Pain.

At first it was all encompassing. Slowly it coalesced to be contained within the confines of a skull. Thick bone restraining the throbbing, pulsing waves which seemed to bounce against the captivity only to ricochet and magnify.

Gradually other senses intruded. Each seemed to bring another wave of agony. The smell of burnt flesh and fabric, of dust, hung in the air. Nausea swam up.

She was hot and cold simultaneously. Burning seemed to encompass her head and chest and her right side. Her left side was cold. A drop of cold sweat dripped down her spine.

She felt, rather than heard, a voice. Then heard another responding. Terse words, but she could not yet make out what they were saying. The voice she felt came from under her right cheek. Familiar fabric scratched at her face, which was hot and hypersensitive.

She felt herself floating in a gentle rhythm which seemed to soothe the demons inside her head. Then the rumble beneath her again, and she realized she was rising and falling with breath underneath her.

She fought to rise to the surface. It was like fighting through thick, viscous gel. She could not get enough air, could not connect thoughts to actions. She could not remember...

Her eyes refused to obey her command to open. When she tried to order her thoughts, an overwhelming sense of panic climbed from her stomach, following the nausea up her throat.

She did not even know why, she just knew she had to move, to do something. She had to do something NOW...

With a jerk, she fought to return fully to consciousness. She tried to speak, a warning... her own voice echoed in her ears, the pain in her head closing her eyes and blocking sound from reaching her for a moment.

"Shh... shh, shh..." She felt herself being shifted. "It's ok."

Relief flooded her at his voice.

"Jea... " she mumbled.

"Shh... shh... " He gently hissed soft, short, soothing sounds. "Relax, don't fight it."

"What... wha... " She broke off into a moan. She had made the mistake of trying to open her eyes to see him. A sense of darkness and stone, a glimpse of his uniform stabbed into her brain before she brought her lids back together to block the light-induced pain.

She felt a large hand sweep across her brow. Another wave of inexplicable relief washed through her.

"You've caught the worst of a disruptor blast set on maximum stun." This time the words rumbling beneath her cheek were interpreted by her tortured mind. "Just try to relax. It's worse if you fight it."

At the moment she could not even argue with him. She knew that somewhere in the chaos inside her skull she held the knowledge to explain what had happened to her, and her physical response... but it was as far out of her reach as the recent past. All she knew was they were not in sickbay, and there was no help here in the form of a hypospray.

She tried to focus beyond the pain in her head. She only managed to ascertain that the rest of her ached almost as much. Muscles felt like she had run a marathon. Breathing was an effort.

She stopped fighting the pain and let it float around her. Imagined herself being carried along by it, rather than pushing against it. It lessened somewhat.

More conversation that she could not discern. She was able to identify the other voice as Will Riker. A spark of tension had the pain spiking-Deanna had been with them... She tried to raise her arm to the chest she leaned against.

"Deanna..." it came out just a whisper.

"She's fine. Just relax. Try to sleep a bit. It helps"

She could identify the smell of him now, above the acrid odors of burnt things and dust. Starch and soap and Jean-Luc. She let the pain wash over her again, and through it felt his warmth under the uniform against her cheek. The throbbing in her own head subsided enough to hear his heartbeat. Again, she had the impression she was floating, rising and falling on the waves of his breathing...

Unsure how long she had been out, she awoke a second time. Pain still wanted to push its way through the thick plates protecting her grey matter. But the chaos had settled somewhat.

Cautiously she opened her eyes a slit. It was dark. She had a sense of a different darkness beyond. She was cradled against him still. One arm held her to him. The other was also wrapped around her, but she felt his hand stroking her hair.

"Welcome back." His voice was soft. She thought she heard the hint of a smile. She began to shift so she could see his face, but the first attempt at movement had her breath escaping in a gasp.

"Easy." His voice was calm. Calmer than it should be, given their circumstances.

