From mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user Mon Sep 18 00:06:13 1995 Path: mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user From: A.Martens@mail.utexas.edu (Allison M. Martens) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: NEW STORY: MOURNING (REPRISE) 1/6 (TNG,P/C) Date: Sun, 17 Sep 1995 20:07:37 -0600 Organization: The University of Texas at Austin Lines: 408 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu Hi all. Last spring I posted a story here called _Mourning_. Well, now I have taken the same basic plot and done a major rewrite. The story is quite different now, and much longer, so for those of you who read the original, this should still be new and interesting to read. (I hope!) This story focuses on Picard and Crusher, and is not designed to be a shoot 'em up action/adventure with loads of technobabble. So consider yourself warned!! Enjoy, and send any comments, which are always welcome and appreciated, to: A.Martens@mail.utexas.edu Special thanks go out to everyone in the Sandbox, but especially to Paisley Mason for all her editing assistance. I couldn't have done it without you Egg! :-) **** Part 1 MOURNING (REPRISE) by Allison Martens PARAMOUNT OWNS EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING IN THIS STORY, HOWEVER THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. THIS IS FAN FICTION, AND IS PRODUCED SOLELY FOR MY AMUSEMENT, AND YOURS. IT IS NOT TO BE REPRODUCED FOR COMMERCIAL PURPOSES. FEEL FREE TO PASS THIS STORY ALONG TO YOUR FRIENDS, BUT PLEASE DO NOT SEPARATE IT FROM MY NAME AND THIS MESSAGE. **1** Beverly laughed aloud at her companion's story, as she placed her teacup back on the table. It felt so good to feel at ease with Jean-Luc again. This was the first breakfast since the christening of the Enterprise-E, five weeks earlier, that had felt like old times. They had revived the old routine, cautiously at first, out of a sense of duty and old habit, and perhaps even out of a sense of shame for allowing their friendship to languish so terribly. And, not surprisingly, those first mornings back had been awkward, brimming with stiff small-talk that revealed a desperate fear of what the silence would say. But not today. The conversation had flowed easily this morning. Maybe now they could go back to the way things were before. The way things had been on the Enterprise-D. And even perhaps, Beverly hoped against hope, the way things had been just before the events on Veridian 3. It had hurt to fall out of the comfortable routine that had existed during those months after Jean-Luc's experience with Q and the anti-time anomaly. They had inched closer during that time; slowly chipping away at the barriers of fear and guilt and history and even complacence that had isolated them for so long. But all that progress had been lost, and new barriers erected in the aftermath of the crash. Jean-Luc had blamed himself for the loss of not only his ship but also, in some small way, his family, and he had worn that guilt and that pain like an impenetrable shroud. Disheartened, Beverly had allowed her discouragement to win out, walking away when he would not let her inside to help. Today showed her that her mistake was not necessarily irreversible. This ray of hope lit Beverly from within, as she reached across the table and gently touched Jean-Luc's hand. "Until now, I don't think I realized quite how much I missed this Jean-Luc," Beverly offered quietly, carefully measuring her words as she squeezed his hand slightly for emphasis. "It is nice to be together again," he replied, fully taking her hand in his own. Jean-Luc wanted to say more, but he did not want to push things. Beverly's words and expression told him that there would now be time to make up for all that they had lost in the last year and a half. It had taken him nearly all that time to come to terms with his guilt and regret over his ship and his brother and nephew. Now Jean-Luc wanted to get back to the business of living his life, which meant ensuring that its most important element, Beverly, was actually in it. Seeing her again at the launch had made him realize the depth of his love for her, and now he felt as though he had just been offered an invitation to work things out. An invitation he had been eagerly awaiting. After a few moments of silence, that now communicated all the right things, Jean-Luc squeezed her hand gently before releasing it. "Beverly, would you care to have dinner with me? That is another old tradition I wouldn't mind dusting off." "I'd like that very much," she answered, as she stood and slipped on her lab coat. Beverly scanned the room thoughtfully, truly taking it in for the first time. "You know, this is not so bad, it might turn out to feel like home after all." Jean-Luc walked her to the door. As it slid shut, he happily considered that she might be talking about more than just the decor. **2** Jean-Luc fiddled with the console built into the arm of his chair. He was still attempting to thoroughly familiarize himself with his new bridge. He wanted to ensure that he could access the right information or control at a moment's notice. 'A good captain should always be prepared,' he mused. Picard glanced over to his first officer, who was similarly engaged in acquainting himself with his new surroundings. Will always seemed to be smiling these days. And why not? The bridge of this ship really was a sight to behold, as was the entire vessel. The Enterprise-E was bigger, faster, sleeker, more powerful than her predecessor. Superior in every way, except that she wasn't quite home, at least not yet. She was the most impressive, and the most lethal ship ever constructed by Starfleet, and she rivaled anything that had ever sailed the stars. To make just that point, Starfleet had ordered the new ship to the Neutral Zone for her first mission, a leisurely cruise along the border. Picard couldn't help but smile when he thought of what his old friend, Tomalak, must be thinking right now, as this ship, his ship, paraded up and down the border, just a stone's throw from