'Rabeem'
by QDestinyy@aol.com

Some say that knowledge is the executioner of faith. An indiscriminate and
pitiless force without the means to comprehend its own destructive truths.
But faith, I have come to understand--true faith--is the only force in the
universe with the power to heal.

On Betazed, we have a name for such knowledge. Understanding which comes at
the cost of faith. We utter the word, some with cynical certainty; others on
the breath of a prayer. Yet all the same we speak it in our spirits. And in
our poetry, we revere it:

'Rabeem: through which all things unknown can be discovered. And from those
truths, may the gods protect us. As the hungry maw of madness hovers near.'

I suppose that even our poets understood, some truths were never meant to be
exposed.

When I imagined my life: as it was, and as it might have been, I often found
myself wondering about those sorts of truths. Was I happy? Was my spirit
fulfilled? And what should happiness entail, if not the feeling of complacency?
Is there more to it than that? I wondered... as I once wondered what he
was doing, or where he'd been of late. It made little difference in the greater
scheme of my life, I knew that then. Yet somehow I couldn't help myself. I
wondered, even though I'm a psychologist and I should have know better. Even
though I'm a Betazoid and he's 'Imzadi' to me, and some would have said that I
shouldn't have wondered at all ... I should have simply 'known'.

The day we finally parted was the saddest of my life. I remember his face,
as though the gods had cruelly etched it on the fabric of my mind. I remember
his eyes, intelligent and blue. Wise from all the years of our friendship and
our experience as officers. But also filled with unmistakable ambivalence.
He didn't know if it was right--what we'd decided--and when he nearly told me
so; when he demanded I let go, I couldn't counter his uncertainty. Because I
was still living in my own.

Very soon we parted company. The Enterprise. Our family. That old,
familiar crew. Will went his way, and I went mine. Fate, it seemed, had conjured
her own irony, because the two of us were offered ships of our own to command.

'Imagine me, a Captain!', I'd told Beverly one day. But all she did was look
at me and smile, before she mouthed the words: 'Why not?'

Why not?

I hadn't the slightest idea, except that it seemed so odd, at the time. But
I took on the posting. So in the end I suppose I was asking the very same
questions of myself. I had the training and the experience; the accolades and
the knowledge--the perilous knowledge--to make a go of it. And so I did.

For a time, I was even content. On that tiny medical research vessel, it
seemed I'd found a new home, after all.

A year went by, then two. My life took on new rhythm and I woke up every
morning knowing who I was again. Life, it seemed, was right on track with my
career. And I was happy. Until the subspace message came.

I took it in my ready-room. An Admiral I barely knew appeared on screen.
She started speaking, gravely deliberate, and everything I'd come to trust was
so very suddenly blown away.

There was something going on outside the neutral zone. "A situation
involving Captain William Riker," her sober voice informed me. "I understand you knew
him well?"

Knew him? My mind was spinning scenarios, reeling wildly, out of control.
"Admiral," my heart leapt to my throat, but I managed to ask her, "what's
happened?"

"His ship was attacked. We have him back in 0-0-1 right now, but the doctors
can't seem to--"

"He's back on Earth?" I interrupted her, uncaring of the indiscression. And
somehow, I even found the means to sound unbreakable when I appended, "I
realize this might sound insubordinate, but I'm not asking your permission, sir. I
have to go--"

To my surprise, the Admiral nodded. "Doctor Crusher said you'd feel that
way. She'd have contacted you herself, except she's in there with him now. You
have the leave, Captain. You have it as of now."

I felt my voice retreating, even as the Admiral signed off. But there was
nothing I could do about the mass of rolling fear that travelled slowly through
my spirit. Whoever said that 'duty' had the power to overwhelm all other
impulses was wrong. I knew that now, because no force or might within the
universe could possibly have kept me from the transport-craft I thrust myself inside.
Or the journey I embarked upon that night--warp seven all the way--to sector
0-0-1.

The trip took only sixteen hours, but to me, it seemed an eternity had passed
before we finally docked. A transport beam and a several interminable
corridors later, and I was standing in the wait-room of a standard Starfleet medical
facility; pacing quietly near the door.

It was Beverly who found me, not more than fifteen minutes later. Her quiet
foot-falls betrayed her presence, but it was the tenor of her turbulent
emotions that I hung on most of all. The sadness and frustration--and the guilt.

