Author's Note:

Another long absence, another lousy excuse. I've been working on this one for a little while just trying to get the pace right - still not completely satisfied with it but I can't leave the story hanging forever can I?

I hope there's still people reading, if so please leave me a comment and let me know what you think, maybe if there's anything you'd like to see go on next, predictions about the good Dr Schreiber?

"Geordi?"

There is a chime at her door again, a man whose name she questions aloud, and she has to frown before hauling herself up from the end of her bed, holding the wet ends of her hair in a towel that balls in the palm of one hand. She can feel who is there, but that does not offer her any explanations, it does not aid her memory.

"Come in,"

She calls ahead of herself, and the computer acquiesces, huffing open the doors just as she picks her way towards them, and finds herself stood frozen at the arm of the futon when they see her.

"Counselor, may we enter?"

Data asks her, speaking for himself and the two men behind him, and she can finally recall why they are here, looking down for a brief moment at the gown she intended to sleep in, wondering if that is where his caution comes from, but it is unusually descent of her, so she looks back up at him and smiles widely, falsely.

"Of course Data, I would not have opened the door otherwise,"

She responds in jest, and he offers her a tipped head and the sound of his boots pushing inside, with Geordi following closely at his heel, and the Captain a few steps back from them both, a sheepishness to him that must stem from that same gap in her memory of the night before.

"Counselor, great to see you!"

Geordi exclaims, moving past where Data pauses by her desk, and sweeping expertly through all the mess on the floor to pull her up into his arms, reaching one beneath her shoulder where she still holds her hair up, and the other over her shoulder where she can hold him back too.

She is stunned in it for a split second, but he is so gentle and so genuine that she squeezes him lightly back, and then he pulls away, like it was a passing greeting, so casually caring.

"How are you, you look great?"

He goes on, staying tight to her side, his head turning enthusiastically in each direction to take in all his surroundings properly.

"Well thank you, I'm doing okay, I had not realised you would be coming along too?"

Flattered, Deanna responds, throwing a quick look at the Captain whose face betrays nothing now, then turning back to Geordi with another smile of hers, trying to steer the subject away from herself.

"Oh y'know, building furniture -"

Laforge exaggerates, raising his eyebrows from behind the visor.

"- requires an engineers touch,"

He grins, and she knows it is a half-truth, an excuse, just as he knows it too, sharing in the smiles that say he really just hadn't seen her in such a while that he was worried.

"He wouldn't be told,"

Picard pipes up, a fretful smile now made of his silence, as though he has decided to give up on whatever trepidation keeps him by the doorway, and he is far enough inside now that the doors shut softly behind him.

"Yeah well, you don't want the kid to fall straight through its crib do ya', can't trust these goons to do much else than fly the ship,"

The engineer mocks, then fixes the Captain with only a semi-serious expression, because he is chuckling lightly along too, not offended at all.

"All due respect Captain."

Picard nods back, and the confusion that has been straining Data's circuitry finally finds a way to break free, having completely assessed the space around him, and the work they have to do with their evening.

"I will regard goon as a compliment Geordi, if having your assistance means a more efficient experience,"

Deanna reaches a hand up to continue running through her damp her, a shame filling her as Geordi starts to pace the floor with a look of bewilderment on his face, stopping when he reaches the viewport window, and the seat beneath it.

"You really did not have to give up your evenings to help me,"

She says, self-conscious, and Picard is walking towards her with a smile now of sorrow, and a tilt to his head, holding out a hand in her direction.

"Nonsense Deanna, it's the least we can do,"

He tells her, closing his fingers around the bones of her shoulder and leaning in to plant a brief and perhaps unexpected chaste kiss against her porcelain cheek, something he has never done with her before. It is strange, but somehow she is smiling despite herself, truthfully, when he steps back to regard her whole appearance, to take her in as though she is ethereal.

"Wanna get started then?"

Geordi offers from behind her, and she turns to face the same way as Picard, seeing now how he has already gathered up a stack of plates in one hand, and two mugs held precariously by the handles in his other.

Deanna blushes pale pink.

"Indeed,"

Data responds, and they two start to move and animate in collecting all the various cups, plates and cutlery that lies around the place haphazardly. The Captain sees her expression of guilt, and winks at her lightly, tries to find a way to reassure her without having to say anything at all, using his mind to fixate on these things that bring him comfort, hoping they will allay her own discomforts.

"Can I at least offer you something to drink?"

She asks, turning again to keep track of where Picard moves past her, and they are all in motions that she can't keep track of all at once, her arms held in suspension around that towel her hair is wrapped in, wet where the moisture has soaked through.

"I'll grab something from the replicator Counselor, put your feet up, relax, I hear you've had an eventful week,"

Geordi responds, now at the disposal and watching his stack of plates disappear under its beam, throwing a look over his shoulder that is not even a little scandalous, but perhaps genuinely concerned, and at least somewhat curious.

"The rumours have become quite outrageous to say the least,"

Picard adds, gathering up the stray pads on the sofa and stacking the cushions neatly with a hand motioning she sit there. Across the room, almost at the entrance to her bedroom, even Data turns to comment, frozen mid-action in a stoop where he retrieves a spoon from beneath a discarded cardigan.

"I find the version of events where Ensign Tralk is an escaped convict and you a 'mind control expert', to be particularly inaccurate,"

She sighs as she sits down into the cushions, and rolls her eyes in such an uncharacteristic way, worried more that people's perceptions are becoming harder to change, it seems, rather than that this is only one of many different accounts.

