"Evolution (Alpha)"
                QDestinyy@aol.com
                Timeframe: Post "Insurrection"; barely.

                 When Riker's duty-shift came to a close, he opted not to stay late and assist with Lt. Commander Data's sensor-grid upgrades. A choice which garnered him looks of astonishment from nearly every member of the crew detail assigned to the task.
                Even the Captain remained, ostensibly for interest's sake, while Data and Geordi's team brainstormed ideas regarding some of the latest technology that the Federation had ever retrofitted a Starship with. Technology that the Enterprise-E had been the first among the Starfleet's ships to obtain, given her rank and standing in the Fleet.
                Everyone was proud of that fact. Everyone was elated. And anyone with a tactical or engineering degree would have jumped at the chance to be a part of its implementation. Hence the look of bewilderment Riker found himself smiling at Data for offering.
                Perhaps if this had been the moment-of-truth, so to speak, Riker might have made a different choice. Perhaps if he wasn't quite certain that this session would only be one among several more over the next few days, he might have felt a little more conflicted over leaving. As it was... he felt no remorse at all, and he grinned at Data's innocent bemusement.
                "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Data. Believe me, I'm just as excited as you are."
                Data inclined his head, but the Captain chose that particular moment to glance up from his console schematics as well.
                "Pressing matters to attend to, Commander?"
                "You could say that, sir." Riker didn't bother to elaborate, because quite frankly, he wasn't obligated to. Even so, Picard didn't seem the slightest bit phased.
                "Well then," the Captain smiled back, "we'll see you tomorrow."
                "Yes sir," Riker extended his acknowledgement to the rest of the crew compliment in Engineering and entered the turbo-lift alone.
                The truth was it had even surprised him, a little, that he could leave such a profound experiment without looking back. But here he was; two decks away already and only one quick stop to make before his final destination.
                Deck eight, cabin nine-ten. Crew quarters for Counselor Deanna Troi.
               
                -o-
               
                "Beverly--" Riker took a step back in the turbo-lift as the door slid open to reveal the ship's chief medical officer. "I was just on my way to see you. Did you see--?"
                "Yes," she smiled at him, "I'm on my way back to sick-bay, as a matter of fact. I'll save you the trip."
                "How is she?"
                "Well," Crusher furrowed her brow convincingly, before she broke into a wide grin, "she's going to be fine, Will. In fact, I'm going to recommend her for duty in a day or two. I've told her she should take it easy for a few more hours, but the virus seems to have run its course."
                "Good. Oh, that's... that's really good."
                Crusher was certain that Riker hadn't even realized how heavily he'd just sighed. She placed a warm hand on his arm, "Deanna's a fighter. Rigellian Flu is nothing to sneeze at--if you'll pardon the bad pun."
                He shook his head. "I think I can manage that, doctor, given that you've taken such good care of--"
                "Your girlfriend?" Crusher provided amicably while he paused.
                "That is such a naive term, don't you think?"
                "You know you're right," she winked at him, "when you come up with a better term, you let us all know, ok?"
                "Beverly."
                "Deanna was right," she laughed, "you really are cute when you're worried."
                "She said that?"
                The turbo-lift halted and the door slid open again, providing Doctor Crusher an exit. "I'll be back tomorrow morning to check on her. When you see her, remind her she needs to drink more often?"
                "Sure," Riker nodded absently, but his mind was already drifting away from the conversation. He glanced up at the doctor just in time to see her bemused expression. "I'll remind her!" he promised, and the panel slid shut once more.
               
                -o-
               
                The problem with turbo-lifts was that they always took too long to get anywhere.
                Despite their supposed speed and efficiency, there was always too much time in the tube for a person to stand idly by without forming a thought or two, and too little time to ever really finish a coherent idea.
                That was what happened to Riker on the way to deck eight.
                Three months. His mind wandered back on the revelation. Three whole months since the fated little corner of space they called the 'Briar Patch' had lured the Enterprise deep inside. Three months since he and Deanna had redefined the nature of their friendship and opted to call it lovers again.
                His girlfriend? Is that what Deanna was? It was odd, but Riker had never really stopped for long enough to consider those sorts of labels as the years ticked by.
                There were women, of course. Quite a few women if he'd bothered to actually count. But then again, he hadn't been in a tryst that turned serious enough to warrant the title of 'relationship' in a very long time, never mind begun to contemplate a more specific definition.
                On the other hand, Deanna certainly had. She'd been with Worf for several months at one point, and now that he'd begun to think about it, Riker couldn't help but wonder whether Worf had ever referred to Deanna Troi as ... his 'girlfriend'?
                The thought of that was almost more laughable than the term itself.
                Shuddering in the corridor, Riker shoved the notion from his head before it was able to cause him any further undue discomfort. Besides, he didn't have to define his relationship with Deanna, did he? They simply... were; as they always had been and forever would be, whether they chose to admit their own reality or not. What he and Deanna shared was something special; something that defied explanation.
