Saying goodbye to Will and Deanna is bittersweet, and Jean-Luc finds himself looking back at Deep Space 9 as if that will let him get another glimpse at his former first officer and counselor. The Enterprise is still undergoing a refit on Deep Space 9, something that gave Beverly and himself just enough time to assemble their families and have a simple wedding.

Will and Deanna bid them goodbye right before they left the station. Will's been offered Voyager and Deanna wants to be with him. Jean-Luc understands that choice, more than he could have just half a year ago. His new first officer, Kathryn Janeway, has arrived and life is continuing. The Enterprise just won't be the same without them.

His wife (he can't stop thinking of Beverly that way) is even more effected than he is. Her tears are still rolling slowly down her face but she smiles when she looks at him. This is their time, he reminds himself. A honeymoon, even just a few stolen days, is an indulgence he wants to take full advantage of.

Kissing her cheeks tastes like salt, and Jean-Luc adopts a grimace to earn a laugh. Beverly's fingers dig tightly into his arm as he sets the autopilot and turns in his chair to face her. Her knees are up and one arm is wrapped around them; even five months pregnant, she looks so small.

"I'll miss them too," he assures her, watching her in profile.

Jean-Luc spins her chair to get a better view of her face and kisses her chin. He follows her tears up and passes them to her forehead. "It'll take two hours to reach Bajor," he promises, lifting her hand from his arm and holding it. Touching her wedding ring, he smiles at her over the simple latinum band. "Not tired?"

Beverly moves her feet, shifting so they are beneath her. She kisses him on the lips, nearly entering his mouth before she pulls away. "No," she promises, and her smile becomes suggestive with a curl of her lips.

"Come here," he says, guiding her into his lap. One of the perks of the captain's yacht is the most comfortable chairs in Starfleet. Beverly straddles his lap and he runs his hands over her stomach before settling them on her hips. They haven't changed much, even as their child grows within her; her hips feel firm and muscular.

Kissing him again, she holds the back of his head as she kisses him deeply. Beverly's tongue conquers his mouth as much as she's already overtaken his soul. His hands leave her hips and run up her back. Beverly sighs into his touch, rolling her head back as she shifts in his lap.

"I've wanted you since you picked me up at my quarters," she groans and grinds her hips across his. When she tilts her head back, she's biting her lip. Her fingers dig into his arms and he slips one hand between them and caresses her enough to make her whimper.

"All that kissing…" She shakes her head and he remembers the spoons banging against glasses that insisted they kiss all through the reception.

Jean-Luc touches her lips with his thumb. "I can never get enough of kissing you," he murmurs, then runs his hand down her chest. He reaches for the catch of her uniform jacket and starts pulling it free. The little zipper inside begins to loosen and he slips his hands into the soft lining of her uniform. He cups one breast with his hand, squeezing it against her chest.

"Is that why you married me?" she teases, sighing into his neck. "To kiss me?"

"I got that before we were married," he retorts playfully, letting her strip off his uniform jacket. She kneads her fingers into his arm and rocks her hips back and forth again. The pressure of her makes him start to harden, and the heat of her makes him keenly aware of his need. Removing her jacket, he kisses her collarbone, then the base of her neck.

Beverly groans and reaches for his trousers. "I don't have the patience," she complains, kissing him hard and desperately. "I want you."

He drags her tank top up off her shoulders, exposing the soft skin beneath. Everything is bare and pale except for her bra. Jean-Luc runs his fingers down her side and stops, surprised by the roughness of her skin.

"Beverly?" he asks, lifting her from the line of kisses she is leaving on his neck. "Computer, lights to full intensity," he requests, holding her shoulder.

"Did you see this?" he asks, rubbing his fingers along the edge of a patch of skin. A thin, faintly greenish rash covers her skin in long trails, as if someone had painted it on with their fingertips from her shoulder to her waist.

"No," she looks at her skin in surprise. Beverly touches it then slips off his lap with a long sigh. "Doesn't look life threatening," she promises him with a quirked eyebrow. Stepping out of her trousers, she turns around and asks him, "Anything on my legs?"

Jean-Luc caresses the back of her knee, then runs his hands up the naked skin of her inner thigh. The strange rash, whatever it is, feels rough beneath his fingers. He parts her legs a little more, and follows the fingertip pattern on her skin. "You didn't feel anything?"

"No," Beverly shrugs, opening up a medkit. Running a tricorder over her body, she frowns. "It's an allergic reaction," she says, puzzled. "Must be those Cardassian sheets."

Jean-Luc leaves his chair, feeling the tightness of his trousers start to fade as his concern wins out. "I didn't know you were allergic to anything," he says, slipping his hands around her belly.

"I'm not," Beverly turns around and nuzzles him. "Looks like it's the baby," she explains, showing him the tricorder. "See?" She indicates a chart on the bottom. "Her histamine count is a little high. She's experiencing some kind of reaction to anaphasic energy. She's fine," she promises him, kissing his cheek to reassure him. "Don't know when I got exposed to anaphasic energy. That usually needs an organic host. Could be some kind of parasitic infection but if I had it, my reaction would be much more severe." She stares off towards the front of the yacht for a moment, trying to piece it together in her head.

"Anaphasic energy is rare," he says, taking the tricorder from her hands to peer at the baby. Watching his daughter move in the tiny blue image calms him and he relaxes against her. "As long as she's all right," he decides, the idea of making love slipping from his mind.

"Don't give up," she orders him, turning and undoing the button on the top of his trousers. "This will just take a minute. You can even help me with the dermal regenerator." Beverly presses it into his hands and lifts up one bare leg to balance it against one of the consoles. As he heals the imperfections marring her skin, she works with the medkit and then shoots herself twice with a hypospray.

"Explains the nausea from this morning," she says, checking herself with the tricorder again before she put it away. "I knew I was done with morning sickness."

"Oh?" he wonders aloud, finishing one leg and moving to the other. Running his hand over her smooth skin after the dermal regenerator, he cups her hip and moves on to her stomach. "You're sure it's not morning sickness?" Reaching for the clasp of her bra, Jean-Luc releases her breasts. Dropping the garment to the floor, he sees how far the rash has spread and frowns.