"Deanna," she took me by the shoulders and hugged me, "I'm so glad you came."

"How is he?" It was all I was able to say, but given the circumstance,
Beverly hardly seemed to mind.

"He's stable," she looked back at me dismally. "But he's not conscious, Dea,
and for the life of us, we don't know why."

"Can I go see him?"

"Of course," she looked away again, but only for a moment. "I'll take you
now." I could feel the hurt inside of her, but for the present, I was too wrapped
in my own unyielding conflict to offer comfort.

Images, like flashes of starlight, scattered across my consciousness. The
last time I'd seen him on board the Enterprise. The last time he smiled at
me--several troubled days before that. And for some absurd, unknowable reason,
the last time we were intimate...

The door to his hospital room loomed large above my head when I finally
turned and offered Beverly acknowledgement. "Alone?" I asked her, quietly.

She managed an affirmative nod.

Though every aspect of my rational mind had tried to prepare me for what I
was about to see, the most unscientific corner of my psyche wrested complete
control in the instant I stepped inside that sterile door.

He looked unreasonably peaceful, lying motionless on a Starfleet-issue
medical cot.

I'd seen Will Riker in predicaments before. Some worse than others. A few,
perhaps, very near the condition he was currently battling. But none of them
had ever frightened me the way this particular one just had. And a part of me
questioned that. A part of me threw down the logic gauntlet and realized
that in every other circumstance, I'd been right there with him when anything
happened. Or at the very worst, I was waiting nearby; on the very starship that
would beam him aboard should anything go wrong. Close at hand, no matter w
hat. I was THERE for him. But not this time.

It frightened me, I realized; this future of 'not knowing'. It terrified me
that there might be a time--should he finally awake from this catastrophe and
move on with his charismatic, wayward lifestyle--when I would rush back yet
again, only to find a shell of what was left. A shattered link and the callous
whispered memory of his cherished presence in my life.

Was I prepared for that?

I was strong and self-sufficient in so many ways, I'd fought to be. In the
traditions of my maternal ancestors, I was *bred* to be. But there were times
when all their strength combined seemed not enough. Moments such as this one,
where I stood silent vigil at the side of his bed, and all the gods of all
the universes seemed less than charitable.

Time crept by woefully slowly alongside Will Riker's bed. I found a chair,
or was given one at some point, and I sank into it gratefully, tucking his
hand into my own. It was larger, almost twice the size of mine, but somehow, it
fit. And I talked with him.

I'd say I talked 'to' him, but that would not be fair, considering the
history and the union that we shared. I talked with him, for hours on end. And
though he couldn't reply with words, or even thoughts, I believed in my heart
that he'd heard me. Every syllable.

The world around that single, sterile room had all but melted. For me, the
focus of my galaxy lay entirely within. As weak and emotionally damning as it
may have appeared to others, I couldn't have left that spot if they had
ordered me to. The pull I felt to the life inside was unbreakable.

The bond. Without question it had to be the bond, and yet I didn't even
bother to resist it.

Eventually, my first officer sent word to check on me. On a starship full of
doctors, I found it remarkable that it hadn't happened sooner; but I suppose
they knew I'd needed the time.

Their research had taken them on to sector 0-0-3--the Betazed expanse--and I
saw irony in that as well. Here I was on Earth, feeling as though I'd just
'come home', and there they were at the planet where I was born, and I felt no
nostalgia to join them at all.

Betazed was--would always be--the home of my childhood heart. But somehow,
along the journey of a lifetime, the true meaning of 'home' became synonymous
with the stubborn, wilful presence of my best friend.

He wasn't doing very well right now. So I'd 'come home' to see him--wherever
that was. He was here, and so was I. It was almost enough.

A week went by; untold, countless hours of a rather one-sided conversation,
and yet I still felt I had more to say. I told William Riker things... I'd
never told anyone else in my entire life. Partly because I'd run out of mundane
gossip to share on the eve of the very first day, and partly because... there
were certain things I'd always wished someday I could confide in him. Things
I knew I wanted to say; and things I knew I couldn't. Not then. At the time.

I talked, and he slept--or so it appeared from without--I talked so much,
both aloud and in the sanctuary of his very-quiet mind, that I forgot to do much
else some days. But Beverly Crusher made absolutely sure I took a break from
my self-imposed exile, at least once in each 24-hour cycle. I loved her for
that, even though I snapped at her for trying more than once.