"I suppose it is just healthy conjecture,"

Deanna breathes out, trying not to get angry over this, tucking her legs up beneath her and trying to get comfy. A steam cloud blurs her vision as Geordi holds a mug of tea up towards her from behind the sofa, offering it with a kindness to him she has missed; she takes it from him gratefully between slender fingers.

"I dunno, the one where your eyes go red and you set his nose hairs on fire seems pretty unhealthy to me,"

He adds, and Picard splutters, laughing outwardly as he shuffles the pads like cards in his hands, checking which are important and which aren't. He has already seen three different versions of the same diagnostic manual.

"I hadn't heard that one, it's quite good,"

He titters, then Geordi joins in with a laugh that bubbles in his stomach and leaves him like a suppressed rumble, his attention warily on the glass of water he has in his other hand, watching where the liquid threatens to splash from the brim.

"Okay well maybe it is not all healthy, but at least some entertainment has come from it, I suppose,"

Deanna says, admittedly having found that one funny, and trying to supress more than her own light and measured laughter as she brings the mug to her lips to blow on. Through the steam, she watches as Geordi hands the Captain the glass of water, and they exchange in manners, the laughter of them dying down a little.

"Counselor, your body temperature has decreased significantly,"

Two hands emerge from her back, and she tries not to jolt as Data speaks, shaking a blanket out in front of her and letting it fall over her body; the other two men eye her with new terror now, forgetting that anything had ever been funny.

"Um, thank you Data,"

She manages to respond, offering a weak smile to them all, then taking another sip of tea as they turn slowly back to their actions. A tentative silence follows, and she is afraid that now she has become the elephant in the room again.

The men spend a few minutes in this sacred silence, and she can see as more of the floor is slowly exposed by Data, who collects and sorts through the items of clothing there, sending those in tact to sit in a hamper beneath her desk, and the ripped or otherwise ruined to the recycler. Geordi has seemed to take on the role of collecting up the china, from all areas of her living space, while the Captain attempts to sort through all the data pads, trying to decide what is important and what is not.

Watching them is mesmerising, but the quiet is so unnerving, she finally manages to break into it again.

"I imagine it has been quiet on the bridge lately?"

She asks, aware that she has not been there for a few days now.

Three heads all snap up, so on edge so suddenly, but only Picards remains focused on her once they have calmed.

"Yes actually, I feel somewhat like a one-man command,"

He tells her, standing nearby with a fresh stack of data pads, his eyes bugging out a little in emphasis of the feeling.

"It'll be better when Commander Riker beams back aboard, he was supposed to be back today but requested another day to oversee the final repair teams,"

The Captain explains, but her heart misses a beat over Will, and the anticipation of his return, that she forgets she has to respond, and he fills the space himself.

"I just hope his ego doesn't take too much of a hit when he's back to second-in-command,"

Geordi shares in the light laughter again, breezing past the back of the sofa with a mug full of cutlery in his hand, his other taking the opportunity to graze her shoulder in a brief bit of support, as if he knows.

"Well I know I'll be happy to have the rest of my engineering staff back, at least then I'll have someone to command,"

He cuts in lightly, stopping Picard from saying very much more on the topic of Riker, his sensitivity seeing with a brief glance how his name made her hands and face burn hot and white.

"S'hardly worth being chief when there's no-one to be chief of,"

He goes on to comment, and the Captain's eyes meet him in good-humour.

"Well if you don't want the job, Mr Laforge…"

Picard draws out thoughtfully, then breaks into a smile at the engineers indignance, though it is not long before they are all smiling again, and the mood is returned.

Data passes in front of her line of sight, a stack of furniture pieces casually under his arm when he ducks into her bedroom. She hears the sound of wood thumping against the surface of the bed before he returns.

"I am gonna need my guys back before we even think about getting closer to the Neutral Zone, Cap', even Data's feelin' nervous,"

Geordi says from somewhere behind her, back by the window she imagines. There is the clank of metal on porcelain.

"I am incapable of experiencing nerves, Geordi, I was simply expressing trepidation over the viability of the mission's success,"

The Android clarifies, and Picard's face draws from smile to frown.

"What's this gentlemen?"

He queries, opening the empty desk drawer to drop in a stack of crew reports.

"I believe we are referring to an earlier discussion we had on the increased frequency of skirmishes occuring along the neutral zone,"

Data explains to him, and the Captain turns to look expectantly at Geordi.

"It's not like that,"

He starts.

"Data was the one rattling off statistics, I only asked the question, and he did make a good point,"

"Which is?"

Picard prompts.

"That you cannot throw one ocean at another without expecting to drown,"

From a quiet position on the sofa still, Deanna pipes up at last, having followed the conversation enough to understand what the meaning is; the three men turn to her, shocked, a little confused.

"Counselor?"

Geordi is the only one not thinking too hard on it to speak, and she twists her torso just enough that she is not pained, but is able to throw one arm over the back of the sofa and regard him more personally.

"I imagine the point we're making is that sending volatility towards volatility is about as likely to end in success as the pursuit of throwing oceans,"

She explains to him, and watches his eyebrows rise highly over his visor as he begins to understand, realisation like a wan moon.

"Ohh,"

The engineer breathes out, then looks up and around at Picard and Data who remain just as confused, all having slowed in their motions to listen to Deanna's soft voice.

"So it's like, fire with fire,"

He adds, and they too nod along with a murmur of recognition from the captain, who slides the drawer closed at last and moves to lean over the back of the armchair facing her.

