"Doctor Crusher? Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes. Very."

"Very… alright?"

It was at that moment Beverly realized she was daydreaming. Chief Medical Officer! Daydreaming! On the job! God, I must sound ridiculous. "Yes, Selar. I am very alright," the physician smiled at her coworker and stood up – too quickly – to attend to whatever it was that needed attending. She had failed to swivel her chair away from the desk in front of her and instead rammed her thighs straight into it, wincing at the sharp pain. Fortunately for her, Selar was among the most respectful of the Enterprise crew, as Vulcans of the Federation principally were, for it was painfully obvious that Beverly's head was in a different nebula.

"Please understand that I do not intend to question your authority, Doctor…"

"Go on," Beverly prompted, shoving her hands in her coat pockets. She moved closer to Selar, standing at attention beside the desk. It was imperative that she not lose any more credibility. She still had to redeem herself from the morning's escapades, which had almost certainly put her at risk of being reported to higher authority. Although in this case that authority was her friend, Jean-Luc, she had an impeccable track record to maintain. One slip and she could lose all the professional acclaim she had worked for years to establish.

"When you requested my assistance this morning, I arrived post-haste but there were no patients that required attention. I was just wondering if there was any issue with staffing. I apologize if I misinterpreted your earlier directions."

Of course, Selar was referring to Beverly's tendency to relieve some of her personnel on slow days. It went against regulation, yes, but it hadn't ever backfired. They were required to stay on deck twelve if they didn't want to wait around in sick bay, as long as she was always present. When she wasn't working, the place had to be fully staffed. Beverly considered treating her workforce to some time off to be one of the perks of her position as CMO. It was probably sick bay's best-kept secret. She shook her head, "Don't worry, Doctor, you didn't do anything wrong. Counselor Troi wasn't here?"

"No, it seems I just missed her. I did see her in the hall on my way down here. I didn't realize she was the… patient that required attention. I took the liberty of enlisting the other staff while you were gone."

"Good," Beverly rocked once on her balls of her feet to combat the vague nerves telling her that Selar suspected there was something amiss. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

"Yes. Nurse Ogawa would like to speak to you now," Selar paused, glancing in the general direction of Alyssa's station, "privately."

"Alright then, send her in."

A moment passed before a very chipper Alyssa entered the room with her hands folded behind her back. "Beverly," she began, "I'd like to speak to you as a friend."

"Go right ahead, Alyssa," Beverly nodded, masking her nerves this time with a sweet smile. She moved to sit on the corner of her desk. If anything, some relaxed body language might encourage her mind to follow suit.

"Well, I wanted to ask if you were alright-"

It seems everybody does, the ginger retorted, silently.

"-because as you probably know I was on-shift this morning and, well, the other staff and I were called back here rather… suddenly, and you were nowhere to be found, and just now Selar tells me that Counselor Troi was the emergency patient, but she saw her heading down the hall on her way here, and Beverly-"

"Yes?"

"Well, from my perspective – and I'm sure I speak for the rest of the sick bay staff as well – it all seems a little odd. Especially considering everything that's been going on between the two of you recently-"

"Sorry, what?" Beverly crossed her arms and raised a brow at her coworker, outwardly collected though she felt her stomach turn. How the hell does she know?

"Oh, Beverly… Surely you don't think it isn't obvious!" Alyssa put her hands on her hips, giving the doctor a knowing look. Beverly tensed up at the accusation, bracing herself for impact. Her friend, of course, immediately sensed the change and moved forward to rest a hand on her shoulder. The receiving party kept her arms crossed despite the comforting gesture. "Look, we all know that you and Counselor Troi haven't been on good terms for a while. None of us wanted to mention it because it all seemed a little… personal. Honestly, Beverly, you've killed so many hours working in the past few weeks that I'm worried you might burn out!"

