Codes: R/T

Summary: A very fanciful break from canon after the episode "conundrum", where the crew of the Enterprise loses their memory for a brief period and nearly destroys an inferior race...

"To Will. All my love, Deanna."
By: QDestinyy@aol.com

Riker's quarters were dark. That was to be expected, of course. When he called for lights up, he almost imagined Ro Laren was there: passionate and aggressive, reclining on the edge of his easy chair. She wasn't, of course.

He thought about the Lysian mission again. And again, it made him ill. To think of all those lives the Enterprise had very nearly taken. And perhaps it was that, or maybe it was the muddled state of his still-tender ego that kept him awake at night. For a fourth night in as many days. Then again, it might also have been the book.

'Selected Poetry of John Keats'. He'd kept it immaculate. A tribute on display next to several nameless statues and a reliquary from Delvinia Four (it came from a beautiful young woman, who likely should not have gifted him so rare an archaeological piece. He hadn't minded at the time). It was a trophy. They all were.

But John Keats, he hadn't read before. Though Deanna had gifted it to him more than twelve years ago, the elegant volume had always seemed less like entertainment, and more like something that would serve better sitting primly on a shelf. Where it could give the impression of auspicial significance. Where it could reflect. Especially while there were other, more 'distracting' things to do.

Like climbing a mountain, exploring a strange new world ...or warming another woman's bed. John Keats, after all, would still be there tomorrow...

Riker lifted the leather binding and examined the antique leaf. Page four-twenty-six -- he'd come to know by heart these past few days -- was marked: 'Ode To Psyche', and below were the words, 'To Will. All my love, Deanna.'

'Deanna,' his lips moved as he read the elegant script a second time.

Deanna had immaculate penmanship. Every word and every letter looked as carefully drawn as the next, and yet he knew she'd simply carved the phrase in a matter of moments. It must have taken her the better part of her childhood to perfect handwriting like that.

Poor, perfect, Deanna.

He understood now that she wasn't perfect. Nor had she ever been, except that he'd perceived her to be. He'd thought a lot of things back then; before he joined the crew of the Enterprise. Before the years he'd served as First Officer had moved and changed him; at least he'd thought they had... before he'd read page four-twenty six of the collected works of John Keats...

'I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly,
And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side...'

He and Deanna were so different; so disparate in philosophy and purpose. He was hardened, ambitious, the spirited son of an angry, ever-forceful father. Deanna was delicate, thoughtful and sensitive. The daughter of ... well, she was practically royalty. Even if she loathed the title. It seemed almost insane that they should find their way into a torrid, obsessive affair.

'In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof
Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
A brooklet, scarce espied:
'Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian
They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass;'

But many things were different then. Many things were flipped on their sides and turned on their ends so that neither he nor Deanna were entirely sane when they fell as one, together, in the burning, sultry bedding of the Betazed jungle. A lifetime ago...

'Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu,
As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber.
And ready still past kisses to outnumber
At tender eye-dawn of love:
The winged boy I knew.'

Riker shut the book. Its leather bound pages thumped quietly together while he studied the tome.

"The boy you knew," Riker quoted sardonically, "has been gone for a very long time."

It should have been clear to him why Deanna wasn't speaking. Or why Ensign Ro was far more outspoken than normal these past few days. He understood the reason why. He 'had it coming' in the proverbial sense. But he'd been thinking of more than the casual way he'd strung them both along while he was trying to figure out which one of them he was 'supposed' to be with (that's how he'd rationalized it, in any event).

Even with full cognizance of the way he'd felt when he had no idea who he was or where he'd been. When none of them did. Riker couldn't formulate a reason for the feelings that still haunted his restless off duty hours.

Things were back to normal now. They all knew who they were. Their lives were back on track and facing forward, but still it felt wrong. And all that he could rationalize was that 'something' had happened that night, when Deanna came to visit him in his quarters. Something he couldn't dismiss, though he'd given it every waking attempt.

When Ro Laren wrapped her sinuous body around him, he'd felt passionate; intrigued and very aroused. He'd taken her to bed without a single thought or care or reason, simply because ... because she was a beautiful woman and she shifted all his doubt into something he knew surely he -could- do. Something he could be. And have. His confidence returned. His memories be damned.

But Deanna. When she touched his face with her hand and lifted his hair with only the edge of her fingertip. She made him feel something far different. A dizzying, terrifying torrent of awareness that flooded his body as a cool flush of adrenaline coursed through his veins. It was as if she'd filled his mind with a whisper that tickled his skull. It wrapped itself in goose bumps from the back of his neck to the pulse of his runaway heartbeat.

The feeling was incomparable. It proclaimed nothing of primal lust ... but of addiction. A need so powerful he didn't only 'want' to kiss her, the way he'd 'wanted' to kiss Ro Laren. He -needed- her there. Right then. Beyond words and beyond reason. So that when the door chime suddenly rang, Riker could feel Deanna's heartbeat in his own chest as though it were a drum.

Her body froze in his arms and she fell backward as both of them turned. Nothing happened. Nothing yet. Though Riker found he was barely able to stand. His eyes were locked on Troi while she staggered from his quarters.

Ensign Ro stood aside. 'Am I ... interrupting something?' she'd asked them both. Astute, as ever.

'NO!' Deanna was the one who yelled.

Riker's body shook and his feelings were trapped in a raw and urgent chaos. He thought he said: 'I'll see you later, Counselor.' And she might have said the same to him. But she was gone in a matter of moments, and Ro Laren moved into his arms.
To the Ensign, Riker managed a confident smile: 'there was nothing ... to interrupt,' he'd said.

