Author's notes:  Feel free to archive to any pertinent site.
As always: Paramount owns all the marbles, we just have a lot more fun playing with them.
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Whoa Nellie's Vash/Picard Romance Fan Fiction website is at:
http://geocities.datacellar.net/TimesSquare/Galaxy/7926/

Whoa Nellie's Sci-Fi Romance Fan Fiction website is at:
http://geocities.datacellar.net/whoa_nellies2000/

Speaking in Tongues

 Captain Jean-Luc Picard looked out of his readyroom window, admiring the graceful lines of the USS Bozeman alongside the Enterprise.  Hearing the door chime, he turned toward it.  "Come."

 The door slid open to reveal Will Riker and the commanding officer of the Bozeman, Captain Morgan Bateson. Originally from the twenty-third century, Bateson and the crew of the Bozeman had entered the twenty-fourth century after being caught in a temporal causality loop for nearly ninety years.  Picard and the Enterprise D had been instrumental in breaking the loop and the two captains had been friends ever since.  Starfleet had decided to keep the Bozeman in service and, to a man, her captain and crew had elected to remain with her.

 "Morgan, it's been too long." Picard greeted the other captain with a handshake.  "How are you?"

 "Oh, I can't complain.  And yourself?"  Bateson returned the handshake.

 "Just fine."  Picard gestured to one of the two chairs in front of his desk.  "Have a seat.  Can I get you something to drink?"

 "No, thank you, Jean-Luc," Bateson waved him off as he sat down.

 As Riker settled into a chair, Picard dispensed with the pleasantries.  "So, is there a reason for this visit or did your chief engineer just decide to play 'catch the flagship' while toying with the new engines Starfleet gave the Bozeman?"

 "Jean-Luc, my friend, you weren't going fast enough to make 'catch the flagship' any sort of a challenge," Bateson chuckled good-naturedly.

 "That can be arranged," Riker retorted with a gleam in his eye.

 "Another time; unfortunately, there actually is a reason for my visit."  Bateson pulled out a PADD and handed it to Picard.  "My chief of security and I thought you two boys might want to take a look at this."

 Picard took the offered PADD and sat down behind his desk.  After reading the information, he tossed the PADD on the desk for Riker to look at with a disgusted huff, "Merde."

 Bateson leaned back in his chair.  "I thought that would be your reaction; although I don't know why you insist on French when the English . . ."

 "Shit,"  Riker grumbled as he read the PADD.

 "Is so much more satisfying," Bateson finished just before the door chime sounded.

 "Come," Picard called.

 Lieutenant Commander Geoff Lar walked in; a pleasant-looking, young officer, his short, dark, wavy hair accented his dark, almost-luminescent eyes.  "You wanted to see me, sir."

 "This is Captain Bateson of the Bozeman.  Morgan, this is Lieutenant Commander Lar, my chief of security," Picard made the introductions.

 "Nice to meet you, son.  But I don't remember your captain calling for you," Bateson addressed the officer.

 "I'm Betazoid, sir."

 "That explains it."  Bateson turned back to Picard.  "You get all the good security chiefs, first a Klingon and now a telepath."

 "Just luck I guess,"  Picard allowed a brief flash of humor before turning back to his officer.  "Mr. Lar, Captain Bateson and his staff have just passed along to us some very interesting reading.  I want a preliminary analysis from your staff by the end of the shift."

 "Aye, sir."  Lar took the offered PADD from Riker.  He glanced down and quickly skimmed the information.  There was an almost inaudible grunt as the young man edited himself in front of his commanding officers.

 "Go ahead and say it Commander, your CO's both have," Bateson encouraged with a twinkle in his eye.

 Looking up from the PADD, Lar offered, "The word that springs to mind is conniption."

 "A very astute observation, Mr. Lar."  Picard nodded, understanding his officer's meaning exactly.  "And I will deal with that aspect of the situation myself.  Carry on."

 "Yes, sir," Lar reponded heading to the door.  Leaving the ready room, he stepped aside to allow Archaeology Council Member Vash Picard to enter.  "Hello, ma'am."

 "Hello, Geoffrey," Vash replied, walking past him into her husband's office.  "Jean-Luc, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.  I saw the Bozeman alongside of us and I wondered if there was any chance we might get to see Morgan."

 "Oh, there might be a chance of that," Bateson stood up turning to face her.

 "I was just about to call and ask you up here to join us," Picard replied as Riker and he also stood.  Discreetly, he let his eyes sweep over her.  The simple lines of her stylish, pale-blue dress accentuated the perfect curves of her delicate frame.  Her blue eyes sparkled at Bateson and she graced him with a charming smile.

 "Hello, beautiful."  Bateson stepped toward her.

 "Morgan."  She took his hands as he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.  "What brings you here?"

 "A chance to make time with my girl, obviously," Picard quipped, good-naturedly.

 "Don't worry.  I intend to hit on his girl too, once she's off duty," Bateson retorted tilting his head toward Riker.  Leading Vash to sit on the readyroom couch, he sat down beside her and added suavely, "Flagships always have the loveliest ladies onboard."

 "And starship captains always have silver tongues," she retorted.

 "How have you been, Vash?"

 "Very busy," she sighed making herself comfortable on the couch.  "I've accepted Professor Woo's invitation to be the Archaeology keynote speaker at the Daystrom Institute's Annual Science Symposium.  Barbara Caldwell, one of my assistants will be presenting our department's paper on Eillen archaeology."

 "I'm sure the keynote address has you absorbed," Bateson remarked.

 "Actually, I'm more concerned with how my department's paper on Eillen archaeology will be received.  Barbara has written a wonderful presentation, but it's her first speech before the Archaeology Council and that's always a bit intimidating.  I've spent a lot of time over the past week coaching her.  The keynote address is simply Woo's way of flaunting the fact that this former bad girl of the Archaeology council is now the respectable wife of a starship captain.  My entire staff and I are leaving in two days for the symposium and taking the captain's yacht . . . "  Vash trailed off as, out of the corner of her eye, she caught Jean-Luc's expression alter slightly.  She slowly turned toward her husband, an irrefutable challenge echoing beneath her casual tone.  "My staff and I are leaving in two days on the captain's yacht for the symposium."

 Picard sat behind his desk with his hands steepled, index fingers resting against his lips and trying to gauge his wife's expression and tone while contemplating his next move.  Her next utterance had an uncanny resemblance to his mother's voice as she drawled out the vowels between clenched teeth.

 "Jean-Luc."

 "Well, I've come this far.  I might as well stick my head in the lion's mouth."  Bateson took Vash's hand and she turned back toward him.  "In a way, Vash, you are actually the reason I'm here.  About thirty hours ago my ship intercepted a transmission using an old Romulan carrier wave.  The data stream was corrupted and what we received was mostly gibberish.  However, the universal translator was able to decode a few words -- Daystrom, symposium, assassinate and speaker.  My staff is convinced that this is credible evidence of a plot to assassinate of one of the speakers at the conference.  We have contacted the Daystrom Institute with this information and they are taking added security measures.  I decided to contact Jean-Luc personally when my chief of security noticed your name while reviewing the list of speakers scheduled for the conference."

 "And in light of this information, I feel it would be prudent to cancel the archaeology department's appearance at this year's symposium," Picard stated succinctly.

 "So you boys have already decided to act as if I'm the target," her words were a statement of fact, not a question.  Vash looked defiantly at all three officers.

 "Yes," came the unanimous reply.

 Vash stood up and began pacing the room as she spoke.  "The Daystrom Institute's Annual Science Symposium is the largest gathering of Federation scientists during the year.  There are some 500 papers in 50 different disciplines scheduled to be presented at this year's symposium along with a keynote speaker for each discipline.  There's no reason to assume that this has anything to do with me, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but, contrary to popular opinion, I am not the center of the universe."

  "You're the center of my universe," Picard professed hoping the rich, gentle timbre of his voice might diffuse her.

 Vash saw red.  Spinning on her heel, she glared at her husband.  "You can take your bedroom baritone and shove it up your aft thruster, Captain, I'm not in the mood.  I couldn't care less about my keynote address but this is an important speech for Barbara Caldwell and my people have worked damned hard on our department's paper on Eillen archaeology.  Canceling is completely unreasonable.  I'm no more likely the target than any other speaker at the symposium."

 "I will be the judge of what is reasonable," Picard snapped tightly.  Reining himself in, he sat back in his chair and continued in calm commanding tone.  "Professor Picard, I judge this to be a real and credible threat.  Due to the clear and present danger, the archaeology department's request for a shuttle to attend the symposium is hereby denied."

 Quietly sitting on the sidelines, Will Riker briefly closed his eyes inwardly shaking his head.  Commander Lar had called it right when he said the word conniption.  Although he completely agreed with the captain, the first officer knew Picard would pay dearly for this later.  It was bound to be a long, cold night in the captain's quarters.  Startled, he watched as Morgan Bateson got up and walked toward a now-seething Vash.  Riker decided the Bozeman's captain was either completely daft, absolutely fearless or some combination of the two.

 "Vash, there is a very good reason why your name jumped out at my security chief.  You're not just the wife of a simple starship captain.  And although Jean-Luc is loathe to admit it, the Picard name has become legendary." Bateson slipped a finger under Vash's chin to bring her gaze up to his.  "You are the wife of the flagship captain.  And that, little girl, makes you a likely target."

 "I truly appreciate you warning us, Morgan.  I'm aware of the dangers," Vash replied as the Bozeman's captain stepped back from her and crossed his arms.  She looked past Bateson to speak directly to her husband sitting behind his desk.  "Really, I am.  And I have . . . for the most part . . . accepted that certain, reasonable, security precautions must be taken.  There is a big difference between that and basically living my life in protective custody because of a threat that may or may not be directed at me."

 "Protective custody, if only it were that simple."  Picard wistfully gazed at the ceiling of his ready room.

 Vash noticed a chess set sitting on the table next to her.  It must have been left out after one of Jean-Luc's games with Data.  Surveying the pieces on the board, she had an inspiration and picked up the black queen.  She idly toyed with the piece as she spoke. "Let's assume, just for arguments sake, I am the intended target.  Canceling solves nothing.  If I don't show up at the symposium whoever is behind the message will simply lay low and wait for a more opportune moment.  One which we most likely will not be forewarned about."

 "I will not allow you to use yourself as bait," Picard stated flatly.

 "All we have is a garbled message that doesn't mention me by name but does mention the Daystrom Institute meaning the local authorities have jurisdiction over this investigation.  Without me speaking at the symposium, you have no legitimate reason to be snooping around and sticking that legendary French nose of yours into this investigation.  Therefore, Captain, I propose a compromise.  Instead of taking the yacht as I'd planned, you can ferry me to the symposium onboard the Enterprise.  Geordi can overhaul the engines or some such thing while you have Commander Lar and his people poke around continuing their own investigation under the guise of providing for my security."  With a defiant toss of her hair, she strode over to stand in front of his desk.  Deliberately placing the black queen on the desk in front of him, she braced her open palms on his desk and leaned in until she was nose to nose with him.  "Check . . . mate."

 "Shit," Picard grumbled.

 "See, I told you it was much more satisfying," Bateson commented.

 "If I agree to this you can anticipate very extensive security measures will be added to the usual precautions," Picard replied tightly to Vash.

 "I'd expect nothing less."  Vash's eyes sparkled as she realized she won this round.

 "And I expect that you will strictly follow all security measures without argument."  Picard eyed his wife meaningfully.

 "Of course, Captain," she placed a kiss on the tip of his nose before pulling back.

 Bateson chuckled, "Is she always this difficult?"

 "Oh no," Riker laughed.  "Most of the time she's much worse."

 "Well-behaved women rarely make the history books, Billy," Vash teased, her eyes never leaving her husband.

 "If that is the case, rest assured there will be whole chapters written about you, petite amie."  Picard shook his head at his charmingly errant wife.

 "I'm going for entire volumes, Jean-Luc, those big, leather tomes."

 ......................................

 Dressed for bed in a pair of scarlet, silk pajamas, Vash sat with her legs curled up under her in one of the easy chairs in the captain's quarters.  With a steaming cup of hot cocoa and several PADDs on the coffee table in front of her, she reviewed the most recent draft of an article that her staff and she were preparing for one of the archaeology journals.

 Pausing briefly on his way past her to his desk, Picard reached out to stroke the silky hair on the back of her head and murmured softly, "Mon ange."

 Warm emotion rushed over Vash from the tender gesture.  Surreptitiously, she cast a quick glance up at her husband as he walked past.  Still dressed in uniform, he looked every inch the legendary starship captain.  Jean-Luc sat down to work at his desk and she returned her attention to her own work.  A short time later, she heard him moving around the room.  She presumed he was gathering up whatever reports he needed to fill out the bureaucratic red tape Starfleet Command seemed to thrive on only to realize that he was standing behind her chair.

 Picard brushed the curtain of brunette hair aside and leaned down to nibble along the slender column of her neck.  Drinking in her sweet scent while nuzzling the delicate skin, he professed in a low whisper, "Je t' aime."

 "Je t' aime."  Vash echoed softly.  Her senses stirred as he trailed feathery kisses from the nape of her neck to just under her right earlobe.  Gently, she admonished him, "Don't you have a ship's log or something to finish."