I also knew, she understood. She never took me far from the facility. I saw
friends I hadn't seen in more than two years, Geordi and Worf, I even saw the
Captain once. I can't believe I still call him that. But then, I suppose to
me, he'll always be "The Captain" and I'll always be "Counselor Troi".
Regardless of rank.

The Captain took me aside on the night that he came by. He asked me a
question, and I don't think I'll ever forget it. He said, "Our careers are merely a
crutch for a greater purpose. If the unthinkable should happen, Deanna,
where does the pattern of your lifetime take you then?"

I didn't have an answer for him at the time, and I don't believe I have one
even now. He stayed with Will for an hour in private, and after that he too
was gone. Back to a council meeting of the Admiralty, I was later informed.

The others took their turns, as the days wore by. They came and went, and we
shared stories now and then, of a time when we were all a lot more
idealistic; a lot less experienced and a lot more naïve. I supposed that The Captain
had done the same thing with his old crews, before he took command of his own
vessel. Before he became the head of our erstwhile family on board the
Enterprise.

Growing pains, some called that sort of thing. And now I had my own family,
on board my own ship. And so did Will Riker. But time had not begun to pull
our present crews as close as the family I'd once known on board the Flag
Ship. Quite possibly, it never would.

I remember I'd been thinking that, when the sound of Will's breathing
changed.

On the afternoon of the ninth day, his body shifted suddenly of its own
accord. He threw the cover off the side of his muscular frame, and nearly bolted
to a precarious, upright position.

I was on my feet in an instant.

"Shh, Will please, don't try to move..." my hands came down on both his
gown-clad shoulders, gently guiding him back down. He offered surprisingly little
resistance, but his eyes met mine immediately; a dark, bewildered shade of
Riker-blue that washed over my spirit like a balm. As did his painfully
familiar empathic presence inside my mind.

His consciousness consumed me; so much so, I had to fight to keep from
closing my eyes and crushing his warm body against mine.

For a moment, he lay back in bed and stared at me. He uttered not a single
sound. But it was clear, not more than an instant later, I had lost my battle
for control over my emotions.

There was so much relief inside my heart, so much joy at his emergence (and
apparent coherence), I could see him just begin to process all of it, before I
wrapped my arms around his upper-frame--as gently as I could--and hugged him
with the full and complete measure of my gratitude.

I felt his hand lift, tentatively, and bury itself inside my hair. I felt
his heartbeat quicken and his confusion melt into affection; the beautiful,
familiar fondness that I'd known so well from him, for so many precious years.
And I recognized the sacrifice he'd made to comfort me. He had no idea where he
was, or why. But I was here with him, and somehow--for the moment--that was
enough.

"Will Riker, my God, you're back!" Beverly Crusher's animated voice had come
from behind us, and intervened.

I let Will go, and stood aside while several medical team-members rushed in
after her, stopping near the bed.

"Doctor?" he whispered hoarsely, coughing and clearing his throat immediately
from the strain. "Where the hell am I?"

"He's definitely back," I grinned at Beverly, unable to keep the elation from
riding the crest of my pronouncement.

The nurses in the room checked every instrument, they ran scanners across his
fidgeting form and administered medication until I was certain that Will was
going to explode in all the commotion--and the lack of forthcoming
answers--but he didn't. Instead, he set aside their flurry of activity, and looked back
at me instead.

<'Don't try to talk,> I sent to him, unsure whether he'd 'hear' me as he'd
once been able to on Betazed. We hadn't tried to talk this way in more years
than I was certain either of us would care to have counted. <'Your voice might
take some time to find itself again.>

To my surprise, he nodded, though he didn't try to send to me in kind.
Instead, he simply stared, conveying conflict without a voice. He never took his
eyes from mine.

It was then I finally recalled, we hadn't said good-bye aboard the
Enterprise. And the last words that we'd spoken to one another had been words of
frustration and anger.

When Beverly dismissed the nurses, it seemed that only instants had passed.
In truth, I imagined several minutes or more. She looked at me, and then at
Will, and then she softly sighed. "I need to come back in here and finish this
in about a half hour or so. Can I leave you two alone until then?"