"No," Beverly sighs and turns to him, arms on his shoulders. "It's basic biology, if the baby's immune system gets upset, my stomach gets upset. If she reacts to anaphasic energy, I feel like my head's going to explode."

"So we're blaming her?" he teases, running the dermal regenerator up over her breast. It looks as if the rash had been left by someone touching it and for a moment, however insanely, the thought brings a pang of jealousy.

"Might as well," she answers, taking the dermal regenerator from his hands and setting it aside. "She's caused plenty of trouble for us so far and she's not even born yet. Wait until she's walking, or reading-"

"Or dating boys-" he adds with a shake of his head.

"Or girls-" Beverly corrects with a wicked smile.

Jean-Luc pauses on that thought a moment, and sighs. "I hadn't--" he lets the thought go and wonders how many other things he'll have never thought of. "Either way, she'll be a menace, considering how beautiful her mother is."

Smiling sweetly at the compliment, Beverly purses her lips then reaches for his trousers. "Where were we?" she asks him thoughtfully. "One of us is overdressed."

"So it would appear." He raises an eyebrow and lets her strip his clothing. Dragging her back to his chair, he eases her out of her panties. Beverly's hands made quick work of his shorts and she climbs naked onto his lap.

"This is better," she murmurs, nuzzling her way down his neck. Her hand touches his penis, caressing the shaft. Jean-Luc kisses her breast, taking a moment to suck her nipple before he reaches down across her stomach.

Beverly rocks over his thigh, rubbing herself against him. His fingers touch her clitoris, making her sigh before he moves his hand back up to her stomach. His hand needs to arc outward to follow the rounding of her belly. With the rash gone, her skin is again perfect and running his hands over it is a singular pleasure. Everything, from the tiny hairs along her arms to the curves of her hips, feels incredible beneath his palms.

She hurries, slipping her hand up and down the shaft of his penis until it is hard and full. Beverly shifts her hips, moving the alignment of their bodies that much closer. She takes hold of him again, and slowly guides him in. Watching her eyes shift when he enters her, Jean-Luc realizes how precious this moment is. It is something only he sees, something unique.

As she rises a little, she changes the angle and then rocks to pull him deeper. The heat of her around him and the way her legs move over his is intoxicating. It is rare that he gets to relinquish control and she loves taking it from him. Knowing her complaints about the weight and tenderness of her breasts, he is careful to keep them against his chest. When she leans back, he follows her breasts with his left hand, still wanting to touch them.

Beverly moves him in and out, urging him to thrust up when she needs him. Keeping pace with her, he brings her back, crushing her to his chest. Feeling his skin against hers, he lets go and lets her choose the speed. She rides him up and down; he cheats, bringing his hips up to meet her. Slipping his hand down her belly, he slips his fingers in place to rub against her clitoris.

The rhythm of her motion becomes chaotic, even desperate, and he's holding his hand steady against her lower back. Her head rolls back and then forward to rest on his shoulder. Her breath hisses raggedly, then she gasps and shivers from her orgasm. The shaking of her body against his and the knowledge of how vulnerable they are together runs through him with his own release.

Slumped against him, Beverly sighs and kisses his neck. He chases the sweat on her back with his fingers and holds her when she tries to leave his lap.

"You want to try the bed?" she whispers across his ear.

"Are you still going to be on top?" he jokes, letting her up and then standing to hug her close.

Beverly looks down at her belly then back at him thoughtfully. "I think you have a few weeks where you can still be on top," she says, kissing his cheek and heading towards the rear of the cabin. A towel hits him playfully in the face as he follows, staring at her legs.

He has known this was coming. It is an inevitable problem of his state of being that his vessels, no matter how he loves them and wills them to join him in immortality, are mortal. When Felisa's breath falters and stills he retreats to the candle. He doesn't have much time. The candle is confining, a poor shell compared to a woman.

He slips out when he has the strength. Felisa's body is still and cooling. Her white hair is soft against the pillow, her eyes open but lifeless; her heart, which had beat so long for both of them, is still. He can no longer use her body to support himself and he shivers from the cold. He will miss her; she has been a good host and he loved her.

His love never keeps them alive and he regrets that. It would be so much easier if one of them were fully compatible and they could merge completely. Felisa was close. He had such hopes for her. She lived much longer than he expected once he found the weakness in her brain. He was unable to fix it. It was tragic, of course, but unavoidable. They might not have been able to heal the weak blood vessel anyway if he had made her aware of it. Human bodies are so imperfect, so fragile; it is a shame they are so useful as hosts to him.

Now he needs another. Ronin expected to be on Caldos when Felisa died. The humans there were few, and he would have been careful to cultivate a new host. He expected her, the granddaughter, to come and be his host. Though she is here on this station, there is a complication growing within her. He has never taken a host while pregnant, and it appears it is not possible.

The child is incompatible; her nausea and the rash his touch left on her skin proved that. Barring removing the child as a complication, something messy and more dangerous to the potential host than he likes, the granddaughter is unacceptable.

That leaves him looking for a new host on the great metal circle. There are many minds here, many potential bodies. He much prefers a body. Being with someone is better, more mobile than technology, and he likes love. Love is pleasant. He can make them happy and they want him. If he is gentle, they want him more.

Someone will love him. There is a body out there that will be compatible with him and he will leave the cold, boring conduits behind. Slipping out into the dark, he approaches the bed and her sleeping form. His potential host is asleep and dreaming. Her dreams are quiet, even peaceful, and it will be easy to shift them towards something more interesting.

She tugs on her uniform collar - maybe a piece of hair has fallen down her back. Nerys bites her lip and tries to sit up straight. Fidgeting during a staff meeting is hardly becoming of the first officer. She just can't help it.

The slight itching that crept up on her ever since she'd gotten out of the sonic shower has moved from nagging to consuming. It is like fire beetles have gotten into her uniform. When she tugs on her sleeve, Sisko starts watching her. When she nearly jumps out of her chair, she has everyone's attention.