She kissed him after that. And he took her to his bed. Because he would have done anything to return to his senses. To quiet the rise of a near and painful urgency that clutched behind his heart.

-o-

"Counselor, your next appointment is here. He's waiting in chairs."

"Thank you, Sarah. I'm free, you can send him in if you'd like." Deanna glanced up from her desk and watched the other woman leave.

It seemed archaic in the twenty-fourth century to have an 'assistant' sit outside a doctor's doorway when a computer could do the job more than adequately. But in the delicate field of mental health, it had been proven that a patient quite frequently preferred a warm physical presence to a cold and computerized greeting. Deanna, after all, couldn't always stand smiling in her office entrance.

And smiling was what she had been doing. Until Will Riker walked through her doorway. The look on her face transformed from polite friendliness to surprise, and then suspicion within a matter of moments. Her eyes fell to her console -- and the schedule laid out before her. The appointment read: "Walk-In".

"Will," she cleared her throat softly. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I can see that," his bright blue eyes scanned her office decor as though he'd never seen it before. "But you told me to come by your office, if--"

"That was rhetorical, Will. You know that." Troi's dark eyes narrowed.

Spreading his hands in a gesture of quiescence, Riker nodded. "Deanna... I have to talk to someone..."

"Well, I'm sure that I can refer you to any one of a half-dozen other--" her gaze fell back on her console where she tapped a key.

"Damn it, Deanna, I'm not playing this game anymore! You know why I'm here!"

"Well, it's unfortunate that you feel you're stuck in some kind of sport, Commander, but I can assure you that I don't have the time to join you. Not for this, or for anything else you may have had in mind." Her hand fisted beneath her desk while she kept her eyes on his. Slowing her breathing, Deanna concentrated on quelling the rise of heated anger in her chest. She exhaled slowly instead.

"Deanna--" he began again.

"Get out, Will."

"Please, I just--"

"GET OUT!" her fury snapped. And though she loathed herself for the lapse in mental discipline, she didn't allow her gaze to waver. "Now," she whispered, watching him take a backward step in surprise.

His ego was bruised. And he was confused, but she sensed little of the reciprocatory anger she might have predicted when he turned his back on her.

Will Riker marched stoically from her office without another word. And when he was gone, Deanna sank back into her chair and stared blankly at the door.

-o-

The days passed like hours on board the Enterprise, and the drum of daily routine seemed to drown out everyone's recollection of the Lysian incident.

There were few consequences of the memory loss. But some of them were dear, and ironically for Counselor Troi, many of the 'repercussions' that crossed her office doorway were of the matrimonial sort. Husbands or wives whose 'unintentional' dalliances with others brought longer term ramifications; even though it was clear that no one had any way to be certain whose bed they were supposed to be sleeping in... at the time.

The problem for Deanna, was that while she counseled forgiveness and understanding under such extraordinary circumstances, she herself carried perhaps the heaviest weight of all.

And it wasn't that she felt that Will Riker had 'betrayed' her. For there was nothing to betray. No relationship or previous commitment they'd shared. In point of fact, he had no romantic ties to her at all before the incident occurred.

It wasn't that at all ... it was what he'd done in the midst of the incident itself that mattered to Deanna; that spoke an irrefutable and heartbreaking reminder about the character of the man she'd once fallen desperately in love with -- and whom she'd vowed she'd never love that way again.

Will Riker was a player, and all his universe a stage. Of course, she knew that. Had known it all along. It was one of a very long list of reasons she had never wished to pursue their previous romance while serving on board the Enterprise.

But time had passed since those early years on Betazed. Years had changed them both: or so she'd thought. Until recently, she'd even begun to imagine ... or maybe to hope ... for something she should have known far better than to wish for.

The man had not changed an instant. In all the years, in all the time they'd served together, regardless of appearances, William Riker was still and always would be "Will-the-Thrill". In and out of every woman's bed. Except hers. Because she had resolved that he would never be there again.

And there was no reason for her to be surprised at his behaviour. In fact, while she and Ensign Ro discussed it on the evening after they had all been 'cured' of their temporary amnesia, Deanna had found the entire situation wryly predictable.

That was, at least, until she actually saw Will Riker -- walking warily into ten-forward; heading for their table. She knew then, with a shadow of dark certainty, that she was less than resigned to the fact. That she felt angrier than she ever should have. And more hurt than she'd known was possible -- under the circumstances. All of which served to madden her further.

Why couldn't she just 'drop' the issue and move on? She hadn't seen him since she'd ordered him out of her office several days ago. Yet here she sat, alone in her quarters, brooding. Angry at herself for feeling angry at all, and desperately hurt.

When the door chime rang, Deanna frowned. "Who is it?" she asked, folding her hands while she pushed them against her knees to rise.

"Counselor--" a voice responded through the intercom, "It's Ensign Ro."

Deanna's eyebrow rose. "Come in," she watched her doorway as it slid aside and the other woman approached.

"I was hoping we could talk."

"Of course," Deanna smiled and indicated access to her quarters. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Thanks, I think I'll stand," Ro followed her inside. "It's been an interesting week, wouldn't you say?"

"All things being equal," Deanna half smiled, "I'd rather it were over and done with myself."

"Yeah," examining her wall, Ro brushed her hand over a velvet hanging. "Well, that's really why I'm here." She turned where she stood.

"Go on."

"Are you all right, Counselor?" Ro cocked her head and examined Troi's features, "you look a little ... careworn."