It was me she looked toward, not him, and so I managed a wan smile. "Of
course."

"Good. I'll see you soon then," she turned back, "don't try to talk too much
just yet, Will, take it slowly so your vocal cords have time to re-adjust."

He acknowledged her with a typically impatient wave of his hand, but Beverly
only grinned. "It's good to have you back, Captain," she said. And after
she'd ducked outside the room, I saw Will smile as well.

"Beverly always did know which buttons to push," I mentioned, wandering
around the other side of his bed. When he followed my motion with his eyes, I
finally stopped. "Nine days, in answer to your question."

He hadn't asked the question, per se, not even in his thoughts. But I
figured it was coming. When the muscles in his arms grew taught and his leg began
to move, I knew I'd figured well.

"Your crew is fine, Will," I said, and I stayed his pre-flight motion with my
hand. "The 'Titan' is back in 0-0-1. They've docked at Planetia for the
moment, and I understand from Admiral Picard that they're undergoing a bit of a
retro-fit, but given that you were attacked by three heavily armed, unknown
vessels, I'd say you managed to pull through all right." My heart hurt for him
at what I knew I had to add. "Six casualties, all together. Most of them, you
had already been informed of during the battle. One more from the bridge
when the console exploded--not including yourself. Lieutennant Khar."

He looked away. And I could feel the guilt, and rage, and helplessness
radiating off of him in waves.

"I'm sorry, Will. I'm so sorry--" I reached out a hand to touch his arm,
but he thrust it away.

"I need to go," he croaked, sliding his legs over the side of the bed despite
my physical protest. "Tell Beverly that--"

"For the moment, you have not yet regained the rank and titles of your ship's
office, Captain. Now you will pick up those feet and get back into that bed,
right now, Mr Riker. Or I will see to it personally that the closest you come
to a Starship ever again is during a tour at a museum! That's an order." As
the words began to tumble from my lips, even I had trouble believing that
they'd come from inside of me. But perhaps I had also changed a little in the
previous two years of my own Captaincy. I was used to giving orders now, no
longer simply following them.

I saw Will's eyes grow wide, first with surprise, and then with respect. For
some reason I could barely fathom, he thought highly of me for having taken
such a stance, despite its implications. I almost felt as though I should
apologize when it was over. But I didn't. And I was still contemplating that
fact, when he lay back in bed, laughing--as well as he was able to laugh, given
the circumstances.

"Hey, that was pretty good," he whispered hoarsely, "for a Betazoid shrink."

"I beg your pardon?" Now he'd gotten to me again. It was a gift he'd had
from the moment we first met. But this time, I realized it in the same instant
I had spoken. A moment later we were both laughing, and I sat down very
carefully at the edge of his bed.

"You've been here, the entire time?" he asked me finally, when neither one
of us seemed ready to speak.

"You're not supposed to talk so much, remember?" I admonished.

<'The entire time?> I heard again, this time inside my mind. I think I must
have registered my shock, because he sighed. <'What about your ship? Your
crew?>

<'What about them?> I sent back, trying in vain to keep the indignation from
my voice. <'They're well-trained officers, they're going on with their
research. It's only been a week.>

"Deanna," he said aloud, "you can't just--"

"Don't you dare," I cut him off, "don't you dare tell me what I can and
cannot do, Riker. That's not your place."

Though he regarded me solemnly, the light in his eyes was far less bright
than I'd remembered it. "You're right," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

I stared at him a moment longer before acquiescing. "It's all right."

He looked as though he wanted to speak again, but then he shut his mouth and
the look in his expression grew more intense. <'I'm not dying, Deanna. You
can go back to your ship any time.>

<'What kind of a thing is that to say?> I asked him coldly. <'I've slept by
your bedside for almost ten days, Will. I've taken care of you, shaved you,
I've even BATHED you. What kind of selfish, hurtful...>

"I'm just a selfish, hurtful kind of guy, all right? I thought you'd already
figured that out. So just get out of here, okay?"

"You are a bastard, Will Riker," I glared at him, "but you're an even bigger
bastard to yourself than you ever could be to anyone else. I'm not letting
you do this again."

"Why not, Deanna?" he threw back, and his voice was growing stronger by the
second, rather than weaker. "Because you care about me? Because you don't
want to see me get hurt?"

"That's part of it, yes."