"You all right, Major?" O'Brien asks, clinging to his coffee cup as if she might knock it over.

"I'm sorry," she stammers, meeting the eyes of her colleagues in quick succession. "I itch."

"Itch?" Bashir repeats, leaving his chair and circling the table to pull back her sleeve. A host of bright red welts runs up her arm as far as he could push her sleeve. "Just your arm?" he asks before he looks down her collar. "Let's get you to the infirmary. It looks like some kind of extreme allergic reaction."

"You upset someone in the laundry, Major?" Sisko teases sympathetically.

"I don't know." Nerys shakes her head and tries not to scratch at her arms. Digging in her nails until she bleeds might not help the problem but it is becoming hard to restrain herself.

In the lift, Bashir takes hold of her wrists. "You'll just make it worse."

"I know," she sighs, biting her lip as she balls her hands into fists. "It just itches."

"Do you have any allergies?" he asks, trying to distract her. "Insects, chemical compounds, perfume, dyes--"

"No," she shakes her head sharply. "No, I spent years crawling around Bajor, I've had fleas and nothing happened to me."

Bashir smirks and Nerys wonders if hitting him would make her feel better.

"They didn't itch this badly," she explains to him.

"It just started?" he asks, following her briskly towards the infirmary. "In the conference room?"

"No," she stops walking, folding her arms as tightly as she can across her chest and bouncing up and down to distract herself from the fire burning across her skin. "It itched a little in the shower--"

"What?" he wonders when she stops. "Anything could be important. Acute allergic reactions are rarely this severe."

Suddenly embarrassed by the recounting, Nerys stares down before she can look back at him. "I had a dream."

He presses a cold hypo to her neck and she shivers as the fire starts to fade from her skin. Bashir brings her to one of the back rooms and starts stripping off her jacket. He orders a full blood panel from the nurse before he starts to pry.

"A dream?" he asks, gently peeling her jacket from her bright red skin. The welts have grown to the point where they merge. All the skin along both arms, down her chest, and she assumes her back as well, is red and livid.

"It was strange," she tries to call it back up. "Someone was touching me."

"Touching you?"

"Everywhere, my arms, my chest," she shakes her head, smiling foolishly at him. "I guess it sounds crazy, but he knew exactly how to touch me."

"He?" Julian wonders. "That would be the first time anyone's ever been allergic to a dream."

"Is that what it is?" Nerys asks, trying not to look at her arms. "An allergic reaction?"

"One of the worst I've seen," Julian says darkly, then he smiles. "Not to worry, a round of antihistamines and I'll have you back to your normal self."

They couldn't be further from the Enterprise. A handwritten note in halting Standard welcomes them and explains that their meals will be brought up from the main house. If they have requests or wish to cook for themselves they need only ask.

"And the blessings of the Prophets upon you both," Beverly finishes reading. "I like it here already," she decides, dragging her feet out of her boots and leaving them unceremoniously by the door.

Jean-Luc moves her boots to place them neatly next to his own.

She starts to laugh, rubbing his shoulder. "It's all right to have a little clutter," Beverly teases. "It's vacation." Slowly stripping off her sweater, she leaves it in a heap on the chair and continues to laugh as he rolls his eyes.

Both of them changed before landing and the silky tank top she wears underneath her sweater reveals her pale shoulders and arms. Jean-Luc's smile softens as he takes her into his arms. She understands the gentleness in his eyes once his attention drops down to her belly.

"When can we start talking to her?" he asks, surprising her with his innocence and neatly changing the subject from the tidiness of the room.

Kissing his forehead, she moves one of his hands from her upper arm down to just above her navel. The baby is high in her womb and has been all day. Beverly rests her head against his, letting him press lightly against her belly until he finds one of the appendages their daughter insists on lashing out with indiscriminately.

"Whenever you want," she answers, grateful that she can share this with him. "Her hearing is starting to develop and she'll know your voice soon. Just remember that mommy can hear you too. No plotting until she's out on her own."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he answers, deadpan. Jean-Luc's eyes are wide and calm and she likes seeing this rare side of him.

Beverly shakes her head as she kisses his cheek. "Good," she says, easing up her tank top so his hand rests against her bare skin. "Whatever should we do before dinner?" she asks playfully.

His chuckle and appraising glance around the living room suggest she has yet to tire him out. Beverly is glad, even grateful for his stamina. The second trimester makes her easy to arouse, and living with Jean-Luc is a nearly constant set of triggers. His arms, his voice, occasionally even the way he looks at her makes her want him.

Kissing her, Jean-Luc draws her slowly back towards the bedroom. The wooden door opens with a creak as he leans against it and Beverly remembers the sounds of Nana's little house on Caldos. It was good to see her. She doesn't see her grandmother enough and adding to her family has reminded her how small and precious hers is.

He breaks the kiss, sitting down on the bed and studying her.

Beverly once thought she was good at hiding her emotions. Perhaps she still is, just not from him. Even while kissing, he feels her shift in mood.

"I'm glad Nana and Wes made it," she explains, holding both of his hands tightly. Jean-Luc's eyes are on her belly and that makes her smile. "You mean the universe to me," she murmurs, rubbing the back of his head. She loves running her fingertips through the short hair on the back of his head. "So does Wesley and the baby. It was just so wonderful to have everyone in one place."

His patient smile warms her and reminds her why they are in the bedroom. "I'm glad you got to see them both. Wesley just keeps getting more like-"

"-Jack," she finishes the thought with a sigh, taking a deep breath and bending down to kiss him. The warmth of his lips brings her out of the past. "Were you surprised Robert came?"

"Surprise is an understatement," he says, tracing the left side of her belly until his hand lands on her hip. "We've always been at odds," Jean-Luc mused, speaking to the baby instead of her. "Your uncle Robert is a stubborn man, much like your grandfather-"

"And your father," Beverly interrupts, mocking seriousness as she addresses her womb.

"Mother too," he adds, glancing up and smiling at her. He holds her hips in both of his hands, keeping her close. Watching him talk to the baby melts her heart and she teases him to keep the tears out of her eyes.

