This is process in action!  It has no title.  Nor is it edited.   All I can really say about it is that it seems to take place after "Insurrection".

 QDestinyy@aol.com

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    Another man's destiny.  Was she?  Riker stood with his back to the wall.  Ten Forward was lit; decorated for a party.  There were curtains and lace, velvet and crystal -- just the sort of thing the Flag Ship was famous for -- just the sort of atmosphere that lead treaties to signature and admirals to ambassadors. 

    He was watching her, but she hadn't seen him yet.  Either that, or she was pointedly avoiding him.  A column of jealous heat filled his chest; twisting in defiance of the logic he attacked it with.

    "Hey, Commander.  You awake in there?"  A hand waved over his field of view.

    "Huh?" He turned.  "Oh.  Yeah, Geordi.."  His eyes scanned the room.  "Just thinking."

    Following his gaze, LaForge smiled sardonically.   "Thinking you ought to go over there." 

    "Thinking," Riker scowled, "that if he touches her one more time, I'm going to--"

    "Will, there you are."  Another voice intervened.  "You've been awfully scarce this evening.  You're usually the life of the party."

    "Doctor," Riker sighed inwardly.  "Weren't you with the Captain?  I thought there was a situation."

    "There was," she smiled triumphantly.  "An extra paragraph in the final draft of the trade agreement.  We amended it.  The Captain's retired for the evening.  So has the Ambassador," her smile transformed into appraisal.  "We didn't see much of you."

    Riker traded a look with Geordi.  "I was thinking," he shrugged.  

    "Thinking?  Thinking behind a curtain?  You're almost at the end of the bar back here.  If I hadn't seen Geordi--"

    "I was thinking."  He repeated with emphasis.  "Alone."

    Crusher glanced at LaForge whose shoulders rose and fell.  "That's all I got out of him, too." 

    "You know," Riker flashed them both a brilliant grin.  "As entertaining as these sorts of conversations always are, I think I'm going to follow the Captain's footsteps and retire for the evening, myself."

    The doctor stared at him, nonplused.  With a hint so far from subtle, most people would have left.  Some of them quickly.   Beverly Crusher was not most people.

    "Geordi, would you excuse us for a minute?"  She thinned her lips.

    "Yeah."  He cocked his head.  "Sure.  I was just going. Good night you two."

    "Good night, Geordi."  Beverly smiled.   Riker offered only a perfunctory nod.

    When LaForge was gone, Crusher laced her arms across her chest.  "What the hell are you doing, Will?"

    "Excuse me?"

    "You're standing here like a petulant teenager."  Beverly's eyes narrowed.  "I take that back, it wouldn't be fair to the teenager."

    Riker shot her a look.   Incredulous at first, his expression shifted to ironic.  "I really -- don't want to get into it."

    "I can see that."

    There was quiet for a moment.  Riker's eyes scanned the floor.

    "Beverly, can I ask you a question?"

    "Of course."

    "Since we got back from the Briar Patch, have things seemed -- different, to you?"

    "Different? While we were in there, we were all a little different.  Since we got back, I'm not sure what you mean.  Different how?"

    "While we were in there, I know we were different.  That's not what I'm talking about.   I mean right now.  Lately."  He turned toward her when she hadn't responded.  "Worf said something to me on the planet.  I can't stop thinking about it."

    Crusher tipped her head.  "What did he say?"

    Will tapped his fingers on the bar.  "He said that my feelings for Deanna hadn't changed since the day he met me."

    "That's pretty deep for Worf."  Crusher smiled.

    "Tell me about it."  Riker returned her expression.  Then he looked away; his eyes on something distant.

    "You and Deanna were pretty close for a while, after we got back." 

    "Yeah."   He felt her hand on his arm.

    "What happened?" 

    What happened?  Riker started to frown but the look in Crusher's eyes reflected only concern.  It diffused his frustration, if only a little.

    "I have no idea." He admitted, shaking his head.

    "Try."

    "We--"  He exhaled shortly.  "It's a bit of a crazy story."  Riker lifted his hand and drew it absently over the growth of his new beard.  "For about two weeks after we got back, things were very intense."   He paused, but Crusher said nothing, so he continued.  "It was like it was when we first met.  Only better." He grinned at the memory.  "Then all of a sudden one day, it seemed like both of us... I dunno, woke up or something.  From a dream or a weird kind of coma?  It wasn't right anymore."  Riker turned toward her.

    Beverly regarded him thoughtfully.  "Right for you?  Or for her?"

    "For either of us."  He shrugged; the memory of Deanna's voice still fresh in his thoughts.  'we can't do this', she'd said, 'it won't work'.

    "I don't know what to say."  Crusher frowned.

    "Believe me, doctor, neither do I."

    "Will, the psychological effects of the Brair Patch wore off two or three days after we left.  Your affair with Deanna, if you'll pardon the expression, went on a lot longer than that."