"Well I don't want your sympathy, and I certainly don't need your pity."

The ready-rebuke on my lips fell away almost before I had been given the
opportunity to utter it. Memories of the previous nine days flooded back through
my consciousness and I remembered so many of the countless hours I'd spent
confiding in him. I recalled the argument we'd had before he left the
Enterprise. It had gone something along the lines of the one we were having right now.

"They didn't tell me anything, Will," I whispered. "Except that you'd been
hurt, perhaps mortally. They told me there had been an attack, and when I got
here, they said no one knew whether you were ever going to make it through
this time. Do you know what I was feeling, then?" When Riker looked away from
me, I reached for his head and brought his expression back to mine. "Gods, I
can't even describe it to you."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I wouldn't have chosen to--"

"I don't care!" I whispered back. "I remember feeling helpless at the time;
helpless and weak and very, very afraid. What you would have chosen is
irrelevant, Will."

I watched him draw his hand back through his unkempt hair, and he looked up
at me again, but there was only a kind of keen, unyielding powerlessness
reflected in his eyes. "I don't know what to say to you," he finally sighed.

Helplessly, my mind spun back on our time together aboard the Federation Flag
Ship and I slowly shook my head. "I can't do this anymore."

"Deanna--"

Reaching out to him, I took his face between my palms and drew his warm lips
tenderly to mine. The kiss was gentle at first; I felt him close his eyes and
lean toward me, but when his hands caressed the edges of my cheek, and the
day's growth of his facial hair tickled in all the old, familiar places, I fell
carelessly into his arms.

He tasted of hypo-sprays and hospital antiseptic, but I didn't even care.
This was home. This was everywhere I had ever belonged in my entire life. And
if he didn't realize the same was true for him--the way I'd come to understand
our picture so perfectly; so vividly during the time I'd spent with him these
past nine days--the gods knew he likely never would.

"Please don't push me away again," I pleaded with him--actually pleaded with
him to understand, for the first time in my entire life. My palms were hot
against his chest, and I could feel his heartbeat race beneath them.

"Push you away?" he looked at me through a haze I could feel. A mixture of
desire and confusion. "Deanna, you're the one who pushed. Not me. I wanted
you with me, on the Titan. I wanted you so much..."

"You wanted me with you?" I felt my hands move up of their own volition, to
grip his shoulders where he lay. I remember feeling stunned, and even a
little bit betrayed. "You told me you were leaving to take the captaincy aboard
the Titan. Beverly was going to accept a position at Starfleet medical, The
Captain had decided to accede to the Admiralty--everyone I knew and loved was
moving on...and then the offer came in, for me."

He nodded. "And you accepted. Deanna, you got your own ship! What was I
supposed to say? Give it up and come join me on the Titan instead? What could
I have possibly said to you, except--congratulations, and good luck?"

I stared at him in dumbfounded silence, but only for a matter of seconds.
"How about... I LOVE you?" I punctuated each alternative with a moderate thump
against his arm, "How about, let's figure something out, *together*? How
about--"

"Ow, ow," he muttered, capturing my wayward hands in his, "that hurts, I'm
not back up to one-hundred percent yet, remember?" But his playful expression
belied the tone of his voice. "Don't make me call Beverly."

I hovered over him for an instant longer, taking in the whole of our
unbelievable predicament, before I allowed myself to collapse ungainly along the side
of his body. He wasn't *that* fragile, after all.

"I love you, Dea," he whispered reverently against my hair.

"Nice timing." The sound I made was almost as brusque as something Worf
might have uttered.

"I don't recall you barging into my quarters and telling me you weren't going
to let me go, either."

Despite the fact he made a point I couldn't very well contest, I didn't
reply. Instead, he turned my body until I was facing him on the cot. I could
sense a kaleidoscope of emotions from him, but the foremost of these--was
apprehension.

"Deanna," he asked forthrightly, "what are we going to do?"

I stared at him until I found that I could no more answer his candid question
now than I could have answered it on board the Enterprise, two years ago.
Quite suddenly, it hurt to breathe. "I don't know."

Apparently he didn't either, because he kissed me then. Folded his great,
strong arms around my body and covered my mouth with a passionate, all-consuming
caress. And I pulled him closer. If I could have, I might have crawled
beneath his skin the way our bond was somewhat steadily demanding--in such
proximity--to merge us in a union so complete, we'd never again be apart.

