“I suppose it has. This pregnancy’s gone by so fast I guess I lost track.”

“But you didn’t have to give it up so soon. That contact with the Chir’vaji a couple months back…there was no medical reason you couldn’t have gone yourself.”

“I figured Christine could use the diplomatic practice.”

“But the way they revere parenting, I was surprised you didn’t take advantage of that.”

“It wasn’t necessary. They were agreeable enough without it.” He just looked at her, feltat her, until she relented. “Fine. Okay. I’ve been erring on the side of caution. Can you blame me, Will? I don’t want anything to happen to her.” Deanna’s hand moved protectively over their child.

“I understand that,” he said, his voice breathy. “You know I do. But the Caeliar healed her. They healed you. You’re both as strong as an ox. As…oxen. Anyway…” They shared a chuckle, defusing the moment. “I just worry that you’re living too much on the defensive. You can miss out on so much that way.”

She considered his words. “I know that’s true. But sometimes, up to a point, a little extra caution isn’t a bad thing. Will, we’ve all been through hell. Not just you and me—the Borg took so much from everyone. It’s instilled all of us with a keen awareness of…of loss. And if we need a little time to deal with that, to retreat into our comfort zones for a little while, that’s simply part of the healing process. It’s not healthy to stay there too long, but it shouldn’t be rushed through either.”

“And you’re picking that up from the whole crew,” he said with deep sympathy. “Carrying that for all of us.”

She clasped his hand. “I’m trained to cope with other people’s negative emotions. Not to let them get confused with my own. But it can be…saddening.” She reflected on some of her most troubled patients over the past few months. Lieutenant Kekil had lost most of his family when the Rigel Colonies had been attacked, but his natural pride and stoicism made it difficult for him to face his grief. Pava sh’Aqabaa from security had a triple burden to deal with: not only the loss of kinfolk in the bombardment of Andor, but post-traumatic stress and survivor’s guilt after coming back critically injured from the joint raid on the Borg reconnaisance probe—a raid that the other five members of her team had not returned from at all. And then there was Tuvok, who still struggled with depression over the loss of his son. That tragedy had undone all their work together to build new methods of emotional management to replace the Vulcan control that his years of cumulative cerebral injury and strain had left in tatters. They had needed to begin again from the ground up, and it was slow going. Even without Vulcan discipline, Tuvok’s natural stubbornness was fully intact.

“So I think I’m entitled,” she went on, “to want to stay within my own comfort zone for now. I’m enjoying the sense of being…cocooned with our baby. Being together with her, and with you, in a place of safety, surrounded by friends. Where I am right now, that’s enough for me. Visiting new worlds on the holodeck is all the adventure I need.” She gave him a lopsided grin. “After all, we’re both in for plenty of adventures after What’s-Her-Name here comes out in a few weeks.”

He studied her for a moment, and she felt his concern giving way to mischief. “So, you’re saying you’re not interested in excitement of any kind?”

Her grin reflected the mischief she felt in him, and his own soon matched it. “Well, now, I didn’t exactly say that. It isgetting awfully humid here.” She began to pull off her maternity dress. “I, for one, could use a swim.”

“You seem bittersweet,” Ra-Havreii said, stroking Melora’s cheek as they strolled down the corridor from the holodeck toward her quarters. They always made love in her quarters rather than his, since he could adjust to her gravity far more easily than the reverse. “Aren’t you happy we were able to assist our commanding couple with their love life?”

“Hey, Xin, that’s none of our business. Certainly not for public dissemination,” she hissed, glancing around at the passersby.

He chuckled. “An ironic choice of words, etymologically speaking. But I was asking about yourbusiness, my dear. Which I believe I am entitled to consider mine, wouldn’t you say?”

The corridor was empty now, so she sighed and answered. “It’s just…seeing the captain and Counselor Troi so happy together…it just reminded me that I can’t have kids as long as I remain in Starfleet. An Elaysian fetus couldn’t survive the gravity. And I couldn’t wear this antigrav suit for eight months straight.”

She realized that Xin had stopped walking two sentences back. She paused and waited for him to catch up, though he wasn’t as close as before. “Ahh, why would you be thinking about…conception, Melora? I thought that what we had was mutually understood to be…well, more than recreational, of course, but not…I mean, you know that Efrosian males don’t participate in the rearing of our biological…”

She let him squirm on the hook of her gaze for a few more moments, then relented and laughed. “Don’t worry, Xin. I’m not overwhelmed with an urge to return home to spawn. I’m just…contemplating future possibilities.”

He didn’t seem reassured. “Including the possibility that your long-term future might not include me?”

“Why should that bother you? If you Efrosian males never involve yourselves in family, I mean?” There was still amusement in her tone, but there were barbs beneath it.

“My dear, I thought we were both in agreement about the loose nature of our association. I thought you were satisfied with that.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t. Don’t overreact to this. Like I said, I’m just considering future possibilities.” She stared at him. “And if you’re so determined to keep our ‘association’ so loose, why are you acting so threatened by the idea that it might not be permanent?”

Efrosians were a highly verbal people, their mastery of speech and language exceptional among humanoids. But right now, Xin Ra-Havreii was at a complete loss for words.