The doctor hoped her coworker interpreted the sigh that escaped her as one of compliance rather than what it really was: relief. Truth be told, Beverly wasn't ready to reveal to Alyssa – and no doubt the entirety of sick bay in turn – that it wasn't just a simple disagreement. Deanna occupied a very different area of her mind as of fourteen days prior. Moreover, she only then realized just how much of the day – how much of the past two weeks – she had spent thinking of her empathic friend. Conscious avoidance is still obsession. On top of all that, nothing was set in stone. There was still a chance that their date (could she call it that? she certainly wanted to call it that) would somehow go wrong, and they'd end up back where they started: as friends.

"You're right, Alyssa. It was personal," Beverly paused to think for a moment before carrying on. Her words had to be chosen carefully, lest she reveal too much of her situation or worse; hurt a friend that she cared for deeply. She'd already done more of that than was ideal for one day. "Thank you for respecting my – our – boundaries. This morning Deanna came to me with an issue and I wasn't fit to handle the job. I excused myself and contacted Selar to deal with it, but Deanna must have recovered enough to return to work. Simple as that." Beverly smiled and placed a hand atop the one on her shoulder. A half-truth would have to suffice.

"You still haven't answered my original question," Alyssa flipped her hand to give Beverly's a friendly squeeze before dropping it. Taking a step back, she crossed her arms, looking concerned, "How are you feeling? You can tell me anything, Beverly. You've listened to more of my problems than I can count. It'd be nice to return the favor every once in a while."

"I'm feeling okay. Better than I've felt in two weeks, actually."

"What changed?"

"I was able to speak to Deanna after the incident down here. We're on good terms." For now. "In fact, we're spending some time together tonight, just to talk things over." A little extra information can't hurt, right?

"That's fantastic!" The nurse wrapped her friend in a tight hug. "I'm so happy for you both. And I'm glad you're finally feeling better. It's about time."

"Yeah, it is," Beverly couldn't help but blush. Was it really that obvious? "Thank you for checking in on me."

"No problem at all," Alyssa released Beverly and offered one last smile on her way out, "You know where to find me!"

Beverly spent the remainder of her shift excitedly counting down the minutes, but by eighteen hundred hours she was back in her quarters and at her wit's end. She must have changed outfits at least three times. She'd decided on a half-up-half-down hairstyle, and for the time being a beige blouse paired with olive-green pegged trousers. Questions upon questions battled for dominance as she stared at her reflection, blankly: What am I supposed to wear for this sort of thing? Am I allowed to call this a date? Will pants do the trick? What if Deanna shows up in uniform? What even is the point of meeting at the arboretum when we could just meet up at Ten Forward or one of our quarters? Beverly was all for innovation – as a medic she considered herself a patron of positive change – but the tug of convention clung to her still. Quarters symbolized comfort. Then again, thoughts of what might ensue in the privacy of their rooms prickled her mind and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and, suddenly, the memory of returning to her own quarters after their infamous dance hit her hard enough to yank her out of the rut she'd veered into.

To put it simply, she retired to a messy room that could wait until morning, slipped out of her dress and into a nightgown, wiped off her makeup, cleared her bed, and prepared to sleep as she would any other evening.

But to 'put it simply' would be as amoral as lying.

Following the masquerade, pictures of Deanna branded her memory – that velvet dress, clinging to soft curves; hair that could be compared to a dark waterfall; a delicate sheen of sweat gathered from dancing that highlighted her bosom with every breath. Feelings of Deanna were seared there, as well. That night marked the first time she had ever allowed herself to think of the counselor as anything other than a friend. Instinct soon took over, and her hands drifted downwards while images of blue velvet kept her company.

Beverly dismissed the memory in favor of maintaining her sanity. Pants will suffice.

When she arrived at the arboretum it was peaceful, as usual – the lights were set to replicate dusk on earthlike planets – though she was shocked to find it empty. No Deanna Troi in sight. Keiko O'Brien could usually be found conducting experiments on the growth cycles of new species, but she was nowhere to be seen, either. "Computer, what time is it?"

"It is nineteen hundred hours."