"I have an idea," his breathless whisper tickled the shell of my ear and I
shivered, despite the warmth of our embrace. "I'll resign my commission."

I felt my body tense just then, unbidden, but I had already formed my reply.
"No!" I caught his wandering hand and stilled it. "You can't."

"I can," Will shook his head at me, still smiling. "I just realized that,
you know. I really can."

Though I was reeling from the implication of his words, the voice of reason
in my head was already gasping for breath. "Will," I cut in, "it's not that
simple. You are--without any question--one of the best, most gifted commanding
officers in the entire Fleet."

He grinned at me, and I could tell he'd enjoyed the accolade, notwithstanding
the circumstance. But still he shrugged. "And you're one of our best, most
gifted counselors. So what? That doesn't mean we can't make other choices."

"I know, I know it doesn't, but perhaps it means that we can find a way to
make a choice where one of us doesn't have to lose."

"All right. I'm listening." He lifted his hand back into my hair, but the
spark of wisdom he most often reserved for a 'command decision' had returned to
replace the playfulness of his earlier expression.

"I understand from Admiral Picard that the Titan still doesn't have a
full-time ship's Counselor on board."

"That's true, I um, I guess I just hadn't gotten around to filling that
position, yet--"

I smiled at that, but delved no further. Instead I drew a cleansing breath.
"What about me?"

Though he offered up a somewhat crooked grin, Will still demurred. "You've
got your own ship, Deanna. You're a Captain."

"You know you're right. I'd forgotten all about that. Thanks for reminding
me." Exhaling in frustration, I caught his bemused expression.

"Deanna--"

"Will--" I tried to keep my tremor in my voice as level as I was able to,
"as a Counselor, my rank doesn't matter very much, not to me. The gods know
I've never had designs on starship command. At the moment, I'm running research
experiments for Starfleet medical, but that isn't to say that it's my
life-long dream come true. Not the way a starship captaincy has always been for you.
I'll admit that I'm content on board the Epsilon, but I'm *fulfilled* when
I'm with you. Wherever that is. Especially when I can see 'real' patients and
make a 'real' difference in people's lives--now--not thirty or forty years
from now. Being a Counselor in the here and now is *my* dream. And I can
follow that dream just as easily on board the Titan, as I was following it on board
the Enterprise. If, that is, the Captain of the Titan would consider me for
the position."

With his eyes still on mine and his fingertips spread tenderly across my
cheek, Will smiled. "I dunno, I have a whole stack of qualified applicants on my
desk back at the ship, I'd have to--ow!"

I glared at him teasingly until he'd finished 'pretending' to favour his arm.

"Well, if you're going to bully me into it..."

"Will," I sighed, "when are we going to stop teasing each other, and start
talking seriously?"

"Hopefully never," he grinned. It was infuriating. It was frustrating. And
it was as damnably endearing as Will Riker had ever been for me. So,
naturally, I kissed him.

Without a warning or a hint of what was really in my thoughts, I took his
breath away in just the same way he'd done to me only a few minutes earlier. But
this time, I was in complete control, and I flourished in the dominant
sensation. The way his body felt, supplicant to my desires; the way his mind
responded instantly, intimately. And the wonderful, incredible way it felt to allow
myself to drown in what it all might finally mean--for both of us.

"Oh hell, Deanna, whatever you want me to do, the answer is yes. It's always
been yes..." His powerful arms encircled my waist and drew me toward him on
the bed. "I've missed you so damn much."

"It does feel nice to be this close to you again." I shut my eyes and
listened to the rumble in his chest when he agreed. The minutes transformed into an
extended silence, but neither of us bothered to break it. "I'm not moving
from this spot," I finally whispered, delighting in the automatic pressure I
received from the arms he held around my body.

"Beverly will be back in a couple of minutes, I think."

I smiled. "I think she'll survive it, if she find us here this way."

"Yeah," He buried his face against my hair and took a needful breath, "I
guess you're right."

"Shh.." Watching him close his eyes, I let the calm of our closeness lull me
in a way I hadn't permitted for far too long. Will fell asleep within
moments, and though I knew that it was partly due to the exhaustion of so much
activity in such a short period of time after waking from his ordeal, I found it
difficult to feel any remorse about my part in that--given the decision we had
finally made.