"Could he have scowled more?" she taunts, sitting down on the bed next to him and lying back. Jean-Luc follows her, lying on his side so he can trace lazy patterns on the skin of her belly. The combination of the external motion and the internal flutterings of the baby is a strange way to be tickled, but she loves it.

"Scowling means he's happy," he insists, slowly pulling up her tank top up further so it's only on her breasts. "I didn't understand it at first, but I believe it's simply his way of expressing himself. A different scowl for each emotion."

Trailing her fingers across his bald head, Beverly sighs peacefully when he kisses the skin of her belly. His lips are warm and gentle. She enjoys thinking the flurry of motion that followed from the baby was a response, no matter how unlikely that is. Beverly likes knowing they were connected. It's important that Jean-Luc be nearly as close to the baby as she is. Having them both gives her a sense of completion she'd only briefly felt before.

This time is different. Softer, slower, and somehow more poignant then the last time she'd been pregnant. She needs him in a way she'd never let herself need Jack. Being pregnant when she was young and barely sure of her life was a different experience. When she was alone then she talked to Wesley more about cellular biology and the frontiers of microsurgery than his family. Wesley had very little family. With both of his parents orphaned at a young age, Nana, Jean-Luc and Walker were all they had to offer Wesley.

The corners of her eyes are damp, when Jean-Luc finishes kissing his way up to her cheek. He runs a finger along her cheek, then kisses her softly. He won't ask, though he'll have his suspicions until she tells him.

Beverly catches his face in her hand. "I was thinking about Wesley."

"He seems well," Jean-Luc assures her, smiling that reassuring smile he saves for her most disconcerted moments. She'll never admit how much she depends on that smile.

"He does," she reminds herself, taking the moment to kiss him. The kiss deepens and Wesley begins to slip from her mind. He is safe. He is becoming an adult so quickly that she wonders if he is aging faster whenever she is away from him.

"I'm glad you have family," Beverly says, shivering in anticipation when he strokes her inner thigh.

"I hope you will consider them yours," he says. The sincerity Jean-Luc puts into that wish eases her heart. "I didn't tell you how honored I am you chose to take my name."

Beverly grins wryly up at him. "I'll always be Beverly Howard, and I was Crusher for a long time. It'll be interesting to see how I like Picard."

"You're not interested in making me try on Howard?" he wonders, slipping a hand beneath the waistband of her trousers.

Easing his shirt free of his trousers, she shakes her head. "Sounds odd with Jean-Luc."

Relief dances through his eyes and his smile deepens. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"Such a gentleman," she murmurs, nuzzling his neck.

"Maman knew the kind of sons she wished to raise," he offers. The mother's-little-boy side of her new husband is one of his most endearing. He slides her trousers off and Beverly lifts her hips to ease his task. They've already made love twice that day, but she loves that neither of them are interested in taking a break. It is Jean-Luc's first honeymoon and she wants him to enjoy every moment of it. The fact that her enjoyment falls hand in hand with his just makes it better.

Slow fingers ran over her panties, threatening to remove them before he wanders up to her bra. Finally tugging the tank top over her head, he starts focusing on her breasts.

"Shouldn't even have bothered to get dressed," she sighs, wriggling her shoulders free of the straps. Removing her bra, he trails his fingers over the lower curve of her breast.

"That would take away some of the adventure." He kisses her breast, avoiding the nipple and wandering towards her collarbone. Distracting him from his journey, she assists him out of his shirt. Rolling him back, she runs her hands up his chest. Feeling the traces of stubble on his neck as she kisses him, she shifts to his lips.

He squeezes her breast when she kisses him deeply. She gasps with the touch. Her breasts seem to get only more sensitive as her pregnancy continues. The flat warmth of his palm, moving in a slow circle, teases that nipple erect. It is a slow business, more shifting skin than impatient gasps. He toys with her hair, lovingly brushing it aside to kiss her forehead.

"Wouldn't want this to get boring," Beverly teases him, raising her knee against his side.

Laughing, he pulls himself over her, and bends back her leg. The warm weight of him on her stomach is gentler than it was a few weeks ago. He is already careful to avoid the roundness of her belly. She hopes she won't have to remind him that it is still her, and not something he need treat like a precious artifact. He kisses her cheekbone, follows her jawline and then pays his attention to her clavicle. Jean-Luc's fingers dance along it, feeling out an invisible etching only he knows.

"Empires will collapse and stars will go out before this," he pauses, dropping to her breast and sucking it until she gasps, "you, ever become boring." The wet heat of his mouth leaves a cool spot on her breast that sends the nipple into a sharper point.

"Even if you have to share?" she asks, guiding her other breast towards his mouth as she digs her hands into the back of her neck. His mouth on her skin sends little shocks down her stomach that settle between her legs. Tilting her pelvis up towards him, Beverly moans when she finds his hip. His solid flesh gives her something to push against.

Sending her hands down his spine, she slides one around his hips and tugs his shorts down. With his help, they come all the way off. With him finally naked, her hand grasps his penis. Grabbing the base of the shaft, she surrounds it with her fingers. Running her thumb over the head, Beverly squeezes, then releases him. Stealing her own wetness, she returns to him with slick fingers. She sighs greedily when Jean-Luc rubs her clitoris. After a few quick circles of his fingertip, he moves his hand lower and slips his fingers into her vagina.

They aren't enough to ease the ache, but they are hard and insistent; in just the right spot. Rubbing her body against him, she slides her hips down until they are directly beneath his penis. Jean-Luc's erection is hard and hot against her thigh. He moves his hand, returning to her clitoris while she guides him in. At first he is gentle, pausing halfway in. Then, deepening the angle of his hips, he fills her. Long, slow thrusts are unhurried and flame the heat in her belly.

Her body starts to tingle, beginning in her hips and building upwards towards her stomach. Grinding against him, she aches when he pulls out and moans when he returns. The short, clipped sound of his breath means he is with her. Pushing deeper and moving into her, he lies above her. His chest brushes against her, crushing her breasts. He catches her hand, pressing it into the bed. Jean-Luc's body stiffens, almost as if he's caught in time. He kisses her, distracting himself from the impending climax.