Deanna managed a wry smile. That was Ro Laren. Forever the paragon of forthrightness; a trait Deanna had always admired in her. Especially since Betazoid culture felt very similarly about such candor.

"I'm fine," Troi shrugged, "but you're right, I suppose I was feeling a little 'careworn'. It's a Counselor's right."

Ro smiled. Placing a hand on her hip, she nodded silently. "Considering my track record with Counselors in general," she smirked "can we make this an 'off the record' conversation?"

Sharing the Ensign's amusement, Deanna only shrugged. Taking a seat on the edge of her couch, she invited Ro to do the same.

"Off the record," said Troi, "we can talk about anything you'd like."

"Dangerous ground there, Counselor," Laren's eyebrow rose.

"I realize."

Ro took stock of Troi for a long moment before she finally exhaled. "Okay. Here it is then. I want to know what 'Imzadi' is."

"What?" Deanna nearly choked.

"Imzadi," Ensign Ro repeated, "what is it?"

"It's ... a Betazoid word."

"I figured that part out last night," Laren sat forward, "what I want to know is, what does it mean?"

Deanna stared at her hands while she considered for a moment. "It means 'beloved'," she looked up. "Or 'dear one'."

"I see."

Ro's eyes grew thoughtful, and Deanna realized that despite everything that had 'happened' between the Ensign and Commander Riker, she still felt a true sense of kinship with the other woman.

"It also has a deeper meaning," the quiet tone of Deanna's admission startled even her.

"Yeah," glancing up at the Counselor, Ensign Ro suddenly smiled. But it was an ironic smile; the kind that spoke of a truth which only she knew. "Now I think it makes sense," her head shook while she stood. "Thank you, Counselor."

"That's it?" asked Deanna, watching in confusion while the self-satisfied Ensign moved toward her doorway. Her emotions were of resolution, accompanied by a healthy dose of what Deanna might only have described as 'wry irony.'. "That's all you wanted to know?"

In the stopgap of Counselor Troi's quarters, Ro Laren paused. "That's it," she shrugged and stepped through the entrance. The door had only begun to close when she stopped it mid-way. "Oh, and Counselor?" her dark eyes met Deanna's.

"This probably doesn't mean anything, but you should know that while we were all experiencing that 'memory loss', the day I told you about after I came to the Commander's quarters and interrupted something between the two of you? We did sleep together." Ro shook her head and almost laughed as she let the door slide closed. "At the end of it all, he looked at me like he didn't have a clue who I was," she smirked as her hand slipped down the doorframe. "He called me 'Imzadi'."

Then she was gone. The doorway slid all the way shut, and Deanna stared after her in startled confusion.

-o-

Pacing the corridors of the Enterprise-D at oh-four-hundred wasn't common practice for Deanna Troi. In fact, she'd probably never done it before in her entire service. This night, however, she found herself unable to sleep. Unable to sit still.

Though it would have appeared to any passer-by that she was simply en-route to some nameless destination, Deanna had been through every hallway on decks eight and nine. Had the arboretum not already been closed, she would have been on her way there as well.

The trouble was, she'd stopped looking at scenery already. And while her feet moved her forward, her mind wandered back.

Rounding the next corner, the Counselor stopped before a closed doorway and regarded the blinking access panel.

"Computer," she began, "run program Troi-Alpha-two."

<Unable to comply,> came the dulcet reply, <Holodeck two is presently occupied.>

"Oh?" Deanna shook her head, "you mean there's someone else out here who isn't asleep?"

<Please restate request.>

"Nevermind, Computer, I wasn't talking to you." Smiling at her own folly, Troi turned from the door. She'd been about to walk away when she suddenly paused. "Computer, state the current occupant of Holodeck two."

<Commander Riker is presently in Holodeck two.>

"Really," Deanna nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose that now would be as good a time as any," she whispered. "Computer, display arch."

<You may enter when ready>

"Thank you." Her polite appreciation was lost on the technological entity.

-o-

There was nothing in the Holodeck. A fact which startled Deanna at first. Because there wasn't simply an empty room or the familiar black and yellow grid. There was 'nothing' at all; a deep and boundless blackness that seemed to devour each step she took into the dark. And there was no sign of Will Riker anywhere.

"Will?" she called out tentatively, uncertain whether she felt comfortable even being in this place. It was as pitch as space -- without the stars. And seemingly as vast.

Whether it was curiosity or simply dogged stubbornness, Deanna continued her slow descent within, and she noticed that though there seemed to be no floor -- as there was no ceiling, no walls and no other 'visual' enhancements of any kind -- she could see her own body.

Her hands and feet were visible. As though there was a light that shone just bright enough to illuminate the area she stepped. It was practical, but it was more than a little eerie.

"Will?" she tried again, "are you in here?" Of course, the question was rhetorical. Not only had the computer confirmed his presence, but she could sense him as well. He was here, and he was close. Though a part of her was tempted to call an end to the program and simply stand before him whether he wanted it or not. She sighed softly and kept her step.

It was only a moment longer before she found him. Standing like a statue in the proverbial 'middle of nowhere', Deanna slowed her pace and moved toward him wordlessly.

"Deanna?" his hands were clasped at his back, but he smiled slightly. "I think it goes without saying that ... I wasn't expecting you here."

Troi's brow furrowed, "Didn't you hear me calling?"

"No," Riker shrugged, turning in a slow circle. His look transformed into one that was almost chagrined. "What do you think of it? It's ... I feel a little like I'm inside my own head."

At this, Deanna smiled, glancing around her as though for the first time. She took in the fathomless blackness and she returned her gaze to Will's. "Well, if this is what it's like inside your head, then that would explain a great deal."