It wasn't long afterward that Beverly did find us. She entered the room, and
a knowing eyebrow rose up on her forehead before she caught my eyes
reopening.

"This looks cozy," her whispered tease was filled with mirth, and I absorbed
it gratefully.

"Very," I allowed myself another smile; the sweet indulgence of which woke
Will up, next to me.

"Hey Doc," he murmured sleepily. "Whatever you gave me makes my head feel
fuzzy."

"It probably would," she chuckled, "probably makes you think a little fuzzy
too--"

I glared at Beverly for that, but she only grinned, and so did Will. He
captured me before I'd managed to sit up on the bed. "With all due respect to
'modern' Federation medicine, it looks like I was rescued by my guardian angel
again, wasn't I?" his words were directed at Doctor Crusher, but the emotions he
felt poured directly into my spirit.

"Yes, and if I were her," Beverly smirked, "I'd have started charging in
gold-pressed latinum by now. She'd be a very wealthy angel..."

Sighing loudly, I managed to extricate myself from the arms of my lover and I
stood, looking down at him speculatively. "You know something, Bev? That's
a fantastic idea."

"Uh oh," Will followed my motion and sat up slowly, raking his fingers
through a tousle of hair. He afforded us both a lop-sided smile. "I better ask her
to marry me quickly then, shouldn't I?" My eyes must have grown wider than
the portal in his hospital room, but he didn't seem to notice before he
continued. "At least that way, I might get in on the family discount."

Even Beverly--for all her posturing--looked taken aback. She traded a glance
between Will and I twice, before excusing herself entirely from the room for
a second time.

"Was it something I said?" he turned toward me.

"You know that it was," I placed one hand akimbo on my hip.

"Deanna," he sighed heavily, "after everything we've been through, and
everything we've said to one another--not to mention the things we DID to one
another after the Briar Patch two years ago--" I couldn't stop the rise of color
which stole automatically into my face at the mention of those few, extremely
intense and intimate months aboard the Enterprise. "What the hell are we
standing on ceremony for?"

For an instant, I was speechless. The truth of the matter was, he was right.
And I had absolutely no idea.

"Neither do I." Will answered my non-verbal reply, and I should have known
far better than to be surprised by that. I had spent nine solid, virtually
uninterrupted days inside his mind since I'd returned to Earth. And it would
only be a matter of time before he begun to recall at least a measure of the
things I'd confided in him as well, if he hadn't already...

The teasing light of excitement was back in his playful, too-blue eyes, and I
felt myself willingly drowning in them. He took my hand.

"You're not an inexperienced psychology student anymore, and I'm not an
idealistic, junior officer. We both know better now, and we've both seen a lot of
new worlds since then. But there is one thing that hasn't changed in all this
time. I'm crazy, out of my head in love with you, Counselor. So what do you
say? Are you up for the challenge of spending the rest of your life with a
headstrong, unorthodox starship Captain?"

I felt my heart-beat hammering incessantly on the inside of my chest, and the
whole of my defences as they crashed inexorably on themselves. "What do I
say?" I asked incredulously, in the instant before I fell on him completely;
meeting his kiss with a willingness that threatened to overwhelm my senses. "I
say... may the gods have mercy on our souls." Will laughed, and I took his
face between my hands.

Drinking deeply of his passionate emotions, I felt his spirit when it merged
with mine. I felt his soul surround us both, and there was nothing in the
galaxy but time.

"Yes, I'll marry you. My wilful, unconquerable starship Captain."

Quite suddenly, I realized I'd never known the true and untainted meaning my
people's word for understanding. I'd always thought I had a grasp of it, but
that was not 'Rabeem'. And I had never understood the way in which it was
inexorably connected with 'Imzadi'. The sanctity of a new and reverent
understanding filled my consciousness. I felt cherished by it.

Some have said that knowledge is the executioner of faith. But true faith, I
have come lately to understand, is the only force in the universe with the
power to heal.

I had faith in Will Riker. In just that moment, I had more faith in him than
anything or anyone else in the entire, blessed universe. There was no
longer a question in my mind that this was right, or that the journey we would be
embarking on together would mean a home--and a time of healing--for both of us.
I simply 'knew'.

My people would call that sort of truth, 'Rabeem'.

(end)