 Pulling back, he dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head and held up the PADD he had gotten up to retrieve.  "Crew evaluation reports."

 "And you're expecting little elves to come in at midnight and finish them for you," she teased without looking up from her own PADD.

 "Anything is possible . . . especially on this ship.  However, your point is well taken."  He headed back to his desk.

 Although both had resumed work on their respective tasks, Vash was aware of Jean-Luc pausing to watch her intently, devotion plainly visible in those piercing, steel-grey eyes.  This knowledge was in part due to wifely intuition, but more importantly she could just glimpse his reflection in the black, high-gloss surface of the computer interface on the opposite wall.  As she was finishing revisions to the conclusion of the article, he left his desk to put his empty tea cup in to the replicator.

 Picard walked over beside Vash's chair, reached down and gently stroked the smooth skin of her cheek with the back of his fingers.  Without looking up from her PADD, she tilted her head slightly and leaned into his caress.  Quietly, he implored her, "Do you know how precious you are to me?"

 She took his hand in one of hers and placed a kiss on the back of it.  "What's wrong?"

 "Why would you think something's wrong?" he gently squeezed her hand.

 "Jean-Luc, in the past hour you have stopped working and left your desk to stroke my hair and my cheek, kiss my neck and whisper in my ear.  Normally, those actions would indicate that you're in the mood to pet the kitty; however, your mood has been very subdued and pensive all evening," she looked up at him expectantly.  "What is it?"

 Letting go of her hand, he walked over to sit down on the couch.  "I have serious reservations about you attending the symposium.  I don't like the idea of you giving such a high profile speech while a possible target of an assassin."

 "I'm only one in over five hundred possible targets," she reminded him.

 "Which still leaves you as a possible target."

 "If my name had been mentioned or even if the Archaeology Council had been mentioned I would have canceled on my own before you even asked.  However, all we have is a garbled communiqué that mentions the symposium."  She placed the PADD she had been working on down on the coffee table.  "There are a number of speakers at this year's symposium who would make much more likely targets.  The keynote speaker for astrophysics, Dr. Ffinsgry, is the crown prince for his planet's not-so-popular royal family.  Sociology professor, Dr. Dirgah's controversial work on the Klingon religious beliefs in Sto-Vo-Kor has earned him, at last count, eleven death treats."

 "The personal safety of Dr. Ffinsgry and Dr. Dirgah is not my concern.  Yours is," Picard snapped, even the most remote possibility of her being marked by an assassin was unacceptable.  Taking a deep breath, he tugged on the waist of his uniform jacket and leaned back into the couch.  "You are the single most precious thing in the galaxy to me and I love you more than life itself.  To be forced to stand by and watch you beam down into a potentially perilous situation  . . . where someone may be trying to kill you . . . do you have any idea how difficult that is?"

 "No," she crooned in mock innocence.  "I have no idea what it would be like to stand by and watch the one person you love most beam down into potentially perilous situations."  Vash crossed her arms and stared meaningfully at him.

 It took a long moment for Picard to register the irony behind his wife's statement.  Looking off to the side, he acted as if he was talking to his second officer.  "Why yes, Mr. Data, that would be an excellent example of sarcasm.  Actually, that is what's known as biting sarcasm."

 Vash stood up and turned her back on him walking toward his desk.  "There is a cold knot in the pit of your stomach as you imagine how you'd deal with the worst case scenario.  Part of you is desperate to hold on and never let go.  Another part of you is angry, wanting to scream 'don't you dare leave me alone out here!'  You feel guilty because you've known from the beginning that the risks are a part of the life you've chosen."

 Reflecting on what she had said, he watched in silence as she took a small display case from his desk drawer and walked back over to him.

 Placing the display case filled with his many honors and medals on the sofa next to him, she sank back down in her chair.  "Welcome to my world, Captain."

 "You were quite eloquent in making your point, chere."  He picked up the case and placed it on the coffee table between them.  "The theatrics and props weren't necessary."

 An impish sparkle lit her eyes.  "Props are always fun.  And we both have a flair for the theatrical.  It seems a shame to waste such talent."

 Ignoring her flippancy for the moment, he observed, "you make it seem so effortless, shouldering the burden with such a sanguine bravado that no one knows."

 "Deanna knows.  Beverly knows and understands more than anyone."  There was a small catch in Vash's voice.  "Beverly Crusher.  There, but for the grace of God, go I."

 "How do you manage it?"

 "I have an unwavering faith in you, your Starfleet training,and your abilities as a Starfleet officer.  Your well-honed instincts about command have made you the very best at what you do."  She picked up the display case and gazed at the medals through the glass, reverently brushing her fingers over the smooth surface.  "I take great pride in Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Starfleet's flagship captain and legendary hero.  The power and commanding presence of the man in uniform makes me catch my breath and my heart skip a beat.  And there is an undeniable thrill in watching you pull off the seemingly impossible."

 "The seemingly impossible . . . like trying to get you to follow orders," he quipped with gentle exasperation.

 Setting aside the medals, Vash moved to settle herself onto her husband's lap.  Her arm encircled his neck and she ran her fingers through with the fringe of neatly trimmed hair on the back of his head.  "Trust me, Jean-Luc.  If I thought for one moment that I was actually the target of an assassin I would cancel and ensconce myself aboard this flying fortress of yours until you told me the coast was clear."  She paused briefly, pursing her lips.  "If you're that concerned why don't you give me back Geoffrey as my security guard?"

 "Leave it to you to use this try to get Mr. Lar back.  I thought you and Mr. Kennely had come to an understanding?"

 "Kennely is sweet, considerate and a very capable Starfleet officer.  But he isn't Geoffrey," she explained in a beguiling purr.

 "Well, Mr. Kennely has my full confidence and will be heading up your security detail.  Commander Lar will have his hands full running the investigation.  His job will be to find whomever is responsible for the communiqué before they can find you."  Picard noticed his wife seemed preoccupied; her dark hair softly brushing his shoulder as she leisurely traced one finger around the rank pips on the collar of his burgundy uniform tunic.  "Vash?"

 "Sorry," Vash murmured, daydreaming about Jean-Luc's lovemaking, his lips firm but pliant taking command of hers while his large, capable hands aroused her body.  Nestled in his lap with her body snug against the solid anchor of his masculine form, she coyly looked up at him through her lashes.  "You're being so gallantly heroic and protective.  It's that whole sexy man in uniform thing again."

 He raised a questioning eyebrow.  "As I recall, you were not overly enamored with the 'man in uniform' earlier this afternoon.  I distinctly remember you suggesting the captain take his bedroom baritone and shove it up his aft thruster.  Would you care to enlighten your baffled husband on what has changed?"

 "I got what I wanted.  My staff and I are attending the symposium," she replied completely unabashed.

 "Now let me see if I correctly understand this fascination of yours?" he regarded the mischievous nymph perched on his lap, her fingertip playing over his rank insignia teasing his senses.  "You find the commanding presence and power sexy and heroic as long as the orders don't adversely affect what you want to do."

 "Pretty much," she cooed.

 With a sigh, he shook his head slightly.  Recalling something she had said earlier, he chuckled, "in the mood to pet the kitty?  And just whose rather poetic euphemism was that?"  Seeing that she had a response poised on her lips, he quickly added, "please don't answer that.  It was a rhetorical question.  I really don't wish to know which one of you ladies came up with that very unladylike idiom."

 "Made you laugh," she observed, very pleased with herself.

 Sighing again in amused exasperation, he buried his hands in her silky hair, raising her face to his.  For a long moment, he stared down into the features of her beautiful face with her brilliant blue eyes, delicate cheekbones and rose petal lips.  Her eyes drifted shut as he lowered his mouth to capture hers in a deep, passionate kiss.  Blood roared in his ears from the lush sweetness of her lips beneath his own.  His questing tongue coaxed her lips apart and snaked in to caress the warm, moist cavity.  Their tongues stroked each other in a sensual tango as her tongue answered the demands of his.  Every muscle in his body tightened and his hardness grew in fervent response.  His mouth slid from hers, moving to tenderly feast on the soft skin of her neck.  Surreptitiously, he began deftly unbuttoning her nightshirt.  He felt her body tremble under his hands, cradling her bare breasts, the hardened peaks pressed against his palms.  With a low moan, her head rolled back, wordlessly offering him the exposed curve of her neck for a fiery trail of kisses to the hollow of her throat.  Feeling her rapid pulse against his lips, he paused his trek to flick his tongue against the pulse point briskly.  Further down, he traced the swell of her breasts with his tongue before placing an open mouth kiss at the center of her cleavage.  His lips imprisoned the nipple of one of her breasts and he leisurely swirled his tongue over the taut peak.  He nipped lightly at the hardened crest then began suckling strongly.  Her supple curves writhing in his lap against him sent pulses of pure fire shooting through his body.

 Vash tightly clutched Jean-Luc's shoulders, goosebumps puckering her satiny skin from the heat of his powerful hands.  The rasp of his tongue along with the sharp pull of his mouth and the occasional scrape of his teeth caused her breasts to swell, the peaks stiff and demanding in their need.  Just when she thought she could stand no more, his mouth left her breasts to travel back up over her chest and throat to her claim her lips in another impassioned kiss.  She deepened the kiss, her tongue brazenly challenging his with her own erotic search of his mouth.  Pulling back, he broke off with several, brief kisses, teasing nips that made her yearn for more.  With the skill of a maestro, his manipulations had her pulsing uncontrollably and dripping wet with unsatisfied lust; her entire body felt as if it were made of liquid flames.  She gazed into his handsome chiseled features and those intense grey eyes.  The tips of her fingers trailed sensuously over his bottom lip.  "Je suis a toi.  Prends moi."

 The proposition lasciviously whispered in French, along with the desire that emanated provocatively from her sparkling eyes drove his need up yet another notch.  Effortlessly lifting her svelte frame, he stood and carried her to their bedroom to gently lay her on the bed.  His eyes locked on her as his hands gripped the upper edge of his uniform jacket and opened the snaps down the front, pulling it off and dropping it to the floor.  A heated gaze swept over Vash seductively sprawled across their bed with her silky, red nightshirt draped open exposing the full curves of her breasts with the creamy skin tipped by rosy peaks.  The lush curves rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath.  Unfastening his shirt, he took it off throwing it down to join the jacket on the floor.  His breath caught when Vash's small, pink tongue slipped out to wet her lips.  He tugged at his T-shirt, pulling it free of his waistband, stripping it off over his head and tossing it aside.  The remaining clothing hit the floor a bare second later.

 Kneeling on the bed next to her, he leaned down to captured her lips with his in another passionately heated kiss.  His tongue traced her red, swollen lips before stealing inside to dance with hers.  He could feel her taut muscles contracting beneath his palm as he slowly slid his hand down her midriff to slip beneath the waistband of her silk pajama pants.  She inhaled sharply, her nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders as his fingers brushed the very core of her need.  The wet evidence of her arousal bathing his fingertips drove his desire up to an almost unbearable level.  He caressed and inflamed the moist heat, the clenching and frantic movements at the sweet torment silently telling him how close she was.  Wanting to take her to the very edge of sexual madness, he continued arousing her overheated body, careful not to send her over.

 "Jean-Luc, please . . . Oh God, please . . . Oh Jean-Luc . . . Please," she whimpered into his mouth, pleading for her release.

 He heard her moan of frustration when his hand and mouth suddenly left her.  Quickly sliding her satin pants down the length of her legs, he dropped them to the floor next to the bed.  Moving to kneel between her quivering thighs, he grasped the gentle flare of her hips, holding her still and lowered his mouth to suckle her very core.  Intoxicated by her scent and taste, his mouth relentlessly took her to the peak of ecstasy.  His tongue flicked and stroked her, alternately plunging inside to caress the trembling depths.  He felt her body shudder around him and she threw her head back, crying out her release.  She began whimpering, mindlessly twisting in his grasp as his tongue redoubled its assault on her senses.  Knowing her body's rhythm as if it was his own, he was able to keep her floating just short of another release.  In the instant before she peaked again, he stopped, holding perfectly still until her body had calmed just enough.  Then his mouth and tongue resumed the teasing rhythm, stopping again as she neared the edge.  Not sure who he was tormenting more, he left her teetering on the brink and kissed his way up her taut, sweat-dampened body.  Heated blood surged through his veins, he wanted nothing more than to bury himself deep inside her, his name being screamed in uninhibited ecstasy.

 It always seemed as if his slightest touch drove her to insatiable need.   Her body was screaming for him, frustrated at the leisurely, tormenting pace that he had set.  Shifting herself beneath him, she sucked his tongue into her mouth, suckling it as he had her body.  Her hands gripped his hips and, with her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, she forced him deep inside her body.  A feral growl from the back of his throat was her only warning before he shed every ounce of his restraint, driving into her with reckless abandon.  Her mouth pulled harder on his tongue, increasing the pressure in response to the full weight of his body in hers.  She twisted her hips up, challenging every forceful thrust, moaning with pleasure at the sensation of coarse hair on his chest grazing the sensitized, hardened nipples with every rocking motion.  Once again, Jean-Luc was taking her closer and closer to the peak of ecstasy.  Streaks of fire shot through her body, colliding and multiplying to indescribable heights of pleasure.  Her fingernails traced the tightly sculpted muscles of his arms and back, digging into them occasionally to spur him on.  She broke the kiss, intending to utter words of love, passion...she wasn't sure what she wanted to say.  What came out was his name, over and over, louder and louder.  A swell of desire began blossoming, a crest of pleasure that was still increasing.  Her entire body became extremely sensitive, she could feel the soft sheets beneath her, every hair on Jean-Luc's body rubbing her satiny skin, every ridge of his hard length driving into the heated depths of her body.  Lost in a whirl of sensation, the orgasm lifted her out of any awareness, to total blackness.  With one final scream, 'La petite mort' was her last, surprisingly coherent thought just before blackness consumed her.