"Exactly, Counselor, that is the sentiment I was attempting to express earlier,"

"Is that really what you think, Data?"

Picard asks him genuinely, a slight of worry like silver in his eyes, that if an Android has concerns this way then what of his whole crew. Maybe he has been too distracted now by Deanna instead.

"Not think Sir,"

He clarifies, pale face bobbing back up from where he had been stooped behind the sofa, closer to her than she remembers. There is a roll of fabric clasped in his fist, only half closed around the tube.

"It was an assessment based on the historical data available on the outcome of situations such as this, and the Counselor's idiom is quite accurate, historically 89 percent of defensive strategies lead to escalation rather than solution,"

Data then explains, standing from off his knees and regarding the fabric with curiosity, trying to identify it's composition in his data banks. It is something he has never come upon before, but seen her adorned in once or twice since she has been aboard.

"But that isn't the situation here, the Enterprise is just patrolling the border, every ship in the fleet has to at some point,"

The Captain attempts to defend, leaning now over the armchair back with arms outstretched in front of him.

"Yeah, but, you gotta admit, the timing is convenient,"

Geordi adds, holding now a glass of his own beside the replicator, leaning up against the wall and drinking a deep purple liquid from within it, perfectly casual by nature.

"Do a lot of people think this too?"

Picard asks, turning his eyes upon the man.

"They do,"

The three heads spin again to Deanna, who takes another sip from her tea as if she had really said nothing at all, thinking maybe she ought not have a say in this conversation, not a soldier, not the echo of Starfleet.

"Sorry,"

She adds self consciously after swallowing down the mouthful, wide black eyes regarding them all as if they are looking in on her glass tank, tapping the surface to see if she is real.

"No, please, go on,"

Picard prompts, and maybe the look on his face is not one of curiosity, but rather of shock - shock still at the powers she possesses, at the way even his mind is just one amongst many. Around them, Data continues to collect the last few miscellaneous items from all the surfaces that remain cluttered, still clutching the roll of fabric indecisively.

"It's just -"

She stutters, has to blink and swallow again, has to find a way to express concepts that do not marry well with words.

"Well, people are confused, they are scared - they wonder if this is not beyond their duty,"

A beat.

"And yes, they are suspicious,"

Deanna then takes another drink from her mug, if only to occupy her actions so she is not expected to say anything further; behind her, she hears Geordi put his own glass down heavily, and his body right against the floor.

She loves them all, but like Will, they are about as shrewd as apes.

"Should I be worried about a mutiny?"

Picard suggests, only half ironically as he holds on to all the vowels, just to stretch away whatever sound of genuine terror might have made it through.

She manages to balance her mug down on her stomach now, forgetting that the skin is still sore, that a few inches away there is a hole where another needle had made itself known; the child nudges its foot against the porcelain base.

Discomfort finds a home in her voice.

"They have been more confused, more scared, they have wondered more than just what is duty before, but it did not affect them so severely that they could not continue in their positions,"

Deanna explains, and even if Geordi, sitting now on a cleared viewport bench and fluffing up a group of cushions there, is not listening too intently, the Captain is, and he has seen how her eyes flit down to her own body, and he knows just how they had felt before.

"The crew respects you Captain, if you seem confident in our orders, they will be too,"

She has to lift the mug away before it is tipped over by the movements, and holds it again to her lips.

"You have nothing to worry about,"

She murmurs into the cup, and it echoes back at her as she takes a larger gulp, swallowing down the final mouthful within.

"The Counselor is quite right again, Sir,"

Data's voice emerges with surprising immediacy, and the Captain has to turn his head sharply to look behind himself, standing now without holding onto the chair; his body turns too.

"History again suggests that this discord is somewhat routine, I have in fact observed similar levels of crew anxiety on seventeen separate occasions, none of which were caused by a lack of faith in your command,"

Picard lets out a nervous laugh.

"Well,"

He blows out a breath and stands back into the centre of the room.

"You could have opened with that, Data,"

Geordi stands too, and they all seem to cast the conversation behind them - forgotten.

Then, of them all, Deanna moves to uncurl her legs, reaching to place the mug down on a newly cleared coffee table. A rush of hurried movement, and Geordi is the first to reach her, offering his hands out to help pull her up.

"Woah woah,"

He exclaims, like he's scolding her, but there is enough of an urgency to his voice that he is just concerned, maybe only a little irritated that she wouldn't ask for help.

"Everything okay Counselor?"

Geordi draws his brows together in question, and more of that same concern, while in the background the Captain is only inches from his back, waiting to be told what to fetch, like they are her watchers now.

Irritated, but never graceless, she responds, taking a hold of Geordi's hands regardless.

"I just need to use the bathroom, you can all calm down,"

There is a strain in her voice as she stands now, pulled up gently but firmly, and she finds herself relying now on a second body to aid her more than she would have a day ago. She reminds herself bitterly, not to get used to it.

"Oh, of course, yeah sure,"

Geordi responds on a breath, feeling a little embarrassed, but also stupid for overreacting, and leading her away from the couch a few steps before finally relinquishing his hold on her, finding suddenly that he doesn't want to, in a feeling that is more tragic than a fleeting whisper.

Deanna then walks away from them all, self-conscious that they watch her go, safe in the knowledge though that they do not leer, rather fold their faces into the strain of worry.