the Romulan Empire. Mr. Worf's voice suddenly interrupted the captain's thoughts. "Sir, we are receiving a distress call. It is faint and somewhat distorted. I am having trouble pinpointing its origin." Picard stood up quickly, pulling down on his tunic before he spoke. "Is the signal coming from inside the Neutral Zone?" "Unknown," Worf answered, shaking his head slightly. "I will attempt to remodulate the frequency band," Data offered from his duty station, "perhaps allowing for a clearer signal." Data's fingers flew across the smooth surface of his console. Moments later he had deciphered the distorted message. "The signal is emanating from Cyrus 7, a small moon just inside Federation territory. Its atmosphere is highly unstable, which is the likely cause of the interference." Data's expression darkened a bit, something Picard and everyone else was still trying to get used to, Data expressing emotions. He continued. "Sir, it is an automated signal, identical to those installed aboard Romulan escape pods." "Romulans ... inside Federation territory?" Riker questioned in disgust. "It would appear so Commander," Data answered, his android calm tinged with a hint of alarm. "Any sign of the ship the pod was launched from?" "No sign of any ships in the area, Captain." "How long to Cyrus 7, Mr. Data?" Picard asked. "Eleven minutes at warp two, Sir." "Very well, plot a course." Picard returned to his command chair, his pulse slightly elevated, although he did not show it. Here it was. The first opportunity to put this ship and this crew into real action and see what she, and they, could do. It had been a long time since he had truly felt the excitement and the pressure of command. It felt good to be back. He shifted in his seat, lifting his hand in his usual manner. "Engage." "Aye sir," came the voice of the helmsman. "Mr. Data, how many individuals can this type of Romulan escape pod hold?" Picard questioned. "This type of pod was designed to hold two adult individuals, although its design could conceivably accommodate up to four Romulan officers," Data answered matter-of-factly. "Will we be able to get a fix on the exact number before we beam down?" Riker asked. "I'd like to know what we are up against." Riker could hear a slight grumble coming from Worf's vicinity. "I do not believe that will be possible Sir. The high atmospheric interference will severely hamper all ship's systems, including sensors and transporters." Geordi piped in from his station on the bridge. "If we boost the transporter's confinement beam, it should be possible to get a small away team down to the surface. However, we'll need to send the party down with enhancing rods in order to get their patterns back through that muck." "What about communications?" Picard asked. "The communicators should be able to transmit. They might be a bit distorted, but nothing we can't filter out," Geordi answered, confident in his ability to get the job done. "Very well, Number One, assemble your team and be careful. I want you to keep your communicator channel open at all times for us to monitor your transmissions, understood?" "Aye Sir," Will answered, as he stood and pointed to his Klingon mate. "Mr. Worf, you're with me. Dr. Crusher to Transporter Room Three," he finished with a tap to his communicator. Picard felt a quick shiver run along his spine at those words. No amount of professionalism and training could keep Jean-Luc from experiencing a sense of dread and worry whenever Beverly was sent on a dangerous assignment. Now more than ever, he needed her to be safe, to be here with him. Today had been filled with such wonderful possibility. **3** Worf, Will and Beverly waited on the transporter pad for the Enterprise to assume its standard orbit around the moon below. Worf and Riker gripped their phasers tightly and checked to see that the enhancing rods were properly situated on the pad, as they waited for word from the bridge giving them clearance to transport. Beverly took a few deep breaths, preparing herself for the bumpy ride ahead of her. Damn this interference. The combination of that, and an unknown number of Romulans waiting on the surface, made everyone tense about this particular mission. She steadied her med- kit on her shoulder, readying herself to leap into action when she reached the surface, as word came down from the bridge. Beverly couldn't help but feel a little twinge when she heard Jean-Luc's voice over the communicator. 'Nothing had better get in the way of tonight's dinner,' she said to herself, as she heard Riker's voice from behind. "Energize." Beverly felt the familiar shimmer of the transporter envelop her body. The away team cautiously approached the downed pod. It had crashed in a mountainous region, settling precariously close to an almost sheer cliff-side. There was no sign of any Romulans. Beverly began to breathe a slight sigh of relief, as she circled the pod, passing by the side nearest the steep drop. Perhaps this pod had simply jettisoned from its ship due to a malfunction. Suddenly, a hail of disruptor fire rang down from above. A lone survivor, hidden amongst the rocks, had attacked them. Before anyone could react, the doctor was winged by a shot. Thrown backwards, her momentum carried her over the cliff's edge. With legs dangling over the chasm, Beverly dug her fingers into the splintering rock. She screamed for help. Looking down, a cold shiver raced through her body, as she resigned herself to death. The cruel irony was not lost on her, an acrophobe dying by falling off a cliff. Suddenly Will Riker's hand clasped her wrist. Having leapt down the cliff-side, he now used a thin, protruding root as an anchor. Will attempted to pull Beverly up, but he could not balance himself, the root providing little support. The rock continued to crumble, as the root began to slip from its perch. It was quickly becoming clear that there were only moments left before they both plunged into oblivion. Finally managing to subdue the renegade, Worf set his phaser to maximum stun and fired. He whirled around and raced to the ledge. "This