Winning Hand 2--The Wager

by Astra

Will Riker paced the width of his cabin's day area and thought fast. It had been several hours since the Captain had called him to the bridge and he was still trying to decipher the conversation. At first he'd been sure it was nothing serious, just a poker bet that got out of hand. But the more he thought about it, the less sure he was that it was so simple.

Frustrated, he dropped into a chair. He'd been thinking in circles all afternoon, and now he couldn't stop. He couldn't know.

They couldn't know. No. How could they? Could they??

Surrendering, he lay his head back against the cushion on the chair and closed his eyes. His mind continued turning circles.

Those blue eyes were open, looking at him as if he were dessert.

Slightly unnerved, Jean-Luc Picard rolled over, seeking another comfortable position. He forgot he was lying on the sofa.

"That was graceful" Beverly assured him. She managed not to smile too much as she offered a him a hand. He ignored it as he struggled up from his new location on the floor, wedged between the coffee table and the sofa.

Standing, he gave a dignified tug to his casual blue shirt, then took a seat beside her. "You're no help," he muttered under his breath. The laughter she'd been holding back exploded.

"Sorry, sorry." She held up her hand, getting her giggles under control. After a few seconds, she was quiet.

"Better." He said, adding a mock glare that almost started her laughing again. "Now that I'm awake and you've stopped cackling, let's plan our strategy." He rubbed his hands together mimicking fiendishness. "What shall we do to our dear Commander Riker next?"

"I still think we should put a Crydovian spiderbat in his bed."

"Beverly, be serious. A crime of this magnitude demands a carefully crafted plan of retaliation."

Those elegant eyebrows raised. "Jean-Luc, I never thought you were one to seek revenge."

Picard smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "I'm not. But this is an extraordinary case. Don't you agree?"

"Well I've always thought a little revenge could be a good thing."

"Whatever we do, It's got to be done carefully. We've got seven months, and we should use them all to our best advantage."

Beverly smiled a smile that showed all of her teeth.

Will Riker's mind was still turning, but he was thinking clearly again. Planning. He'd invested far too much time and effort in this to lose now, a mere seven months from completion.

Okay, Will, think about this. You were playing poker. You made a bet, Bev lost. The terms were vague - dye your hair another color. There was nothing in the bet about cutting it. Picard couldn't blame him for that.

Then why had he been called on the carpet today by Picard? It couldn't mean....

No, no. The whole ships knows it by now. Picard and Beverly are not lovers. They're friends.

That's it. She got carried away after the poker game and got her hair dyed blonde and cut short. Then she'd regretted it. She probably said something to Picard, and he, being the noble starship captain, had rushed to her rescue.

Yeah. That's it. Makes sense.

Oh, boy. How did I ever get into this mess?

It had all started with a poker game.

Lt Commander William T Riker was on shoreleave on Starbase 187. There'd been a conference in a neighboring star system, and the starbase was overloaded with more diplomats and Starfleet brass than young Riker had ever seen. Word had reached him of a high stakes poker game, captains and Admirals only. Riker made it his mission to get into that game.

Several hours after his first, discrete inquiries were made, Riker had an invitation to the game. He'd been more than a little impressed with himself. It wasn't until well into the morning hours, when all but three of the poker players had left, that Riker learned the real reason he'd been invited to the game.

Will Riker was a fast-rising star in Starfleet, commanding more than a little attention from the top brass. The brass that knew of Will Riker also knew of his reputation as a poker player. He deserved the reputation, he was good. The other people in the room that night were better.

The stack of chips in front of Riker was pathetic - not even enough to meet the opening minimum bet. He was ready to leave, defeated, when the one admiral ("Call me Mike") stopped him. Seems he and the other admiral, were interested in a different form of wager.

It took mere minutes for them to outline their plan. It took Riker considerably longer to process it and to finally agree. How could he refuse?

Will Riker pried his eyes open reluctantly and sent a fervent prayer to his deity that he'd make it through the next seven months.

How could he have known all those years ago? He'd love to blame the lateness of the hour, or alcohol, brownies, anything for the rash decision he'd made at that poker game. But he couldn't. He'd been arrogant, sure of himself, over-confident that the career track would always be his first goal. How could he have guessed that taking that bet would mean betraying his friends?

Prying himself out of the chair, Riker went into the bedroom and washed his face. He may look like hell, but he felt far far worse.

The "strategy" session had long since deteriorated into tickling.

Beverly lay breathless on the floor, trying to recover from her personal Picard maneuver. Jean-Luc sat beside her breathing hard and rubbing at the moisture around his eyes.

"That was not fair," she announced when she could talk again.

He grinned at her. "No, but it was fun."

She stuck her tongue out at him, a repeat of the action that had started this whole thing nearly an half an hour ago. He didn't take the bait this time.

"Hold that thought, Beverly, we've got serious plotting to do."

She sat up. "Okay, okay, but next time you get to dye your hair..."

This time he stuck his tongue out at her.