 "Oui!" his roar of triumph merged into a feral duet with her pleasure-strangled scream and he drove himself into her with a renewed urgency.  He felt her entire body collapse, overwhelmed with pleasure and deep inside him a deluge broke loose.  He made one, final, powerful thrust, holding himself deep inside her, as his own explosive release consumed him.  Propped on his elbows, looking down at Vash, Picard enjoyed the last few tremors of pleasure as he tried to catch his breath.  Feeling blissfully content, he waited patiently for her blue eyes to open.  "That's what you get for talking dirty to me in French."

...........................

 The next afternoon, Vash strolled into Sickbay holding a PADD and wearing a Cheshire cat-grin.  "Ohhh . . . Beverly."

 Beverly Crusher looked up from her computer console at the overly-chipper tone of voice.  "Hey."

 "You got a few minutes?" Vash asked with a smile.

 "Sure.  I could use a break from these journals," Beverly sat back and rubbed her neck.  "Get us some coffee and have a seat."

 Vash set Bev's cup in front of her before sitting down across from her with her own cup of coffee from the office's replicator.

 "So what brings you all the way down here?  Please tell me it's a pregnancy test," the doctor quipped with a wicked gleam in her eye.

 "No.  I don't need a pregnancy test but it certainly isn't from a lack of practice," she chuckled.  However, that particular subject did provide her with an opening to ask question that had her curious.  "Beverly, the phenomenon 'La petite mort' . . . are there any known adverse effects?"

 "There are small minority of women who may actually black out while experiencing very intense orgasms.  There are no known adverse effects, although, it does tend to scare the hell out of an inexperienced young man when his partner passes out," the doctor answered.  Again the wicked gleam lit her eyes as she raised an eyebrow. "Do we pass out in bed often, Madame Picard?"

 Vash blushed slightly and studied her coffee.  "The first time I ever had it happen was shortly after Jean-Luc and I were engaged.  He learned, to his great delight I might add, that he could cause me to react that way.  Now . . . every once in a while, he makes it almost a mission objective to do that to me."

 "Kate Pulaski would no doubt attribute that to a very male compulsion to demonstrate prowess."  Seeing Vash look up in surprise, Beverly explained, "Kate served as the Enterprise's CMO the year I was at Starfleet Medical.  I remember her pointing out that Jean-Luc reads hard-boiled detective novels, rides horses, plays with swords, and drinks Aldebaran whiskey.  She thought he was about as male as male gets."

 "I've always described it as pure masculine virility."

 "Precisely.  Now my advice as your friend as well as your doctor is to lay back and enjoy the demonstrations of male prowess," Beverly advised with a wink.  "So, did you come all the way down her to talk about your sex life?"

 "No.  Actually, I came to talk about yours," Vash replied with a glint in her eye.  "How long has it been since you've seen your sexy, pouty-lipped Indian outlaw?"

 "Too long,  I miss him.  Chakotay and I have managed to coordinate our last four leaves, but the time together flies by so quickly, especially that last leave on Risa."

 Vash took a drink of coffee and reclined back in her chair.  "You know about the change in plans regarding the symposium, right?"

 Bev nodded, "The Enterprise is transporting you to the symposium and remaining in orbit for routine maintenance.  It'll actually give me a chance to attend the symposium myself, Jean-Luc just approved my request."

 "Well, there's one presentation that you won't want to miss," Vash handed Beverly the PADD she had brought with her.  "I was reviewing the symposium schedule and found a particularly interesting talk--rather a particularly interesting presenter, I should say.  Commander Chakotay is presenting an anthropological paper on one of the Delta Quadrant species he encountered, the Voth, at the symposium.   The Daystrom Institute staff was even thoughtful enough to include everyone's assigned room accommodations for the symposium."

 Beverly scanned the information on the PADD.  Looking at Vash, her eyebrow arched with barely-suppressed mischief.  "I'm going to do something bad, very, very bad."

 "Can I help?"
..........................................

 "Explain this to me again," Deanna was saying as she entered the transporter room with Vash.

 "It's a sex toy from pre-22nd century Earth," Vash began in an exaggeratedly loud voice.

 "And they were literally some guy's balls?"

 Taking on a professorial tone, Vash watched the male crewman on duty as she spoke.  "In many ancient cultures, men who worked in areas where important or special women lived were completely castrated so as to prevent distraction from their duties.  Pre-industrial cultures often found productive uses for extraneous material, so this could have simply been their idea of recycling."

 Deanna barely managed to avoid reacting to the male crewman's emotions during the explanation.  She stoked the fire a little more.  "Was there something special about this Wa character's balls that made them especially valuable?"

 Shrugging, Vash replied.  "Not the part of a man's anatomy I'd want to play with, admittedly.   We can see just what was so special about Ben's buddies in a moment."  She handed a PADD to the crewman who was unsuccessfully trying to maintain his composure.  "I have a shipment of old Earth artifacts from the Smithsonian to beam aboard."

 "Would you like me to transport the shipment directly to your lab, Professor Picard?" the crewman asked, almost hopefully.

 With a wink at her co-conspirator, the archaeologist gave an innocent smile.  "Oh no, thank you.  I'll need to examine each piece in the shipment here to log the contents before it's officially brought aboard."

 Deanna stepped behind the transporter console and employed her best empathic counselor voice, "I could handle the transport it you would prefer to not be present for this, crewman."

 "I . . . couldn't," he sighed reluctantly.

 "Crewman, you appear to need a brief respite from your duties.  You are relieved for a fifteen minute break, I will mind your post," Deanna instructed.

 The crewman quickly logged out and practically ran from the room.  After the door slid shut behind him, the two women collapsed in a fit of giggles.

 "I hope we didn't traumatize him too much," Vash gasped.

 Deanna wiped tears from her eyes.  "I can fix him later."

 "I think that's what he's scared of."

 Several minutes later, Beverly entered the transporter room to find her co-conspirators howling with laughter.  "What's so funny?"

 Deanna took a deep breath before responding.  "We'll explain later.  More importantly, mission accomplished; the crewman on duty is on a break, we have about ten minutes."

 "Oh, Dee, you might want to scan Chakotay's quarters to make sure he's alone," Vash suggested as Beverly began to remove her uniform.

 "Speaking from experience?" Beverly asked, amused.

 "Let's just say when someone says they have a special surprise planned . . . don't assume anything."

 Beverly was still chuckling as she materialized in Chakotay's quarters on the surface.  He was in bed, adorably disheveled.  He had obviously been awakened by the whine of the transporter beam and was reaching for something on the bedside table.  "I'm unarmed, don't shoot," she said quickly.  "At least not with a phaser" she crooned, suggestively.  "If you've got any other weapons ready to fire, we could discuss it."

 Chakotay gaped in stunned disbelief at the beautiful redhead who had materialized completely naked.  Before his mind could fully grasp the situation, his body was hardening in desire.  "Fireball?"

 She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him until his strong arms were wrapped around her, her long legs draped on each side of his tawny thighs, straddling him.  Her mouth hungrily sought his, the tingle of anticipation flaring into white-hot desire.  It felt so incredibly right to press against him, his body a perfect fit to hers.  Her hands entwined themselves in his thick, dark hair and tilted his head up to allow her tongue deeper access to the moist depths of his mouth.  Writhing against him, she rubbed her nipples across the smooth expanse of his broad chest.  The stiff crests were throbbing, punctuated with streaks of fire each time they grazed across his own rock-hard nubs.  She had been imagining this moment, planning the daring entrance that was so unlike her and the adrenaline rush that built to a crescendo with her appearance in his quarters was exploding into desperate need.  He had always done this to her, made her uninhibited and daring in exciting and passionate ways.  Now the glistening juncture of her thighs were rocking against the smooth, muscular skin of his abdomen as her tongue ravished his mouth.

 His hands cupped the creamy hips, pressing her tighter against him.  By the time his mouth had been able to form words, it was full of her tongue.  Everything that he would have said about missing her and being glad she was there vanished beneath the spiraling desire she evoked in him.  Her appearance was surprising, in more ways than one; it felt like an amazing erotic dream driven by an erotic, sex-starved nymph.  His lungs demanded air long before she broke the kiss, but he surrendered to her, oxygen not nearly as important in that moment as more of her.  When her mouth finally left his, there was little reprieve before her lips and tongue began nibbling and sucking down his body.  He groaned softly, the throbbing of his body becoming a sharp, pulsating ache when her mouth latched onto a dark nipple and began torturing it.  He gasped when she began suckling it, burying his hands in her hair to hold her close.  His body was quivering with the effort it took to restrain himself when she began licking down his chest.  He wanted to let her take the lead, if this was a surreal dream, he didn't want to risk ending it too soon and if it wasn't a dream, watching her nip and lick at his dark, sweat-dampened skin with her pearly white teeth was entrancing.  Her bright red hair flowed around his fingers, tendrils grazing his skin in tantalizing torment.  His body jerked when her tongue swirled around his straining length.

 Breathing in his musky scent, Beverly took him completely into her mouth.  Her head began a slow tempo, pulling back to lick the very tip before slowly taking its length all the way back in.  Her hands braced on his hips to steady herself against the writhing and grinding of his hips.  She whimpered aloud at the sensations flooding through her; the taste of him and his own sounds of passion were consuming her.  When she felt him start to lose control, she stopped, moving back up to cover his body with hers.    She sat up, her eyes locked on his as she taunted him with her body, grazing his hardness with her body in feather-light caresses.  Only when he bucked up, groaning in frustration, did she slowly, lingeringly lower herself onto him.  Her eyes never leaving his, she bit her lip at the delicious fullness.  She only felt this way, this complete, with Chakotay; no one else had ever made her feel so much like the person she wanted to be.  Flicking at his nipples with her fingernails she smiled smugly at the shuddered intake of breath that followed each blow.  She pressed her knees tighter against his sides and began grinding herself onto him with slow, deliberate strokes.  The sense of suspended time suddenly cracked, need, desire and passion exploding with fire and her body quickened its pace.  She drove herself onto him over and over, faster and faster.  Strong hands gripped her hips, steadying her under the twisting drive of their bodies, she pushed them both harder, needing everything this wonderful, sensual man could give her.

 Chakotay watched her breasts bobbing with her movements, his mouth watering with images of claiming those full mounds tipped with rosy crests.  She was so hot and wet, her body devouring his voraciously.  He met her thrusts, the heated juncture of her thighs slamming onto him over and over.  His own need was spiraling, his body screaming for release.   Suddenly her body arched, her breasts jutting out and her hair whipping his legs as her body convulsed powerfully around him.  Her scream of pleasure seemed to echo around the room a split second later.  It was that sound that broke him from his fascinated study of her moment of orgasm, triggering his own, powerful release.  Her body was a welcome weight, collapsing against him in exhaustion.
 
 "Surprise," Beverly gasped when she was finally able to speak.

 Chakotay settled her against him and kissed the top of her head.  "Pleasant surprise; dare I hope you just missed me so much that you had to hunt me down?"

 Nuzzling his chest, she chuckled.  "I thought we just took care of that big head of yours."

 He laughed softly, his fingers idly trailing across her sweat-dampened skin.  "I think it might need to be deflated again in a little while.  So really, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

 She snuggled against him, savoring the warm, sated feeling of the moment.  "A message was intercepted that suggested some sort of threat to a speaker at the conference."

 "And you've come to personally protect my body; I'm touched."

 Panic instantly shot through her.  Chakotay was one of the speakers at the conference.  It was no secret that the Cardassians had been livid that the former members of the Maquis from Voyager had not only been pardoned, but that Chakotay had been reinstated in Starfleet as a full Commander.  He could be the target of the message.  She pressed her lips to the hot skin beneath her and tried to keep her tone light, "And tasted and ravished and ..." she broke off when his roaming fingers began tickling her ribcage.  "Okay, seriously, since Vash is speaking at the conference, Jean-Luc brought her and her staff so that the Enterprise would have an excuse to be here.  This way they can investigate the matter without disrupting the conference.  He's encouraging as many of the crew as possible to attend the conference events so that the added security doesn't attract undue attention from people who might be planning something."

 "Mrs. Picard is still speaking at the conference?"

 Her voice dropped to a sober whisper, "so are you."

 Chakotay tightened his hold on the incredible woman in his arms.  "All of the speakers received a message encouraging extra caution and asking them to be alert to anything out of the ordinary; or do you think I routinely keep a phaser in the table by my bed at these conferences?"  Without waiting for her response, he continued, "I promise to be careful here at the conference if you promise to stay onboard the Enterprise for the duration of the conference."  His fingers stilled her instinctive response.  "There are a lot of potential targets at this conference; however, I'm well aware how high I am on the list.  I know you're an intelligent, capable woman, but even the thought of you in danger would tempt me to lock you in a safe place indefinitely."