is Commander Worf, Enterprise requesting emergency beam- out *now*." Worf need not have asked for the beam-out, for the captain had already demanded it several times. The moment he had heard the confusion come back over the communication channel, the moment he had heard Beverly scream out in pain and fear, Jean-Luc had leapt to his feet, barking orders. He suppressed the sick feeling that churned inside him. Beverly needed him as her captain, not as her frightened, would-be lover. "Sir," Data stated, struggling to maintain his own calm, for every subroutine informed him that he was about to lose a friend, "it is still not possible to establish a pattern lock without the aid of the enhancing rods. The atmospheric interference is simply too high. I will continue to run variations ..." Jean-Luc was no longer listening. He could focus on only one thing; Beverly's desperate pleas for help, which seemed to echo in his head as they sounded on the bridge. Pacing furiously, Picard demanded options. No suggestions were forthcoming. No one had expected this drama to unfold. "Commander," Worf yelled, "reach up with your hand. I can not afford to get any closer. The ledge is already buckling, and that root won't hold." "Worf, I can't move or it will give. I just need a better grip on her." Riker's voice was strained with the weight of his effort. Will refused to lose another friend under his command, and he was willing to sacrifice his own life for the sake of this rescue. He wouldn't let Beverly die like Tasha. And if she did, he was going with her. "Hang on Beverly. We're going to make it. Reach up with your other hand." "Commander, you must pull her up now," Worf shouted, desperately looking for some way to maneuver himself closer so that he could pull his comrades to safety. "Will, let go please. Let go, or we'll both die." Beverly tried to sound brave, as she stopped struggling in his grip. She would not allow a friend to die for what was now so obviously a lost cause. "Never, we are going to make it. Reach up, damn it, reach up." The root slipped a bit more, cruelly defying Riker's desperate optimism. "Will, I won't let you die for me." Beverly sounded remarkably calm. She had drawn strength from Will's own courageous effort, and her love and respect for him gave her the resolve to sacrifice herself. "I chose to do this. Remember that." With those words, Beverly Crusher forced herself loose from Riker's grip. She seemed to hang there a moment, motionless, as she looked into his widening eyes, and then she was gone. "No! No! Beverly ..." Riker watched in absolute horror as the doctor plunged downward into the chasm. He listened to her scream fade away, as her body passed through a layer of clouds, disappearing forever. Worf lunged forward as the root finally broke free, barely managing to pull his commanding officer to safety. He never could have gotten them both. Worf watched as a hail of rocks followed the doctor's descent, letting out a terrible howl of rage as they fell. **4** As the last sound of Worf's cry was broadcast on the bridge, a terrible silence gripped the Enterprise. Counselor Troi felt her knees buckle, as she collapsed into her chair. Beverly was gone. It was a terrifying realization. Geordi moved away from his duty station. He knelt beside the counselor, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder, too overcome to offer any other consolation. Data looked down at his console, trying his best to control the emotion that surged through him. This was an emotion with which he had little experience, and it threatened to overwhelm him. "Sir, Dr. Crusher's communicator is no longer being detected by ship's sensors. She is ... lost Sir." The captain did not respond. He stood perfectly straight, betraying nothing of what he felt to his crew. For in actuality, he felt nothing. He was numb, as he stood listening to the silence that had replaced the sound of her. Picard ordered that his away team return with the Romulan to the beam-out point, to be transported directly to sick bay. He dispatched a security team to that location, and then he finally turned to his crew. "Counselor, you're with me. Mr. Data you have the bridge." Picard marched towards the turbolift, ignoring the pained expressions of his crew. The captain strode into Sickbay. A rage had begun to boil beneath the surface, but his exterior remained cool. Deanna followed, looking at the moment more like a patient than a counselor. Will Riker sat on a biobed. His legs were drawn up, and his elbows rested on his knees as he rubbed his temples. He was mumbling to himself, repeating over and over that it was his fault. Across the room, Worf and his security team had tightly encircled the Romulan, barely leaving room for the medical personnel attending him. The prisoner was now conscious, but he was maintaining a stony silence. "What the hell were you doing in Federation space?" Picard demanded. The Romulan gave no answer. "Dr. Selar is the prisoner well enough to be released from Sickbay?" "Yes Captain, but it would not be advisable at this time." Picard brushed off the Vulcan physician, and now Enterprise CMO. He turned to his security team. "Mr. Worf, I want our *guest* escorted to the brig, and don't worry about showing any courtesies." "Aye Sir, with pleasure." It was taking every bit of restraint Worf possessed not to simply reach out and break this enemy's neck. He nodded to his team, and two burly officers grabbed the Romulan and led him to the exit. Jean-Luc turned and moved to Will's bedside, where Deanna had been attempting to comfort him. "It is all my fault, Sir," Will stammered. "I wasn't strong enough or fast enough." He turned to Deanna, "why did she let go?" "Will, it is all right. This is not your fault." Deanna breathed deeply, swallowing back her tears before she continued. "Beverly let go to spare you. She knew that you, that *nobody*, could save her, so she let go. It was her choice Will. We all heard her." Deanna's statement made Picard shudder, as he returned to that horrible moment, recalling Beverly's last words. They burned in his mind, etching themselves deeply into his consciousness. 