Circumstances which she was not entirely sure of, but she knew she would be in sickbay if she could be. It felt, and smelt, like they were on the ground. Jean-Luc rested against a wall of sorts. She had the impression they were in a cave.

Slowly, so as not to anger her brain, she closed her eyes again to let her thoughts drift to what she could remember. Orellian 3. That was the planet. They were there... Hurt drifted to the forefront of her consciousness, blocking her efforts to remember.

She must have frowned, she felt his hand move from her hair. It brushed against her forehead, his thumb soothing the furrows on her brow. It continued down, to cup her cheek.

She risked opening her eyes again. He had brought his face down, nearer to hers. He seemed to be trying to assess her. She could not see his eyes, but she could recognize concern in his features.

Since trying to remember seemed to hurt, she let herself float in the present. She was cradled against Jean-Luc. He was sitting on the floor, propped against the side of the cave. She was draped across his lap, her upper body supported by his arms, held against his chest. One strong hand still caressed her cheek.

One thing in all of this felt good. Beyond good. The way it was supposed to be.

The urgency that she had awakened with began to prod at her spongy awareness. Orellian 3... the away team... there had been a terrorist attack against the government officials hosting them... That was as far as she got.

Knowing better now than to move, she tried her voice again. "Where?"

His hand resumed stroking her hair. She barely restrained the urge to push into his hand and purr like a kitten. His touch did seem to help to lessen the ache just a bit...

"We're in a cave just outside of the settlement. We have to wait for the next transporter window." He gently shifted her, checking the chrono on his wrist. "Another five hours yet." She heard frustration in his voice.

"Who else is here?" Her voice was a little stronger. The agonizing pressure in her head was distracting, but her perplexity with their circumstances was more distracting. "Will and Deanna have gone out scouting." Forestalling her next question he quickly went on, "They're both fine. You're the only casualty."

She finally shifted, biting down on a groan. "What happened?"

"You my dear Doctor, decided to play human shield." His voice lowered to a raspy almost-whisper. She felt his arms around her tense.

"I don't... remember... I don't understand..." In the dim light, she could see anguish on his face.

"You took a disruptor blast meant for me." The words were practically torn from him.

She did not remember, precisely. What she did remember, with overwhelming clarity, was the sheer terror of thinking he was going to die. The penny dropped, and as if watching a holo-movie, she saw the terrorists pull out disruptors and before anyone could react, vaporize the Ambassador and Governor. The Captain had instinctively moved to act, and one of the terrorists had turned his weapon. Beverly could not remember what she did, but did recall the breathless grief that welled up in her...

This could not happen. Not with things between them so... unfinished... unfulfilled. And it was all her fault. He had told her how he felt, and she had walked away from him. "Maybe we should be afraid..." How foolish, selfish, ridiculous...

Startling Jean-Luc, she shifted in his arms to draw herself up, her lips finding his jaw, then resting her head in the crook of his neck. She could not stop the tears welling over.

"Shh, shh..." again, the gentle, soft sounds. She felt his lips on her forehead, brushing her temple. His thumb wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry..." Her voice broke. "I don't know why..." Her crying overcame her.

He continued to speak low, soothing words, "It's all right. We're all right." One hand held the back of her head, keeping her tucked above his shoulder; the other stroked her hair, her back.

The storm passed. She raised a hand, embarrassed, to wipe her nose. "I'm sorry." She said, without moving out of his arms. "I just remembered, the Ambassador... the Governor... and they were going to shoot you..." A shudder wracked down her spine.

His grip tightened reassuringly. His hand stopped it's movement, resting at the small of her back. "You took years off my life, Beverly." There was a hint of censure in his voice, but more tenderness.

"I couldn't let them... " her words trailed off. Her head hurt, her body ached, but none of it mattered when she compared it to what might have been.

His stillness broke through her distraction. She felt the tension thrumming through him. "What aren't you telling me?" She pushed back, away from him slightly, her muscles and head screaming in protest.