 Strangely, Beverly found herself on the verge of tears.  It had been so long since she'd had someone in her life who felt that protective of her.  "I'm not on the list of possible targets, you are."

 Rolling Beverly beneath him, he captured her lips in a deep, demanding kiss.  "I love you, Fireball, but I can't imagine seeing you in a dangerous situation.  If there's any chance that being around me is hazardous to your safety, than I'd feel better if you keep your distance from me."

 She arched herself against him.  "I don't want to talk about this anymore.  Tonight is for us, just love me, Chakotay."

...........................................

 Leaving the Archaeology council's luncheon, Professor Picard took her husband's arm as they walked through the bustling corridors of the Cochrane building on the Daystrom Institute's campus.  With his well-known reputation as an archaeology buff, the flagship captain's presence at the symposium with his wife seemed quite typical.  Commander Lar and Crewman Kennely fell in behind the couple at a discreet distance.

 "So, where to next?"  Vash enjoyed the feel of Jean-Luc's powerful muscles beneath the uniform.  With some free time before the archaeology session began, she had been looking forward to spending a few hours with him.

 "Thomas Paris is giving a lecture on the design and specifications of the Delta Flyer, an advanced shuttlecraft built in the Delta quadrant by the crew of Voyager.  Mr. Paris was the individual mainly responsible for the ship's basic design," he replied offering her the information to look over.

 Taking the PADD, she studied the material and read aloud, "ultra-aerodynamic contours, retractable nacelles, parametallic hull plating, a tetraburnium alloy hull, unimatrix multiphasic shielding."  She shook her head and chuckled, "Jean-Luc, this isn't a shuttle, it's a hot rod.  The only thing missing are tail fins on the nacelles."

 "Be that as it may, the Delta Flyer's innovations were instrumental in the success of several missions," Picard explained.

 "Thomas Paris, is he any relation to your friend Owen Paris?" she asked.

 "He's the admiral's son."

 Vash looked back up at her husband with a knowing smile.  "So we're not just talking about a lecture here.  After all, you probably have access to classified details about this ship that can't be covered here.  You're hoping that since you're friends with dad, junior just might give you a chance to fly this new toy."

 "It'd be nice to see how she handles before . . ."

 "Before what, Johnny?  Before you and the boys decide to build one to play with for yourselves," she teased.

 "Some of the innovations Mr. Paris has implemented could prove quite useful," he maintained.

 "This isn't the type of ship you use for routine mapping missions.  This is the type of ship you fly fast just to see how fast fast can be while executing maneuvers that push the envelope of sanity.  This is the type of ship that you place in a hanger, drape a curvaceous, half-naked woman over it and make pinups,"  she giggled.

 "You willing to volunteer?" he retorted, his deep, resonating voice taking on a decidedly wolfish tone.

 "Only if you're willing to hang it in your ready room," was her saucy comeback.

 Behind them, Lar discreetly activated his comm badge, speaking in a sotto voice.  "Human male, Caucasian, dark hair, about two meters tall and between thirty-five to forty-five years of age.  He's been following them for at least the last ten minutes and he's very focused on the Captain."  The security chief described the individual to his security team so anyone with a good vantage point could scan the him for possible weapons.

 "Got'em, sir," replied Lieutenant Mark Randall, raised in Montana Vash affectionately referred to him as 'the cowboy.'  "Would ya looky here.  That ole boy is carrying a Romulan disruptor pistol hidden beneath the left side of his jacket.  I believe that more than gives us legal justification to take him into custody for a little chat."

 "Nice work, Mr. Randall.  All right people, remember we have a lot of civilians around.  Move in on my mark."  Lar closed his comlink and glanced over at Kennely.  "You know what to do, go."

 "Aye, sir."

 Turning her head toward Jean-Luc to ask him a question, Vash saw her security guard quickly moving in right behind them.  His hand came to rest on the small of her back and his quiet command brooked no argument.

 "We're leaving, now."  Not wanting to draw attention with an emergency beam out in a large crowd, Kennely steered the couple down a side hallway toward a small room that had been secured earlier.

 As they entered the room, Picard took command,"get her back to the ship, I'll  . . ."

 "Both of you, sir," Kennely interrupted.  "Commander Lar's orders.  He said you can take the issue up with him in your ready room later."  The young security officer blocked his captain's path out of the room.  Ignoring the expression of amused admiration on Mrs. Picard's face, he tapped his communicator.  "Kennely to Enterprise, three to beam up."

 The last thing Picard saw when the transporter beam enveloped him was his wife's smug smirk as she stuck her tongue out at him.

......................................

 Vash, accompanied by Kennely, was beamed directly into the lecture hall later that afternoon where she presented the symposium's Archaeology keynote address.  Due to the fact that Commander Lar and two of his team leaders were now occupied with questioning the man they had taken into custody, Jean-Luc, Will and Data had beamed down an hour earlier to supervise the Enterprise's investigation.  Vash hoped Jean-Luc wouldn't be delayed for too long.  They were supposed to have dinner with Beverly and Chakotay that evening.

 "I'm sure the captain regretted not being able to hear your speech," Kennely offered leading Vash into a small conference room to wait for the captain.

 "The man has heard it so many times in the past two days he could probably recite it."  Vash sunk down into a comfortable easy chair and smoothed out the skirt of her blue, linen suit as she grumbled, "I'm more concerned about whether or not I'll be able to attend Barbara's speech."

 "She's not scheduled until a late afternoon session on the last day of the conference.  I'm sure the captain and Commander Lar will have this situation taken care of long before then," he replied trying to sound reassuring.

 "I've really been a witch about this today, haven't I?"  Vash glanced up at her security guard.  She had been rather irritable and this was a nice guy who was just following orders.

 "No, ma'am.  I wouldn't say that . . ."

 "Of course, you wouldn't," Vash actually chuckled at that.  "And you're the last person I should be taking this out on seeing as you provided me with the brightest spot to my whole damn day."

 Walking around the room, Kennely decided not to comment on the satisfied expression she had worn as he insisted the captain beam back to the ship along with them earlier that afternoon.

 "I take it this room has already been secured."  Vash's eyes followed the young man as he paced the room.

 "Yes, ma'am."

 "Then sit down and relax before you sprain something."  She smiled and gestured to the chair across from her.

 "Yes, ma'am."  He turned the chair just slightly so he was facing the door before sitting down.  Vash picked up a PADD and began looking over the schedule of presentations for the Symposium.  A short time later, Kennely heard her try to suppress a quiet giggle.  "Professor?"

 "Sorry, I was occupying myself with a little pastime a friend and I invented in graduate school."  She held up the PADD. "Whenever we found ourselves at one of these large symposiums with a lot of down time on our hands we would take the list of presenters and  determine if their names meant anything in another language."

 "Like?"  The young officer was intrigued and wondered how many languages the captain's wife spoke.

 "Giving a lecture in interstellar exobiology on physical adaptations in subterranean environments is a Professor Centumoculi," she chuckled.

 "And this is funny . . ."  he stared at her slightly confused.

 "In Latin, centumoculi translates to 'one hundred eyes.'  That would be a very helpful physical adaptation if you're living in a dark cave," she explained.  'Latin,' she thought to herself and her smile faded. 'Oh my God, that's it.'  Almost in a panic, she bolted from the chair heading for the door.  "I have to find Jean-Luc."

 "Professor . . .  Mrs. Picard," Kennely called, sprinting after her.  Like on many other occasions during his tour of duty as her security guard, he found himself wishing for Commander Lar's telepathy and wondering how Mrs. Picard moved so fast in high heels.

 Vash frantically maneuvered her way through a labyrinth of crowded corridors until she spotted Mark Randall standing next to a door.  Gasping, she demanded, "Where is he?"

 "The captain is in a meeting with Commander Riker and Commander Data."  Randall answered pointing to the door as Vash rushed past him into the room.  He looked quizzically at Kennely who shrugged his shoulders, coming to a panting halt barely a second behind his charge.

 "It seems we'll just have to wait to see if Mr. Lar turns up any new leads."  Picard heard the door open and turned to see his wife bursting into the room with her security guard behind her.  His blood turned to ice water as she gasped a word he had only heard her utter in his worst nightmares.

 "Locutus!"

 "Oh shit," Data mouthed to Riker as they exchanged a brief look of shock.  Both officers were stunned by the bombshell of Vash calling out the captain's Borg designation.

 "The intercepted transmission was put through the universal translator which translates everything into Starfleet's standard language, which is English," Vash continued oblivious to the expression of horror on her husband's face.  She walked over to him splaying her hands across his broad chest.  Desperate to make him understand, she stared into his eyes and  her voice became more determined.  "The transmission wasn't talking about targeting a speaker at the conference.  The universal translator translated the target's name into its English equivalent.  The Latin word 'Locutus' became the English word 'speaker.'  Don't you see, Jean-Luc?  It's *you* they want dead.  You're the target."

  The intensity of emotion that filled her eyes and her voice along with her dire warning pushed aside the awful blow of hearing her call out his Borg name.  He reached up to briefly place a hand over one of hers gently squeezing before letting go.  Acknowledging the silent signal, Vash's hands dropped to her sides and she discreetly stepped back out of the way.  Picard squared his shoulders slightly and straightened his jacket.  "Mr. Data."

 "It is a possibility, sir.  With a data stream so corrupted that the universal translator is only able to decode a few words, there is a much greater probability of a context error of that type," the second officer replied.

 "Meaning we've had the name of the target all along and have allowed captain to waltz around down here this afternoon with a bull's eye on," Riker summarized curtly.  Normally, he wouldn't have voiced that concern in front of the captain's wife; however, since it was Vash herself who had connected the dots he didn't find it necessary to sugarcoat it in front of her.

 Picard's mind had already started planning a strategy to take advantage of this information.  "If we're lucky, I will turn out to be the target."  Ignoring his wife's horrified gasp, he continued, "It will be easier to lay a trap if they are gunning for me."

 "I can't argue with that."  Riker leaned against the corner of the room's large conference table.  He could see Vash building up to an emotional explosion over the captain's assumption that he would be bait for a trap.  Fortunately, he legitimately had someplace else to be and decided to share that anywhere but this room with his second officer.  "Mr. Data and I will take this theory to Commander Lar.  He's still questioning the other suspect, without much success at this point, and this may provide an edge in the interrogation.  We'll leave Mr. Randall and Mr. Kennely on guard outside this room; I think it would be best if you remained here until we've seen what Lar and his security people have come up with in their investigation."

 The door slid shut behind his officers leaving Picard alone in the room with his wife.  He walked over to where she was staring down at her wedding rings, obviously deep in thought.  She looked up and he noticed unshed tears glistening in her eyes.  Sitting on the edge of the conference table in front of her, he took her left hand in his. "Petite amie."

 "Oh God, Jean-Luc.  I'm so sorry for just blurting out that of all things."  She clutched his hand as if it were a lifeline.  "It's just  . . ."

 "There's no need to apologize, Vash.  You were frightened because you realized I might be the target of an assassin and I'd been more concerned with protecting you, completely unaware of any risk to myself."  His voice was low and poignant.  "I'll admit I was horrified but only because I've done my best to protect you from accounts of my time with the Borg.  The night we spent in the dungeon of Nottingham castle, you told me how you were on a cruise ship heading back from Sarthong V when Starfleet declared me missing in action, presumed dead and a casualty of war.  I never wanted the horror of my assimilation to touch you."  He laughed sardonically, "It was my protectiveness of you that brought me here.  If we hadn't gotten that garbled transmission, I wouldn't even have been here.  Talk about an ironic twist of fate."

 "Remember that protectiveness goes both ways, Mon Capitaine," Vash whispered, rising from her chair to stand in his embrace.  She traced his strong jawline with her fingertips before brushing her lips across his in a tender kiss.

 He encircled her small waist with his hands, his body reacting to her sweet nearness.  Unbidden, a thought intruded.  She had spoken of the protectiveness going both ways as her fingers had lightly stroked the right side of his face where the Borg implants had been.  But, Vash had never seen Locutus; or had she?  Breaking the kiss, he pulled back to look into her eyes.  "There's more to what happened on that cruise ship than you told me that night in Nottingham castle.  Isn't there?"

 "Nothing that happened on that cruise ship matters now," she averted her eyes not wanting to meet his gaze.

 "Vash, what happened?"  His hands tightened slightly around her waist as he pressed for the answer he didn't want to hear.  "Tell me."

 She had shielded him from this for so long it was hard to find the words.  Swallowing hard, she finally brought her eyes back to his.  "While I was on the cruise ship heading back from Sarthong V, the broadcast I saw where Starfleet declared you missing in action and presumed dead occurred moments after Locutus of Borg's broadcast had been cut off by Starfleet."

 He released her, nearly shoving her away in his haste to put some distance between them.  It was exactly what he'd been dreading that she would say, but the words struck a forceful blow nonetheless.  "You actually saw Locutus."

 "Yes," she managed, fighting the tears once again.

 "You must have been terrified."  The 'of me' he left unspoken.