'I chose to do this. Remember that.' Jean-Luc fought desperately, driving her voice away so he could think. 'No don't think, just act,' was all that he could say to himself, as the echoes continued to haunt the far corners of his mind. He stepped closer to Will. "She is right Number One. You did as much as anyone could have done to save her. Beverly's death is not your fault." Riker looked into his captain's eyes, trying to gauge his emotions, determine if he sincerely believed what he had said. A vacant stare greeted him. That stare functioned like a vice, gripping Will's heart and crushing it with its cold emptiness. He had failed him, his mentor. He had wounded Jean-Luc Picard in the worst way possible, in a way neither the Borg nor the Cardassians ever could. Despondent, Riker dropped his head back in his hands. Picard turned to his counselor. "I want the senior staff assembled in the Observation Lounge in twenty minutes." And with that, Picard marched out of sickbay just as purposefully as he marched in. Deanna looked to Will, the tears sneaking out in a trickle. "This loss has affected him more deeply than I suspected possible." Realizing that her observation only rubbed salt in Will's wounds, she tried to produce a comforting smile for his benefit, but could not. So she grasped his hand instead, squeezing it as tightly as she could. TO BE CONTINUED... From mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user Mon Sep 18 00:06:18 1995 Path: mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user From: A.Martens@mail.utexas.edu (Allison M. Martens) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: NEW STORY: MOURNING (REPRISE) 2/6 (TNG,P/C) Date: Sun, 17 Sep 1995 20:08:11 -0600 Organization: The University of Texas at Austin Lines: 298 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu Part 2 MOURNING (REPRISE) by Allison Martens See Part 1 for disclaimer By the grace of Paramount go I :-) **** **5** All eyes focused on the empty chair at the conference table, a cruel reminder of what had been lost today. The incessant hum of the engines provided the only sound. The captain entered, and without any pleasantries, he began the meeting. "Mr. Worf, I want you to arrange a full interrogation of the Romulan. Find out what he, and whomever he was with, were doing in our neighborhood. If the Romulans have any designs on this part of Federation space then I want to know about it." "Aye Sir, but I do not think he will cooperate. He appears to be very strong-willed," Worf explained. "Well then make him cooperate." The hardness in Picard's voice shocked even Worf. The Klingon was hungry for revenge, but he had never expected any kind of encouragement from his captain, a man who even insisted on treating the Borg, their deadliest enemy, humanely. Picard turned to Data and La Forge. "Gentlemen, Dr. Crusher's body needs to be recovered." The statement was made without even a glimmer of emotion. A stranger observing the scene would have never realized that it was the body of this man's *best friend* that had been so recently shattered on the harsh moon's surface. "Sir, I am not sure that will be possible," Data responded grimly. "Her communicator was apparently destroyed, so ship's sensors cannot trace her, and the interference from the atmospheric conditions prevent any other type of scan for the doctor's remains. Without any accurate sense of where her remains are located, it would be necessary to search the surface on foot, and as transporting to the surface of this moon is dangerous, it would be inadvisable to dispatch away teams for this purpose." "Data's right about it being dangerous," Geordi added, "but I volunteer anyway." "No Mr. La Forge. I won't risk anyone else's life. The safety of my crew is my top priority," Picard explained, his voice now a monotone. Riker looked up suddenly. "We can't just abandon Beverly like this. I don't care what the risks are. We have to get her back. I'll beam down and search alone if necessary." "Will no," Deanna said soothingly. "Captain Picard is right. Nobody else should be put at risk. That would be the last thing Beverly would want." Riker said nothing, bowing his head in sulking defeat. "We will make preparations to break orbit and head to the nearest starbase. I am sure that Starfleet Command would like to meet our prisoner face to face just as soon as possible." Picard paused, but rather than look at his crew to ensure that his orders had been understood and agreed with, he simply stood to leave. "Dismissed," he ordered harshly, before disappearing into the sanctuary of his ready room. **6** Deanna worked her way down the corridor. She noticed that the people around her were quite subdued. As ship's doctor, Beverly had interacted with virtually everyone on board, and had been quite popular with her crewmates. She would be much missed. The afternoon had been difficult, providing no chance to recover from the shock of Beverly's death. Deanna had taken it upon herself to draft for the captain a message to Starfleet Command informing them of Beverly's loss, and then she had assisted Worf in the difficult interrogation of the Romulan. Now she had just left Alyssa Ogawa's quarters. She had wanted to talk with Alyssa privately, for the young lieutenant had taken the news of her friend's death quite hard. Deanna now approached the doors of Holodeck Three. It did not surprise her that Worf had come here after their fruitless interview of the prisoner. She walked in on his calisthenics program. Deanna watched as the Klingon took apart three Nausicans with his bat'leth. She did not really have the stomach for this sort of activity, but Deanna stayed anyway because she knew how much he needed this release. The fact that Worf considered this sort of violence recreation was a large part of why their romantic relationship had never gotten very far, spluttering to a halt almost before it began. It was a shame really that things had not gone well, for Worf had found it very difficult to relax around