Standard Discalimer: Although Paramount its fans deny/With relationships that droop and die/And no profit does fanfic yield;/Yet the rights belong to Paramount/And we sip ever from their fount/Leaving them their power to wield.

Deanna Troi fidgeted in her seat opposite Captain Picard. It had taken months, but everyone had settled in aboard the new ship. She had allowed time for his emotions to settle, and she knew his life had changed; if nothing else made that obvious, the fact that he had taken shared quarters with Beverly would have done that. But even taking all that into account, he had changed in ways the counselor could not understand. And that puzzled and worried her.

"I'd like to run a new psych profile on you, Captain."

He raised his eyebrows, but made no other response.

"I've known you for over eight years, but I don't know you anymore at all. I used to be able to distinguish your emotions half a ship away, but I don't recognize you at all."

"And you think that may effect my ability to command this ship?"

Deanna straightened her shoulders. She had not expected this to be easy. "No, I'm afraid it will effect my ability to offer you counsel. It's like I'm meeting you again for the first time, learning who you are."

He smiled, a gesture he had rarely offered in the old days. "And is that a bad thing?"

"I suppose not. But this change in you concerns me..." Troi tried yet another way around her captain.

"Counselor, has it ever occurred to you that this change is simply the nature of love?"

Troi retreated, unable to counter this seemingly simple argument, totally missing its stunning complexity.

No sooner had the doors to the ready room closed than the small green haze, unnoticed in a corner, coalesced into Ronin.

"I still don't see why you need Counselor Cabbagehead. Equipping the crew with mood rings would be cheaper and prettier."

"You really are a bitch, aren't you, Ronin?"

The entity smiled. "And you wouldn't have me any other way, dear."

Picard leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Were you like this before you merged with Beverly?"

Ronin nodded. Along with their trademark red hair and their ability to heal, the need to puncture bubbles of self- importance was a proud Howard tradition. "But I have to admit that Beverly and I have sharpened our claws since we merged. After all, we now have you to practice on."

One of the things Jean-Luc had always feared about a relationship with Beverly was just this: that her sharp tongue and teasing, so valuable in a friend and colleague, would prove too much for him from a lover. But now he had that, times two, and found he rather liked it. This new life he was living was one of constant revelations.

If only Ronin would stay in sickbay with Beverly life would be perfect, but he seemed determined to go gunning for Troi's job. Just because he quite possibly was better suited for the assignment was no good reason to consider it...

Picard could just imagine getting laughed out of Starfleet if he tried to broach the subject with his superiors. "You see, Dr. Crusher, who is my lover, has merged with an anaphasic creature who can travel along power transfer beams and transporters without being detected, so we can use him to gather intelligence where no Starfleet officer could go. Oh, and incidentally, he can make himself visible and invisible at will, and he lives in a candle." They'd ship him off to the nearest psychiatric clinic, they would...

"Did you have a reason to be here, Ronin," Picard asked in his most brusque, captainly fashion, "or is it just that Beverly kicked you out?"

"I know something you don't," he teased in a singsong voice. "I'd suggest you hurry home after your duty shift today, Jean-Luc. Beverly has a surprise for you." Ronin did not keep secrets well; he never had.

"I know. And that means we'll have to have a talk about you, as well, Ronin. We haven't told anyone about you yet, but we won't be able to keep a child from speaking out of turn. If Wesley was an indication, it seems to be rather a specialty of Beverly's children."

Ronin frowned, petulant. "You knew."

Jean-Luc stood, walking over to Ronin and placing a hand on his slumped shoulder. "You've grown soft, Ronin, and used to seeing the world through Beverly's eyes. She's been trying to deny this for weeks, but when a woman her age shows those signs--mood swings, exhaustion--they can only mean one of two things. And when she started throwing up...I'm not a complete idiot, you know."

"You used to be, but you're learning, Jean-Luc."

"Indeed."

Ronin perched on the edge of the desk, in a pose so similar to Beverly that for a moment Jean-Luc almost forgot who was really there.

"What do you intend to do about the child?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Your child," Ronin corrected him, but Jean-Luc didn't want to think of the unborn child as his yet, waiting to hear if Ronin would, as he had once threatened, claim Beverly's baby.

"What do you intend to do? Will you merge with her?"

Ronin began to rub his knuckles, and Jean-Luc was again struck by how many of Beverly's mannerisms he had adopted. "We don't know it's a girl."

Jean-Luc had thought he had conquered any lingering doubts and mistrust of Ronin; in light of the cozy homelife in the Picard/Crusher quarters, he was almost certain he had, but they all came rushing to the surface at Ronin's non-answer. He towered over the entity, grabbing both his shoulders and shaking. A look of fear and anticipation passed over Ronin's face, and for the third time in as many minutes, Jean-Luc found himself reminded of Beverly. He refused to contemplate that, though, or let it soften his anger. "Damn you, Ronin, what do you intend for my daughter? Will you merge with her?"

Ronin refused to look at Jean-Luc. All the guilt he had repressed for so many months came rushing back at him. "You mean, will I use her the way I've used all the Howard women?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know you still felt that way about me."

Jean-Luc collapsed into his chair, suddenly too tired to deal with a histrionic lifeform. "I don't. But I have a family to consider now."

Ronin pouted and refused to turn to face Jean-Luc. "You know I can't merge with more than one person at a time. As long as Beverly lives, I will not merge with your child. I already promised you all this when Beverly was in hospital on Caldos. But you hate me too much to remember that, don't you?"

Jean-Luc sighed. "I don't hate you, Ronin."

"Then how do you feel about me?"

Jean-Luc gulped. He didn't hate Ronin, really he didn't, but he couldn't put a name to what he felt for the entity who shared his life with Beverly. He couldn't, or maybe he was afraid to.

Ronin turned around then, tears in his eyes. "You love Beverly. You tell her that every day. I am a part of her--why can't you tell me the same thing?"

This time it was Jean-Luc who kept his eyes downcast. Why couldn't he forgive Ronin, as Beverly had forgiven him? He was horrified to discover the well of bitterness which still remained in his soul when he had thought it long drained.

The comm system beeped, saving him from having to respond to Ronin's anguished cry for love. It was Beverly, asking him to come home; she had something she wanted to tell him, a little surprise.

Jean-Luc smiled at the sound of her voice and the promise her surprise held for the future. He stood and reached for Ronin's hand, remembering the love that had created this pregnancy she planned to surprise him with--the love, the trust, and the forgiveness. Together, he and Ronin had healed Beverly; together, Ronin, Beverly and the baby would heal him.