 "No, I wasn't afraid.  What I felt was worse than fear.  It was an overwhelming grief and a sickening horror," she choked back a sob.  "It was like watching the corpse of a loved one, mutilated but animated.  It reminded me of the old Congo legends of zombies, an unknown power reanimating a dead body.  Locutus' face was like a death mask, ghostly white with no spark of soul.  What makes you Jean-Luc Picard simply wasn't there.  The rest of what I told you was true.  I did lock myself in my stateroom crying for three days nonstop; however, I spent the first two hours violently ill."

 "Why haven't you ever told me this?"

 Vash turned him around to face her.  "As I said, that protectiveness goes both ways."  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  "When I visited you on the Enterprise D, I was so overwhelmed that you were alive and then there was the distraction of Q.  Later on, there was no pressing reason to bring it up and I knew it would only hurt you."

 "The night you spent with me onboard the Enterprise D was only a matter of months after the battle at Wolf 359.  How could you not--"

 Vash didn't even want to know what he was going to ask, it simply didn't matter.  "Jean-Luc, what the Borg did to you was the most horrific form of torture conceivable, nothing else.  It didn't change who you are, not to me and not to any of your crew."  Feeling a little constricted, she took her suit jacket off and laid it across the back of a nearby chair. Underneath the jacket was a white silk blouse with lace trim and pearl buttons down its front.  The first thing she had done after her talk was to undo the top few buttons on her blouse, she fingered the skin bared by the open buttons as she returned to where he was standing.  "Locutus was the furthest thing from my mind when I came to you that night on the Enterprise.  I wanted you, I wanted to feel your touch and celebrate your life."

 Picard's gaze swept over Vash, her movements innately sensual and graceful as she closed the distance between them.  The delicate material of her blouse followed her body like a second skin, trailing over the lush curves of her breasts and down her flat stomach to her slim waist.  The silk, lace, and tiny pearl buttons rose and fell with her every breath beckoning to him to uncover the familiar sweetness hidden beneath.  The skirt clung to hourglass curve of her hips and skimmed her thighs setting off her long shapely legs encased in very sheer silk stockings.  She stared directly into his eyes, her voice low and seductive.

 "You were standing in the middle of your quarters, the dashing hero, your uniform emphasizing your sleek, muscular build.  I remember the intensity of your gaze and the sensual heat in your eyes," she reached out and took his hands placing them on her waist.  Her hands guided his, sliding them up to cup her breasts.  The sensitive peaks tingled as they hardened to press into the palms of his hands.  "Your voice was a deep, resonating whisper.  Your strong, powerful hands tenderly caressed my body taking me to the peak of ecstasy over and over again."  Leaning in, she brushed her lips against his in soft, feathery kisses.  Between the teasing nips, she murmured, "I've never spent a moment in your arms where I haven't felt safe, loved, protected, cherished, adored, treasured . . . "

 Capturing her lips, he swallowed the rest of her description, his tongue stealing into her mouth to caress the warm, moist depths.  The delicate scent of her perfume drew him, the intensity of his need somewhat unnerving.  He moved one hand to entwine in her silky hair, tilting her head to allow his tongue deeper access to her mouth.  The soft sigh low in her throat was music to his ears after his thumb flicked a taut nipple before dropping to encircle her waist with his other arm.  His pulse pounded in a primal rhythm that was almost audible.  Her soft curves fit so perfectly against his body; she fit so perfectly into his life.  Her breasts were crushed against his chest, the rocking of her hips against his causing a painful tightening.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew they should stop, he just couldn't seem to let go.  Eventually, he broke the kiss, dropping his forehead to rest on the top of her head.  They stood there for several moments before he pulled back and lifted her chin to look into her eyes.  Nothing more ever needed to be said about Locutus, he was finally buried.

 The door opened, drawing their attention.  Chakotay entered, smiling a greeting to Vash before addressing Picard.  "Captain Picard, I spoke to Tom and he'd be happy to give you a private tour of the Delta Flyer since you weren't able to attend his session.  He also mentioned that he'd be willing let you take it out for a test drive if there were a case of Picard wine left behind in the pilot's chair when you're done."

 Barely hiding his glee at the prospect of getting his hands on the controls, Picard looked somewhat quizzically between Chakotay and Vash.  "That sounds like a deal, but how did you know that I was planning--"

 "As amusing as it was to watch your security officers kidnap you and spirit you to safety, I did feel a bit sorry that you weren't able to play with that interstellar hot rod.  I had Beverly ask Chakotay to arrange some private playtime for you," Vash interrupted his question.

 "I can fill you in on the origins and designs of the Flyer after dinner," Chakotay offered.

 Picard's commbadge chirped.  "Captain, Commander Lar's security team has some information on the suspect," Riker's voice filtered into the room.

 "Understood, Number One," he acknowledged.  "We'll beam up to the Enterprise now; prepare for a security briefing in ten minutes."  Picard glanced at Chakotay, "Dinner will have to wait a bit, but perhaps you would care to join the briefing?"

 "Yes, sir."

 Picard turned to his wife, "Let Beverly know that dinner will be a little later than planned."

 Vash coughed and raised an eyebrow.

 "Please," he added, belatedly.

................................

 Nine minutes later, Picard, Riker, Data, Chakotay, and Lar sat around the briefing room table.  "Commander Lar, what have you discovered?"  Picard got right to the business at hand.

 Commander Lar straightened slightly in his chair.  "There is an assassination plot and the target is most probably Captain Picard."  He pulled up a bio for everyone to view.  "The man we have in custody is Martin Sharock, a political science professor from The Mars Colony University.  He's been linked to a small fanatic sect called the Eh-Cu'oral.  From the published treatises by various members of the Eh-Cu'oral, we can deduce that they, in essence, worship the Borg."

 "Are you sure you read that right, Commander?" Picard asked, incredulous.

 "Yes, sir," Lar replied.  "Here is a quote from an issue of their journal:  Only under the control of the Borg collective, with all individuality and free will eliminated by the hive mind, can humanity purge itself of all inequity and achieve the perfect utopian society."

 Riker swiveled in his chair.  "So if the Borg are God, why would they want to kill the captain?"

 Data's head tilted slightly to one side.  "In keeping with the analogy of Terran Christianity, at Wolf 359, the captain, in essence, became their Judas, Pontius Pilate, Satan..."

 "Thank you, Mr. Data," Picard wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "Are you telling me that this group wants me dead for defeating the Borg?"

 "That assumption fits what we have been able to uncover, sir," Data acknowledged.  "Communiques have been retrieved from a number of communications consoles at this facility.  They are coded and difficult to interpret, but it appears that this group has a large number of 'believers', if you will, scattered throughout the quadrant.  This information has been passed along to Starfleet Headquarters."

 "Meanwhile," Lar resumed his report.  "While Mr. Sharock has not been cooperative, in fact doing everything he can to avoid thinking about his group and his mission in order to prevent me from reading his thoughts, he cannot avoid reacting to specific points of information that resonate with his existing knowledge.  From this, I know that there were only three individuals sent here to kill you if the opportunity presented itself.  Apparently, by stopping the Borg's assimilation of the Federation you denied humanity its only chance to achieve the perfect utopian society and they are determined to prevent you from interfering again."

 "Indeed," was Picard's only response.

 Completely taken aback by the reasoning, Chakotay shook his head in resignation.  "I'm always completely baffled when someone living in a free and democratic society such as ours is willing to condemn themselves to life under any totalitarian regime for the hollow promise of a perfect utopia."

 "To paraphrase our ship's counselor, 'They're nuts,'" Riker rolled his eyes.

 "Freedom of speech is not restricted to only the sane, Number One," Picard replied. "These are usually naive, inexperienced individuals who have never endured life under such harsh conditions and know not of what they speak.  I, unfortunately, do have firsthand experience with assimilation by the Borg."

 Chakotay sat forward in his chair.  "There are still two more of them roaming around this conference gunning for you, Captain."

 "Agreed; thoughts anyone?" Picard asked.

..........................

 Beverly squeezed the strong, brown hand clasped warmly in hers.  They were walking casually along the corridor to her quarters after dinner with the Picards.  She should feel embarrassed to be openly taking a man to her quarters at the end of the day, but she didn't.  The two couples had spent an enjoyable evening just talking and laughing; Chakotay had shared stories of his experiences in the Delta Quadrant which both Vash and Jean-Luc had found fascinating.  For her part just watching him, his dark eyes lighting up, dimples creasing his cheeks as he smiled had made for the most pleasant evening; he was a breathtaking sight.  "You know," Beverly said, swinging their clasped hands between their bodies, "now that we know you're not the target, I can go to your talk."

 He was saved from answering by their arrival at her quarters.  This was what he'd been dreading all night; he knew that she would want to go to his talk once the danger of being around him was past, but given the circumstances, he just couldn't let her.  Inside her quarters, he pulled her into his arms, his mouth capturing hers.  It was so frustrating, having such precious yet few moments with Beverly when all he wanted was to see those beautiful eyes open every morning.  For now, though, there was duty to attend to.  He held her tight against the hard, throbbing contours of his body, deepening the kiss before resting  his head against her forehead.  "About that, Fireball, you can't come to my talk."

 "Don't tell me, you imagine your audience in their underwear and you're worried that my image will distract you," she teased.

 Chakotay dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose.  "You are a distraction in any state of dress or undress.  No, word is already being spread around the conference that Captain Picard is planning to attend my presentation on the Voth.  We're hoping that the other two assassins will show themselves."

 "You what?" Beverly's tone was cold, the quiet before the storm.

 "The audience will be comprised entirely of Starfleet personnel undercover and, of course, Captain Picard.  I'm going to do a second presentation of my talk the day after tomorrow for those who won't be able to get into tomorrow's talk, I'd like for you to be there."  He stroked her red, silken tresses, keeping his voice soft.

 "Oh, you would?  Assuming, of course, that I'm not busy patching you up after someone puts a phaser blast into you," she pushed away from him.  "Are you out of your mind, Chakotay?"

 "Fireball...Beverly, please--"

 She spun on her heel, glaring at him.  "Please what?  Please understand that you're risking your life for no reason?"

 Closing the distance between them, Chakotay tried to calm her.  "Understand that I'm the only Starfleet officer giving a paper tomorrow, all of the other speakers are academics or scientists with no field experience.  Understand that this is the only way to guarantee that no civilians are put in danger and that it's the only way to bring the assassins out in the open."

 "Oh, it's not the only way, it's Jean-Luc's way.  Isn't it?  This is what the two of you cooked up when you left for a while before dinner."  Without waiting for his answer, she stormed past him and out of her quarters.  She got angrier with each step, ripping her arm out of Chakotay's hand when he tried to stop her.  Fuming silently, she ignored Chakotay's entreaties to calm down.  "Jean-Luc, you son-of-a-bitch!" she yelled as she burst into the Picard quarters without bothering to sound the door chime.

 "Isn't that usually my line?" Vash asked drily, continuing to clear away the dishes from dinner.

 Picard looked up from the log he had been recording.  Making a mental note to delete the good doctor's hurled epithet from the ship's log, he stood and calmly regarded the fiery redhead.  "Is there something I can do for you, Doctor Crusher?"

 'Stop getting the men in my life killed,' she nearly screamed.  Barely biting back that comment, she concentrated on the immediate situation.  "What do you think you're doing using Chakotay in your half-baked scheme?"

 "I assure you, Doctor, that this 'scheme' has been discussed at length with Commander Riker, Commander Lar and Commander Data; it is completely 'baked'," Picard replied.

 Beverly looked back and forth between Picard and Chakotay.  "Really?  Sending an engraved invitation to assassins that you know full well want nothing more than to kill you is what you call a sensible plan?"  Her voice began to rasp from the yelling.  "You have a telepathic security chief who managed to find the first one without a single shot being fired, yet now, according to Chakotay, the only way to find the other two is for you to make a huge production of being at his talk and hope that they shoot up the room in an attempt to kill you?"

 A glass clattered on the table, slipping through Vash's fingers at the bombshell that had been yelled.  Almost absently, she set it upright, absurdly glad that it hadn't broken.

 "The use of Commander Chakotay's talk as the setting for the sting operation was, in fact, the commander's own idea," Picard said.  "He volunteered."

 "How could you?" she gasped, spinning to confront Chakotay.  "You knew how worried I was when I thought you might be the target.  What on earth could you have been thinking to make that offer?"  She turned on Picard.  "And why in the hell would you accept such an offer?"

 "Honey, I'm a Starfleet officer," Chakotay said.  "Given the circumstances, it's the most sensible plan, the only one that doesn't put civilians in danger."

 Picard stepped forward.  "Every precaution will be taken, Beverly.  The room will be full of trained Starfleet security officers in disguise.  Commander Lar will be stationed near the door so that the assassins can be identified and he will signal when they enter.  The instant they make their move, they'll be outnumbered and outgunned.  The plan is for no weapons to be fired at all."

 Vash braced herself, her hands pressed against the table and her mind trying to process Jean-Luc's calm explanation of his suicidal intention.

 "Best laid plans of mice and men," Beverly whispered.  "Find another way, give your own presentation, I don't care; just find another way, Jean-Luc."  She looked at Chakotay, pleading, "Don't do this, Chakotay, I don't want you to put yourself in this position."