Beverly sighs into it, gasping when he starts thrusting again, harder. Her head pulses, warm, then hot with orgasm. Holding his hand and his shoulder, she waits for him. The little, rippling aftershocks settle into her stomach, slowing after he orgasms.

He rolls off, resting his head on her chest and his hand on her stomach. "I can learn to share," he whispers gruffly, still catching his breath. It takes her a moment to remember the conversation about their family and another moment to have enough breath to reply.

"Might change how often we can do this," she warns him, reaching to retake his hand.

"Babysitting," Jean-Luc decides, squeezing her fingers in response. "Worf, Geordi, Wesley… lots of babysitting."

She laughs, bouncing his head on her chest. He lifts it, skin still pink from exertion. He holds her cheek, kissing her slowly before he resettles around her to hold her. They lie there, wrapped around each other until Beverly decides it's time for dinner.

Pinching the bridge of her nose isn't helping, tea hasn't worked and all the mental disciplines she can employ aren't shutting it out. Lwaxana loathes her headache, as if she can drive it away by sheer force of will.

She taps the door control for the third time, hears the chime ring through the doors to Felisa's quarters and snaps irritably at the computer. "Computer, she's not answering. Location of Felisa Howard, because it's definitely not her quarters."

"Felisa Howard is in her quarters." The computer responds, as it has three times before in the voice that is, she has suspected ever since she'd met that darling little computer programmer, hers. It does make it easier to accept the computer as being right, even when it is wrong. Which, it has to be now because she can't sense anyone on the other side of the door.

She needs Odo. The computer is wrong. Damn things can't be trusted anyway. Looking up at the door, she puts her hands on her hips. "Computer, bring me Constable Odo."

"Do you wish to speak to him?" The computer voice offers.

"No," Lwaxana blows air angrily out of her mouth. "I need him here, bring him here now." The computer chirps but doesn't respond. Finally, out of desperation she says, "Please." Deanna is always trying to get her to be more polite. Maybe that's what the computer wants, though it should practice politeness itself before trying to instill it in her.

She paces irritably, scanning the station for Felisa's mind. There are many voices, but she can sift through them. She is a daughter of the Fifth House, after all. Felisa isn't here. Every instinct in her mind, every part of her senses insists that Felisa is not on board the station. Has she been kidnapped? Taken somewhere?

"Ambassador?" Odo's dry voice finally appears behind her. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Odo," she sighs in relief. "Just who I needed. Felisa's in here. At least, the computer thinks so but she's not there." She pauses, running her fingers across her forehead. "She's not there. I can't sense her. She can't possibly be there."

"And the computer insists she is?" Odo asks, patient and accommodating as always.

"It does," Lwaxana responds, pointing up at the ceiling in disgust. "It's wrong."

Odo nods once and then speaks to the door. "Computer, override the door, authorization Odo, chief of security, Episilon-Two-Three-Lambda."

The door slides open obediently, as if it has been waiting for Odo all this time.

Lwaxana starts to rush in, but Odo stops her. "Please," he says gently. "Allow me." Thinking how gentlemanly he is, Lwaxana follows him in, a step behind. The living area is neat and there is no sign of a struggle; no signs of life, either. Lwaxana's stomach starts to twist. Something's wrong. It is nearly supper time and a cold cup of tea sits in the replicator. Someone had forgotten to recycle it away.

Odo takes a step into the bedroom and stops. Lwaxana doesn't need to be able to read his mind to see the sudden stiffening of his posture. He can be so humanoid at times she almost forgets what he is.

Lwaxana looks at him sadly, her eyes starting to sting as she moves towards the bed. There is no need to hurry. The small, white haired body lying under the blankets, face turned to the side, is definitely dead. All that had been poor Beverly's grandmother is already gone.

"Looks like she went peacefully," Odo says, shifting on his feet when she wraps her hands around his arm for comfort. "No signs of a struggle or foul play." He taps his communicator. "Odo to sickbay. I need a medical team in guest quarters, level twenty-three. No need to hurry, this is a request for the morgue."

"Acknowledged," comes the polite voice of that cute young doctor. "May I ask who it is?" She can't remember his name. He's tall, human, with dark eyes and a gentle smile but she can't quite put her finger on his name. If it were anyone but Odo, she could pull it out of his mind.

"Doctor Picard's grandmother," Odo clarifies for Bashir, Lwaxana finally remembers his name. "I will speak with Commander Sisko and Commander Janeway and see how they wish to approach the situation."

"A team will be down in a few minutes," Bashir says, and Lwaxana can sense the sorrow in his tone. "Seems unfair to pull them back from their honeymoon for a funeral."

"Thank you, Doctor," Odo finishes, rolling his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, Odo out." He closes the channel.

Lwaxana takes a few steps towards the body and slowly closes Felisa's eyes. The chill of her flesh against Lwaxana's palm makes her shudder sadly. "On Betazed, it was the custom to put the bodies of our dead back into the ground so that they could again be new life. Now we cremate the bodies. Of course, on Betazed we know instantly when someone has died, because we're all connected. Families gather, summoning each other, and they burn the bodies."

She stands, staring down at the quiet form of the woman she had quickly become so fond of and feels Odo pat her shoulder. Surprised and touched by the gesture, she covers his hand with hers and waits for the medical team.

Jean-Luc is the one who notices the chirp of his communicator from the bedside table. Shifting in bed wakes Beverly and he immediately wishes he'd never heard sound.

Beverly groans, knocking her shirt off the foot of the bed with her movement. "Don't answer it," she whispers, rubbing a hand along his arm. "We're on vacation."

He pats her hand, agreeing with the sentiment. Something feels amiss. The Enterprise would never contact them unless it is something important. It is possible it is just Janeway locking herself out of the command codes, as Jean-Luc did as a lieutenant commander. His captain had only been in the baths on Trill, not on his honeymoon, but the embarrassment still stings a little. Moving Beverly's hand off his arm, he reaches for the communicator and activates it.