    "I know."  He raked his hands back through his hair.  "I know, that's part of the reason I wanted to know if you'd noticed anyone else, maybe like us?"  His eyes found hers but she was already shaking her head.  His chest fell.

    "I'm sorry. I think Worf was right."  Her hand squeezed his arm.  "I think whatever happened between you and Deanna was just something that happened between you and Deanna.  I'd have to say that I can't see how it would have had anything to do with the Briar Patch.  Not anymore.  I think you just need to talk."  Beverly's expression softened.

    "We've done that."

    "Then do it again."

    "Maybe it's not to be?"  He spread his arms grandly and shrugged.

    "Then why are you standing back here all by yourself, looking like you just lost your best friend."

    "That's different."  His blue eyes hardened.  "That we do have to talk about.  Our friendship has nothing to do with our romantic relationship."

    "Doesn't it?"  Crusher shook her head.  "Will, I don't think you can separate one kind of love from another so cleanly.  Not when you're feeling both at the same time. Maybe that's the problem?"

    "She says it won't work."

    "Deanna?"  Beverly frowned.  "Sounds to me like she's confused."

    "She's a counselor.  She knows feelings better than anyone."

    "Other people's feelings, maybe."

    "I feel like I'm spinning in circles here."  Riker sighed loudly.  "Maybe we should just give it some time."

    "You mean like the last time?"  Crusher pinned him with a direct gaze.  "I won't pretend to be the same expert on feelings that Deanna is, but if Worf is right and your feelings haven't changed in the last decade, what makes you think they'll change in the next one?"

    "You know what?"  Riker scowled.  "I'm really-"

    He was interrupted when Crusher suddenly turned.  "Who is that with Deanna, anyway? He's a great dancer." 

    Riker followed her gaze, his thoughts diverted.  "Maram Prax."

    Beverly smiled..  "Really?  She has a thing for diplomats, doesn't she?"

    "I don't get it either." He nodded disparagingly.

    "Well, so what are you waiting for?"

    "What do you mean?"

    "Go over there.  Cut in.  It's not like they're engaged."  She smirked.  "Yet."

    "Very funny, doctor."

    "Listen, Will I've known you and I've known Deanna for almost the same amount of time.  If you aren't meant to be together then I wasn't meant to be a doctor."

    Riker's eyebrow rose.

    "On that note."  She patted his cheek affectionately.  "I'm going back to my cabin.  It's late, and--"

    "You have a date." He grinned at her, eyes sparkling when a slight blush crept into her cheeks.

    "I do not have a date.  Except with a novel."

    "Right."

    "Get out of here, Will."

    "I thought you were the one who was leaving?"

    "Ohh," Beverly grumbled.  "I'll see you tomorrow."  She turned, but threw over her shoulder,  "and if I find out you didn't cut in.."

    "G'night doctor." He smiled at her back.

//

    The reception had thinned considerably, but conversation lingered as Maram Prax asked Deanna Troi to dance. His hand came to rest on the small of her back when she'd smiled and accepted; it was the polite thing to do, after all.  She had seen the invitation coming; had noticed him regarding her appreciatively from across the lounge.

    Not that she'd minded particularly.  It was flattering to be  considered attractive; certainly she was vain enough to believe she had the ability to turn a head here or there.  But Maram's attention was pointed; focused in a way that informed her she would have to make an excuse as the evening wore on.  Unless she was looking for more than a dance.

    Her eyes lifted, scanned the diminishing guests until she found who she was looking for.  He was alone and having a drink.  Her expression settled on him for a time, before he turned.  She looked away just as his eyes would have been focused on her.  She smiled at her companion instead.

    Maram turned out to be an excellent dancer; as sure on his feet as he was with his words.  She thanked him for a compliment he offered toward her hair and her thoughts drifted to the last time she'd worn it up this way.  It was the evening of her engagement party with Wyatt Miller.  Several years ago.   Shifting her head, she felt the long fall caress her back.  At least 1it was out of her eyes.  And only a portion fell lightly across her cheek; a collection of shorter more deliberate curls.

    They danced for several minutes, and they talked about nothing.  That was fairly routine.  Politicians, diplomats in general were nothing if not suave -- and boring.  Eternally self involved, which made them easy to escape.  A smile tipped the corners of her lips and Maram asked her about it, but she demurred, diverting the question to matters of his planet.  Of course he was more than happy to oblige -- they always were.

    "May I cut in?"  A voice startled them.  She hadn't been paying attention.  But there was no question who it was.

    "Commander," Prax inclined his head.    There was a moment of awkward exchange, polite remarks which Deanna opted not to participate in, and then Prax was walking away; his mind already focused on something else.  She smiled at that as well.  Self involved to the last -- they always were.