 "I have to, Beverly, duty calls," he replied softly.

 A tear trickled down her cheek.  "We never seem to have the right timing, do we Chakotay?"  She slowly started toward the door, stiffening when Chakotay followed.  "No, don't.  If you insist on hosting this invitation to the OK corral, you can't expect me to stand by and watch you willingly risk your life.  Just let me go."

 Chakotay watched in disbelief as the door closed behind Beverly.  It wasn't that dangerous, he wasn't the one the assassins were going to be aiming at.  He couldn't understand why she was getting so upset, but the finality in her last words was chilling.  "I guess I'll be beaming back down to my quarters on the surface," he sighed.

 Picard walked him to the door, laying a hand on his shoulder.    "Don't worry about Beverly, Chakotay.  I'll talk to her," he assured the commander just before the door slid shut.

 "Who's going to talk to me, Captain?"

 His wife's steely tone was colder and sharper than any dagger; Picard could feel her eyes boring into the back of his neck like phasers set on kill.  Seeing no point in postponing the inevitable quarrel, he squared his shoulders and turned to face her.  "Vash, I realize that you're upset . . ."

 "Upset!  Upset?  No, I'm not upset.  Upset is when you and Will end up in sickbay after acting like you're still twenty-one and playing parrises squares with security," she cut him off and crossed her arms over her chest glaring at him.  "Right now, I'm beyond infuriated with you.  When I was only one of over five hundred targets of a possible assassination, you were ready to cancel the ship's entire archaeology department's appearance at the symposium judging it to be a real and credible threat.  Now that we know  you are being targeted for assassination, you're planning a sting operation using yourself to bait the trap," she was forced to pause for a breath which gave him the opportunity to make matters worse.

 "As you correctly pointed out in my readyroom a few days ago, if they are not provided with a chance at the symposium the assassins will wait for another opportune moment.  One which we most likely will not be forewarned about," he reminded her.

 "The concept of 'forewarned is forearmed' doesn't work if you use the forewarning to plaster a huge, honking bulls-eye on your ass!  And, furthermore, I recall clearly vowing that if my name was mentioned or even if the Archaeology Council was mentioned I would cancel on my own before you had a chance to ask.  I also recall you declaring that you would not allow me to use myself as bait," she added frostily.

 They had covered this ground many times before. Gauging her expression, he carefully kept the exasperation from his voice.  "You know full well, the fact that you are a civilian changes the situation . . ."

 "Bullshit!" she countered angrily.  "This has nothing to do with my civilian status.  It has everything do with that lethal combination of testosterone and fourth pip poisoning that has always afflicted you; the same damn reason you attempted to storm Nottingham castle single-handed."

 "Dr Crusher's opinion notwithstanding, this operation is not some personal whim."  He was not about to admit that storming Nottingham castle had been just that.  "Starfleet Command is determined to uncover as much as possible about this organization."

 "I don't doubt it.  They've targeted Starfleet's flagship captain, the Federation's most noteworthy hero since James T. Kirk, for assassination," Vash snapped, gesturing at him angrily.

 "This goes beyond the threat on my life,"he revealed to her.  "However, I'm not at liberty to discuss the details."

 "I have no doubt about that either.  But you have to admit, it's damned convenient for you."

 Ignoring the barb, he gave a small self-deprecating shake of his head.  "The Federation's most noteworthy hero since James T. Kirk, Kathryn Janeway might take exception to that description."

 "Captain Janeway seemed very cordial when I met her.  No offense, but she's the captain of a small Intrepid-class starship and the most noteworthy thing she's done is to get her ship lost and spend seven years getting back."  Placing her hands on her hips, she fumed, "You are bound and determined to find your very own Waterloo."

 "Napoleon Bonaparte was an Italian, not a Frenchman."  He pointed out, somewhat defensively as he tugged on his jacket.  "And you are overreacting."

 "Oh, this is not overreacting," she said slowly, each syllable punctuated sharply.  "However, I will be more than happy to demonstrate overreacting to you."

 A red alert klaxon went off in Picard's head at the dangerous tone in his wife's voice.  Only years of Starfleet training kept him from involuntarily jumping when the first glass impacted on the far wall in a thunderous explosion of glass shards and wine.  With each reverberating crash that followed, multiple obscenities at earsplitting decibels in different languages were hurled for his benefit.  When the barrage finally ended, he wasn't sure if it was because she had run out of dinnerware or out of alien dialects to curse him in.  With a regal toss of her head, she deliberately strode across the quarters to disappear into the bedroom.   He waited for a few long moments.  When no crashes sounded from the other room, he decided it was fairly safe to follow her.  The broken glass crunched beneath his boots and he made a mental note to remember not to come out barefoot in the morning.  After all, the only woman in the galaxy as pissed off at him as his wife at this point was his CMO.

 Picard watched Vash from the bedroom doorway.  Standing in front of her dresser facing the mirror over it, she unfastened her suit skirt.  His eyes followed as the skirt glided past her hips and down the shapely length of her legs leaving her clad only in her blouse, lace panties, silk stockings, and high heels.  It seemed to him that more often than not they had these types of discussions with her in various stages of undress.  He wondered if she did that on purpose to give herself a tactical advantage.  The bottom hem of the blouse rode up barely covering the roundness of her backside when she bent over to pick the skirt up from the floor.  She tossed her skirt over to join her jacket on a nearby chair.  He leaned against the doorway.  "I stand corrected.  Is your little demonstration over?"

 "Yes," she responded icily never looking over at him. She took off her pearl earrings placing them on the dresser before picking up her antique silver hairbrush.

 "Is there any chance we can have a calm, rationale discussion about this issue?" he asked as she ran the brush through her hair.
 
 "No," she answered tersely, not trusting herself to say any more.  A turbulent combination of emotions roiled through her.

 "Will you at least look at me?"  He walked over to stand next to their bed.

 Returning the hairbrush to its place on the dresser, she turned to face him.  A fiercely passionate charge passed between them as her gaze locked with his.  Her entire body flared with a sudden, intense need she couldn't put into words.  Her breasts swelled, the stiff peaks pushing against the thin layers of silk and lace.  Impatiently unbuttoning her blouse, she stalked toward him.

 Picard's breath caught in this throat at the fire that blazed in her blue eyes.  His pulse quickened as she advanced on him, almost ripping her blouse off to drop it to the floor.  His eyes drank in the sight of the full curves of her breasts threatening to spill over the lace edging of her delicate white lace brassiere.  She stopped directly in front of him leaving only an inch of space between them.   With her nearness wreaking havoc on his senses and still somewhat unsure of her intentions, he began, "Vash, I . . ."

 Her mouth captured his, cutting off his tentative comment.  It was a savage kiss showing no mercy as her tongue forced its way inside to plunder and pillage the moist cavern.  Pressing herself against him, she molded her body to his hard lean form crushing her breasts against the muscular wall of his chest.  Streaks of fire raced through her body as the rough wool of his uniform jacket tormented her taut nipples through the lace of her brassiere.  She found herself desperate to let her hands roam over the firm, muscular planes of his body.  Annoyed by the layers of clothing between them, she gripped the upper edge of his uniform jacket ripping the snaps open down the front in one swift motion.  Her hands moved up to his shoulders pulling the jacket down his arms to it drop on the floor where it was quickly joined by his burgundy tunic.  She slid her hands down the lean, tapering lines of his torso to the waistband of his trousers.  Impatiently, her fingers tugged at his T-shirt, pulling it free of his waistband.  Her hands glided over the sculpted muscles of his chest as she pushed the thin cloth out of her way.  Vash broke the kiss only long enough to strip the shirt off over his head.  Her mouth reclaimed his in an even more voracious kiss than the one before.  This time he met her intensity, his tongue plunging into her mouth to explore the deepest recesses.  The coarse rasp of his tongue along the sensitive depths fired the already-fierce demands of her body.  Her hands traveled down the masculine slope of his shoulders to stroke the bulging biceps of his upper arms.  Fingernails grazed along the skin back up to his shoulder and down the muscular wall of his chest, not gouging the skin but leaving a pink welt line marking him as hers.

 Picard's muscles tensed and his hardness grew in fervent response to the demands of her insistent mouth and her small hands stripping his uniform from him.  Her nails felt like fire as they scratched his skin, branding him everywhere they trailed.  His body was throbbing painfully by the time he finally broke the kiss, his lungs requiring oxygen.  His body jerked at the sensation of her fingers tugging sharply at his chest hair followed by her hot mouth alternately nibbling and licking her way down his throat.  Completely taken by surprise, he tried to center himself as he gasped for air.  Vash was an independent woman, in bed and out; however, taking control so aggressively like this wasn't her usual style.  Preferring to be the pursued rather than the pursuer, she generally initiated sex with lascivious cat and mouse games bent on tempting and taunting him to get him to come to her.  A wave of arousal washed over his body as her mouth began sucking strongly at the sensitive skin along the side of his throat.

 "I want you," Vash rasped, her tongue tracing along his collarbone savoring the taste of his skin.  Her hands slid down the firm planes of his torso to the waistband of his trousers the taut muscles of his stomach contracting beneath her touch.  Swiftly, she opened his trousers and grasped him expertly.  "You need me," she hissed in satisfaction.  She took up a familiar rhythm, savoring the contrast in textures of rock-solid hardness covered by soft, velvety skin.  It wasn't enough.  Sinking to her knees, she moved back slightly and held him steady.  She began at the tip, nibbling and licking along the throbbing ridge and back again.  She waited, forcing him to groan, begging for her before she enveloped him with her mouth.  Having his lean, powerful body completely at her mercy was extremely erotic.  Her tongue flicked at him as she began moving him in and out of her mouth.  She kept up a demanding tempo, reaching up to rake the tips of her fingernails down the tense muscles of his abdomen, leaving more pink welts to mark his body.  She could hear him moan her name in the background as he wound his hands in her hair.  Her own desires had risen to an almost excruciating level by the time she began working her way back up his body, nipping and licking over every inch of him.  Pulsing uncontrollably and dripping wet with unsatisfied need, her entire body felt as if it were made of liquid flames.  Splaying her hands across the center of his chest and pushing him backward to lie on the bed, she demanded, "Now, Jean-Luc."

 Quickly stripping off her brassiere and panties, she straddled his waist and braced her hands against the damp, muscles of his broad chest.  She heard a low growl from the back of his throat as she took his body into hers.  She closed her eyes and savored the delicious feeling as she slowly lowered herself onto his hard length.  Finally, she settled her hips against his, allowing her body to adjust to the heat and fullness of his body buried deep inside hers.  She slowly raised herself up almost pulling completely away from him, pausing a moment before slowly lowering herself back down.  As she repeated the long, deliberate stroke, she could feel his body straining to bury itself deep inside hers.  Her knees dug into his sides as she came down on him over and over.  She felt his hands grasp her hips and his powerful thrusts match her every stroke.  Vash clenched her fists, curled among the coarse hair of his chest, driving both of their bodies to a cadence of furious intensity.  The knot of urgency shattered suddenly and she threw her head back her orgasm quaking through her whole body before collapsing against the damp, muscular expanse of his chest.  It wasn't enough, she needed more.  She raised up slightly and braced her hands on the masculine slope of his shoulders.  Her body continued to move against his, slowly at first, but steadily building the pace.

 Frustrated at not being able to drive into her as hard and fast as his body craved, he grasped her hips and pulled them tightly against his own.  Swiftly, he transposed their positions so that she was lying on her back on the bed and staring up at him.  He drove himself deep inside her with long, hard strokes, fiercely, pounding into her over and over.  Like a mirror image of his own need, she matched him motion for motion.  The slick depths of her body were so hot and tight, gripping him with each thrust, frantically clutching at him in uncontrolled passion.  Her fingers dug into his shoulders as small noises came from her the back of her throat.  A primal scream echoed through the room, Vash's fingernails gouging across the skin of his back, a powerful orgasm ripping through her body.  With one, last, powerful thrust, Picard held himself buried inside her as his own, explosive release tore through him.  Collapsing onto her, his body was damp and his breathing labored from the physical exertion.  After a long moment, he rolled off to lay on his back next to her.  Propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes swept over Vash's nude body seductively sprawled across the bed.  She was always so beautiful after lovemaking, with a rosy flush that highlighted her ivory skin as the lush curves of her breasts rose and fell while she tried to catch her breath.  For a long moment, they silently regarded each other.  The set of her jaw in that defiant expression was one he knew all too well.  He sat up on the edge of the bed to pull his boots off.  "You're still angry."

 "Yes."

 Running his hand over his head, he looked back over his shoulder at her.  "What the devil was this then?"

 "Beats the hell out of me," she told him, still slightly winded.

 "Is there anything I can say that would make things worse, or am I free to mount a defense here," he stripped off his trousers and started to pull on his grey sleep shorts.  "Assuming, of course, that you're finished mounting me."

 Unwillingly, her lips twitched at his crude play on words.  Crossing her arms over her chest and staring at the ceiling, she struggled for the words to explain her thoughts.  "Jean-Luc, you know I love you, support you and that I couldn't be any more proud of your principles and the job you do.  There have been occasions in the past where I've seen you off on dangerous exploration missions, rescue missions or on missions to lead forces into combat.  I'm sure there will be countless occurrences of all of those in the future; however, this time I can't help but feel like you are intentionally stepping into someone's cross-hairs, someone very motivated by a psychotic vendetta.  Now granted, I don't have all of the relevant details and moreover, I don't want them.  Life with you gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'ignorance is bliss.'"