                Wasn't it?
                Deanna called him, 'Imzadi'. And it was a perfect word. Whether spoken aloud or deep inside the hidden recesses of his mind. It was as mysterious as the inner-light that somehow shone from within her too-dark eyes. A Betazoid word that wrapped up everything he knew to be HER inside a tidy little package, stowed away with more care and reverence than any single memory of his entire lifetime.
                She'd somehow reached into his very soul and seized ownership of something basic and elemental inside of him. Something he had willingly surrendered to her, at the time. So it was easy to imagine that there could be no means of human 'definition' for something like that. No woefully inadequate label that would only serve to tarnish the kind of understanding they shared. Nothing beyond, perhaps, that single word she whispered in his thoughts.
                Or maybe he was deluding himself. There were poets on Earth who'd spent entire lifetimes trying to describe the nature of love, for thousands of years without adequate means. Maybe what he shared with Deanna Troi was only as special as the two of them were willing to make it. Maybe, he was just another poor human sap who'd awoken one fateful morning and discovered his entire existence turned upside down; raging in a kind of madness that those hapless human poets could find no truer definition for, than love.
                Deck Eight suddenly seemed a hell of a lot shorter than it had in the morning when he'd left for his duty shift. Deanna's cabin was only a few short meters away.
                He and Deanna had always been assigned quarters side-by-side aboard the Enterprise. Not that it was a coincidence, by any means. Riker smiled to himself.
                What started out as a fairly youthful (and unsuccessful) attempt on his part to somehow rekindle their romance in the early days of their commission together on board the Enterprise (much to Deanna's dismay when she first realised he'd been responsible for crew-quarter assignments) had slowly transformed into a cheerfully amicable circumstance. It grew in appreciation between them as the friendship they had finally begun to nurture found an almost otherworldly comfort in such proximity, night after night.
                Platonically speaking, of course.
                Now, he couldn't imagine a life on board the Enterprise without Deanna right next to him. Perhaps the nearness of their quarters had transformed into metaphor over the years, but there were even a few moments during the previous three months that Riker had begun to wonder whether the wall between their living-spaces should continue to exist at all.
                As they began to spend more and more time together and less and less time alone in their respective cabins, it seemed almost silly to maintain separate living arrangements. Yet they had. They did. And there was an even smaller part of Riker that felt somewhat grateful for that. It was the same part of him that waged a war over whether Doctor Crusher had been right; whether Deanna Troi could adequately be classified as his 'girlfriend', or whether she was much, much more than that.
                Stopping in front of her quarters, Riker couldn't help the splash of surprise that flowed through his veins when the doorway slid mechanically aside. The door had simply opened upon his arrival, without an access code or even a prompt on his behalf. It slid aside for him the way it was programmed to slide aside for her, and the thought of that gave him slight pause, though he stepped cautiously inside.
                Biometric entry was usually only programmed into crew quarters for family members. Of course he'd always had a personal access code to enter Deanna's cabin, just as she held a personal code to enter his. It was just that, having the computer specifically programmed for such intimate entry was ... not something they'd talked about. It was even more surprising, considering she'd been so ill the past few days.
                Less unexpected, was the fact that she was sleeping when he found her. Even in the dim light that Doctor Crusher had set within the cabin, he could see her silhouette; the steady rise and fall of her breathing where she lay on the right side of her bed.
                Riker exhaled a short breath and he smiled. She'd been sick as a dog for nearly a week. There were a couple of days he'd come to sit with her and she had barely known who he was. But every day he found her--whether completely coherent or not--she'd be laying on the right side of the bed. The side that she preferred since they'd become lovers again. It might have seemed like a particularly little thing, but it was a 'little thing' that made Riker's chest cavity swell with feeling.
                Stepping quietly into the bedroom, he watched as a pair of dark, familiar eyes began to open. Deanna blinked drowsily and managed to stretch before he sat down carefully on the edge of her bed, setting a cool glass of water on the night-stand.
                "She's back," he whispered fondly, tracing an ebony curl from across her forehead.
                "She feels like she was run over by a transport," a tired sigh escaped Deanna's lips.
                "Doctor Crusher asked me to remind you that you'll need to drink a little more," indicating the water he'd set down, Riker smiled at her slow nod. "You'll probably need another day or two to get your strength back."
                "What day IS it, anyway?"
                "Thursday."
                "Wow." She closed her eyes, then gingerly began to sit up in bed.
                Slipping an arm around her body, he helped her rise and then handed her the water, ignoring the frown she offered in response.
                "Drink this now," he smiled, "then I can tell Beverly I did my job and you won't have to deal with her scolding you later, either."
                "Yes, sir." Raising the glass to her lips, Deanna offered him a mock-salute, but she took several gulps of the cool liquid and that was enough to make Riker nod approvingly.