"It's fine to be a little on edge, Lieutenant,"

The Captain comforts once she has disappeared into her bedroom, and his voice is low anyway, coming in closer to Geordi's side so that they won't be overheard. Somewhere around the room, Data has returned to the last of the tidying, sorting these knick-knacks he has collected up onto the cleared sides, trying to find the balance.

"However she says she's feeling, you'd be right to second guess,"

Picard then says, disappointedly, and even a little remorsefully, that there is nothing he can do to change it.

"Counselor Troi is in pain,"

A voice pipes up, and it is Data, turning around from where he has just set down a vase of flowers on her desktop, golden eyes seeking them out as though he states something obvious.

"No Data, she just needs to pee,"

Geordi responds softly, not realising what even his eyes have missed.

"My observations indicate she has been experiencing considerable discomfort for the duration of the evening, I believed it was obvious,"

The android muses, having clearly analysed the situation long ago, and Geordi trades a bemused look with the Captain, his eyebrow raised at how obvious she had been. They know, at least, because they are just human, that it had not been obvious at all.

There is no silence left to speak in however, when the water system flushes out the conversation and they wait with bated breath for her to return to them.

Only Picard has the angle to see where she appears again in her bedroom, scratching absentmindedly at her stomach, and searching something out with her eyes. He turns his body as if to go to her, but remains where he stands to see when she finds a woven blanket on the floor at the foot of her bed.

His body moves much too quickly once he sees her try to bend down to pick it up.

"Here, let me,"

He insists, crouching swiftly at the knees to snag the fabric before she can do any more struggling than she had been in the half a second before he was at her side.

A light pink blush makes its way to the apples of her alabaster cheeks.

"You do not have to do that, I am perfectly capable of -"

"I know,"

Picard cuts her off, standing up with the blanket out in his arms for her to take, and he winks again, like this is some new secret code of theirs.

"But I want to,"

He adds lowly, and she reaches her nimble fingers to wrap around the blanket, drawing it away from him and close to her centre, where she is becoming cold again in the thin fabric of her nightgown.

Deanna walks away from him with no further word, but a half a smile from the corner of her mouth, and he watches her again in silence as she wraps the fabric like a cape around her shoulders, then stops at the side of her chair.

It is the same chair whose twin lives in her home on Betazed, that her mother had rocked her in as a child; she's never bothered to ask why they are a pair. It rocks on two solid wooden sleds, and it is not too low to the ground that she has difficulty getting out of it, with a thickly padded seat in a light heather colour, and a solid padded back much the same. It is fiendishly comfortable, even at the worst of times, and now, with the need to rock something into submission, she is more thankful than ever to have been able to bring it aboard.

It is tall, and opulent, and engraved all over in various climbing vines, and as she sits herself slowly down into its high back, she is just as grand too.

But humble, he thinks, so humble all at the same time.

"You know, we're gonna have to tidy in here too,"

A voice intrudes at his back, and Picard turns his head sharply, away from where he had been transfixed. Geordi is there, full of a lopsided grin and a good-humour.

"You shoulda called before it got so on top of you,"

He adds, moving now to the Captain's side with a hand on his hip, and beyond the doorway, it is possible for her to see how Data continues to bumble around the living space, though she cannot quite make out what there is left for him to do.

"It is not your job to come when I call,"

Deanna tells him softly, rocking slowly back and forth, all wrapped up in that woven blanket, with it's corners draped over where she holds onto her stomach, one hand daring to smooth up and down gently. They imagine, perhaps, there is turbulence within.

The two men then exchange a glance, no telepathy necessary to exchange the name Riker, because it appears instead as the eyebrows that rise above a visor, and the light in the eyes of an older man, in these things that are unspoken.

If it is not their job to come when she calls, then what of Will, and what else is there to do but come, even if she has not called, even if she hasn't whispered.

They turn back to her.

"You didn't call, the Captain did,"

Geordi says, fixing a defiant grin to his face and nudging Picard in the ribs with the point of his elbow.

"So you'll just have to put up with us won'tcha?"

The Captain nods along with this in quiet solidarity, glad at least that he didn't have to flop over inadequate words, that Geordi possesses a much smoother disposition than he.

"I suppose I will,"

Deanna responds, a wry smile matching the engineers own, rocking still as though she is only 5 minutes from home.

"Great, so let's get to work - do you mind?"

Picard says brusquely, bringing his hands together in front of his body, and tipping his head in the direction of the equally messy bathroom.

"No, go ahead,"

Her soft voice permits, and so they disperse with a strange immediacy, wanting to busy those itching hands of theirs with anything that might resemble hard work, even just work, anything that gives her help where previously she had none.

Picard splits left towards the bathroom, and he crosses in front of Geordi who splits right towards the bed, seeing where his gift lies there well-used and wound up in thin sheets.

"I'm glad you like it -"

He remarks, pointing to the body pillow just as the captain disappears from sight.

"Nicola swore by these things when she was pregnant with her two, said it was the only reason she ever made it to work,"

Fingers brush its plush surface, and he tips his head up to regard her, not daring to move it from whatever position she's found most comfortable.

"It was a very considerate gift Geordi, a simple thank you is really not enough,"

Deanna expresses, very serious in the crease of her forehead, showing him that this thing really has become invaluable to her, that she would never have thought of it herself.

"I'm just happy it helps you out, Counselor,"

He responds humbly, moving around the edge of the bed now to smooth out the sheets and blankets around it's corners, absentmindedly straightening it up, even knowing she will likely return to it too soon to make much of a difference.

"Speaking of helping, where'd you want the crib putting?"