"Very funny." Riker smirked, "But I'm not the psychologist, remember. I can only guess at the space between my ears."

Deanna placed her arms akimbo on her hips. "Couldn't there at least be a couch? Or a chair of some kind?"

"Oh, well -- I never thought of that."

"So you were, what? Just standing here for hours, in the dark?"

"You think I need a decorator?" he pressed on, eyes appallingly sincere.

"Will--"

"Computer, one couch. Any style. Twenty-fourth century."

A shimmering light transformed into an item of furniture between their two bodies, and Riker dropped into it without ceremony.

"You know," he glanced up at her, "I think you're right."

Deanna didn't smile. "So," she began after a short time, "are you here to brood? Should I come back later, or can we talk?"

Riker looked away. "I thought you didn't want to talk."

"Don't be petulant, Will."

"Excuse me?" he sat up straight and shot her a look, "correct me if I'm wrong but no more than seventy-two hours ago, you ordered me out of your office and said you weren't interested in having any conversations with me at all. What's changed, Deanna? The planetary alignment? Or do we only speak when it suits your royal pleasure?"

"That isn't fair, Will..."

"I think it is."

Their eyes met and locked, and for a long time, neither spoke.

"I have every right to be angry with you William Riker," Deanna finally whispered. "You played me for a fool, and whether you could 'remember' who you were or not, your actions at the time were not contingent upon your memory. They were hurtful and they were deliberately dishonest."

Instead of the scathing comeback Deanna had braced herself for, Riker only thinned his lips and stood. He rose to his full height until he towered above her, but she had never been intimidated by that kind of stance, and so she followed his piercing gaze.

"Will you at least hear me out?" he asked her intently. "Just listen? And then I swear you can call up a nine foot razor beast and have me finished off if you still want to..."

Deanna considered for a time before she nodded. "All right."

"Okay," Riker walked around the end of the couch and gripped its arm while he paced. "I have no excuse for the way I acted toward you."

Deanna's mouth fell open.

"Except this!" he cut in before she could speak. "Deanna, when we look back on our lives and compare the people we were to the people that we are today, what makes us think that we've got any right to say we've changed?"

For a while, Troi regarded him expectantly. "Are you asking me?" she finally voiced.

"Yes," Riker nodded, "yes, I need you to tell me."

"Our experiences," she shrugged. "Our trials and a lifetime of measures. We learn and we--" her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to tell me--"

"Yes!" Riker spread his hands wide, "that's exactly what I'm trying to tell you. Deanna, I won't deny that inside of me is a frivolous, sometimes thoughtless and even self-gratifying individual. My instincts -- since I was a child -- have been to protect myself from, from feeling, by never getting too far involved. Never caring too much. I know that you're aware of that Deanna, because you--"

"I told you that on Betazed," she recalled quietly, "Before we were involved. I remember. But that's a challenge for you, Will, not an excuse."

Riker slowly nodded. "Granted. And the person that I am today, is not the person that I was then; not the person that I was ten, even five years ago. Deanna, the person I turned into nine days ago had none of my experiences, nothing of MY lifetime to remember," he paused dramatically, "no regrets."

Their eyes held, and Troi was the first to speak. "So you're saying that you did what you did, because you hadn't 'met me' yet-- because we hadn't been involved before?"

"No. Not exactly," he shook his head, "well, in a way, I guess I'm saying that I acted unconscionably because I had nothing to warn me against it. Deanna, I was confused and I was trying to sort things out in my own way. I'm not saying it was the best way, but--"

"Then what -are- you saying, Will? Because it sounds to me like you're trying to claim you'd be a selfish troll without the bumps and scrapes your life has put you though and I refuse to accept that. Not 'everyone' on the Enterprise turned into a gigilo during that time period. You did--"

"Yes, I did. I was that person. And maybe in a small way, I still am," Riker drew his hands in a wide circle, "or at least, I have the potential to be, but I'm not like that, Deanna. Not anymore. You know me. You've known me better than anyone has ever known me these past several years. Have I ever once betrayed your confidence or your trust?"

"No," she dropped her gaze and pursed her lips thoughtfully, "but this is different, Will. We aren't involved romantically. And the reason for that is -- among other things -- the fact that you can't seem to keep to the same bedroom!"

"And that's the only reason?" he almost smiled, "not that you don't care for me in that way, not that you don't 'love' me like that--"

"Will--"

"You just said that the REASONS we're not together now are purely superficial. Didn't you?"

"This is different!" Deanna found herself almost shouting the words.

"How?" his blue eyes flashed, "how Deanna? Before there was you and I, I did a lot of things. Many of which I'm not proud of. Even if I once was. There are things that I've learned in my lifetime, things that I regret with my entire being -- and things I've vowed I'd never do again," his ardent voice softened, "hurting you is one of them."

At his avid, all-too-sincere expression, Deanna found herself unable to hold onto her anger. It was typical 'Will Riker trying to make things right'. And she never had been able to resist him when he was truly innocent.

"Gods, Will," she shook her head and closed the short distance between them, wrapping her small arms around him in a familial hug, "it doesn't matter anymore, all right? You're still my best friend, I forgive you."

"Deanna," when his strong arms closed around her, Deanna realized he wasn't going to let go. His eyes closed and he placed her head beneath his chin. "Deanna, it -does- matter. And your friendship isn't all I'm asking for anymore. It hasn't been for a while. We both know that..."

