"As I do with him. And with his father," she added.
"Indeed. And how his father . . . that is to say, how I... feel about you." He growled angrily to himself. "I am doing this very badly."
"Doing what? We're having a very nice conversation about feelings. I know that's not necessarily the thing you're most comfortable discussing, but I'm proud of you for the effort. It's sincerely made."
"It is not simply a matter of discussing things. It is ..."
"War?" she prompted.
"Yes. That is right. And I would like to . .." He searched for the right words. "I wish to formalize our alliance."
She stared at him for a long moment, completely clueless as to what he could possibly be talking about. And then it hit her like a ten-ton anvil. Her eyes went wide, her jaw slack. "Worf, are you . . . are you asking me to ... ?"
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"If you laugh . . ." Worf cautioned her.
"No! No, I... I wouldn't think of laughing! I'm ... I just, I don't know what to say. ..."
"The preferred response to a marriage proposal is 'Yes.'"
She sat back in her seat as if rocked. "A marriage proposal. Worf, I... I won't lie to you. I never could lie to you, really. I love you, you know that, and I think you love me...."
"Yes." He didn't sound particularly loving. It was more matter-of-fact. But it was enough that he'd said it.
"Still, for all that. . . Worf... may I ask what prompted this?"
"More self-examination?"
"If you hope to be married to me, you'd better get used to it."
"A valid point." He still had one hand tightly wrapped in hers. The other he drummed thoughtfully on the table. "I have been observing families . . . seen what they have to offer one another. Mother, father, child ... I consider it a reasonable and intelligent situation. Not the only viable one, but it may very well be the ideal one. We complement each other well, Deanna. We function well as a team. And Alexander deserves ..." He took a deep breath. "... he deserves better than for me to be his sole influence."
"Oh, Worf. . . don't sell yourself short____"
"I do not. In fact, quite the opposite. I have a rather high opinion of my abilities as an officer and as an individual. I have my failings, Deanna, but false modesty is not one of them."
"Yes, so I've noticed."
"More sarcasm. It does not suit you."
"Sorry." She kept her lips pursed and a determinedly serious expression on her face.
"It is my opinion that whatever qualities I have are due to the exposure I had to a multiplicity of backgrounds. The galaxy is too small for isolationism. The more Alexander knows, the better he will be able to serve others and himself. And I..."
"Yes? What about you? Thus far we've spoken almost entirely about Alexander. What about you, Worf?"
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"I... do not wish to be without you. Deanna," he said, looking her levelly in the eyes, "I know that I am not exactly the sort of mate that the average Betazoid dreams of. Has nightmares of, perhaps, but does not dream of. But I am stronger with you than without you, and I would like to think you feel the same way about me."
"I do feel that way, Worf. But it's such a major commitment . . . and everything is so much in flux right now ..."
"Precisely my point. At a time when matters are in flux, that is the moment when security should be grabbed. A security that we can offer one another ... and, together, offer Alexander."
"(T "
"I do not need an immediate answer," Worf told her, "but it would be preferable. For I know that an answer given now would be one given by your heart... and I would find that much easier to accept, no matter what the answer was, than one that required overintellectualization."
What he said struck a cord. She remembered when she had first met Will Riker, years ago, and how he had accused her at the time of overanalyzing things to death. Of being incapable of acting on impulse or with emotion, which was peculiar considering that she was someone who was supposed to understand emotion so thoroughly-----
Riker.
My God. she thought, I'm in the middle of a marriage proposal... and I'm still thinking about Will.
This was madness. All the time that they had spent together on the Enterprise, all the back-and-forth, and the suggestions, and the one step forward, two step back ... all of it, really, amounted to nothing except pleasant memories of a relationship that had long ago cooled. Yet she realized, with startling clarity, that she was still holding on to it in some measure, deep down, for one of the simplest and most obvious of reasons:
Imzadi.
They were Imzadi.
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They were Imzadi, and they were supposed to be together.
But life, as an Earth musician had said several centuries earlier, was what happened to you while you were making other plans. Life for Riker and Troi had taken them in other directions, and although there had been some dalliances and some rekindling here and there, the fire had never been fanned once more into full blaze.
With Worf, though, love burned very hot indeed. Worf did nothing in half measures, and although he had obvious trouble discussing things such as feelings, he nonetheless loved her with the type of all-consuming passion that she had once thought Riker felt for her, and she for him. The very thought of it made her heart pound, made her realize just how much she was missing.
And he was right. They were about to be cut adrift. Who knew where Starfleet would send them? Who knew if they would be reunited or sent in different directions? Requests could be put in, strings could be pulled, but in the final analysis no one knew anything for sure. Deanna had felt as if everything was slipping through her fingers, and here was an opportunity being given her to have something permanent, something real.
It's crazy, an inner voice cautioned her. Marry for the right reasons, not because you're scared of being alone.
But she was not afraid of solitude, of that she was quite positive. Being on her own, being alone with her thoughts . . . these were not things that held any trepidation for Deanna Troi. She was an independent, secure, self-sufficient woman. She had nothing to prove.
Why marry Worf?