Deanna in the old way. In fact, he had been quite distant since their return to service together, or at least more distant than was his usual. After splitting open the head of the last Nausican, Worf looked up and noticed Deanna. He wiped clean his weapon and ordered the computer to end the program. "What can I do for you, Counselor?" "Actually Worf, I came here to ask you that very question. I know that Beverly's loss has touched you deeply." "A warrior always mourns the loss of a comrade. And it is difficult to mourn properly when one may not suitably avenge a fallen sister." The tone of his voice betrayed emotions that went far deeper than simple anger. Deanna knew that Worf had always had a soft spot in his warrior heart for Beverly. She had, after all, saved his life when he had been seriously injured, as well as having saved the life of his brother, Kurn. Deanna also knew that Worf had been secretly amused by the good doctor's many futile attempts to enroll him in her acting workshop. Only Beverly Crusher would try to get a Klingon to play Romeo to her Juliet. "Worf, you know that vengeance will not bring her back to us." "That is a human sentiment Counselor," barked the Klingon. "Dr. Crusher may be forever lost, but her name remains, and it must be honored. I understand that my duties as a Starfleet officer prevent me from wiping clean this stain of blood, but I do not have to like it." "No, I don't suppose you do," Deanna responded. "Listen Worf, I only wanted to tell you that you and Commander Riker did all that you could to save Beverly and, besides, she understood the risks of being in Starfleet. We all do. I know that Klingons deal with grief in their own way, and I am inclined to leave you alone to do just that. I only wanted you to know that I am always here to listen if you should like to talk about it." "I appreciate the offer Counselor, but you are right , we Klingons have our own methods of coping with loss, and I do not believe I will have need to *talk* about my feelings." Deanna smiled and gave him a slight nod, and then she turned to leave. "Counselor, *Deanna*, wait." Deanna turned back towards Worf, a bit startled, and pleased, to hear him call her by name. He had not done so since their relationship had ended well over a year ago. "Yes?" "I know how much Dr. Crusher meant to you. I am sorry for your loss." Deanna was deeply moved by what she sensed in Worf at this moment, the sincerity and sensitivity that had been so longed closed off. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, as she raced from the holodeck. Worf watched her hurry away, trying in vain to choke back her emotion. The fire of rage burned inside him again. "Computer reset program, and this time make it six Nausicans." **7** The lights in the cabin were dim, the only illumination coming from a small group of candles flickering delicately in the darkness. Deanna Troi lay on her couch, eyes shut and mind open. Her mother called this process centering. Deanna let her memories of Beverly flow freely in her mind. She had closed herself off from sensing anyone else, and she was now free to confront her own grief. This would be a slow process of self healing, but Deanna knew that she had to start if she had any chance of making it through the next few weeks without falling apart. A bittersweet smile spread across the Betazoid's face as she looked back on her friendship with Beverly. After many hours of quiet contemplation, Deanna sat up and asked for the lights. The open wound on her heart remained, but at least now she felt more in control of her pain. She slowly began to open herself up to the emotions of those she served with. A terrible onslaught of grief and anger rushed at her, threatening to overwhelm her empathic abilities. Deanna channeled the flood, as her thoughts turned to her closest friends. After a moment, she spoke. "Computer, locations of the senior staff?" The soothing, feminine voice began its report. "Lt. Commander Worf is located in his quarters. Lt. Commander La Forge is located in Ten Forward ..." Deanna smiled a bit. On this ship, the bar was located on deck twelve, but since most of the original crew had returned to serve aboard this Enterprise, nobody could quite get used to the name 'Twelve Forward,' so the name had been changed back to the old standard. " ... Lt. Commander Data is located in Ten Forward. Counselor Troi is located in her quarters. Dr. Selar is located in her quarters ..." Deanna looked down at the floor quickly, grimacing. 'I'll have to get used to that,' she thought sadly. " ... Commander Riker is located in his quarters. Captain Picard is located in his ready room." Troi thought things through. She had already spoken with Worf, and besides, she did not want to push things with him. They had only today seemed to finally get past the awkwardness of their past relationship. She would leave him be. And Geordi and Data were in Ten Forward, undoubtedly getting a dose of Guinan's wisdom. With Guinan around to serve up both drinks and good advice, Deanna sometimes humbly wondered if a ship's counselor was even necessary. That left Will and Captain Picard. She reached out with her mind, as she tried to isolate their emotions, searching for the familiar texture of their thoughts. Will's feelings were easy to find, his mind was so well-known by her. The hurt and the pain touched Deanna, sharpening the ache she already felt inside. She wanted to run to him, offer what little comfort she could now. She wanted to grieve with him, and feel his strength. But then she was touched by something else. Something dark. It was tinged with something familiar, but it was cold and dull. Deanna could feel the bitterness, for it was almost tangible, and she swallowed hard, sure she could feel its acid taste on her tongue. She knew its source, and it frightened her. Will would have to wait. Deanna was afraid for the captain, and she felt she owed a duty to him, not only as a friend, but also as her commanding officer. She headed for the bridge, steeling herself for the encounter as she went. **8** Jean-Luc