                "You look better, today," he took the glass from her and set it aside, "you look really good."
                "I'm sure I look terrible," she offered him a wry smile, "but thank you anyway."
                "I uh, I noticed the door." He glanced back into the living-area and Deanna followed his gaze. When he looked back at her, he might have sworn that she was blushing, but he had to accede--the color in her cheeks could just as easily have come from the struggle of her body in conquering the Rigellian virus.
                "Well," Deanna cleared her throat softly, "Beverly was in here earlier and she reminded me that we'd been changing the codes again ship-wide. I figured this would just be easier--"
                Riker knew that he was grinning, but he couldn't help himself. "I like it. A little like... being at home in two places?"
                Deanna smiled back. "A little."
                He looked at her for a timeless instant. Her dark, expressive eyes locked speculatively on his; her small hands laid flat on the coverlet in front of her. Suddenly it wasn't enough. He had to touch her; had to feel the heat of her body, next to his. It wasn't a sexual need. But it was as desperate a yearning as any he had ever known.
                Cupping the side of her face with the palm of his hand, he drew their foreheads gently together. There was something he wanted to say. Something important. He knew that there was, only somehow the words to articulate his feelings had all but vanished. All he could do for the moment was hold her like this, and hope someway, she understood.
                Deanna's small arms lifted and settled around his neck. She turned her face and brushed it gently across his own, breathing a kiss at the base of his ear. But the force of her embrace was slight at best and her weary arms slid back to her sides before she glanced up at him, discouraged. She would definitely need at least a day or two in order to recover the full measure of her strength.
                Gathering her firmly against his chest--for both of them--Riker whispered into her hair: "Best hug I ever had." She leaned heavily into the circle of his arms, trusting his physical strength where hers had failed, and she tucked her head beneath his chin. For Riker, it was such a needful moment that before he'd even realized what he was saying, his own voice betrayed his thoughts.
                "I love you."
                Words he hadn't spoken to Deanna in more years than he was comfortable in counting. Words that could mean so much, under the right circumstances. So little, otherwise. Was this 'the right circumstance'?
                For an instant, Deanna's breathing stopped. But she did not pull away from him. He heard her slow exhale while he reached up to caress a wayward fall of her hair.
                She said nothing at first. Nothing that might have given him the slightest impression that she was nervous or ill-at-ease with his confession. In fact, the sense of her he felt was almost perfectly serene. But ultimately, it was he who offered to break the silence.
                "You know, it's weird. Doctor Crusher seems to think that you're my girlfriend." Releasing Deanna from his fervent grasp, Riker looked down at her and examined the amused tilt of her head.
                "Am I?" she asked him coyly.
                "Hell if I know," he grinned and shook his head, "I don't even know what a 'girlfriend' is anymore, to be honest. I don't think I've had one since I was sixteen years old."
                Deanna laughed, "Uh oh. Uncharted space."
                "Well, don't you think it's just a little bit strange?" He went on, tapping her lightly on the nose to express his feigned displeasure, while simultaneously realizing that he was, in fact, intensely interested in discovering Deanna's philosophical point of view. Especially considering that this particular subject seemed to have him so completely confused. "Don't you think it's odd that there's no better way in Human culture to define the relationship between two people at this particular stage?"
                "What particular stage would that be?"
                Riker narrowed his eyes, then sighed. "Well, I guess there's 'lovers'."
                She smiled, leaning toward him and kissing his warm lips with tender affection. "We're definitely lovers."
                Riker shut his eyes and drank her nearness in. "But a polite person can't exactly go around introducing someone else by saying, 'Hi. I'd like you to meet my lover..'"
                "Why not?" Deanna laughed. "My mother would."
                He stared at her for a timeless instant before grinning. "You're right. Your mother WOULD."
                "That's not what's really bothering you, is it?" She sobered for both of them.
                He sighed. "I guess there's also--" he trailed off abruptly, still barely a breath away from her lips. "I mean, there's--"
                "There's--?"
                "Well, there's also the possibility of being... engaged."
                Deanna lifted a petite eyebrow. "In which case, I'd be your ... fiancée?"
                "Fiancée..." he murmured absently, swallowing. "Ok, you're an empath, you know that scares me a little," he confessed, watching her sympathetic shrug. "But it's also... I mean, the truth is, it's also sort of--"
                "Exciting?" she provided, more logically than teasingly.
                "Yeah," he acknowledged her insight with a slow and grateful nod. "Exciting. That's it." His look transformed into one of quiet appraisal and he quietly took her hand. "Tell me if I'm tiring you out, any time. I'll shut up."
                Smiling, Deanna waved his concern away, "Beverly hasn't declared me too weak for conversation, yet."