"What?" working diligently to extricate herself from Riker's firm but gentle hold, Deanna finally emerged; slightly tousled. She threw him a scathing look for the imposition, but he only grinned.

"I said, your friendship--"

"I heard that part," she frowned.

"Deanna ... you know what love is?" he looked at her until she thought she'd strangle him if he expected her to answer, but he smiled instead. "Love is passion, it's obsession! I never realized, until that night." Riker shook his head, "Do you think I don't know what happened that night? When you were trying to figure out why I seemed 'so familiar'? You weren't being careful ... there weren't any blocks..."

"No.." she whispered, backing away from him, "that's not--"

"Possible? Why not? Anything's possible right? Isn't that what you once told me?"

"The day you left Betazed, I thought that I would die. But Will," she grabbed hold of his arm as though she needed to steady her balance. "This is not the same thing."

"No, it's different. It's stronger!" he laughed, "When I saw you standing there, you were barely touching me, but I could FEEL, God, a thousand things at once. I didn't want you, Deanna. I NEEDED you. More than anything, more than life."

"Will, I don't understand."

"You DO understand," he implored her, taking the hand she'd placed on his arm and threading her fingers with his. "You have to, because the bond is -real- and it's strong. I've never felt anything that strong before, that's what I wanted to tell you the other day. What I needed to say."

"You sound crazy, can you hear yourself talk?" Deanna pulled her hand from his. "I think you need to rest--"

"I am crazy," Riker agreed, hooking the arm she'd freed around her waist. He pulled her hard against him so that their faces were only a breath apart. "Completely insane..." and his mouth closed hotly over hers.

She meant to protest. She really had. But there was nothing of resistance left within her while he held her as he did. While his hot caress drove every rational thought from her shivering spirit. She melted against him; pressed her body into his, and kissed him back.

They pulled apart and his hands moved up to cup her face between them. "I would never knowingly hurt you, Deanna," he spoke urgently, as though his life depended on her acceptance. "Never."

"I believe you," she heard herself whisper from someplace far away. But where the words came from mattered far less to her than how the man she saw before her was able to capture and manipulate a link she'd sworn had cooled a very long time ago.

"It's done, between us," Riker searched her features, "isn't it? That's what I felt that night. What we both felt."

"I don't know," Deanna shook her head, still mystified. "Will, I don't even know if any of this is real or not."

"Then lets pretend it isn't," he implored her, looking down on her wide, black expression and trying to smile. "Lets pretend we're dreaming. Or ... we aren't here. Not really. Can we do that, Deanna? Can we make-believe, this once?" He was begging her. Pleading with his whole heart and she'd never heard him do that before; never seen him like this; never imagined it was possible for him to feel with such complete sincerity.

The moment might not last; he might deny it tomorrow, or even in an hour, but while it shone for her as brightly as it did in that instant, Deanna found she couldn't refuse him. Not this, and probably not anything else.

"Yes," she reached for him and cupped the back of his neck with her own hands, "we can pretend..." and then his mouth closed over hers again. And again. And over and over until she dimly realized they'd fallen onto his 'couch'.

It didn't matter. Not where they were or how they loved. Nothing mattered but the sweet and tender ecstasy of his mind inside of hers and her thoughts entwined with his.

They made love in the blackness of the Holodeck's virtual sphere. And while they were there, the Enterprise, the galaxy ... the universe itself ... slipped farther and farther away.

-o-

The light of day was the last thing Deanna had expected to see when she opened her eyes. Bright and vibrant, it also opened her perspective to the burning reality that she was curled up in the warmth of William Riker's arms. She had lost herself to him, yet again.

At some point while she slept, he had transformed the holodeck into a place of natural serenity. It was beautiful. But it was ... wrong. Just as her weakness last night had been.

Sighing softly, she ignored the way his body felt; warm and protectively close to hers. She shifted, struggling to remove herself from his embrace.

The movement woke him, as she knew it would, but she was already on her feet by the time he opened his eyes.

"Deanna?" he called to her, and perhaps it was the fact that his voice was so quiet -- but she turned. The fire; the light in his eyes from the night before had tempered, and she now saw only a bittersweet realization there. "Dream's over, isn't it?"

"Yes," she tore her gaze from his and exhaled a short breath. "I-- have bridge duty in an hour. I need to go," Deanna gestured at the clothing she'd gathered and hastily applied to her body. "Change."

"Deanna--" Riker moved to rise, but she turned on him again and her eyes were lit with an imperative fire.

"Will, don't make me say what you know I will if you pursue this!"

"Last night," he began anyway, "it was--"

Wrong! Her mind screamed, but the look in Riker's eyes wasn't gloating or even the slightest bit self-assured. She swallowed her response and her expression softened.

"Beautiful," she said instead, kneeling to brush her fingers over the edge of his temple. "But that was 'pretend', remember?"

She implored him to recall his vow, so that she wouldn't be forced to remind him of the cruel reality that it should never have happened. That despite Will Riker's eloquent explanation for his behavior while his memory was gone, it couldn't entirely atone for the way he'd slept with Ro Laren; not once, but several times while he was 'courting' her. And though she'd forgiven him wholeheartedly as a friend; though she knew he'd never have hurt her if he'd -known-, their relationship on board the Enterprise was set. It could never change, regardless.

Riker took her hand and turned it over in his. Tracing his lips along the inset of her palm, he kissed her gently and closed her fist, lifting his eyes to hers.

For an instant, Deanna was certain he would pull her to him and kiss her again. Despite her mind's loud warning to pull back; pull away; to escape -- her body froze; it nearly trembled in anticipation.