"Picard here."

"Captain Picard," Beverly murmurs, sleepily wrapping an arm around his chest. "You have to use your rank or they'll get confused."

He smirks down at her. "Surely they can tell by the timbre?"

Beverly yawns and lifts her head a little. "You can never be too careful."

The voice on the commbadge, Commander Janeway, responds. "Captain, my sincere apologies for bothering you, I know it must be some ungodly hour on that side of the planet."

"It's all right, Commander," he replies, still smiling as Beverly shakes her head that it is not. "What can I do for you?"

"Unfortunately," Janeway pauses and Beverly sits up, suddenly wide awake.

"I don't believe it," Beverly sighs, exasperated. She drops her chin to his shoulder and glares at the communicator. "We're being recalled. On our honeymoon," she whispers halfheartedly. He realises that she doesn't care if Janeway hears her displeasure.

If Janeway has heard, she keeps her reaction out of her voice. "Deep Space 9 needs both of you to return. The Enterprise is still undergoing her retrofit and the runabout Mekong has been sent to retrieve you."

Beverly's eyes are wide as he reaches for one of the flashlights they'd brought in from the captain's yacht. "We need an escort?" she murmurs, still incredulous.

"Are you going to elaborate, Commander?" Jean-Luc asks, trying to calm Beverly with a hand on her arm.

"Captain," Janeway's tone fades and he feels his heart drop in his chest. "I regret to inform you that Felisa Howard was found dead in her quarters. She died peacefully in her sleep. Doctor Bashir reports that she felt nothing and went quietly. I thought you should be informed immediately. My heart goes out to you both, Captain."

Beverly is already out of bed before he ends the conversation with his new first officer. In the weak light of the flashlight, she's pulling on her clothes. Jean-Luc fumbles for the lighter and then gets the old gas lantern going in the ceiling.

"Beverly," he begins, wishing he could take away the pain he sees in her shoulders. She pulls on her sweater over her camisole and looks up at him with tears in her eyes. He hurries to her side. He expected much more of a pause before her tears. She usually fights so hard not to cry.

"She made it to our wedding," Beverly remarks, both hands resting on her belly protectively. "She got to feel the baby kick. She was so happy." She shakes her head slowly and then reaches for him. The hug is tight and he can feel her heart beating quickly through their embrace. "She was over one hundred years old," Beverly mutters into his shoulder. Her fingers flutter and then settle on his back. "She led a good life."

"We should all be so lucky," he agrees, keeping his hold on her. A year ago Beverly might have told him she was upset, but he probably wouldn't have seen her cry. Now, that vulnerability doesn't seem to bother her at all.

She releases him reluctantly and one hand stays on his back. "I need to find my pants," she says, smiling through slow tears. "Can't be half-naked when the runabout gets here."

It was thoughtful of Janeway to send the runabout. He could have flown them back but he'd rather not be the pilot tonight. He wants to be sitting next to her. That's where he belongs. He kisses her cheek, holding the moment and wishing he could take the pain from her heart.

"Love you," Beverly whispers before she slips away, pulling on her trousers before collecting her things. He dresses quickly and because his belongings are less scattered than hers, he's still helping her with her socks when their commbadges alert them to the runabout's arrival.

Taking her hand, he waits for her to meet his eyes before he agrees to the transport. Beverly's done crying for the moment but the sorrow is still plain in her eyes. Felisa raised her, was like a mother to her. Jean-Luc keenly remembers the loss of his mother and father and realizes sadly that their child will have no grandparents. He barely knew his but he spoke to them. He knew their voices and the feel of their hands. His daughter won't have the luxury and he wonders how they can connect her to her past.

The transporter whisks them up and a polite junior officer nods to them. "Captain, Doctor. I'll have you back to the station in no time, sirs."

Beverly's hand finds his and stays there, cool and tightly wound into his fingers. She says little but his touch and his presence seem to comfort her. Jean-Luc's mind wanders through the deaths of his father - remarkably quiet, considering his life - and the death of his mother, more tragic when a virulent lung ailment moved faster than medicine could cure. He wasn't there for either of their deaths. He came home, when he could, but he has never been the one to prepare the body or worry what he is going to say in a eulogy. He's seen that responsibility fall all too heavily on Beverly before.

She puts her head on his shoulder, and he takes it as a cue to wrap his arm around her back.

"I'm tired," she says with a weak smile.

"It's oh-four-hundred," he answers. "You're allowed."

"Someone thinks it's morning," Beverly says, frowning down towards her belly. "She also likes to exercise in the morning."

His free hand runs over her belly, searching for the point that's frustrating her. She drags his hand over and the speed of the repetitive tapping surprises him. She laughs weakly and he wonders how far up his eyebrows went.

"Fast, isn't it?" she says, gripping his hand a little tighter. "Sometimes I wonder if she can tell I'm upset. If she's reacting to the tightening of my diaphragm or the way I can't sit still." They both look at her trembling hands and he rubs his thumb slowly over the seemingly anxious baby.

"Maybe she's happy," he suggests, trying to cheer her up. "Maybe she likes space flight, or she knows we're talking to each other and she's reacting to our voices. You said that could happen."

Beverly's smile is indulgent but he's warmed by it anyway. "She has to like space flight," she agrees. "It's going to be a big part of her life." Somehow that cheers them both and, talking in hypotheticals about things their daughter might one day experience, far too many for one lifetime, they pass the time until they dock.

As they disembark, Beverly puts her arm in his. The gesture makes him feel oddly protective, and reminds him that his responsibilities have changed. Now it's his privilege as well as his duty to protect and support her. They've only been married a few days and he's still awestruck by their partnership. He stares into infinity each day on the Enterprise but an infinity with her thrills and terrifies him.

Beverly kisses his cheek, smiling even though her eyes are sad. "I'm glad you're with me," she explains. She doesn't add if she means at this moment, or in the airlock, or if she's thinking of the rest of their lives as he is. Jean-Luc has to force his eyes forward because he can hear the huge red door spinning out of the way.