It followed him into his dreams. The poker game, the wager, the decision that might cost him the friendship of two of the people he most cared about. He's been so gullible. It was so clear now, that he was being used, manipulated. Why hadn't he seen it then?

They were offering him his dream; an increase in rank, a prime posting, and finally, captaincy of his choice of vessels. All it would cost him was a little time. Ten years. Not long at all compared to what was guaranteed to be a long, glorious career.

But there was that other, little, matter. Nothing as important as a man's career. And really it was for the good of the ship and Starfleet. Just keep an "eye" on a certain captain. Help him avoid dangerous distractions. Or, rather one distraction. A red-haired, long-legged, savagely brilliant distraction.

Oh, sure, he could do that.

Even in his dream, Riker moaned.

His hands were on her flesh. Touching. Caressing. Beverly moaned. "Jean-Luc..."

He increased the tempo of his caress.

"Please," she whispered, "don't stop."

He smiled. "I won't, cherie. But I don't intend to spend the entire night massaging your feet."

The light glinted off her white teeth. "Don't worry, Jean-Luc, you won't. But you're not leaving until you tell me how you found out about Will."

"I didn't know about Will at first. I was at that dreadful retirement dinner for Admiral Fulton, and some of my table companions were eating these, um, special brownies, and were acting rather..."

"Peculiar?" she offered helpfully.

"Extremely." He agreed. "One of them, a Captain Taylor, got me off in a corner and told me about this set of data chips she'd been asked to restore. She'd seen enough of the content to know that there was a very elaborate plot to prevent the two of us from ever having a romantic relationship. Seems your transfer to Starfleet Medical all those years ago was part of the plot. Thankfully there were other, saner heads who knew your talents were wasted there."

"It didn't hurt that we both cashed in most of our favors to get me reassigned to the Enterprise." she added with a smile.

"And took out a few new ones. The only thing Taylor didn't know was who the person on the inside was. It was clear that someone on the Enterprise had been helping to keep us apart. The question was who and why."

"How did you find out it was Will?"

Jean-Luc smiled, and imitated putting on his Dixon Hill hat. "Just some top notch sleuthing, schweethart' "

He lay there sweating, roused from his fitful sleep by another nightmare. In it he'd been chased, hounded by the Captain, Beverly, Deanna and the others. How careful he'd been all these years, subtly manipulating those around him.

Even Deanna had been fooled, the strength of his ambitions covering the deeper truth of why he'd refused to rekindle their romance. He never could hide things from her after they'd been intimate. Taking up with her would have surely ruined his plans.

He'd done his homework, of course. He never went into an assignment unprepared. Jean-Luc Picard wasn't exactly the type to romance women under his command. As for Beverly Crusher, every source he consulted passed her off as either a grieving widow or a ice maiden.

Add to that the fact that Picard had ordered her beloved husband to his death. By the time he set foot on Farpoint Station, he was already rehearsing the speech he'd use when he became captain of his own ship.

Then he met Beverly. She may have pretended to be ice, but one look, and this woman was burned into his being. If she turned those eyes on Picard, Will Riker was a dead man. Or at least his career would be dead.

And so it had taken every skill the man had to contrive and manipulate and plan. He'd pulled his unwitting fellow officers into the scheme too. He's even let himself be inhabited by a trill to keep the pair apart. Not that it hadn't had it's rewards....

Groaning, he turned his thoughts away from that particular train of thought. Really, things were bad enough without delving into that.

It had been soon after that, while still reeling from the emotional aftermath of that joining, that Riker had finally dared to ask why he was doing this. More specifically, he asked the admirals why they were doing this. Their silent, expressionless faces were all the answer he got.

Those faces followed him into his dreams.

He lay there sweating, breathing hard and trying not to cry out.

It was a little game they played. So far she'd won every time.

Finally he couldn't stand her teasing caresses any longer. His hands lifted from the bed, reaching for her. She ducked aside, then smiled when he let out a tiny moan.

"I win again." She said, laying down beside him, "So I get to pick the dessert."

That was fine with Picard. He was in no shape to move, let alone carry a tray laden with dessert and teacups. Let Beverly choose the dessert. He always got to "clean up" afterwards.

She rolled on top of him, naked skin caressing him as she slid over and off the bed. A minute later she returned with the tray. They fed each other for a while, until the edge was off their appetites.

Then they set the tray aside, and cuddled. After a while, she shifted, looking up at him.

"Isn't it ironic, Jean-Luc? Will and those admirals all scheming to keep us apart, and that was what finally brought us together."

He caressed her cheek. "Sweet irony, Beverly." And he grinned. "And now we plan our even sweeter revenge. In seven months our Commander Riker will reap his winnings from this wager. I think it's our duty. No, our obligation, to make him earn it."

She kissed his nose. "And we will spend all seven of those months making Will wonder if he's truly won. You are wicked, my dear captain. I like that in a man."

And the pair plotted and planned far into the night, until other activities distracted them.

Nearby, Commander Will Riker spent a restless night embraced by his dreams.