'I am so weak...' she thought dismally to herself. Like an Earth 'deer' trapped in headlights; knowing full well that if he were to tip their bodies and kiss her, she would let him. Gods, she was so pathetic!

But Riker didn't kiss her. Instead he released her hand and let her go. Deanna rocked backward, grateful for her balance and the return of her rationale. She rose to her full height and turned from him.

"Computer, display arch." Her command was nearly consumed by the artificial breeze, but the Enteprise had heard her, and a shimmering portal appeared to the 'real world' beyond.

The last words she heard before her feet left the lush grass and touched the cold surface of the ship's corridor, were Riker's.

"It wasn't wrong, Deanna. Not for a minute."

Deanna paused in the arch. Dropping her gaze, she refused to look back.

"Yes," she replied audibly, knowing he could hear her. "It was."

And then she rounded the corner, heading out into the hall with deliberate purpose.

-o-

When Deanna arrived at her quarters late that evening, there was a package at her door. A small grey starfleet-issue box, latched in the front, with her officer's address atop it.

Brow furrowed, she lifted the parcel and took it with her into the suite. But it was momentarily forgotten while she called for dinner from her replicator and settled in to draw a bath.

The day had been long, but it had been good and she was grateful for that. It took her only a few moments to clear away the remains of her meal, and then she started for the hot water that she knew would calm her weary body. On the way to the bathroom door, however, she suddenly stopped.

The package she'd picked up sat solitary on her living room table; its cool metal surface still latched.

"Can't forget you," she mused, lifting the box and carrying it with her into the other room. She set it down lightly next to the bath and climbed inside the steaming reservoir, sighing as the warm liquid enveloped her. Taking the case in her hand, she tapped her access in and felt it click softly. It opened, and on the inside was...

A book.

Deanna gingerly lifted the leather tome from its resting place and traced the gold-leaf with her fingertip. This wasn't just any book. It was the book she'd given Will in the weeks before he'd left Betazed and never returned. 'The Collected Works of John Keats.'

When she opened the cover and turned the pages, her suspicions were confirmed. 'To Will,' it said. 'All my love, Deanna.'

He'd given it back to her. And maybe he hadn't meant to hurt her with the gesture; perhaps he felt it was simply the right thing to do under the circumstances. But Deanna felt a stab of painful sadness in her heart, even so. Clutching the volume in her hand, she closed her eyes to the single tear that fell.

"You know exactly which buttons to press, don't you Will Riker?" her whispered voice was low.

-o-

"Commander?" a voice broke Riker from his waking memory. "Commander are you all right?"

"What?" he turned and found himself face to face with Geordi LaForge, standing over the diagnostic console in main Engineering. Riker exhaled a short breath. "I'm sorry, Geordi, what were you saying?"

"I'm saying," LaForge began anew, "that you look like you need some rest Commander. When was the last time you slept a full night through?"

Riker smiled at his friend's request. "I'm fine, Geordi. I've been getting more than enough sleep. And when did you take over for Doctor Crusher? I wasn't aware of any personnel transfer..."

"Very funny." Geordi appraised him a moment longer. "Okay. If you say you're all right then you are, but I don't want to be the one explaining to the doctor why you collapsed in my department," he frowned minutely, "if you know what I mean."

"I certainly do," grinned Riker, "it looks like I'm not even needed here anyway, Geordi. I don't know why we have these checks to tell you the truth, you and your team are always way ahead of the game."

"Thank you Commander," LaForge beamed, "but we don't mind being kept on our toes," he turned to a nearby lieutenant. "Do we, Keats?"

"No sir!" the young man nodded professionally.

"What--" Riker cut them off, turning suddenly to the junior officer. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Keats sir. John Keats," he colored slightly, "I know, It's--"

"No," Riker shook his head and smiled, "don't be embarrassed. He was a great writer. It's an noble name."

"You've read John Keats sir?"

"I have--" began Riker, "--actually, I started fairly recently."

"I think my parents were hoping I'd be like him, to be honest sir." Keats offered up a crooked smile. "But I never could get my words to flow like that. I think there can only 'be' one John Keats, the writer, in any event. I was always more interested in how mechanical things worked--"

"Well the loss of the literary community is Starfleet's gain," Riker clapped him on the back. "Keep up the good work Mr. Keats."

"Yes sir."

Riker turned with Geordi and walked several more paces through Engineering.

"Is he new?" Will asked.

"Been here six days as a matter of fact," LaForge tipped his head, "why do you ask?"

"No real reason. Just curious."

Leaving a thoughtful Geordi LaForge behind him, Riker entered the Turbolift and called for the bridge. But as the elevator shot upward, he lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

"Should I be taking this as a sign?" he called out to no one in particular. "Or maybe a subtle hint from fate?"

There was no answer, of course. Nothing but the whisper of his own familiar thoughts. "You know," Riker suddenly smiled, "I never really believed in fate before..."

-o-

Riker's first thought as he left his duty assignment and headed for deck eight, cabin nine-ten -- Deanna's quarters -- was that she would likely order him to leave once she discerned his reason for being there. But that was a risk he'd resolved to take. Because he'd already made up his mind. And he had to tell her...

It was only a short distance from the turbo lift to the end of the hall. Riker made it in a matter of seconds. But he stood outside the Counselor's door for nearly two minutes before ringing the chime.

Ironic, he thought; he'd gone into battle at the peril of his own life before with far less hesitation. But it wasn't just his life that was at stake on this particular 'mission'. There was also ... her.

With a final breath, he pressed the chime. It took some time before he had an answer. For a while, Riker even wondered whether she was asleep. But though it was well into ship's night, it wasn't like Deanna to retire this early. So he waited.