Geordi adds, finding himself reaching down to grab up two pillows that have landed on the floor in the night; he offers her one with a gesture, but she shakes her head lightly before responding.

"I had not really thought about it yet,"

She tells him frankly, and he stacks the pillows at the head of the bed before turning on the spot to briefly glance up at her, then to start sorting through a series of pads that he had picked from the mattress-top.

"Well y'know, all those baby books say the kid's gotta sleep real close by for the first few weeks, like in a bassinet or something,"

"A bassinet?"

Deanna questions fast, fatigue deep in the tone of her voice. He looks back at her, more directly and more permanently, holding the pads in one hand against his stomach and running the other over his hair in thought.

"Oh,"

Geordi breathes.

"It's like a crib, I guess, only smaller - s'got a hood over,"

He gestures forward with the same hand, tries to jog his own memory as well as hers.

"Supposed to make babies feel safe?"

He dips his head to the side, and suddenly there is a moment of quiet realisation that crosses her face like a deep shadow.

"Yes, we have something similar, an arisa, for newborns,"

Deanna explains, and he cannot fathom how it is she appears so much the same as everyone else, and yet be so alien to it all still. He smiles broadly.

"Yeah so, what's the arrangement with those then, where do they go?"

Geordi asks her more casually, walking away from her and to the door where Data emerges at his beckoning hand.

"I'm not sure,"

She says frankly as he hands off the pads, and suddenly Data's head appears around his squared shoulders.

"The foot of the bed, Counselor, traditionally, on a rocking frame,"

The android clarifies, and then disappears again just as Geordi turns back to face her, something endearingly quizzical made up from him.

Deanna continues to rock herself back and forth more purposefully, and her own hand has stopped it's rubbing to push down instead in one spot where there is a knee leaving burns against her belly.

"I guess now we know,"

Geordi states with a quirked head, turning along the other side of her bed to collect another discarded blanket, folding it then with a care that surprises her only a little.

"Counselor?"

She turns her head to the side at the sound of the Captain's voice.

He appears in the door frame, blocking the bathroom out behind him.

"This looks important, but I have no clue -"

A black bundle of fabric unlooses from his fist and he shakes it out in front of him with a terribly lost look on his face, flapped, regarding it as though it is completely alien.

"Oh, no it is,"

Deanna tells him, sitting a little forward in the chair so it stops rocking, and she can reach to take it from him.

"It's some kind of support Beverly recommended, I just never could work out how it goes,"

She explains, gesturing just as helplessly to her own stomach, with a hand that speaks to the gravity of it, that she just cannot fathom much of how anything is supposed to work anymore.

Picard nods back with a serious face, makes sure it is secure in her fist before he pulls away from her to stand straight and turn back into the bathroom, behind the dividing wall without a further word. Maybe his silence is just the need to return to work, but something tells her this has made him quietly uncomfortable.

Geordi does not allow her to dwell on it.

"So what did you mean to put together then, if it's not a bassinet,"

He asks her, calling her attention over to the other side of the room, and he is pointing down at the pile of furniture pieces in the centre of the bed, not daring to try to move them, fully aware of the sound they made when Data set them down.

Confusion clouds Deanna's expression for a moment, and she drapes the band over the arm of the chair, recollection failing her.

The frown is sweetly endearing.

"I'm not sure actually,"

She sighs.

"Commander Riker intended to put it together, he probably told me what it was meant to be, but -"

A beat.

"Well, I'm not sure,"

She repeats, and visibly shakes her head, blinking more slowly around spidery eyelashes and sleepy eyes.

"Don't worry,"

Geordi says hurriedly, thinking she has made herself simply sad, moving fast around to the side of the bed where there is a mess of clothes still covering the floor.

"Data'll work it out,"

He finishes before crouching down out of sight to start gathering things up, and she smiles tightly at the easy sight of his head bobbing the movements, where just the crown of it can be seen.

"I thought you said it required an engineers touch,"

She draws out in jest, and the head rises to turn and look along at her, mock indignance in his face.

"It does it does,"

He insists, his voice high but his lips spreading in a grin that betrays him.

"But only once we know what it is,"

Deanna then laughs lightly at him, maybe in some kind of self-deprecation, and his smiling face disappears again, satisfied.

"So hey,"

Geordi calls, now out of sight.

"What's the scheme we're goin' for?"

He bobs back up, then stands fluidly, arms full of a whole collection of clothes that she cannot identify.

"Blue or pink?"

Carrying the pile over to her closet, he glances over his shoulder with a quirked brow before he disappears yet again.

"That's a Human notion Mr Laforge,"

Picard calls out from the bathroom, and Deanna can't help but laugh lightly again, enchanting, caught between the two of them in the one conversation.

It is friendly and familiar, and she had been so sure that her evening was going to be boring, uneventful, painful, even.

A twinge pulls at the spot in the muscles of her stomach where that needle had gone in, and she opens her mouth to breathe deep, to speak in distraction.

"He's right, Betazed never thought to assign gender to colours,"

She winces with no-one to see, her stomach tensing up.

"It is actually one of the more confusing aspects to human psychology,"

From within her closet, she hears the recycler engage, and Geordi's amused voice responds.

"I'm glad we're worth the study Counselor!"

Picard then emerges from the bathroom, a towel flung over his shoulder.

"I wouldn't be so sure, if you were anyone else I'd be a little unnerved,"

He says, jarred, offering her a smile and an open palm, inside which is a thick banded ring, made from some native metal he has never seen before.