Wesley looks up at them from the bottom of the airlock ramp, his eyes going immediately to his mother. She lets go of his arm and goes to her son. Losing his great-grandmother took away the last of Wesley's family and Jean-Luc still doesn't know what position he should have in the young man's new one. Does Wesley need a father, a confidant, a role model? How can he be all of these things, or any of them when he's never even tried before?

"You'll figure it out," Lwaxana assures him in a gentle voice. He didn't immediately notice her, and that surprises him. Silence from her is rare but he's touched that she was here for Wesley. "Of course I would be," she chastises him for the thought. "Poor boy had enough on his mind without dealing with death alone." Wesley and Beverly walk ahead, and Lwaxana stays by his side as they head for the promenade and the lifts.

"Thank you," he responds sincerely. She can sense his gratitude, of course, but he feels better saying it aloud. "I appreciate knowing we have your support."

"Always," she promises, patting his shoulder. "Any assistance you need with marriage you just ask. Gods know I've been married enough times to have been in almost every situation." She chuckles a little. "You're off to a good start. There's a glow in her cheeks and even in grief, she's happy. I've always thought you'd make a wonderful husband. Beverly deserves to be happy and you, definitely make her happy."

"Jean-Luc?" Beverly summons his attention, and Lwaxana's hand rests on his shoulder as they speed up to meet her. "I need to go to the morgue."

"I'm coming with you," he offers immediately. Jean-Luc won't let her go down there alone and her tiny smile reminds him that she wants him there.

"I have to talk to the Academy and see if I can get an extension on my leave. Then I'm going back to bed," Wesley says with a yawn. "Sorry mom. I'll come see you guys for breakfast, okay?"

"I'd like that. Good night, sweetheart." Beverly hugs him again and Jean-Luc's glad Wesley is here. It was a gift to have him for the wedding, and having him here now is bittersweet. Felisa was Beverly's entire world growing up and he imagines it must feel like losing both parents in one blow. She's had so much grief in her life, and he deeply respects that she's dealt with it all so gracefully.

"Of course," Jean-Luc turns to Lwaxana. "You'd be welcome as well."

She pats his hand, and remarks, "Always the gentleman, aren't you?" She nods graciously and despite his trepidation, he'll be glad of her company if the conversation slows. "I'll see you in the morning then."

She pauses, looking past him to his wife. Taking Beverly's hands earnestly, she looks into her eyes. "The end of a good life is cause for celebration and joy for a journey well travelled. Joy doesn't have to mean the absence of sorrow. It's just that grief makes our joy that much brighter, and that much sweeter at the end of the day." Silk rustles as Lwaxana hugs Beverly tightly. Even in the middle of the night, she's spectacularly dressed.

Beverly blinks a few times, fighting tears she doesn't want to shed Lwaxana leaves them alone. She keeps her hands by her sides, too grieved to even fidget as she usually does. He lifts his hand towards the infirmary and places the other on her back. There isn't anything to say as they enter the quiet infirmary. The carpeted floor eats the sound of their feet and Jean-Luc's glad it's not metal. The silence seems more suited.

"Captain, Doctor, Doctor Bashir is sleeping and sends his regrets," the night doctor, a slim Bajoran woman, says as she welcomes them. "I can show you to the morgue, if you'll follow me please."

"Has an autopsy been performed?" Beverly asks, her voice cool and formal. Jean-Luc wants to wrap an arm around her shoulders and comfort her but he'll wait. For the moment, he will follow her until she needs him.

"It wasn't deemed necessary after the initial scan," the doctor says, opening the door into the morgue. She heads for the vacant desk and finds the report. She hands it to Beverly and heads for one of the drawers. "The cerebral aneurysm was clearly a natural cause of death."

The doctor waits by the drawer for Beverly to scroll through the report. She knows death certificates, and Jean-Luc can see enough of it to agree. He would have signed off on it, all is in order, but it's her grandmother and that must make none of it seem right. He brings his hand again to the small of her back, wanting her to know he's here.

"She didn't suffer." Beverly interprets the report, either for him or herself, Jean-Luc can't be sure. As much as he wants to hold her closer, he'll respect decorum until they're back in their quarters.

"Passing in one's sleep, with family nearby after a long life," his voice seems almost out of place, and he smiles. "It's a graceful end." Something he'd like to have, after a century of life.

Beverly turns her head to him, eyes bright as she blinks rapidly. Her hands fidget with the padd containing the death certificate, fingers running anxiously along the edges. What can he do except remind her life continues; that Beverly's life is a beautiful testament to her grandmother's will and loving heart? He loves her and he would do anything to ease this loss but he knows there's little for him to say.

Beverly hands the padd back to the night physician and nods for her to open the drawer. Her hand takes his on the way back to her side. She pulls his hand away from her back and holds it tight. Her fingers have grown cold between the runabout and the infirmary, and he wraps her hand in two of his. More interested in her than the corpse, Jean-Luc barely looks up from her hands to see the peaceful body of the woman who just attended their wedding. Still silent, Beverly reaches for her grandmother's shoulder and rests her hand there.

The night doctor makes eye contact with Jean-Luc when Beverly doesn't look up. "May the Prophets guide her home," she wishes in blessing before she leaves them alone.

Fixing a curl of her grandmother's hair, and a wrinkle in the sheet covering her, Beverly takes a slow breath and he can hear it catch in her throat. The second one is no better, and he releases her hand to embrace her shoulders. Suddenly she looks away from the body, burying her face in his neck. There's no mistaking the warmth of tears on his skin. He turns, putting his other arm on her shoulder, and she's in his arms. Her hands are tight against his back, holding him as if he too might vanish.

He's seen her upset. He's watched her through the darkest parts of her life, and yet, this is the first time he's truly been a part of her suffering. The moment extends, and Jean-Luc is reminded that they are a unit. He's said the words, thought about their marriage, and understood the theory but it's still new to him. This grief is theirs as much as it's hers. His nervousness and fear, that he wouldn't know what to say or do, melts away because holding her is exactly right.

