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It had taken years of dedicated chocolate consumption, but Deanna Troi had finally met a chocolate she didn't like.
"I don't like it," she said. She dragged her spoon across the top of her Thalian chocolate mousse, first in one direction, then another. The crosshatch she was creating reminded her of the holodeck grid, something she was seeing far too often these days. Every time she blew up the ship, in fact. She squashed the top of the mousse so hard that chocolate oozed over the rim of her dish.
"You don't like it," agreed Beverly Crusher, eyeing the mess her friend was making of her dessert.
"I don't care if the beans used to make the chocolate have been aged four millennia. It doesn't change the fact I don't like it."
"Right," said Beverly. "Never mind that it's replicated chocolate that's never existed in bean form in the first place."
"If it was the real thing, it would still taste horrible," Deanna grumbled.
Beverly leaned back and crossed her arms. "You can't seriously tell me this is about chocolate."
Deanna was concentrating on scraping mousse back into her bowl, but after a moment she put her spoon down and looked at Beverly. "I suppose it's not," she admitted. "I've failed the Engineering Qualification twice already, and I'm starting to question whether I'm doing the right thing. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a bridge officer. Will doesn't think I'll make it," she added.
"Oh, Will," said Beverly dismissively. "Will doesn't think anyone can do his job except Will Riker. And maybe Jean-Luc Picard. But only maybe. You're smart; you'll figure it out."
"I will," said Deanna grimly. "If only to prove that I can."
"I questioned whether I was doing the right thing—oh, don't give me that look, Deanna. You're letting chocolate go to waste over this; I think that calls for a pep talk, don't you?"
"All right, Counselor," Troi said wryly. "Go on."
"I loved that I was learning new things, and it felt good to be doing something for myself, but I was already busy with my career, with Wesley. Qualifying was taking up so much time and energy, and parts of it were so tedious and frustrating, there were times I was ready to pack it in."
Beverly paused to help herself to a spoonful of Deanna's dessert before continuing. "I didn't need the rank, like you said the other day, but I wanted it, and that's what kept me focused – reminding myself of that. Did you know there are qualified doctors who command their own medical research ships?" she asked excitedly.
"Ah," said Deanna. "So it's a good thing you're pulling the odd late-night bridge shift, then."
"Oh, I enjoy it," said Beverly. She grinned. "And not just because it's one more thing I do that annoys the hell out of Jean-Luc."
::
Of course it's Beverly at Deanna's door when it should be the other way around, because this is the kind of week Deanna's having, an upside down flipped around week of opposites: Beverly falling in love with a charming diplomat with an explosive secret; Deanna urging recklessness over caution. Beverly's world falling to pieces around them all; Deanna's as safe and sheltered as can be. Deanna running from the aftermath; Beverly chasing elucidation, and comfort.
It's as if each of them has had some of her essential being implanted in the other's body, Deanna thinks, and it's an unsettling theory, right now.
She's refused Beverly's offer of dessert in Ten Forward – chocolate, of course – but Beverly's still blocking her doorway.
"Do you mind if I stay?" she asks.
"Yes."
Beverly makes a frustrated sound. "I'm not an empath, you know, Deanna. You could lie to me and I'd believe you. 'No, Beverly, please stay. Yes, Beverly, it's okay with me if you if you sleep with Will.'"
"He wasn't Will," Deanna insists.
"He wasn't just Odan," Beverly counters, a sting in her voice.
Deanna's head snaps up. She feels the tension in her neck from the sudden motion. She stares at Beverly and Beverly stares back, and Beverly seems to be taking this tenuous contact as tacit permission, because she steps into Deanna's quarters, causing the door to hiss shut behind her.
Deanna finds herself talking just to break the heavy silence that's developing. "It was harder than I thought it would be," she admits. "Seeing him with a friend of mine."
Deanna's confession seems to hit Beverly in her body; she becomes less rigid, more fluid, making her look as if her anger and impatience have slipped away.
"It's harder than I was expecting," Beverly says. "Being 'just Beverly'". She almost can't say 'Beverly', and it's so unlike her that Deanna is gesturing to her living room furniture before she realizes what she's doing.
"Sit down and stay a while," she says, trying to sound like she means it.
::
Beverly is sitting beside Deanna on the sofa in Deanna's quarters, talking at her about sex and chocolate.
Deanna had tried the one with the other when she was young, and the first time was enough to convince her that mixing her pleasures diminished instead of increased them. She'd tried it a few more times with a few more lovers, to be sure it wasn't a weakness in partner, but she hadn't changed her mind. Sex or chocolate, or chocolate and then sex, or sex and then chocolate. Otherwise, it was a waste of chocolate.
Beverly's back now. It didn't work out on Caldos IV with her ghost lover, but her libido is still out of whack, and oh, gods, Deanna has this to look forward to herself, she knows she does.