"I found this on the floor behind the sink, I imagine it's important as well?"

He holds it up to her, and it catches the artificial light along small winding vines that traverse the whole band, a pattern that is random and intimately detailed. Beautiful, but only when it is brought close, and tragically simple from a distance.

Nimble, not-quite shaking fingers take it from the palm of his hand.

"My wedding band,"

Geordi's head bangs against a shelf beyond sight.

She closes her own small hand around the metal, never having gotten a chance to wear it in the honour of somebody's love for her, wondering if he saw the scratch on the surface of the mirror where they had collided.

The sight of her there, not for the first time, reminds him that even the most peaceful people have before been battlegrounds, that wanting to love and to be loved is not enough.

"It's beautiful,"

Picard tells her with such sincerity, positive that she was beautiful too, all dressed up in white and barefooted on the banks of a river, hidden in some obscure mountain cleft somewhere on Risa, benediction beneath her breath before he is even gone.

"It was,"

She laments, remembering how there had been no benediction, no white dress, nothing so obscure as a mountain and a lakeside, how in one instant the ring had turned cold in her pocket, the metal ceasing to hum the spark of love or light up as though electrified.

It is dull now, hidden in her palm, hasn't been beautiful for years.

"I recall reading a text on the psycho-emotive sensitivity of some Betazoid jewellery, but the properties of such a metal were made obscure, and it was unclear if the text was part of myth, or fact - is this one such artifact?"

Data says from the doorway, forgetting that emotions are not always visible, imagining that the look of neutrality on Deanna's face is the truest reflection of what she feels.

The girl then blinks, holds the ring tighter in her palm, meant to protect these things she has been trusted with.

"No Data, it is just a piece of metal,"

She tells him, and beside her Picard straightens out, swallowing, unable to fathom how she can hold a symbol of the future she was denied in her hand, and put just in front of it, as if it doesn't even mean a thing.

"You were probably reading a passage on mythology, I've never come across any real piece of jewellery like that,"

Deanna goes on to explain, and he nods placidly, accepting the amendment to his recollection, the Captain watching on in only mild horror.

"If a metal like that existed, I'm pretty sure we'd know about it Data,"

Geordi says as casually as he can manage, emerging from the closet with creased brows and a hand rubbing over the back of his head.

"Think about it, a psycho-emotive substance, even a resonator or amplifier of emotion, that's the stuff of science-fiction,"

He elaborates, looking across to Data rather than daring to turn to Deanna, willing to ignore this new information he has, so long as they don't have to talk about it; for all he knows, it could be the ring the Miller boy was supposed to put on her finger.

Even though he knows much better than that, he chooses to ignore that too.

"It's a chemical impossibility,"

Geordi concludes, and a gentle smile tugs at the corners of Deanna's mouth, because evidently, there is a lot that he doesn't know.

"That's all very well Gentlemen, but perhaps we could set aside the conjecture, I believe we've got furniture to build,"

The Captain says, clapping his hands together and wringing them, not wanting to spend much longer delving into this topic, recalling with all too much confusion how just a piece of metal had hummed between his fingers, for the seconds he held it.

Something inside him felt like it had been electrocuted.

"Absolutely Captain, are we also decorating the nursery this evening?"

An android query responds.

"No,"

Deanna counters fast, then blushes lightly again, backtracks.

"I just mean that… well, I was hoping to keep it to the bedroom, if that's possible?"

Across the room, Geordi smiles warmly at her, always ready to sweep away the discomfort of a conversation with that charm of his, completely dislike Will's, sweeter and more innocent.

"Ah, the minimalist approach,"

His gaze appears to narrow.

"Never pegged you for a simple girl myself, Counselor,"

She chuckles now, ready to give into the charm too.

"That's only because you've met my mother!"

Deanna then exclaims, and Picard scoffs, stepping away from her side to move over to the end of the bed, examining the stack of furniture pieces there. He nods along with Geordi's laughter too, and smiles as he turns to Data still in the doorway.

"So,"

He starts, shifting gears.

"Any idea what this is supposed to be, Mr Data?"

The android then sidles along to Picard, gesturing out with a hand at what they discuss, as Geordi moves to join them too.

"Yes, I believe these are the components to a 'baby changing table',"

Data states matter-of-factly, his intonation fluctuating over the name, and the Captain blinks sidelong at it.

"And you can put it together?"

"I can, while you and Geordi assemble the-"

Picard claps Data on the shoulder to stop him from saying anything else.

"Yes,"

He hisses out through his teeth, and Geordi emerges at his other side.

"While assemble that other thing,"

The engineer says in kind, and the two of them are only moments from stepping on Data's foot and clamping a hand over his mouth to shut him up, before a faux realisation makes itself of his expression.

"Indeed,"

Data responds simply, nodding once up and down, then watching as they walk away from him in sneaking silence, out into the living area where they are difficult to follow the movements of.

"Boys?"

Deanna calls after them playfully, laying her hands on the arms of the chair to push her body up a little and squint forward past Data's body, but she can no longer see them at all.

"Back soon Counselor!"

She hears Geordi's voice call back through the space, and then the doors open and shut in a second, and she sinks back down into the seat, turning to face Data.

The android just shrugs his shoulders innocently at her, and she can feel the reverberation of falsehood in all his circuitry, as if she's a machine too, and she knows he will not betray what he has been told.

"There is room enough for this in your closet?"