The lights are still being replaced in the observation lounge, so the staff meeting is held on the bridge. Beverly rests her hands on her knees as she sits in the chair next to Jean-Luc's in the center. He's pacing, something that happens too readily when he doesn't have a table to confine him. She almost feels bad for Geordi and poor Commander Janeway, not because Jean-Luc is being impolite, but because it's not an easy thing to tell the captain he can't have his ship when he wants it.

"Full overhaul means full, Sir," Geordi reminds him, standing near the OPS console. "We still have open ODN lines on eight decks, and the Observation Lounge is one of a dozen other places still completely in the dark while we swap out lighting. We can ask for more crew from Deep Space 9, but we're already straining Chief O'Brien's duty rooster. Captain, you're going to have to remind Starfleet that they scheduled this overhaul out here because the Enterprise isn't just any starship. Everyone, including Chief O'Brien, understands that we're a working ship and this overhaul has to be done quickly--"

Jean-Luc raises a hand and gently ends Geordi's protests. "I will remind them of your reasons behind your timetable Mr. La Forge. Please, continue your work."

"Thank you, Sir" Geordi says as he relaxes, relief evident on his face.

This calm doesn't reach Janeway, who's still standing at attention near the chair on the left. Beverly wonders how severe Jean-Luc's reputation must be if he commands this much respect from a new first officer.

Janeway takes a moment, then begins her report. "Counselor ch'Sevran's transport vessel has been delayed at Deep Space Three, so he won't be joining us until after our mission along the Cardassian border."

"Will you be delaying the crew evaluations until he can join us, Number One?" Jean-Luc asks, and Beverly pays close attention. She's put Alyssa in for a well-earned promotion and she would rather it wasn't delayed.

"Commander Riker and Counselor Troi left detailed notes," Janeway begins, and her eyes drop to the deck. Her posture shifts and she's floundering a little. Beverly recognises it, as does Jean-Luc. It's not easy to do crew evaluations on a ship of the size of the Enterprise when one has walked on board less than a week ago.

"I can assist Commander Janeway," Beverly volunteers, drawing a politely surprised look from Jean-Luc.

"I am also willing to assist," Data adds from where he stands next to Geordi, "however, I believe Doctor Crusher's emotional insight would be of more value, considering her relationship with the crew and the fact that she would be replacing the insight of Counselor Troi."

"My duties are fairly minimal while we're docked," Beverly reminds Jean-Luc as she turns to look up at him. He seems amused by the idea and she can see his agreement in the set of his jaw. "I see every member of the crew, admittedly on a different basis than Deanna, but I at least can help Commander Janeway put a personality on her files."

"I'd appreciate that, Doctor," Janeway interjects, relief evident in her tone and the brightening of her eyes. "Thank you."

"Well," Jean-Luc agrees, letting some of his amusement warm his voice. Beverly wonders if it's to reassure Janeway or himself that it's a good idea. "It seems you'll be ably assisted, Number One. I will inform Starfleet to expect our crew evaluations on schedule and remind them that our engineers are not capable of time travel."

"Thank you, sir," Geordi says again, this time with a smile and the meeting breaks up. Worf, Data and Geordi return to work on the refit at the rear engineering console and they draw Jean-Luc's attention away from Beverly and Janeway.

Janeway sinks into the chair so recently vacated by Will Riker and shares a small smile. "Nice save, Doctor."

"Emergency situations are my speciality," Beverly promises. She shifts her weight in the chair to avoid the stiffness threatening her back and contemplates the other woman. Remembering how awkward she was the first time she met Will, Beverly studies her for a moment. He was so young then, so was she in a way, and those six years feel like a lifetime ago.

"I'll keep that in mind," Janeway says, her smile brightening even further. "Seems like I just did crew evaluations on the Billings."

"Shouldn't have given yourself that commendation," Beverly teases her, curious to see how she'll take it. "If you'd stayed there, someone else would be stuck doing these."

Janeway's lips quirk and Beverly starts to think she'll like this new first officer. Will's difficult to replace; he is like a brother after the six years they served together.

Janeway's beautiful, and more petite than she expected. Her auburn hair seems too constrained up in a bun, but Beverly knows the pressures on women in the command track. Her blue eyes are quick and lively but she has dark circles under them. It must be the strain of her new position. Beverly has a hard time sleeping on new ships; it's possible Janeway suffers from the same problem. She's glad she'll get a chance to get to know her.

"Don't know what I was thinking," Janeway retorts. "Next time I'll know better and give myself a nice mediocre review." Even though her words are cheerful, Janeway's attention seems elsewhere. They stare at each other for a moment, then Janeway's smile vanishes. "I'm sorry about your grandmother."

"Thank you," Beverly says politely. Not knowing what to say must explain Janeway's nervousness. "Jean-Luc," she corrects herself, "the captain and I collected her belongings this afternoon." That was a poignant, though strange experience. She thought her grandmother always travelled with the Howard candle and her journal. Perhaps Felisa had forgotten them on her way to the station? Beverly supposes she'll find out when she makes time to get there. She's never been good at that.

Janeway leans closer, letting the conversation become personal. "I heard she was from Caldos?"

"That's right," Beverly says, smiling as she remembers the beautiful planet. "She had no desire to live on Earth, much too civilised and soft for her taste, but Caldos both reminded her of her ancestors and gave her a place to feel needed. She had a pioneer's spirit and Caldos was just wild enough to be home."

Janeway nods her head but her hands are fidgeting with her sleeve. It's a gesture Beverly knows all too well but it seems out of place with the rest of Janeway's behaviour. "I have something I need to do," she says and Beverly's mind starts wondering about the secrecy. "Doctor Picard, I don't suppose I could meet you in Ten Forward, perhaps in an hour? The sooner we start these crew evaluations, the sooner we'll be free of them."

"I'll see you there," Beverly replies, watching Janeway get to her feet. "And please, Beverly is fine."

"Beverly," Janeway tries, and then smiles. The gesture creeps into her eyes and makes the exhaustion marring her face vanish. "Only if you call me Kathryn."