash had
once--teasingly--threatened to ban him from the archaeology lab for
the protection of 'her' work.

	"How about a deal?" she suggested.

	"What did you have in mind?"

	The alternate Vash shrugged casually.  "I've found a number of
valuable pieces of history in my reality; they're probably in similar
places here.  I could tell you how to find the Stone of Gol, for
example, and you could give me back my transporter and let me get back
to my own life."

	Picard resisted the urge to tell her that he'd already assembled and
used the Stone of Gol and that the Vulcan Government had subsequently
destroyed it.  "How did you find it?"

	"Well, a toad by the name of Arctus Baran was in the process of
locating the pieces.  I tried to go back and steal it before the
Vulcans disassembled it, but when the Vulcans say that they had a
violent past, they weren't kidding.  So, I had to steal one piece from
a Vulcan museum and then tracked Baran's progress with the other two
pieces.  Once he had shown me where they were, I jumped back a bit and
got to them first.  Baran was a bit put-out, he even came after me in
a later time and I had to put the old man out of my misery--in
self-defense, of course," she added with an expression of wide-eyed
innocence.

	"No deals," Picard replied.  Without further comment, he turned and
left.

	"Hey!" she called after him.  "You still owe me two questions."

........................

	Picard stared at the door to his quarters with equal parts
trepidation and frustration.  He dreaded facing Vash; he didn't want
to see the hurt look on her face and he was somewhat worried that she
wouldn't give him the chance to fix things.  Of course that was the
frustration, he hadn't known that it wasn't his wife.  How do you fix
something like this and why should he have to fix anything under the
circumstances?  Of all the people in the universe, Vash should
understand that it was an innocent mistake.  Even as he thought it,
that fleeting hope of her understanding dissipated.  Oddly enough he
hoped she was angry because that he could deal with; he didn't want to
be responsible for making her cry, no matter how inadvertently. 
Steeling himself, he stepped closer to activate the door mechanism and
hesitantly entered his quarters.

	The room was dark, light filtering in through the window from the
Aldebaran sun off in the distance.  Vash was stretched out on the
couch, staring out at the vista of stars.  Blinking lights on his desk
caught his eye and he walked over to find a medical tricorder laying
open.

	"So you know who you're with," Vash said quietly.  "Since my wedding
ring didn't seem to be enough of a clue in telling us apart, I thought
you might need more technological help."

	Her words struck him with an almost physical force-- her ring, the
other Vash didn't have a wedding ring.  She was wearing jewelry
including several rings, but the third finger on her left hand was
bare.  That was what he'd missed, there had been a way to tell and
he'd completely overlooked it.  "Vash," he began, not sure where he
was going.

	"Was it good?" Vash asked.  "Was she--"

	"No," he interrupted.  "You're right about the ring, I didn't notice
that, I didn't even realize that difference until you pointed it out
just now.  I don't know what to say here, I'm sorry doesn't feel
sufficient but I didn't know it wasn't you.  I could never
intentionally do anything to hurt you, I hope you know that."

	"I know that you had sex with . . . not me," she retorted
sarcastically.  "I know that look I saw on your face as you left your
cozy, little love nest with *her*.  I can easily imagine what she did
to put that look there."

	Picard tried to stop the words but he was as hurt and confused as she
was.  The other Vash had used him, not even caring what his name was,
only caring about what she wanted.  "At least you weren't forced to
watch," he threw back at her.

	"You son-of-a-bitch."

	"I'm sorry," he sighed.  He sat down in the chair next to the sofa. 
He had never heard her so quietly angry before and it was more
unnerving than any temper tantrum she had ever thrown.  "I'm sorry
about everything.  I wish I could figure out how to fix all of this. 
In most of the other realities that we've dealt with, that Vash was
dead; it never even crossed my mind that she wasn't you until I saw
you sitting with Lieutenant Lar."

	Vash forced herself to turn around and look at him.  "What do you
want me to say, that I understand?  Fine, I understand that you
couldn't tell--or didn't want to acknowledge--the difference between
us."

	"Wait a minute," Picard broke in.  "Why do you think I wouldn't want
to be able to differentiate between the love of my life and some other
woman?"

	"Maybe because she's hotter, more exciting . . . "

	"Stop right there," he ordered.  "Aren't you the one who's always
saying 'what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander'?  Well, I
may not have been understanding about your initial encounter with my
alternate, but I was very understanding when you told me that you were
having erotic dreams about him.  I did eventually understand that your
attraction to him came from your attraction to me."