Beverly nodded, both in recognition of the automated response and the fact that she might have been stood up. Don't start – she's just late. Then her more sensible brain kicked in; No, you're early. Beverly knew she had a propensity for jumping to conclusions. It was a habit that aided her in the medical field, as preparation for anything – including the worst – saves lives, and conclusions can be built on solid fact. When that inner saboteur kicked in during moments of uncertainty in her personal life, however, it was oft not to her advantage.

"Sorry!" The sound of Deanna's apologetic lilt fractured Beverly's moping, and she turned around just in time to catch the shorter woman in a hug. Deanna was wearing what Beverly knew was one of her favorites – a purple halter dress with complimentary tights – and her hair was done in a loose braid of sorts. She carried a basket with her.

Beverly pulled away from the embrace – though it was tempting to hold on forever – and held up a bottle. "Look."

"What is that? Synthehol?"

"Nope," Beverly grinned, "A friend of ours offered me some Silmic wine a while ago-" she had no intention of telling Deanna that 'a while ago' was code for earlier that day- "and I was able to grab a bottle on the way here. And glasses."

"Guinan?"

"You got it."

"Sounds great. I should have known you'd be an amazing date," the younger woman teased, taking her friend by the hand and leading her to an area that overlooked the pond. Little did she know just how that word had terrorized Beverly throughout the day. Finally, the subject could be put to rest. A date it was. Deanna placed the basket on the nearby bench and pulled out a pink blanket, which the two of them spread together. "I brought sandwiches," Deanna started as the two of them sat down across from each other. She reached into the basket to pull them out, handing one to Beverly. "I just replicated your usual; I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," the ginger replied. Lighter food was a wise choice, anyway, as the butterflies in her stomach still fluttered about.

Alas, Beverly could not bring herself to begin eating as Deanna took her first few bites. The empath, astute as she was, noticed this and crawled to the other side of the blanket to sit next to Beverly. The two were oriented toward the pond. "You want to tell me why you're not eating?"

"Does this feel strange to you?" Beverly countered quickly, making eye contact with the woman beside her.

"No," Deanna cocked her head slightly, perplexed, "Why would it?"

"Well, it was only a few hours ago that I hurt you," Beverly's voice broke, "badly, and-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Deanna interjected, voice still smooth and reassuring, "Beverly, I'm fine. I won't say that what happened in sick bay was my fault, but what I will say is that there is no reason to blame yourself. From what I understand, you'd been suppressing some very intense, raw emotions for two weeks. I've done a lot of counseling during my time on this ship, and I don't know a single member of our crew who could go that long without exploding. Even the captain," she smiled, "Especially the captain. I'm surprised you made it as far as you did."

"But from a medical perspective you should be exhausted!" And from a rational perspective you shouldn't be talking to me.

"I am a little tired, but I was able to get some rest between my shift and coming here. Don't worry about me," Deanna smiled, but Beverly was obviously not convinced. Deanna paused for a moment, undoubtedly thinking up an explanation that would satisfy her friend. "Do you remember when I lost my empathic abilities?"

"Yes." Beverly remembered quite clearly, in fact.

"I know you do because I was terrible to you," Deanna looked down at her lap, and her voice softened a bit. "I had lost a part of myself and the only way I could think to get my frustration out was by hurting others, including my closest friends." She placed a hand on Beverly's knee, reestablishing eye contact, "And what did you do after I said those nasty things? You invited me to your office, and you forgave me. God, you were so clear-headed… and I was a mess. The only difference between the instances is that I lost the ability to tune into others' emotions; you lost the will to tune into your own. That doesn't make you evil, it makes you human. After today, consider us even. I forgive you, Beverly. You just need to forgive yourself."

Tears pricked at Beverly's eyes as she considered the information. It all made sense; to deny herself forgiveness would be foolish. Deanna was right – Guinan was right – but it was going to take time. "Okay," she patted the hand on her knee, "Thank you. Let's eat."