Picard sat behind the desk in his ready room. He had turned his chair so that he could follow the trails of stars streaming by his window. He had been composing a message to Wesley, informing him of his mother's death. Picard knew that he really had no place to send the message, for he had absolutely no clue as to Wesley's location. But he felt he had a duty to the boy to pass along the news anyway. He would forward the message to Tau Alpha C, in hope that the aliens there could contact the Traveler and Wesley. It was all moot anyway, for Picard believed that Wesley could somehow sense his mother's passing, and that sooner or later he would return. Jean-Luc shuddered a bit at the thought of facing Wesley. Now, both his parents had been lost under his command, and his presence would only be a reminder. Of course, if she had not let go, then this never would have happened. The boy would not have to be hurt. He would not have to be hurt. 'Stop,' Jean-Luc ordered himself. He was being so careful to keep tight control over his thoughts, chasing Beverly away every time she tried to get inside. He knew that if he let her in now, he could never get her out. Besides, she did not deserve to be there. She had given up, walked out on life, on him, just as she had reached out and made him believe that she loved him, that they would be together. The sound of his door chime roused him from this mental battle. "Come," he called out. Deanna Troi entered from the bridge, and Picard noticed, as he turned around, that the lights had been dimmed. 'The night shift,' he thought, realizing that he had been 'composing' his message to Wesley for several hours. Deanna looked tired, but very determined, making Jean-Luc a little nervous. "Can I help you Counselor?" "Sir, I thought you might need someone to talk to," she answered, trying not to sound overzealous. Deanna understood that Jean-Luc Picard was a man of intense emotions, but that he guarded those emotions fiercely, always keeping them beneath the surface, hidden under a carefully crafted veneer of authority. "Counselor, your concern for me is noted and appreciated, but I would really rather not discuss it right now. For now I must stay focused on the potential of a new Romulan threat in this sector." He sounded so calm, as if this was just any other day. Deanna was alarmed. It was not so worrisome that he had chosen to invent from the crash a great Romulan conspiracy, that would, naturally, require all his attention to foil, rather than accept the more likely explanation of a routine reconnaissance mission gone awry. Distraction was a natural defense against grief. It was the sturdiness and the extent of the wall that Picard had erected around his heart that terrified her. "Sir," she began cautiously, "I agree that we must always be wary of the Romulans but, besides this escape pod crossing over into our territory, we have no evidence that they are up to anything. I think you can afford to take a little time to cope with this loss. Sir, I know how much Beverly meant to you." "Deanna please," Picard interrupted, his tone was short, "I know you are only trying to be helpful, but I would really rather be alone." Deanna became increasingly nervous. Now she sensed a repressed rage within him, flashing out quickly at the mention of Beverly's name before being reigned in again and smothered. Its intensity went beyond what would be natural or ordinary under the circumstances. Perhaps it was too soon to push him to confront his feelings. "As you wish Sir," Deanna replied, turning to leave, tasting the bitterness once again on her tongue. She hoped the rest of her evening would not be as disquieting. TO BE CONTINUED... From mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user Mon Sep 18 00:06:21 1995 Path: mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user From: A.Martens@mail.utexas.edu (Allison M. Martens) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: NEW STORY: MOURNING (REPRISE) 3/6 (TNG,P/C) Date: Sun, 17 Sep 1995 20:08:36 -0600 Organization: The University of Texas at Austin Lines: 457 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu Part 3 MOURNING (REPRISE) by Allison Martens See Part 1 for disclaimer By the grace of Paramount go I :-) **** **9** "Come in," Riker groaned, as his door chimed for the third time. Deanna entered, and she paused a moment as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Apparently Will had been hiding in the darkness too. She looked around, and then was saddened by what she saw. Will Riker was sitting on the floor in the corner of his cabin, his hair was a mess and his eyes bloodshot. In his hands he held a small padd. As Deanna moved closer, she saw the image he had called up for display on the padd. It was a picture from a past birthday. She was on one arm, and Beverly was on the other. The three of them were wearing goofy party hats, and they were all smiling broadly. "That was quite a party, I don't know if I ever had more fun," Deanna remarked, trying to sound cheerful. "I can't believe she's gone," Riker said finally. "Things will never be the same without Beverly." "No, things won't be the same, but that doesn't mean that we can't all be happy again. In time, we will all move on and get used to life without her." The counselor still choked a bit on the words 'without her.' "Move on, *move on*, how the hell am I supposed to *move on* when it is my fault she's dead? How am I supposed to *move on* when every time I close my eyes I see her falling, and I hear her screaming?" Riker looked up at Deanna who was now kneeling beside him. He waited a moment, and then he demanded fiercely, "how?" "Will, I am not trying to pretend that what happened to you wasn't awful. I can't even imagine the horror of watching a friend die in such a terrible way, but you have to accept that you are a victim in this and not a villain." Deanna's voice grew more assuring and assertive. "You did everything that you could, and no one could have done any more. Beverly knew that, that is why she let go. You must come to terms with that, or