And waited.

And waited. Maybe she wasn't awake...

He was about turn and leave, when the comm. panel beeped, and Deanna's weary voice came through it.

<Come in, > there was a short pause, <Will.>

Of course she'd known it was him. Riker glanced at the floor. And she was definitely not happy about the visit.

He considered for a while, whether it might not be a better idea if he let go of what now seemed a selfish resolution. To be where he was; to walk into her quarters and demand that they ... talk.

But he was here now. To make some quick excuse and turn around at this point seemed a little too much like running. And running, he vowed, would never be an option again.

Stepping up to the door, he waited for it to slide open. Her quarters were at half-illumination, and when he walked inside, he could see her standing at the foot of her couch.

Arms crossed, dressed in a delicate robe with her hair half-up and her dark eyes set on his, she looked amazing -- he decided -- incredible.

"Hi," Riker was the first to speak, "I'm sorry to drop by so late--"

Deanna's eyebrow rose, because he'd been in her quarters far later than this before. As friends.

"It's all right," she nodded slowly.

"I came to see you because--" he paused, hoping the words would come to him as freely as they had while he rehearsed them on his own. "Because--" to his own dismay, he faltered. But Deanna was never one to take advantage of such a momentary weakness.

"I got your package," she interjected quietly.

"Package?" Riker frowned, then comprehension dawned on him, "Oh. Yes, did you have a chance to read it?"

"Will, I -gave- you that book, of course I've read it. What I'm not sure of is why you gave it back to me--"

Riker stared at her, baffled. But then he shook his head. "I didn't give it back to you, Deanna," he stepped toward her, spotting the leather-bound volume on the table next to her hand. "I marked a passage; something I wanted you to read." He stopped and raked his hand back through his dark hair, "You thought I was--?"

Deanna said nothing, but he could tell he'd hit his mark.

"I'm sorry. Whatever else you might think of me, I'm not in the habit of returning my gifts." He fixed his eyes on hers, "especially not the ones that mean a great deal to me."

"Oh," she dropped her hand to the table to remove the book from its resting place. "I didn't see any marking, I just assumed that since the other night--" she paused and her eyes left his, "I'm sorry, I guess I jumped to conclusions."

Their hands collided on the way to the book, but Riker found her fingers and stopped them from lifting. She was trembling.

"Deanna--" he closed his palm over hers, regarding her seriously. "This isn't like you. What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," her head rose and she squared her shoulders, "I just feel a little foolish, I suppose. For not realizing--"

"That isn't it," observed Riker, "something else isn't right."

"There's nothing wrong. It's nothing."

Refusing to relinquish her hand when she tried to remove it, Riker held her fingers in his and looked back with solemn formality. "It's something to me," he said.

With a suddenness that seemed to startle even her, Deanna's eyes filled with teardrops. She swiped at them angrily, turning her head, but it was already too late to pretend they weren't there.

"You should go," she demanded, "I'm fine, I really am."

Riker came for her and pulled her small body against him, "I can see that," he whispered, wrapping her securely in his arms.

"I just need to be alone for a while, Will," her request was barely audible against his chest. But he noticed she hadn't pushed him away.

"Okay," he whispered, knowing better than to contradict her with the reasonable response on his lips. Deanna would pull from him if he did that, and she would grow even more upset.

Reason, after all, was not what she needed right now. It would only remind her that she was stronger than this; and that she shouldn't draw strength from him. But God, he wanted her to try.

So he agreed with her words, while his hands traced careful pressure along her spine. He whispered encouragement through her thick, dark hair and he held her just a little closer than before.

For several minutes they stood that way. Quiet, save for the sound of their breathing.

Without the grounds to contradict Will's presence, Deanna melted against him. His body was solid and his thoughts were filled with warmth for her; the kind of warmth she'd not allowed herself to accept from him -- or from anyone else -- in a very long time.

"I love you," she raised dark eyes to meet his. "Will, you're my best friend," her voice faltered, but she lifted her hand to trace the edge of his serious expression. "My Imzadi." Gentle fingertips traveled across his lips and stopped just below them. "You'll always have a place in my heart, do you know that?"

Riker looked back at her. And for an instant, he was so consumed by his own feelings that he lost the reason for his coming here tonight. He swallowed the speech he'd all but memorized and abruptly realized ... it didn't matter anymore.

What mattered was that Deanna could be happy. And if their serving on this ship together as friends would make her happy, then he would do that. He could do that. Forever if he had to. For the place she said he'd always have in her heart.

"Yes," he answered her with a wry smile, "Somewhere in there, there's an old chair covered in cob-webs that you'll never get rid of."

Smiling for the first time since Riker had entered her quarters, Deanna poked him playfully in the ribs.

"I beg your pardon?" her eyes traveled the length of her own body appraisingly, "but I work very hard to keep the cobwebs off of of this body, Commander, thank you very much."

Riker grinned, letting his own gaze travel appreciatively along the length of her lithe form, "you're absolutely right, Counselor," he caught and held her expression, "I don't know what I was thinking."

Deanna regarded him mutely. Her dark eyes filled with a familiar look; one he hadn't seen for a very long time. Though she said nothing, she took another breath and moved solidly against his body, laying the side of her cheek on his heart.

"Hey," Riker pulled his arms up automatically, "are you sure you're all right?"