 Picard sat on the edge of the bed, just studying his wife.  He reached out to gently stroke her cheek.  "Is there anything I can do or say to fix this?"

 Vash could never stay angry at him for very long.  An annoying reality, but a consistent one; the anger was already dissipating.  "I will forgive this episode of testosterone poisoning at precisely 5 pm tomorrow on the condition that you are alive and in one piece."

 "At which point, it will be, I'm sure, added to the ever-growing litany of sins," he teased gently.  "So we're okay here?"

 "We're perfect."

................................

 Giving every appearance of strolling casually along the walkways and corridors at the conference, Picard studied the PADD he carried.  Data had installed microtransmitters in several locations on his uniform and tied the visual displays into the PADD.  This allowed him to monitor activity beside and behind him while appearing to be engrossed in the contents of his PADD.  He had expected the milling crowd to thin out near the conference room where Commander Chakotay was scheduled to talk, so he was discomfited to discover the corridor as populated as the others.  He only noted three Starfleet uniforms scattered throughout the area; of course the security people were there, just dressed in civilian clothing and various disguises.

 The actor in him couldn't resist making a bit of a show out of checking the number on the conference room against his conference schedule.  'Satisfied' that he was at the correct location, he tucked the PADD under his arm and entered.  Just inside the door, he encountered Lar.  "The corridor is a bit crowded, Mr. Lar," he muttered softly.

 "They're ours, sir," Lar replied in a whisper.  "Starfleet managed to find four telepaths in the vicinity of the conference.  They aren't Starfleet security; one is a psychologist, two are diplomats and the other is from the local JAG office.  They've been strategically placed to screen everyone who comes down this corridor.  The others are interceptors to head off anybody who doesn't have a legitimate reason to be here as pointed out by the telepaths."

 Picard nodded curtly and moved on into the sparsely-populated room.  The plan was to fill the room to about three-quarters of its capacity.  He took a seat in the second row, direct center.

.......................................

 "What time is it?" Vash asked, pacing the confines of Beverly's office.

 Beverly closed the file that she'd read ten times in the past half hour without comprehending any of it.  "Chakotay's talk hasn't started yet," she sighed.

 Plopping down in a chair, Vash quickly sprang back up.  "How can you just sit there?  If I couldn't pace, I think I'd lose my mind."

 "How do you do this so often without losing your mind?" came Beverly's softly spoken question.

 "The alternatives are unthinkable; either Jean-Luc's in a safe job and miserable or I'm not with him and we're both miserable.  This way, aside from the occasional spike in my stress level, we're both happy; and the sex after something like this is mind-blowing," she added conspiratorially.

......................................

 Picard felt his pulse jump at the subtle signal from Lar that one of the assassins had entered the room.  Approximately half of the expected personnel had trickled into the room at that point.  He had already eased the phaser out that had been concealed for him beneath his chair since he couldn't stroll around the conference with a phaser without drawing attention.  The man indicated as one of the two whom they were expecting took a seat three rows behind and five chairs to his right.  He breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief, the chosen seat was too far away for any sort of triceron device small enough to have gotten past biofilters, so it was probably another disruptor pistol.  Minutes ticked past with no indication that the second suspect had arrived.  Everyone was in position and aware that they were still missing one assassin.  He nodded surreptitiously in response to Chakotay's unspoken question.  They had to start the talk on time or the man they already had might get suspicious.  There wouldn't be another opportunity for a sting to catch the third man, after both of his cohorts disappeared, chances were that he'd just disappear himself.  Lar was the last one to slip into a seat as Chakotay stood and moved to the podium.

 A dinosaur image from Earth's prehistoric past filled the viewscreen behind Chakotay, but the commander's opening statement was lost in the buzz of adrenaline coursing through Picard.    Something flashed along his peripheral vision causing him to twitch; but instantly realizing that it was in the front corner of the room to his left, he returned his attention to the man behind him and to his right.

 "Vent!" Lar yelled suddenly, springing toward the captain.

 A small section of grating that covered a ventilation shaft in the front corner of the room had been removed and a disruptor pistol appeared in its place.  No one was close enough to prevent the shot and the remainder of the grating would block return phaser shots at his position.

 "Weapon," another voice shouted.

 From that point on, everything seemed to happen at once.  Commander Lar was rushing toward him, but he hadn't reached Picard when the whine of disruptor fire filled the air.  The captain was on the floor, phaser in hand and looking toward the ventilation shaft when he heard a groan and the sound of a body falling.  The assassin in the room had managed to draw his weapon and fire directly at him while their focus was diverted by the unseen assassin in the ventilation shaft.  If Lar hadn't been moving, the man would have had a clean shot.

 Chakotay was the first to reach the shaft.  He grabbed the hand holding the disruptor and pulled hard, slamming the man's head against the grate and dislodging the pistol from his grip.  Data reached the position just seconds later and efficiently ripped the grate from the wall, allowing Chakotay to drag the man out onto the floor where security quickly subdued him.

 "Report," Picard ordered, already climbing over chairs to check on his security chief.

 "Clear," Randall called out, the assassin who had managed to fire was face down with a large bruise on his face and an even larger boot pressing him into the floor.

 Retrieving the disruptor from where it had fallen, Chakotay looked over at Picard and nodded, "Clear."

 Picard knelt beside Lar and gently eased him over, the awkward confines of the narrow aisle making it difficult.  "You're lucky, the shot grazed your shoulder," he told the Betazed.

 "You're not so lucky," Lar remarked, grimacing in pain.  "Your wife isn't going to be happy about any shots being fired at all."

 "I'd have gotten more sympathy if you'd let me take the shot," the captain quipped, relieved that the wound wasn't serious.

 "My job is to take weapons fire for you sir, your wife's shots are not in my job description."

 Picard stood and tapped his communicator.  "Picard to Enterprise, emergency medical transport.  Lock onto Commander Lar and beam him directly to Sickbay."

..................................................................................................

 Pacing the length of Beverly's office, Vash stopped in her tracks, her heart falling into her stomach when sickbay's commlink activated.  A sigh of relief inadvertently escaped at the sound of Jean-Luc's strident, command voice filling the room.  She glanced over to see her own worst fears mirrored in Beverly's eyes.  Vash knew that Beverly was concerned for Chakotay's safety and still upset about the last words she had spoken to him the night before.  The professional mask fell quickly into place and Dr. Crusher, the Enterprise's CMO, was in motion issuing orders as she left her office.  Hearing the distinctive whine of the transporter, Vash's momentary relief was replaced by concern for the Betazoid security officer who had so often interposed himself between her and a possible danger.

 Lar sat on a biobed grimacing slightly from the pain while Lieutenant Alyssa Ogawa gingerly removed his damaged uniform jacket and tunic.  He watched Dr. Crusher ran the medical tricorder over his shoulder.  "The wound is superficial," he said calmly.  "I received more severe injuries during a parrises squares game with the security team from the Bozeman."

 "You'll survive.  But Geoffrey," Beverly chastised in a maternal tone using Vash's nickname for the security chief.  "The readings from this wound would suggest that you were actually moving *into* the line of fire."

 "It was my failing that caused the injury.  One suspect was seated in the room when a second suspect pointed a weapon through an air vent and took aim at the captain.  I allowed myself to be distracted by the second suspect, which gave the first suspect an unimpeded opportunity to pull a weapon and fire on the captain.  Fortunately, in moving to cover the captain from the hidden assailant, I happened to cross the line of fire just as the first man fired from behind," he explained as Crusher used a dermal regenerator over the injury.

 Vash leaned against the open doorway to Beverly's office, Lar's words painting an ominous picture of the day's events in her head.  Her stomach tightened in response to her own mind's invention.  "You Starfleet boys are enough to drive a woman to drink."

 His mind still focused on the mission, Lar hadn't realized Vash Picard was in sickbay.  Now aware of the frightening images consuming her thoughts, he tried to reassure her.  "It wasn't as bad as you're thinking, ma'am.  Actually, the captain saw the hidden second suspect at the exact moment I did.  He was already taking cover when the shot that hit me was fired."

 "Oh that makes it so much better," Vash grumbled making her way over to his bedside.  "My understanding of this little plan was that no shots were to be fired much less hit with said nonexistent weapons fire.  And what happened to our friend in the air vent?"

 "The second suspect was disarmed and bodily dragged out of the vent by Commander Chakotay.  For a science officer he has amazing speed and agility in a fight.  He would have made a good security officer."

 "Chakotay was a boxer in the Academy," Beverly answered absently, tending to Lar's injury.

 "That explains a lot," Lar chuckled.

 "Are you sure you're all right?" Vash's tone gentled, her for him concern evident in her voice.

 "Yes, ma'am.  I'm fine," he answered.

 "And both suspects have been caught without anyone else being hurt?"  Vash was unable to help but wonder if Jean-Luc had been safely beamed aboard yet.

 "Yes, ma'am," the security chief confirmed.

 "I'm going to release you from sickbay, however you're relieved of duty for the next twenty-four hours.  Take it easy on that shoulder," Crusher ordered before heading back to her office to fill out the medical report.

 "I will.  Thank you, Doctor," Lar called out after her.

 Glancing down at the biobed, Vash was startled by the damage done to the shoulder of Lar's uniform jacket.   The ugly, chared gash in the material was a vivid physical reminder that Lar had taken weapons fire meant to kill Jean-Luc.  She looked back up at Lar.

 Even if he hadn't been a telepath, her eyes would have told him exactly what she was thinking.  As he stood from the biobed, he smiled down at her.  "Yes, ma'am, I already know."

 "I'm going to say it anyway.  Thank you, Geoffrey."

..................................................................................................

 "Come," Picard called in response to the door chime.  He had just finished his log of the day's events.

 Admiral Nechayev, accompanied by Riker, strode into the ready room.  "Glad to see you still in one piece, Picard."

 Quickly standing, he acknowledged her greeting.  "Thank you, Admiral, it's good to be in one piece," he gestured toward a chair.  "Can I offer you anything?"
 
 "No, thank you," she waved him back to his chair and took a seat across from him.  "I'll get right to the point.  We seem to have stumbled onto something of a situation."

 "Admiral?" Riker asked, sitting in the chair next to her.

 Nechayev handed Picard a PADD before explaining.  "This fanatic sect, the Eh-Cu'oral, is larger than we first thought.  Every bit of information that we turn up leads to five more suspected sympathizers.  The group has hundreds of members that we've been able to connect with them and they're scattered on dozens of planets throughout the quadrant."

 "What's the urgency, Admiral?" Picard asked.  "Surely you didn't come here to tell me that."

 "Ten hours ago, the U.S.S. Collins detected anomalous transmissions coming from a remote moon in the Valo system.  Upon further investigation, they discovered a crude interplexing beacon being tested.  Most of the group managed to escape into a nearby asteroid field, but the Collins did manage to capture the engineers working on the beacon.  It appears--"

 Riker finished her sentence in disbelief.  "They were trying to contact the Borg."

 Haunted by memories of Wolf 359, Picard sat in stunned silence.

 "And in answer to your next question," Nechayev continued.  "No, we don't know if they were successful.  We're questioning the prisoners and going through their facility with a fine-tooth comb, but so far we haven't had much success.  We still don't even know who's behind this cult.  I'll be taking your three prisoners back with me for further interrogation."

 Picard nodded, "See to the transfer, Number One."

 "Yes, sir."

 "How's your security chief?" Nechayev asked.  "I heard he was injured during the capture of the last two suspects."

 "He's fine," Picard assured her.  "The injury wasn't severe; he's already been released from Sickbay."

 "How are you," came her next question.  "This has, undoubtedly, brought back a lot of bad memories for you."

 "I'm fine."

 Nechayev smiled slightly, "And your wife?"

 Chuckling, he replied, "Not entirely happy with me, but she said if I was still alive and in one piece at 1700 hours today, then I was forgiven.  Why don't you come to dinner and see for yourself?  I know she'd like to see you."

 "Thank you, but no; I have to get back."  Nechayev stood, Picard and Riker following suit.  "Give Vash my regards, Jean-Luc.  I'll send you reports on our investigation."

 "Thank you, Admiral, I would appreciate that," Picard said.

 Nechayev paused on her way out of the room.  "It would certainly save you from calling in favors to get access to those reports behind my back."

 "Yes, ma'am," Picard acknowledged with as much dignity as he could manage.

 Riker stifled a grin.  "Will you be heading to your quarters, sir?"

 "No, Number One, actually I have an appointment to get to."

.................................................................................................

 Vash stared out the observatory windows.  Jean-Luc had signaled her ten minutes earlier and told her to go to the observatory.  Now that everything was over, she had been looking forward to a nice, quiet evening with her husband.  She burst out laughing at the view from the window, too amused to care that her nice, quiet evening wouldn't be happening any time soon.  A small, intergalactic hot rod waggled its nacelles at her before diving into figure eights at what appeared to be full thrust.
 
 For the next hour she sat with a cup of hot chocolate watching her husband take the Flyer through every acrobatic maneuver in the book.  Then she swore he actually invented a few new ones.
 