                "Ok. Lets say we decide that maybe this 'girlfriend/boyfriend' thing is a little juvenile... for us." He looked back at her and the thoughtful frown he'd worn transformed into a solemn line. "Then maybe we SHOULD think about redefining it?"
                Shifting her position into a straighter, more upright posture, Deanna turned so that she could face him fully. "Redefine it, how?" she asked.
                "I could ask you to marry me," his bold, blue eyes locked onto her.
                "You could," she agreed, "but don't you think that might be rushing things, a little?"
                "Rushing things?"
                "Well, you've only just realized you're not happy with the terminology, Will. That doesn't mean you need to look for ways to turn your whole life upside down."
                "But my whole life IS upside down." Grasping her fingers, he pulled her forward several centimetres. "That's just what I've been realizing, Deanna. Maybe it's time I stop fighting it."
                "We all need to work through our own resolutions in our own time, Will. Forcing a conclusion is never the answer."
                "Deanna, did you miss the part a few minutes ago, when I said that I love you?"
                "No," she laughed, "I heard you, and I love you also," her smaller hand closed overtop of his fingers. "But you're not ready for marriage, Will."
                In just that moment, Deanna looked as strong and vibrant as Riker had ever seen her. But he knew better than to believe that she was fully back to normal. Even now, the drawn-out line of her beautiful features betrayed her lack of physical energy, and the frail caress of her fingertips across his hand only seemed to solidify that truth.
                "I think I am," he disagreed, slipping his fingers gently from her grasp. "I want to marry you, Deanna, and I don't want there to be a single doubt in your mind that it's because you mean more to me than life," he lifted the same hand and cupped it tenderly against the side of her face. "But how about we table this discussion for right now."
                "Table it?"
                "It isn't important that we chart out our entire future right this instant. We have time for that. And there will be a time, someday soon, when I'll be able to find the right way to ask you. A time when you'll have a better idea of what your answer might be," his shoulders rose and fell. "When you're not recovering from a fever and listening to me ramble," he smiled, "Until that time, there's no rule that says we can't still be together and be happy. No matter what we choose to call it."
                "Will," Deanna turned her face into his palm, "I do want to--"
                "Shh," reclaiming the glass he'd placed at her bed-side, he held it aloft. "You'd better finish this, before Beverly decides to check on you again."
                Deanna stared back at him through an obviously annoyed pair of fathomless, obsidian eyes.
                "Please?" he asked, tilting his head in a way that made her smile in spite of herself. "What kind of fiancée would I turn out to be if I didn't make sure you took all of your medicine?"
                Sighing audibly, Deanna pulled the cool glass of water from his hands, consuming the remainder of it over the course of several silent seconds. When it was gone, she slid the tumbler back onto the night-stand and offered him a pointed look.
                "Well done," he congratulated her. "Now we're both safe."
                The last of Deanna's diminishing strength chose that precise moment to give out, and she lay backward on the pillows behind her head, allowing her eyes to close for a brief moment.
                "I should go," Riker whispered, "let you get some rest."
                Holding out her hand, she stopped him from rising. "Will?"
                "Yeah?" He sat forward, caressing the edge of her face while her dark eyes blinked open.
                "Stay with me."
                He smiled. "Sure." Lifting the coverlet, Riker slid carefully into the bed next to her, cradling her slim body in the crook of his arm.
                "This is nice," she sighed.
                "My poor, sick, Deanna," he brushed his lips across the top of her head, grinning at her put-out expression.
                "I'm getting better," she argued, "Beverly said two days at most and I can resume regular hours."
                "You mean I still have to take care of you for two whole days?"
                "My heart bleeds for you, Commander," Deanna murmured drowsily, sliding further down against him. "But I promise to make it up to you, later..." her weary voice trailed off and she closed her eyes.
                "Really?" Riker looked down at her, "what um, what did you have in mind?"
                The quiet sound of Deanna's even, steady breathing was his only reply.
                "Computer," he whispered, "lights out."
                Pulling the coverlet up over her shoulder, Riker settled in and laid his head against the pillows behind them. He stared at the dancing starlight on Deanna's ceiling for a time, allowing his mind to drift into thoughts of possible futures and feelings, but after a while he closed his eyes.
                He was almost asleep when he heard her voice call softly to him in the darkness. Or perhaps it was in his mind. There were times when it was difficult to tell the difference.
                'Imzadi..'
                "Hm?"
                "Will you marry me?" she asked, sleepily.
                Opening one eye, he looked down at her silhouette in the flickering shadows. "Sure." He smiled and then paused for a poignant second. "I know you're only doing this because you want to make sure I'll still be here in the morning to make you cocoa at breakfast."
                Deanna chuckled, drawing her body flush with his so that his arms completely enveloped her. "Goodnight, Will."
                "Sweet dreams," he whispered back, pressing his lips into a tumble of raven curls. 'Imzadi.'
               
               
                [end]