"Why shouldn't I be all right?" Deanna murmured, shifting in his embrace, "You're here with me, you're my best friend--"

"You mentioned that," he took hold of her shoulders and pulled their bodies slightly apart, "Deanna--" he was about to continue, but the new and ready teardrops in her eyes robbed him of the rest of his sentence. "Dea," he implored her, tracing the dampness on her cheek with his thumb, "talk to me."

When she turned her face into his palm and shut her eyes, he waited for her to speak. Sure enough, her opening words were as serious as they were quiet.

"When I first met you," she said, "you were so different from anyone else I'd ever known."

Riker nodded encouragingly, trying to lighten the moment. "It's a big universe out there, I'm sure I wasn't that--" Deanna's dark eyes opened and fixed on his. "Different," he finished softly. "You weren't like anyone I'd ever met before, either."

She smiled. "The passage you marked in the book," she asked, "what was it?"

"It was from the same poem--" Riker colored slightly, "But I'm afraid my elocution isn't the greatest when it comes to reciting John Keats," he smiled. "I don't think I'd do it justice." He lifted the book from the table and propped it open, rifling through the pages. Then he handed it to Deanna.

Looking first at him, and then at the page, she began to read aloud:

'Too, late for the fond believing lyre,
When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
Yet even in these days so far retired
From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired.
So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
Upon the midnight hours.'

Her eyes lifted, and the traces of her teardrops traveled pathways all the way down her cheek.

"I always thought--" Deanna began, "I thought you'd never read it. I was sure you'd never given it a second look."

Riker was silent for a moment. He waited for her to look up again before he quietly admitted, "I didn't. Back then. I read part of it, the night you gave it to me. But I confess, I didn't really know what I was supposed to be feeling ... at the time."

Deanna nodded slowly. Her dark eyes flashed with wry acceptance, and it seemed to Riker that she was might even have been grateful for his admission. Perhaps because he'd finally been honest with her about it.

"And now?" She asked him through a thin curtain teardrops which refused to stop falling. He knew that it was maddening for her, in a spiritual sense, when her body betrayed her physical commands.

"Now," Riker slowly exhaled, "since that Lysian incident, I've read the whole book. I never realized," he shook his head ironically, "when I read that poem the first time, it didn't 'click. But now? I don't even know how many times I've re-read, anymore." He stopped for a moment, considering whether he should also mention... "And the part where you signed it."

Gently removing the book from Deanna's outstretched hand, Riker regarded the open page. "I've been staring at this every night since then," he ducked his head self-consciously. "Sometimes I think I'm going crazy."

It wasn't only the book. He knew she understood that. It wasn't just that it was a gift from her, or that he'd never read it before. It was that now, finally, he understood. Understood what she'd meant by giving it to him. What it represented. And most of all ... how it tied in to the strength and whole compelling force of their long sleeping bond; a link Deanna had inadvertently awoken when she didn't know who she was, or how to keep herself from loving him.

Riker placed his hand on the script she'd written so many years ago.

"To Will," Deanna moved toward him, and he was moderately startled. Because the way she'd spoken the words was just the way it always sounded when he imagined her in his thoughts. "All my love," her shining eyes found his, and her hand traced the edge of his face.

"Deanna--" he confessed, "since that time, I've felt--" he paused in frustration. "I feel--"

"You feel anxious," she prompted gently, "preoccupied?"

"Obsessed," he managed a wry smile.

"Me too," Deanna frowned.

She didn't have an answer. Not even a suggestion. And the reality of that made Riker realize -- for the first time in his recollection -- that she was as lost in this as he was. She always had been.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered, turning away. "I don't know. Maybe."

Reaching out to her, Riker turned her back toward him. "It's going to be okay," he smiled down at her serious expression, "We're here together on board the Enterprise. We've got our lives, our careers. We have an incredible friendship." Deanna managed a small smile before he added, "and I'll never walk away from you again, Deanna."

"How about fly?" her short laugh transformed into a sound far less joyous.

"Only if you fly with me," he looked directly into her sorrowful eyes. And then he couldn't stand it any longer. He pulled her into his arms. "Damn it, Deanna, I need you," Will dropped his head and whispered harshly against her ear. "I want to be with you. Tell me you want to be with me too."

The sound he heard was not a word or an answer. It was suffering, and it was barely audible. But she clung to him; her small hands wrapped securely around his waist and her head pressed firmly against his chest. She held onto him as he held onto her; as though at any moment they might be ripped from one another forever.

"Yes!" Deanna finally cried. "Yes," she tore her body from his and looked up at him, catching her breath. "Damn reason, judgment, lives, careers and anything else that gets in our way," she gasped, "I want to be with you..."

"Now that," growled Riker, backing her slowly against the couch, "is the Deanna Troi that I know so well."

Wrapping her small hands around the back of his neck, she pulled him harshly toward her. "Kiss me before I realize how crazy this is," she pleaded.

They were so close that barely a millimetre of space existed to separate their skin. Troi's gaze moved back and forth between Riker's warm mouth and his clear blue eyes.

"You know what they say, Counselor," his reply trickled effortlessly between her parted lips. "Love is a form of madness..."

"They'll have to lock us both up." Her whisper was the last coherent phrase they spoke that night.

Riker's mouth descended hotly on hers. Together, they fell as one onto the couch; mouths clasped, limbs tangled. Their bodies claimed the right to join their spirits... oblivious to the table next to them. Where an antique leather volume lay, solitary and still; open to page four hundred twenty-six.

'And in the midst of this wide quietness...
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name;
...there shall be for thee all soft delight
A bright torch, and a casement open at night,
To let warm Love inside.'

[end]

(Some license was taken with John Keats' 'Ode To Psyche')