you will go mad with this undeserved guilt." "What does it matter anyway, nothing we do or say will ever bring her back." Will Riker looked down at the picture in his hands. He caressed Beverly's cheek with his thumb, and then he began to cry softly. Deanna fought back her own tears. It meant so much to her that Will could be this way around her, that he could open himself up completely. It only proved how much he loved and trusted her, still. She could feel the raw ache inside him, and she wanted desperately to help him. Gathering him up in her arms, Deanna let her tears spill once more. After a while, the tears stopped. Deanna ran one of her hands through Will's hair, tousling it gently. She already knew the answer, but she asked anyway. "Feel better?" "Yes," he answered, as he turned in her arms to face her, giving her a bit of a grin. "And thank you. Deanna your friendship, no *you* are more than I ever could deserve." Deanna smiled sweetly, before kissing him gently on the lips. "You deserve me Imzadi, of that you may always be sure." Will returned her kiss, and then he questioned, "Imzadi forever?" Deanna could feel the hopefulness inside him, and it warmed the chill this day had given her. Her reply was filled with promise. "Yes, forever." Will held her close. His warmth and his strength made Deanna feel very safe. She knew now that she wanted to start over with him. If nothing else, Beverly's death had taught her a very important lesson, never waste time. Finally, Deanna broke the embrace. Tonight was not the right time, though, to reawaken all the old feelings. She and Will both needed some time to recover from Beverly's loss. She kissed Will once more before she left, reassuring him that they had a future. Will lay in his bed, as he thought of his Imzadi. They would be together. If only Beverly had lived to see it. She would have been so happy for them. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat at that thought, before he finally succumbed to his exhaustion. He slept, for now the screams did not haunt him. **10** Picard finished his message to Wesley at last. It took him several minutes to gather up the strength to send it. Letting it go meant admitting somehow that Beverly really was gone. Finally, he stood and left his ready room. He nodded to the night duty officer as he headed to the turbolift. The captain, however, did not return immediately to his quarters. Instead, he made his way to Security. The Romulan prisoner was fast asleep in his cell. Picard approached the forcefield, but he said nothing. Standing there, he focused an icy stare on the prisoner's form. As much as Jean-Luc was angry at Beverly for abandoning him, he had not forgotten who had knocked her over that ledge. 'If only I could make you pay for what you have done,' he thought. Jean-Luc was in the middle of a rather vivid fantasy, which involved serving the Romulan's still beating heart to him on a platter, when one of the guards interrupted. "Can I do anything for you Sir?" The sound of the crewman's voice pulled Picard back to reality, and he shivered at the ferocity of his own thoughts. "No, thank you," he answered, "I think I will return to my quarters now." Upon returning to his cabin, Jean-Luc was tempted to pick up his fantasy where it had left off, but he thought better of it, realizing how destructive these violent thoughts could become. As he pushed the fantasy away, she returned. Edging her way in through the cracks in his resolve, she whispered to him. He tried to hear what she said, listening harder and harder, forgetting he had banished her from this place. 'I chose to do this. Remember that.' He had been weak. He had let her in. He would not make that mistake again. Jean-Luc raced to his desk. He sat down and spoke to his computer, calling up all of the records on recent Romulan activity in and around the Neutral Zone. 'The Romulans, they are dangerous. Never can be too careful. They are up to something, and I'm not going to let them get away with it.' Picard's thoughts were clear now. He knew his duty. He would not fail. He was a Starfleet officer first and foremost. Nothing had changed. Picard read the reports with unwavering attention. Finally, after several hours, his body betrayed him. Jean-Luc's eyelids grew heavy, as the words on the screen began to blend together. He would have to surrender to sleep, trusting that the sentry his concentration had become could guard his dreams. Jean-Luc climbed into his bed, his quarters now quiet and dark. The silence beckoned her, but he would not yield. He lay on his back, stiff, focused on his purpose. No dreams. His eyes slid shut at last, but his mind remained taut, prepared. **11** Picard roused from sleep. Slowly his ceiling came into focus above him. He glanced at the chrono groggily, registering that he had woken up right on time. A thought entered his mind. 'I wonder what Beverly would like for breakfast?' He mulled that over for a brief moment, before the haze of sleep cleared away, leaving a cruel realization in its wake. Beverly would not be coming for breakfast. Not this morning. Not ever. Jean-Luc sat up quickly, and it was then that he noticed that his fists had been tightly clenched at his sides. He pulled his knees up near his chest and then slowly opened his hands, resting them atop his knee caps. On each palm there was a track of red indentations, dotted with tiny flecks of blood left dry from where his nails had bit into the flesh. Dreamless sleep apparently did not come without this small price. Picard shook his head slightly, as he prepared to face the day. They were due to arrive at Starbase 117 in less than two hours. That meant there would be much to do today, the Romulan plot must be exposed. Steeled by this call to duty, Jean-Luc got out of bed. He drank his cup of tea quickly, standing by the replicator slot, keeping his distance from the table. 