.............................................................................
 
 Beverly turned her computer monitor on and quickly turned it off again.  She wanted to talk to Chakotay, she had nearly contacted him more than a half a dozen times in the past hour.  The problem was what to say.  She loved him, she always had.  Now, just as she'd accepted the depth of her feelings for him and how right it felt between them, the specter of her old fears haunted her.  She had walked away from Chakotay once before out of fear that she would lose him and she had started to do the same thing this time.  For an instant earlier, she'd been relieved that the emergency medical transport was for Lar and not Chakotay; the incident on Eillen had been her worst nightmare come true.
 
 Getting up, she began pacing the room in an attempt to work up the courage to call him.  Jean-Luc hadn't helped matters any.  He'd stopped by her quarters that morning with logs from every incident over the past decade where her life had been in danger because of her own status as a Starfleet officer: away team missions to Mordan IV, Minos, Melona IV, Vagra II, Tilonus IV and Kesprytt; kidnapped by Rutian terrorists; transported onto Borg vessels; and the mission to Celtus III.  Then he'd hit below the belt, reminding her of a certain incident which involved a stolen shuttle being flown into the sun, Vaytan, just to prove a theory.  Jean-Luc was right, risk was part of being a Starfleet officer.  What she had with Chakotay--had always had--was a toe-curling intensity that overwhelmed every sensibility.  In the midst of those emotions, any risk of losing him felt as if it would kill her.  She knew it wouldn't, she had survived a frightening number of losses in her life; but with Chakotay she understood how someone could die of a broken heart and that scared her.

 The whine of a transporter beam pierced the silence.  Turning around, she saw a vase of white, Risan passionflowers materialize on the table with a small card perched among the fragrant blossoms.  Pausing to savor the pleasant aroma from the flowers, her trembling fingers fumbled with the card.  The handwritten message read: Fireball, I didn't have a white flag handy, I hope these will do.  If you accept, open your door so that I'll know you're willing to talk.

 The door slid open in response to her spoken command, but her feet refused to carry her over to see if he was there.  The first thing she saw was a strong, brown hand holding a bouquet of red, Risan passionflowers.  A breath she didn't realize that she was holding escaped softly at the sight of her tall, dark and handsome Indian.  Her tongue failed her, so many things trying to be said at once that nothing came out.

 "Passionflowers were the easy choice, they're perfect for you, Fireball," Chakotay murmured softly.  "I just didn't know which color would make the best impression, so I got a bouquet of both. Beverly,--"

 "No," she interrupted.  "Don't say anything, just let me talk."  Crossing the distance between them, she inhaled the pungent fragrance of the bouquet he handed her. "About last night . . . I'm sorry, Chakotay.  I . . . think, okay I know I overreacted," she paused as the corners of his mouth twitched upward showing adorable glimpses of his dimples.  When he regained control of his facial muscles and didn't make any comments, she continued. "It's just that I love you so much. I--"

 His fingers stilled her mouth, gently caressing her lips.  Whatever she had been about to say didn't matter nearly as much as what she had already said.  He had come prepared to spend all night, if necessary, convincing her not to end the relationship.  Every reason, rationale and argument that he had prepared to counter what he'd been afraid she was going to say evaporated with her admission.  Hands trembling with the emotion of the moment cupped her beautiful, porcelain face with its big, luminescent blue eyes gazing up at him.  Lush red lips opened to the massaging of his thumbs, beckoning his mouth to hers.  The only physical connection between them was his hands holding her face, but somehow he was aware of every inch of her beautiful body.  Silken tendrils of fiery, red hair sparked against his wrists as he tilted her face up, his mouth lowering to hers.  Her breathing quickened, her breasts straining against her uniform when his tongue slipped out to moisten her lips.  Slowly, he covered her mouth, his lips rubbing sensuously against the full softness of her mouth and eliciting a low whimper from her graceful, swan-like throat.

 She wanted to cry, she wanted to shout, she wanted to sing; all that came out was a barely audible whimper as his lips joined with hers.  With his large hands cradling her face, her mouth opened to his, but he seemed content to toy with her lips.  The bouquet of flowers dropped to the floor, forgotten in the passion of the moment.  She thrust her tongue into the moist recesses of his mouth, deepening the kiss.  The sharp sound of snaps unfastening pierced the silent intensity of the room; her hands gripped handfuls of his uniform shirt beneath the opening of his jacket.  The Enterprise was in orbit, but somehow it felt as though the room itself was spinning.  When he broke the kiss, she took the opportunity to shove his jacket off and swiftly strip off his shirt, baring the tanned, muscled expanse of his chest to her.  Their bodies still hadn't touched anywhere except their faces, yet every nerve ending was charged with his nearness.  The small, dark nub, stark against the smooth skin of his torso, beckoned her; her finger traced the hardened nipple briefly before her tongue flicked out to taste it.  Suddenly the room did spin, strong arms sweeping her up and holding her close.  Her mouth began tasting the skin along the side of his throat, discovering and taunting an earlobe as she felt the softness of her bed under her.  She reached for him, but he eluded her.  He stood by the bed and unhurriedly removed his remaining clothing, his eyes never leaving hers.  The sight of his body was usually irresistible but she couldn't tear her gaze away from his eyes, deep, brown pools of desire looking back at her.  The mattress shifted slightly when he knelt on the bed beside her and slowly trailed his fingers up her body to the top fastener of her uniform jacket.  With the release of each snap, one-by-one, methodically and deliberately, the intensity built.   She jumped, too startled to utter a sound when his knuckles grazed the plane of her stomach while undoing the final fastening.  Still completely dressed, she was floating on a wave of euphoria.  Chakotay's hands caressed every inch of her arms from her shoulders to her wrists, sliding off the jacket and dropping it to the floor.  He inched her shirt off just as slowly, his fingers cool against her hot skin.  She couldn't seem to breathe, her heart was pounding too hard to take a proper breath.
 
 There was no hurry, no sense of urgency; they had all the time in the world tonight.  At least that was how he felt, stroking and caressing the soft, pale skin he uncovered little by little.  When he peeled away the white lace brassiere, his head dipped to nuzzle the sweet valley between the full mounds.  Just a hint of salty sweat touched his tongue, evidence of her spiraling desire.  His hands traced down the curve of her waist, thumbs circling her navel.  She was whimpering again, soft pleas for him; he was all that she wanted.  He moved to kneel between her legs, one hand holding a firm calf while the other pulled off her boot; before releasing her leg, his hand stroked up the trim length to brush across her abdomen.  Even through her uniform pants, he could feel her body's response, the tensing of the muscles, the quivering of her skin and he could imagine the flood of liquid heat at the juncture of her thighs.  He did the same with her other boot, again stroking up the sensitive inner thigh and across to the waistband of her pants.  She arched her body up, her back a perfectly drawn bow, to help him peel the pants and lacy white panties from her hips.  Completely bared to him, he savored the vision of loveliness.  Her long, lithe legs open in a wordless and tempting invitation, sweet hips begging for his hands to grip them, full breasts with hardened nipples aching to be suckled and a beautiful face with ageless beauty and love watching his every move.
 
 God, he was gorgeous.  The fluid grace of his actions entranced her even as the tantalizingly light touch of his hands fueled her needs.  His bronze skin almost glowed under the light in the room. Gripping handfuls of the comforter beneath her, she writhed sinuously against his touch, dark, questing fingers resuming their explorations now that her clothing had been removed.  She was panting, her breathing labored from the arousal that he had ignited; but his own breathing was relaxed, focused.  The realization struck her that he was content to take his time, in no hurry to consummate their love.  The muscles across the broad expanse of his chest rippled as he worked his way slowly up her body.  Biceps tightened on either side of her, supporting Chakotay over her, their bodies not touching, but creating a powerful effect on her nonetheless.  She shivered, a puff of cool air being blown across her aching nipples.  Closing her eyes, a moist heat replaced the chill and the rough surface of a tongue dragged across the sensitive surface of one crest.  When strong, pearly teeth closed on the tip and began sucking on it strongly, the pressure that had slowly been building flared out of control sending a quivering spasm throughout her entire body.  "Chakotay," she gasped in surprise, her hands entwining in his thick, black hair to pull him closer.
 
 Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that he'd just brought her to orgasm with barely any physical contact.  The chemistry between them had always been more powerful than anything that he'd ever experienced.  His tongue licked down the sloping side of her breast and over to lick and suckle her other nipple.  Of their own volition, his hips began rocking which caused the tip of his throbbing length to graze the glistening juncture of her thighs.  Each brush of his body against hers sent a delicious spark from the point of contact radiating through every cell in his body.  Moaning filtered through the room, mingling with his own, low groans of pleasure.  She was bucking up, straining desperately against him.  Although he felt as if he could continue this timeless bliss indefinitely, he took mercy on Beverly's needs.
 
 She almost cried with relief when his weight pressed her down into the mattress.  Her legs snaked around his waist, holding him tight.  Still cradling his dark head, she guided his mouth to hers, her tongue seeking his even before their lips met.  Strong hands gripped the curve of her hips, steadying her while he shifted his hips to slide into the hot, welcoming depths of her body.  She could feel his every heartbeat, a gentle, pulsing inside her body where he lay buried.  Her teeth scraped along his tongue, her heels pressing against his hips to urge him toward what they both desired.  A trail of fire followed his hands, searing their way up her body and around to splay against her back, just holding her.  Their bodies began moving, almost as if one mind guided them.  Again he showed no urgency, his hardness pulling out and just as leisurely plunging back into the moist, enveloping heat.  Sparks exploded in her with each motion, her breasts crushed against the wall of his chest and his nipples rubbing against hers.  A slow spiral of pleasure curled its way through her, the lingering pace drawing out the expanding euphoria.  Around and around the sensation swirled until it blossomed, her release rolling across her body in a cresting wave of ecstasy.
 
 Chakotay felt her body tighten around him, increasing his pace in response.  His hips began thrusting into her, slamming against her as his urgency increased.  He broke the kiss, nuzzling into the delicate slope of her shoulder.  Even when her body shuddered around him once again he didn't stop, driving into her even harder and faster.  A tear trickled down his face and onto the creamy white skin below him, he had to drive all of her fears out; all of her doubts had to be exorcised.  There couldn't be any chance that she'd walk away from him again, never again.  He could feel her spasming ceaselessly, her body lost in the throes of an endless orgasm.  A single fingernail drew a line down his spine and as it reached the small of his back, his own powerful release ripped through him.  Rolling to his side, he collapsed onto the bed, pulling her with him.  He lay there, his chest heaving from exertion, listening to her gasping breaths and watching beads of sweat roll across their bodies.
 
 "Damn," Beverly sighed.  "I should definitely apologize more often."
 
 "My mother always said a heartfelt apology deserved a heartfelt acceptance."
 
 Pausing to lick the sweat-glistening bronze skin she was resting against, she remarked, "Lovely woman, your mother, but somehow I don't think that this was what she meant.  Not that I'm complaining, mind you."
 
 He chuckled, tenderly brushing tendrils of her hair back from her face.  "So what prompted your change of heart?  After last night..."
 
 "Jean-Luc stopped by this morning and gave me a reminder of every dangerous situation that I've been in and topped it off with a recounting of one particular time when I stole a shuttle and flew it into the corona of a sun to prove a colleague's theory."  She looked up to see Chakotay's eyebrow arch.  "I know, people who live in glass houses..."
 
 "Are adorable when they blush," he finished, dimples flashing as he dropped a kiss on the end of her suddenly-red nose.
 
 Beverly snuggled closer to the warmth of his solid, comforting form.  "I've been thinking about transferring back to Starfleet Medical.  I'm getting tired of sneaking in time during our leaves, I want to be with you more often.  You spend a lot of time in or near the Sol system, this way I would be on Earth most of the time, too and we--"
 
 Chakotay's thumb covered her lips, silencing her.  "This is your home, you've spent a large portion of your life here; these people are your family.  I've been thinking, too; I have a standing invitation from Captain Picard to transfer onto the Enterprise."  His hand tilted her face up to meet his eyes.  "I'd be an anthropologist in the science department but I'd likely also be pulling duty shifts on the bridge and assigned to the occasional away team.  Could you handle me performing whatever duties come up as a member of this crew?"  His thumb pressed against her mouth, pausing her immediate response.  "I don't want to lose you, Fireball, I love you.  I need you to be sure about this, I won't transfer here if you don't think you could handle it.  I also won't transfer to the Enterprise unless it's as the husband of the Chief Medical Officer.  Will you accept me into your life here on the Enterprise with everything that it would entail?"
 
 Tears glistened in her eyes, escaping to trickle down her cheeks.  "Yes, Chakotay, God yes, I will, I am, I can, I have, I do.  Yes, to all of it, yes, yes, yes.  I love you."
 
 Capturing her mouth in a deep, dizzying kiss, he rolled her beneath him.  "I love you, Beverly," he murmured against her mouth.  The insistent chirp of his communicator interrupted them.  "Spirits," he swore softly, padding over to where his jacket lay on the floor.  Activating it, he heard Tom's voice come through the signal.
 
 "Chakotay, Harry just called from Utopia Planetia.  Seven is missing, she just disappeared without a trace."
 
**FINIS**