    The problem when her thoughts refocused, was that she would have to turn around.  And when she did, she would have to stand across from him; to dance with him if she allowed the adventure to go so far. 

    They hadn't spoken in two days.

    "May I?" she heard him ask.  He touched her fingers from behind.  She had to turn.  So she did.  Without comment, Deanna let him take her hand.  She did nothing but watch him while they took a familiar posture on the dance floor.  He cleared his throat.

    The beard was back.  It was nice.  She'd asked him to shave it off -- and in truth they'd had a lot of fun with that part -- but once it was gone she found that she missed it.  Oddly, he hadn't grown it back until they'd stopped seeing each other again.  He hadn't even broached the subject while they were lovers.  Not once.

    "You look beautiful tonight."  He smiled at her.

    "Thank you," she watched his eyes, blue as the ocean she remembered near her mother's home on Betazed.  His look was thoughtful and he seemed uncertain, but he was blocking her as best he could. 

    "Maram Prax isn't really my type."  She guessed at his mood, smiled when his expression confirmed her suspicion.  "I have a feeling his most precious possession is a mirror."

    That won her a grin.  "You two seemed to be hitting it off."

    "Jealous?"  She tipped her head.

    "He's a good dancer."

    "So are you."  

    Riker dipped her and she smiled when they came up.

    "I don't like it when you block me."  Her eyes found his, but he looked away first.  It was infuriating when he conceded an argument before it had even begun.  She couldn't stay angry with him. 

    "That was honest." He lifted his gaze.

    "What else is there?" She shrugged.

    "I don't like it when you dance with other men."

    "Equally honest."

    "And I miss you."  He afforded her a lopsided smile.  "I miss my best friend."

    "She misses you too."

    They studied each other for a time, and then he pulled her toward him.  He drew his arms around her.  The embrace was warm and unassuming.  She returned it in kind.

    "Why won't it work?"

    Her head was near his shoulder when he asked the question -- whispered it really; into her hair.  She sighed, otherwise quiet; until he pulled away and they stood a polite distance apart.

    Deanna lifted her hand and brushed her finger across his bearded cheek.  "You grew it back." 

     "It's been with me for a lot of years." He shrugged.  "I guess it feels -- strange -- without it."

    A wordless nod was all she offered.

    "You haven't worn your hair that way in a while."  Riker touched an errant curl near her face.

    "I thought it was time to try something different."

    "But familiar." He amended.  "I like it."

    "Me too."

    "What about this?" He touched her hand on his face, followed it along his cheek while Deanna fought to keep herself from drowning in the implication of his expression.

    "I like it." She echoed.  "It suits you."

    "I think so too."

    "It feels strange though."  She smiled self-consciously and he grinned.

    "Strange, but familiar."   His expression sobered.

    "Yes."

    "Is that a bad thing?"  He was frowning slightly, his blue eyes flashed with momentary puzzlement.

    She tilted her head with an equal measure of uncertainty,  "Some things have to change."

   "While others stay the same." He finished.

    "Can we be friends if we're lovers?"  It was an odd question to have asked.  She knew that.  Still, it tumbled from her lips.  Will was looking at her strangely and his feelings seemed to blend into her own with frustrating consequences.  She could only guess at what he was thinking.

    "How can we not be friends?"  He finally shook his head. "We've been friends longer than we've been anything else."

    "But if we go back to being lovers--"

    Riker lifted his shoulders simply.  "I don't know.  You're what I think about first thing in the morning, and the last thing I think about at night.  Whenever I don't want to talk, I want to talk to you."  He smiled ruefully.  "That doesn't make any more sense to me now than it ever has before, but that's the way it's always been."

    "Not always." She whispered.

    "Since we came on board the Enterprise." 

    She wanted to believe him.  Gods she wanted to feel the truth of his words, but she couldn't.  Not while her own emotions were running this high.  It was a paradoxical catch twenty-two that at a time such as this, she would have to rely on the human part of her intuition to guide her.   "No more blocking me?" she asked, eyes bright with a familiar sting.

    "No more dancing with other men?"

    She laughed helplessly.

    "It's a deal."  She heard him respond; felt him pulling her closer.  The front of her body settled against his chest and he drew his thumb tenderly across her lips.   She was suddenly aware that her face was wet.   "It's going to work this time."  He whispered and caught her gaze directly.

    "You sound so sure."

    He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his, kissing her with gentle urgency.  The beard was there, but it felt -- different.  This time.  It was warm and a little ticklish, but that was all right.  It felt just right, in fact.  So right she pulled her arms up over his head and resumed the kiss of her own accord.  Different was definitely good.  This time.

    "I am sure." He spoke against her lips, smiling when she shivered at the ticklish sensation.

    Her hand dusted the back of his neck.  "I think it's already working."  She kissed him again. 

    They said nothing more -- for a very long time.

[end]