She loved him, and he loved her. And she loved Alexander, too, or at least was reasonably sure she did. They had good chemistry, he was dependable and brave and would willingly lay down his life for her, although heaven forbid it would ever come to that; it was simply an indicator of the depth of his feelings for her. From a purely social growth point of view, he
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was an up-and-coming officer in Starfleet. They would be able to be assigned to the same ship.
Why not marry Worf?
It might still be too soon, the relationship too young.
But she had known him for so long. He wasn't a stranger. He wasn't. ..
Imzadi. . .
The word came unbidden to her once more, and with almost physical effort she pushed it away.
"Yes." She didn't say it so much as blurt it out, and a look of surprise crossed her face.
"Did . . . did you say, 'Yes'?" Worf asked, leaning forward and tilting his head slightly as if he needed to hear her better.
"I... I did, yes." Now that she had made the reply, she instantly felt as if a weight had been lifted from her. "Yes. Yes, Worf... I will marry you. ..."
Worf leaped to his feet, slapping the table with enthusiasm, and shouting, "Yes! She said yes! We are engaged!"
And that was when Worf saw Commander Riker.
Riker was at a table halfway across the room. He was half standing, clearly in the act of rising from the table at which Geordi La Forge was also sitting. And he had frozen in position, his face completely inscrutable.
It was at that moment that Worf abruptly realized, at the most rudimentary of levels, that his engagement might well be the most short-lived on record.
As La Forge and Riker approached the Ten-Forward, Geordi could tell that something seemed to be preying on the first officer's mind. Geordi wasn't e
xactly sure whether it was his place to broach the observation. He fully respected William Riker as an officer and as a man, and he certainly didn't mind sitting down at one of their frequent poker games with the usual suspects. But he had never exactly been, well, "pals" with Riker. Shipmates, colleagues, yes. But they'd never really been all that tight.
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Under most circumstances, Riker was a curious mixture of outgoing and conservative. He never lost sight of the responsibilities that his position entailed, but there was a clear devilish streak in him that always seemed to be hovering just below the surface. Geordi wasn't detecting any of that, however. Instead there seemed an air of near melancholy hanging over him. As they walked down the corridor of the Farragut, they'd pass assorted displaced Enterprise crewmen, and even individuals who had served with Riker in the past. In all instances, Riker would nod or say a few polite words. He unfailingly acknowledged everyone's presence. But his heart and his mind didn't seem truly engaged, even as he made small talk with all and sundry.
Finally, Geordi said, "It really wasn't your fault, Commander."
"Hmm?" Riker seemed to be in a world of his own. With effort he focused on Geordi. "What? Oh. The Enterprise, yes, well... I suppose you're right. 111 probably be replaying everything in my mind for years to come, but hopefully I'll come to that conclusion, sooner or later."
"Better sooner than later." He paused. "That's not it, though, is it?"
"What 'it' are you referring to, Geordi?"
"Look, I hope I'm not being out of line here . .. but you seem as if you've got a couple of iron weights tied to your shoulders."
"I'm just busy trying to plan for the future, Geordi, that's all. There's going to be a lot to deal with in terms of the crashed vessel... the reassignments ... it's going to be difficult not looking at your face every day in engineering. Or the poker games where I could easily make a week's pay in just a few hours. That's a lot of loss to cope with."
When he had spoken, it was with a bit of the old pop and semi-teasing in his voice, but it seemed more of an effort than usual. Geordi wasn't at all sure what to make of it all.
They reached the doors to Ten-Forward and Riker gestured for Geordi to go in first. Geordi nodded appreciatively and
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preceded Riker in. There was a table to one side that a couple of crewmen were just leaving, so Geordi promptly claimed it and Riker sat down across from him, straddling the chair as was his custom. He held up two fingers to the bartender, and very shortly two glasses of synthehol found their way to the table.
"Oh!" Geordi said, pointing across the way. "There's Worf and Counselor Troi. They seem to be looking pretty cozy."
Riker turned around in his seat to glance in their direction. Worf was speaking and Deanna was leaning forward, completely involved in what Worf was saying, whatever that might have been.
Geordi, however, wasn't paying attention so much to Troi and Worf as he was to Riker. He tilted his head slightly, like a curious canine, and then slowly he let out a long, drawn-out "Ohhhhh. I get it now."
"You get it?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"Well, good for you, Mr. La Forge," Riker said with affable confusion. "Now would you mind cluing me in as well?"
"I shouldn't have to. You're the one who gave it to me."
"Gave what to you?" Riker shook his head in frustration. "Geordi, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh really. That's odd. You're the one whose respiration and heartbeat both jumped the moment you saw Worf and Counselor Troi together." He tapped the VISOR sagely. "You can fool me, Commander, and maybe you can even fool yourself. .. but you can't fool this."
Riker interlaced his fingers and leaned forward. He was the picture of controlled calm, at least to anyone who wasn't possessed of a VISOR that was practically capable of dissecting him at a molecular level. "If my heart goes pit-a-pat when I see Deanna and Worf together, Mr. La Forge, it's only because I am so pleased to see Deanna having some much-deserved happiness."