In the darkness, she felt his gaze probing her features. His hand coaxed her head back against him. "Nothing... nothing."

The darkness and their apparent escape from death gave her courage. "Don't lie to me," she whispered. "You've never lied to me."

She felt him hold his breath, then take a mouthful of air before he spoke.

She was right, he had not lied to her. He had always trusted her with the truth. All the truth except the one... "Do you really think I could have lived with it? Do you think I could have stood your giving your life to save mine?" His normally smooth baritone was rough.

Her reply was enough to startle him out of his fugue. "Welcome to my life, Jean-Luc."

It took her a moment to be able to continue. Her voice was soft, wistful, the tears pressing in. "Now you know what I meant."

For a moment he was confused. "What you meant?"

"That we should be afraid."

Silence wrapped around them. Her neck hurt now. The ache in her head was no longer throbbing, but had dispersed into a menacing sort of pressure from within, pushing its way out. The soreness in her muscles settled like the flu. She was tired now. She wanted to rest, in his arms, but she was afraid she had ruined everything all over again.

She closed her eyes.

It had taken them so long to find their way back to the deep, abiding friendship they had known before KesPrytt. She was never satisfied with it, never truly happy with it. If her stomach fluttered when she caught him looking at her... if she went weak in the knees when he escorted her with a hand on her back... she was just a hopeless old widow. She wasn't ready to risk her heart.

She felt like he had invaded her thoughts when he spoke, "You risked your life, but you won't risk your heart?" A long silence, then, "if you already hadn't given me your heart, you wouldn't have been willing to give your life."

The words were soft, so soft. There was no brashness, not even certainty. He was working it out for himself as he spoke it.

The reality of them crashed in on her. She did not remember her actions, only had his words that she had put herself in the line of fire for him... but she remembered the terror, the grief, the desperation... The agony of seeing his impending death, and the simplicity of a decision to act that was no decision at all...

Tears fell again, but this was not grief she felt now. She could not find words for her turbulent thoughts and emotions. She turned her face again, her lips finding his jaw, her hand lifted to turn his face toward her.

They found each other, there in the darkness, finally.

His first kiss was tentative, careful... Then the image of her throwing herself onto him, pushing him out of the way of the beam, taking the shot herself... The feel of her lifeless body in his arms before he ascertained she was just stunned... those moments crashed through him, shattering the control he prided himself on.

Beverly was lost in him. The pain was pushed back, unable to withstand the emotions and senses he enticed. The transition from gentle wonder to ownership was seamless. There was no awkwardness, no clumsy fumbling; just his mouth, on hers, his hands in her hair, on her back...

A small whimper escaped her when the need to breathe overcame the passion. He pulled away from her lips, but only to let his lips trace her cheekbone, then dip to find That Place behind her ear.

Her hands held onto him for dear life. Her fingers brushed the short hairs at the back of his head, grasped the back of his neck, as if to keep him from leaving her.

He slowed his movements, hands soothing now rather than inciting. It took him two tries to find his voice. "As much as I would like to further explore... these possibilities... " she could hear the smile in his voice, "This is not the place, nor the time, and you are not in any condition..." Concern filled him again. He knew her pain had to be almost overwhelming.

She tried to slow her breathing. He was right, of course, and she hated it. She hurt. And they were in a cave, in the dark. "We WILL finish this, Captain..." She meant her voice to be commanding, instead it was breathy, needy...

"Count on it, Doctor." She felt the slightest rumble of a chuckle in his chest. God, how she loved him. Enough to die for him, to be sure, so why not enough to lovehim...

"Deanna and Will should be back soon. We'll rotate watch shifts until the transporter window opens again..." She heard his words through the gauzy film of fatigue.

Abruptly she tightened her hold on him, fighting the pain, fighting sleep, "Don't let go of me..."

"I've no intention of it Beverly." And while his arms encircled her, she slept.