So, the two of them ate, and filled each other in on a fortnight of information. The conversation flowed so naturally, as if the past thirteen days were inconsequential. If anything, there was an even deeper understanding between them. They were still talking well after they finished their sandwiches, which were of course accompanied by Silmic wine and chocolate for dessert.

Eventually, there came a lull in the conversation. By that time, they were both laying down on their sides about a meter apart, mirroring each other with their heads propped up on their hands. Beverly took that time to examine the woman across from her, whose eyes had fallen shut, accompanied by a sleepy smile. Beverly's studies only certified this: She was infatuated. Deanna Troi wasn't like any of the men she had been with previously. Her marriage to Jack took a while to come to fruition, yes, but it had been perfect. He was caring, charming, respectful, and had a great sense of humor – but he was gone, and with raising their son on top of her busy schedule as a Starfleet medical officer the best she could hope for was an intense fling here or there. Living aboard the Enterprise didn't help her case, either. It was, in a word, tumultuous. Deanna, however, posed a new alternative. Not that Beverly hadn't ever thought of pursuing another officer; Jean-Luc was an option… sort of. Their relationship had always been complicated, though. Deanna was stable. And sensitive. And stunning.

"I can feel you looking at me." Deanna murmured, her eyes still closed.

"I know," Beverly smiled. "What else do you feel?"

"From you? Hmm," Deanna hummed. She rolled onto her back and let her hands rest on her chest. "Happiness. Contentment. Affection."

"Good," Beverly wiggled closer to the brunette. That's exactly what she wanted Deanna to feel around her, always. She wasn't sure if it was the wine, the setting, the woman, or all three, but she didn't feel as nervous as she had mere hours before. Therefore, it was easy for her to plant a simple kiss – soft, sweet, safe – to the very right of Deanna's lips, on the corner of her mouth.

The kiss seemed incentive enough to wake Deanna from her sleepy haze, however, and the instant Beverly rolled back into place the other woman was on top of her, straddling her hips. The new position startled Beverly and her breath hitched slightly, but it was not an unwanted change in the slightest. For a moment, the two were frozen in that spot, but there was no element of searching in their respective gazes as there had been before. Everything that had to be communicated, was without difficulty. Beverly basked in Deanna's light, appreciating the curly tendrils that loosely framed her face, dark eyes that held more emotion than she had ever seen before, pink lips that looked so inviting-

"You're beautiful. Really," Deanna took the words right out of Beverly's mouth.

Well, if you're going to tell her how you really feel… The ginger finally broke the tension that divided them, placing her hands on Deanna's cheeks and gently guiding her down for a kiss that was tender, warm, and intimate beyond words. When it came to an end, it left her breathless and wanting more; God, how she wanted more.

"Wow," was the only word Beverly's foggy brain could conjure up as the other woman beamed down at her. She wasn't sure if it was the expression or the circumstance that made Deanna giggle. Either way, she was grateful for the sound of it. If Beverly could have chosen to stay like that for the remainder of the night, she would have in a heartbeat. She felt Deanna shiver as she ran lazy hands up and down her torso, and for a moment she wondered if Deanna had ever fantasized in the same ways she did. The thought was tempting, intoxicating, and definitely requires further research… but not now: For Deanna's sake, and her own. "Computer, what time is it?"

"It is twenty-two hundred hours."

"My shift starts at o'five-hundred hours tomorrow morning," Deanna stated, matter-of-factly, but with an easy smile. It was obvious she was tired; her eyelids were halfway closed and her grasp on coherent speech was beginning to slip. The Silmic wine didn't help much, either, Beverly knew.

The pair of them silently (and a bit begrudgingly) packed their items and left the arboretum, hand-in-hand, only letting go at the sight of passersby. Beverly didn't know what their relationship was, but in the moment, she didn't need to. It was thrilling; it was different; and for the time being, it was wonderful – like a dream. Beverly walked Deanna to her quarters a deck below her own. They'd need to talk more when they were both awake enough to function. (Finally, a talk Beverly wasn't dreading.) That night, although separate, the two of them slept better than they had in thirteen days.