Instantly Geordi knew that Riker was lying through his teeth. His VISOR wasn't always one-hundred-percent depend-
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able when serving as a lie detector, and when it came to encountering people for the first time who might be trying to hide something, Geordi's abilities as a truth barometer were sorely lacking. But when it came to people he knew extremely well, Geordi could make assessment of veracity that bordered on supernatural accuracy. In this instance, the abrupt jump in Riker's body readings was so clear to La Forge that it was the equivalent of a sighted man watching the words "I'm lying" appear in blazing letters on Riker's forehead.
But Geordi didn't exactly feel comfortable about confronting Riker with absolute knowledge of Riker's prevarication, and so he mustered his formidable poker face and said, "All right, Commander. That's nice to hear."
Riker kept a level gaze for a long moment, and then slowly he sighed. "Is it that obvious?" he asked after a time.
Inwardly, Geordi was relieved at Riker's response. He had certainly not wanted to offend Riker ... or, even worse, cause him personal upset over stirring up matters that were painful to him. "Not to most folks," Geordi replied. "But I'm not most folks."
"No, Mr. La Forge, I dare say you're not." Riker looked over his shoulder at Troi and Worf, and then pointedly made an effort to look anywhere else.
Geordi leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if he were concerned that people might be eavesdropping. No one was, of course, but somehow it was the sort of conversation that lent itself to quiet discourse. "But I don't get it, sir. I thought you had given your blessing to their getting involved."
"I did."
"And I thought that you and the counselor weren't. . ." He wagged two fingers and then crossed them as if bringing them together.
"We aren't."
"Then what's the problem?"
"I don't know what the problem is."
Geordi took another deep swig of the synthehol. Its "intoxicating" powers were entirely voluntary. That was part of the
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beauty of it. It enabled the imbiber to "relax" himself sufficiently so that he could surrender to the giddy effects of the synthetic alcohol, but if an emergency presented itself, the drinker could instantly toss aside any feeling of inebriation and rise to whatever emergency presented itself. In this instance, Geordi allowed the most relaxing aspects of the liquor to sway him, emboldening his approach to Riker. "Or maybe you do," Geordi said challengingly, "and you just don't want to admit it."
"And that problem would be?" Riker didn't seem drunk at all. Clearly he preferred it that way.
"That maybe you still have strong feelings for her. You see the two of them together and it suddenly makes you say, 'Wait a minute . .. I'm letting her get away. What am I, crazy?'"
Very slowly, Riker nodded. "There is something to be said for that," he admitted.
Geordi was almost surprised at his own perspicacity. "There is?"
"It's just. .." He rapped his knuckles on the tabletop thoughtfully. "I've had some tough scrapes before, Geordi. Some nasty bang-ups. But I've never had a ship go bust out from under me as the Enterprise did. Never had a landing quite like that one. I kept waiting for Captain Picard to say, 'I give you the ship for five minutes and look what happens!' Fortunately he didn't."
"Or at least he was polite enough not to say it," Geordi said helpfully.
"Not a problem. I would have blamed it on Deanna's steering." The offhand, wry comment provided some tension-relieving laughter, but only for a moment, and Riker wound up not looking any less apprehensive than he had before. "The Enterprise was more than my home, Geordi, and certainly more than simply where I went to work every day. It was a symbol not only of past adventures that we've all had together, but a symbol of times to come. Of stability. Earlier today I told Captain Picard that I'd always hoped to have a shot at the command chair. That ship was my living promise of the future.
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; Not alive as an object, of course, but I'd imbued it with all my hopes and dreams and aspirations, something I didn't even quite realize until after she was gone. And now"-and he snapped his fingers so sharply that it sounded like a ricochet- "no promise. No future. No ship. The loss of the ship drove home for me just how transitory everything is." He swirled the liquid in his glass and stared idly at it. "And here I've been acting as if a future for Deanna and myself was something I could always get back to whenever I felt like it. I thought that the Enterprise would be forever, but obviously she wasn't. On Betazed I thought Deanna and I would be forever, but it didn't work out for a number of reasons. I've just begun reassessing my priorities, that's all."
"And are you going to do anything about it?"
He glanced in the direction of Deanna and Worf. "I don't think it's my place to," he said quietly.
"If not yours, then whose?"
"Perhaps no one's, Geordi," he said levelly. "I had my chance. More chances than any reasonable supreme being would willingly allow. People have met, married, and had children in the time that I've been playing Hamlet in regards to my feelings for Deanna."
"To be or not to be."
"That is the question." He laughed low in his throat. "Funny. All of my training in Starfleet had been to make decisions, and I can do it. Do it in a heartbeat. When the captain had been taken over by the Borg, transformed into Locutus, and he threatened the well-being of the Enterprise, I ordered that he be fired upon without a second thought. Snap judgment, the kind I'd been trained for, for years. No hesitation, no doubt. But when it comes to my personal life-and one woman, in particular ..." He shrugged.
"Believe me, Commander, I know exactly how you feel. My track record with the opposite sex isn't exactly something to write home about So I'm not the best person to be giving advice to anyone when it comes to that. Still, if you're