	"So you did have wild monkey sex all afternoon with her," Vash
wailed, standing up to look down at him.

	Picard rose, his voice calm and as soothing as he could manage. 
"Yes, I had what I thought was passionate sex with my wife; but, in
her reality we never met.  She didn't even know who I was nor did she
care.  It didn't mean anything to her."

	Only slightly mollified, her bottom lip thrust out in a pout.  "Tell
me that having sex with her didn't mean anything to you."

	"It didn't mean anything to me," he rushed to assure her.

	"How can you say that?" she cried out.  "You said you thought you
were having sex with me; how can that mean nothing to you?"  She burst
into tears and rushed into the bedroom, flinging herself onto the bed.

	Cursing the momentary lapse that obscured the classic, verbal rock
and a hard place question, Picard followed her.  He sat beside her and
gently stroked her hair as her shoulders shook with weeping.  Gently
combing her hair back to reveal her tear-stained face, he waited for
her to take a breath.  "I truly did think that I was making love to my
wife and the mother of my child which means everything to me.  She
didn't even know my name, chere.  I could never care about such a
shallow version when I have the real thing right here."

	"Me?" came the muffled, sniffling question.

	He gathered her into his arms.  "Of course I mean you.  You are the
most incredible woman I have ever known.  You drive me crazy,
challenge me, amaze me, enchant me, confuse me, confound me and make
me feel like I'm thirty years younger.  On top of all of that, you're
carrying what will be my firstborn child.  I love you, Vash, more than
anything."

	Vash rubbed her face against his shirt to dry her tears.  "I love
you, Jean-Luc.  I know you're right and I'm wrong--I'll deny I said
that if you ever repeat it--I just can't let this go quite yet."

	"You're asking me to let you obsess about what inadvertently happened
between your alternate and me?" he asked incredulously.

	"I'm asking you to understand that I'm going to obsess about you
having sex with another woman--okay, I'll admit that it's an alternate
version of me--and there's nothing you can do or say that'll get me to
stop obsessing about this before I'm ready to let it go."

	Picard leaned down and nuzzled her cheek.  "Nothing?"  His hand
cradled her head, tilting her chin up and he lowered his face to hers.
 His lips brushed ever-so-softly across hers, a tentative expression
of feelings that he couldn't put into words.  Finally, they settled
over hers in a warm, gentle kiss, deepening the kiss only when her
arms slipped around his neck.  He entangled one hand in her silky
hair, holding her as his tongue slipped out to trace the lush fullness
of her lips before coaxing them apart to seek out the depths of her
mouth.  His other arm pulled her body closer, his own body instantly
responding to her nearness.  He tugged at the waist of her blouse,
freeing it so that his hand could slide underneath to caress the
smooth, creamy skin and inching its way up to the lacy brassiere.

	Vash pushed him away.  "Unfuckingbelievable--literally!  You must be
out of your mind.  Do you really think that you're going to have sex
with me on the SAME GODDAMN DAY that you had sex with another woman?"

	"Vash--"  So near and yet so far; for a supposedly skilled diplomat,
he couldn't seem handle this situation with any delicacy at all.  He
was starting to feel like he was in a sadistic version of the
Kobayashi Maru, damned no matter what.

	"No, don't Vash me and get your hands out of my hair," she brushed
his hands away.  "I don't even want you in here tonight."

	"Darling--"  He was the captain of the flagship and a master
strategist, damnit, he could fix this if she'd just give him half a
chance.  Right on the heels of that thought came the realization that
she had given him that chance and he'd tried to seduce her--talk about
majorly fucking up.

	Vash stood up.  "Her perfume is still on you, I can smell it.  How
could you hold me and say such sweet, loving things only to turn it
into a seduction while you're wearing the same clothes you wore when
you fucked her? You didn't even have the decency to use a sonic shower
much less change your uniform.  Just get out, sleep in on the couch,
sleep in your ready room, right now I don't care.  Just get out of
this room and leave me alone."  She gave a tremulous sigh as he
dejectedly turned away.  "I'm not asking to you leave me, in fact I
don't want you to leave me, Jean-Luc, just give me a little space
right now.  I know you love me, but you can't fix this."

.........................

End Part 2

--
Stephen Ratliff
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