Beverly is all sharp angles and dull eyes, talking too fast and saying too much. She's been drinking too much wine – the good stuff Deanna has stashed away for emergencies, not the artificial slop the ship's computer doles out for no occasion whatsoever – and Deanna hasn't decided yet if this is a good thing, if Beverly needs a counselor who will rein her in or a friend who will let her fall apart for a while before she puts herself back together.
She wonders if Beverly's conversation is her way of making a pass at her, and it's not that Deanna wouldn't, it's just that after Chandra and Tasha and Will, it's nice to have a friend she's not always falling into bed with.
::
You might think a group that gathered for the purpose of practicing traditional Klingon martial arts exercises would be as elegant and silent as the movements themselves, Deanna thought, but you'd be wrong. The morning Mok'bara class was taking their usual five-minute break, and the Enterprise-D's gymnasium was as noisy as a Klingon battlefield.
Deanna was quenching her thirst with small sips of water when Beverly grabbed her arm and pulled her into a quiet corner.
"Did you see Worf this morning?" she demanded.
"It's hard to miss him when he's leading the class," Deanna pointed out.
Beverly rolled her eyes. "He didn't seem...odd...to you?" she asked.
"Here, have some chocolate," said Deanna. She pulled two bars out of the exercise bag on her shoulder.
Beverly took one and then ignored it in favor of resuming her impromptu interrogation. "You didn't see him smiling when we came in?"
Deanna put a section of chocolate bar in her mouth and savored it instead of answering.
"And that's not the only thing..." Beverly said, hand on her hip. She nattered on, subjecting Deanna to a list of Worf's recent actions she claimed were out of character. Minor things, but they added up, she insisted. She didn't say to what. He'd laughed at one of Data's jokes last week. He was letting Alexander participate in a juggling class, could Deanna believe that? He'd come into sickbay for a routine check-up and he hadn't scared the hell out of her staff.
Every time she paused expectantly, Deanna ate another piece of chocolate bar. She got away with this for a little while, but eventually Beverly noticed how one-sided their conversation was.
"Deanna, it's just gossip," she chided, apparently mistaking her reticence for disapproval. "You're not at work, you're not betraying any confidences; this is for fun!"
"Oh, I'm finding it very entertaining," said Deanna. "But if you want to know what's going on with Worf, why don't you ask him yourself?" She caught Worf's eye, and he broke off his conversation with Ensign Gomez and joined them.
"Was there something you required, Counselor?"
"No, I just wanted to see you."
He looked like he was trying to fight it, but after a moment Worf broke into a smile. It was a very large, very un-Klingon-like smile – at least, for a Klingon who wasn't about to kill you.
"Beverly wanted to ask you something, though." She turned to her friend, who looked the way she probably would if her bacteriological experiments ever got up and walked away. "Didn't you, Beverly?"
"Muh— Me?" Beverly sputtered. "I, ah— No, no. No."
"Very well. Class will resume in thirty seconds," Worf said sternly. "I must prepare. Excuse me."
"Deanna!" Beverly exclaimed as soon Worf was out of earshot. "You, you— You! You and Worf! Worf! You—"
"If you want my opinion, I think his recent behavior may have something to do with his acquisition of a Betazoid lover," Deanna said calmly.
"Deanna!"
"Fine. Half-Betazoid," she said, and popped the last section of her chocolate bar in her mouth.
::
Beverly smiled to herself. There it was, that satisfied-cat contentment she basked in whenever she did something that traded the mundane world for a make-believe one. All she'd done was step into Holodeck Three, and even though it was running someone else's program, she still felt that little thrill that meant anything, anything could happen.
Right now, all that was happening was Will, sitting in a shadowy corner of a manufactured Ten Forward, with a woman. Beverly's good mood evaporated.
She stalked over to their table. Will looked up and flicked his eyes over her without speaking. He glanced at his companion before running his hand through his beard. "Computer, remove character 'Deanna Troi', he said. Deanna vanished quietly, without fanfare. Beverly sat down in her empty chair, across from Will.
"She was my friend, too," Beverly said, and she hadn't expected it to come out sounding so bitter after all this time. She'd thought she was going to say something reassuring. Deanna would have known how to handle Will, or not handle Will, as the circumstance called for. Beverly would have to do the best she could in her friend's absence. She grabbed Will's hand and patted it, trying to give some comfort. His hand was cold to the touch. Could that be a symptom of something? Poor circulation, perhaps. He should come in and get that looked at.
"It's not the same," Will said after a minute. "Of course it's not the same," he added hurriedly.
Beverly waited.
"She wouldn't touch her sundae. Said she didn't like it. Chocolate, and she didn't like it."
Oh, Will. And she shouldn't encourage him, she knew that much, but— "Actually, there was one time I saw Deanna turn down chocolate. A few times, in fact."
"Really?" he said, and he seemed to brighten a bit.
"Really," Beverly assured him.
She smiled, remembering.
END