He asks sweetly, and she has returned to her rocking, a skidding burn along the left swell of her stomach where a flying elbow has flipped along with the child's body; a hiss goes tightly from her teeth.

"Yes,"

She breathes out.

"Yes there should be,"

Data nods, then his expression falls completely neutral as he gathers together the wooden pieces, becoming a means of assembly more than a man. She follows his movements as he assesses so quickly, selects certain panels and fixings then lays them out on the floor how they will go together; she has never even seen a baby changing table before.

Some cynical part of her imagination sees herself putting one child down atop it, then exchanging it for another, perhaps one bred of love and not -

"Counselor?"

Data is kneeling on the floor in the middle of the room, looking up to her with concern anew in his expression.

"I'm sorry Data, what were you saying?"

She asks, blinking to clear the sight from her eyes.

"I asked if you would feel better lying down?"

Data tips his head up, and his eyes scan up and down her body, narrowing around her centre and measuring god knows what.

"No, thank you Data, I'm fine here,"

She tells him, and he simply hums a response, another nod of his head before he returns to fixing these wooden sides together.

Very soon, he is facing a hollow frame, peering through the centre to see her continue the same rhythmic rocking motion, both hands now one on either side of her stomach pushing in, as if she tries to contain it.

There is a drawer to his side that he grapples with the runners of, having already fixed them on with such precision that this new display of his is somewhat farcical. Deanna watches in quiet amusement as he tries several times to slide the runners alongside one another, at the top third of the frame where the drawer is supposed to sit.

A firm slam as it gives into his force, and she jumps the sudden shock; the child kicks it's protest.

"My apologies Counselor, perhaps I applied too much force,"

Data apologises, unphased and looking now above the table to scrutinise her expression.

She lets a deep breath slowly out.

"Hm, perhaps,"

Offering him a weak smile, she breathes against the sensation one more time, until her ribs won't open up any further, no space left for more oxygen to live in her.

Data has gone back to fixing on the back panel, a much thinner piece of flexible board which he sticks in pace with precision and a small tube of glue. At least, she thinks it's glue, but more likely it is some kind of composite metal adherent, designed to hold thousands of pounds of force, yet able to be removed with the correctly charged negative solution - that's what he will tell her if she asks.

It is odourless, thank god, now that she is out of breath and rocking, whipping all kinds of air into motion that she's sure anything too strong will set her nostrils on fire. It seems she never really leaves that same sensitivity behind.

There is a clatter as Data spreads out the thin slats that begin to make up a kind of backing to the upper surface, like the headboard of a bed, surrounding every side but the one he faces, and swelling upwards like a bell curve, gentle and intricate. There's probably some reason for its necessity, but she doesn't know enough about the intimate details of caring for a baby to really understand.

She will probably never get a chance to find out, when this kills her.

A shiver runs up her spine at the thought; she draws the blankets tighter over her shoulders and into her stomach, shifting her legs in the seat to move upwards, and fold them crossed in front of her so her belly rests in between. It makes her feel like a child, or as though she is about to pray for something unfathomable, to somebody who doesn't even exist, completely intangible.

"Ahh!"

The cry escapes her before she can really stop it, a pain so sudden and unexpected that she has to let the sound go, lest it tear her up inside.

"Counselor?"

A hand moves shakily over to where a focused jab has hit right where she is bruised and bandaged over, where the needle had threatened to split her in two.

"Uh,"

She struggles to say anything coherent in response at all.

Data is by her side in less than a second.

"It's okay Data, I'm okay,"

It is clear he doesn't believe her.

"Really,"

Deanna tries to affirm, but her hand is still shaking, and the knuckles have gone white holding over the spot.

"It was just the baby,"

She tells him, meeting his eyes now with poorly masked terror, reeling over how powerful it had been, how painful.

Golden irises stare back, but he dare not touch her, and he doesn't want to fight, so he thinks on these other questions he has kept stored up in his mind, that he might perhaps distract her for the moment.

"You were kicked?"

Data asks innocently, and she nods with an expanding chest, taking in another inadequate breath.

"And that is painful?"

He presses, and she exhales, showing all her teeth in a grimace of a smile.

"It can be,"

The hand moves away from that same sore spot.

"It was then,"

She blows out to recover herself from the feeling, and she blinks tightly a few times.

While she cannot see, Data comes an inch or so closer.

"I believe, when I first asked, you deemed the phenomenon to be simply uncomfortable, has something changed, Counselor?"

He asks her quite sincerely, trying to trace the patterns so that he can map them out inside his mind, have everything filled away where it ought be, trying not to allow himself to become misinformed.

Deanna smiles, because while she knows that he's simply trying to straighten out his facts, she could easily be fooled into thinking the sheen of lubricant over his eyes is a gleam of anticipation, and that the rhythmic intonations of his voice are the concerns he tries to conceal from her, like any man does.

"I suppose,"

She finds herself starting, glancing around the room for some inspiration on what to tell him that will not further confuse him.

"Well, it can be painful because there is less room now than when you first asked, and the baby is becoming much stronger."

A brief, flashing image of the 500 kilo Banto Wrestlers of Drailor Xi thumping violently on their furred chests, powder mingling with sweat-steam in the air, screams through her mind.

She has to swallow down the notion.

Her whole stomach jumps.

"Counselor?"

Data readies to stand, but she puts her hand on his solid forearm and pulls him back down to crouch again.

"It's just hiccups Data,"

She tells him, and again he tries to stand.

"I should get you a glass of water then,"

"No,"

Deanna pulls him firmly back down again, and the chair rocks a little unevenly on its legs, a sudden strange calmness about her in teaching him new things.

"The baby has them, not me,"

She goes on, a chuckle in her voice.

Her stomach jumps again.

"Do you want to listen?"

She then offers, shocking even herself with the ease of the turnaround, and Data's eyes widen artifice, humanity.

"It is audible?"

He is frowning at the bump, and she opens her arms to beckon him kneel in front of her, at the base of the chair.

"Here, here,"

Deanna takes his large head between the palms of her smaller hands, and brings it down gently to push his right ear up to the surface of her stomach, where the blanket has slipped away.

The feeling inside makes her uncomfortable, but somehow, showing Data, helping him to learn and grow and become his humanity, makes something oddly serene of her, in the wake of something painful.

Mindlessly, she runs the pad of her thumb over his cheek, smooth and cool, means to soothe herself, and her stomach jumps a third time.

Data's mouth opens in a puckered 'o', shining lips held in suspension of the things he doesn't want to vocalise, for fear of missing anymore of this new wonder he has found.

The baby's hiccups become more frequent, and she finds herself counting them just for the sake of counting, calling it the baby, rather than simply it, slowly coming around to the idea that she has a second life alongside her own, whether she likes it or not.

Something that might resemble fondness gleams for a brief moment inside her, but shrinks back in fear at the second she considers what that means, that maybe she is weakening in her resolve simply because that is easier.

Data's ear twitches against her, adjusting his audio input eagerly; she smiles.

Easier than what - than holding onto the loss of Will, and youth, and innocence, all as if it was the mark of who she was before; easier than letting herself become jaded, and standing in her own way?

A swell of oxygen floods her lungs eagerly, and maybe she just doesn't care enough to think on it anymore. Without realising, her fingers have landed in Data's crisp hair, holding on as if this is another thing that is made easier, just for the prescence of him.

"This is most fascinating, Counselor,"

The man whispers, awed, if such a sentiment is possible of machines, holding himself in suspension for the next jump. And just as it occurs out of time, catching them both off guard, there is a sound out in her living area, of opening doors and hushed, hurried whispers that graze along with scuffing shoes, and the fresh smell of sandalwood.

Deanna swallows around the lump of a memory in her throat, that the smell is too earrie and familiar to be just a coincidence.

A grinning face appears in the doorway, smiling over something she hadn't heard, humming with anticipation that falls away sourly at the sight of Data pressed so closely to her body.

"Counselor! Is something wrong?"

Geordi gushes hurriedly, a head-spinning turn from where his mind had been seconds before.

Data stands quickly from in front of her her, jarring his head away from her lazy grip and swinging it around to regard his friend, ready with an explanation in his circuits.

"Nothing is wrong, I'm fine,"

Deanna manages to say first, her voice deep and tired and soothing, husky almost, and she meets the engineers gaze directly to impress her sincerity upon him. For the first time tonight, she truly does mean it when she says fine.

"He was listening to the baby's hiccups,"

She explains softly, and Geordi's right eyebrow soars up, straining against lines of taut skin and the knowledge that Picard waits for him still in the living area.

"Hiccups?"

He repeats with as little horror as he can manage, and Deanna is laughing with that same softness, not quite happy, but enamoured of his childish emotions.

Damp curls spring about her head as she nods in response.

"Well that's -"

Geordi tries to express what he feels to this, ignoring his gut response of more than just horror, and swallowing down diplomatically.

"- weird."

"Yes,"

Deanna responds in a chime, her smile audible.

"It feels that way."

From behind Geordi, a struggling figure emerges.

"Mr Laforge,"

It begins, strained.

"This is -"

There is a bang, and a low curse, before Picard comes fully into view.

"- heavy."

Another thud and he has dropped whatever he carried to the floor, moving fast to rub at his left elbow where he had hit it on the doorway.

"I was coming back, Captain,"

Geordi tells him with mirth, forgetting whatever had him held up anyway, and he moves his body hastily to turn his back on Deanna, and shift in the way of her line of sight, so that the object now askew on the floor is obscured from her view.

"Well, it's in here now, shall we unveil?"

The Captain asks lowly, conspiratorial again, and at her side Data jogs almost excitedly on the balls of his feet, straining too to see over Geordi's head, even knowing what is there.

"Dum da-da dum!"

The engineer sing-songs, sliding out of the way with arms outstretched in front of him, holding them in a frame to this new surprise.

Picard stands now proudly in front of a tiny marvel: a cradle on two rocking legs, carved of a dark mahogany in twisted knots around its edges, with a solid hood rounded over it's head, and a tiny Enterprise shaped hole at the raised foot.

The two men take a hold of it after a few seconds, each on one end, and they bring it much closer to her to place it down at the foot of the bed, smiling proudly at the open mouthed smile she regards it with.

"Did you -"

Deanna begins to ask, but Picard's smiling, shaking head cuts her off.

"No, not us, Ensign Kravitch,"

He states, and her mind flashes, for a split second, back to the memory of a woman sobbing over the loss of her child, her husband sobbing over not being able to stop it, and the two of them unable to fathom how they would ever come through.

"He came to me a few days ago,"

Geordi takes over, stepping a little closer to her, leaning his hand on top of the changing table that is left forgotten.

"Said you deserved better."

She is forced to reanimate her fingers, bring them up in closed fists to rub the tears away from her eyes, no idea when she lost the control she has over her emotions, or when she became this emotional.

Maybe hormones is not such a bad explanation after all.