'No time to waste on a proper breakfast,' Jean-Luc convinced himself, before hurrying off to the bridge. Maybe they would try a manual docking at the starbase this morning. Extra work for all, but the crew could use the training with the new ship. He quickened his step to the turbolift, realizing he needed to review the docking procedures thoroughly before they arrived. The captain arrived on the bridge before any of the other members of the day shift. He uncomfortably ignored the sad stares that focused on him as he entered. He took his seat and called up the docking procedures on his console. It would keep him busy until they arrived. Riker and Picard stepped on to the transporter pad as they prepared to beam over to the starbase for a briefing with Admiral Nickel, who was stationed there. Will turned slightly towards the captain, as they waited for the coordinates to be input by the transporter chief. He wanted to offer some kind of condolence and an apology. It was his fault that Beverly was dead, and he knew that she was far more than just a friend to Picard. "Sir, I wanted you to know," Riker began awkwardly, "that I am sorry about what happened. I realize it is my fault Beverly ... " "Commander please," Picard interrupted harshly, "we don't have time to waste on placing blame for what happened. We have more important things to worry about, like a new Romulan threat in this sector." Will looked down, chastised, as the transporter began its cycle. They rematerialized on the starbase, and were quickly led to Admiral Nickel's office. He beckoned them in, welcoming them. After the brief exchange of pleasantries, they got right down to business. "Has the Romulan offered any explanation for why he was in Federation territory?" Nickel asked. "No Sir," Picard answered, "but I have reviewed extensively all reports of recent Romulan activity in the area, and I have developed a few theories as to why a Romulan vessel would have been near Cyrus 7." The Admiral put up a staying hand, interrupting Picard. He also flashed him an odd look, curious perhaps at how this man had found the time and energy to review Romulan activities so soon after losing one of his most trusted officers in the line of duty. "Captain, you needn't worry about the Romulans. We already know why that pod went down on that moon. Starfleet Intelligence intercepted a coded Romulan communiqué yesterday. It seems that one of their scout ships suffered a warp core breach while inside the Neutral Zone, patrolling our border. The poor bastard you picked up is apparently the only one who made it off the ship before it blew." "How can we be sure this information is valid, and not some type of smokescreen by the Romulans?" Riker asked. "They have been known to leak false information before." "Good point Commander," Nickel replied, "but Starfleet Command is confident in this report. We only just broke this particular code, and we are quite certain that they don't know yet. Besides, with the Enterprise-E pleasure cruising along the border, we can't expect the Romulans not to come out and take a peek, now can we?" Riker shrugged his shoulders and nodded. It did seem to make sense. Picard just sat there, silent. 'So the Romulans aren't up to anything, but ... they must be ... they have to be,' he thought, a little desperate. "So what now Admiral?" Picard asked, never showing the slightest loss of composure. "Well, we'll make the Romulans sweat a bit by holding on to the prisoner, and then we'll ship him home, of course an act of magnanimity on our part, " the admiral laughed. "You never know when those bargaining chips are going to come in handy." Riker smiled at the thought of the Romulans beholden to the Federation. Picard remained stoic, unamused. "I'll have my security chief arrange for a transfer of the prisoner Sir," he offered formally. "Thank you Captain," Nickel responded, casting a quick glance at Riker, who frowned with worry. "I'll be receiving a transmission from Starfleet Command this afternoon regarding the Enterprise's next assignment. I'll let you know your orders as soon as they arrive." The admiral paused a moment, still troubled by the emotionless captain. "Dismissed." Riker and Picard stood to leave. They headed for the exit, when Admiral Nickel called Picard back, waiting for Riker to continue out the door. "Captain," he began, "I wanted to tell you how saddened everyone at Starfleet Command was to hear about Beverly Crusher. She was undoubtedly the finest medical officer in the fleet. Her death represents a terrible loss." Jean-Luc shifted uncomfortably on his feet, willing himself to stay in control. "Thank you Sir." "And Jean-Luc," the Admiral continued, "I just wanted to offer my own personal condolences. I know that Dr. Crusher was a close friend of yours, as well as a trusted officer. It was quite a testament to you, and to the love and respect your senior officers had for one another, that they all turned down plum assignments in order to stay together on the new Enterprise. I am sorry that you have all suffered this loss." "Thank you Sir," Picard repeated, unmoved in his outward appearance. Nickel nodded, dismissing Picard with the gesture. He shook his head sadly as the captain left. **12** Picard sat behind his ready room desk. He looked down at the padd containing the text of their new orders once again. Jean-Luc shook his head in disgust. They had been ordered to the Mylonian System to map a gas giant. It would take them several days to get there, that meant dead time, and then when there, the mission would be both dull and routine. He knew what Starfleet was trying to do. They were attempting to give the crew of his ship a little down time, a chance to recover from the loss of a senior officer. And even more, Starfleet Command, which was made up of several admirals who had some inkling as to the history between Picard and Beverly Crusher, was trying to give him a chance to recover. 'They think they are doing me a favor,' Jean-Luc thought gruffly, 'when all they are really doing is making it worse.' He wasn't sure how long he had been in here sulking, having taken refuge right after their departure from Starbase 117, when the door chimed. "Come," he barked. Deanna entered, and Picard tensed a bit, concerned that she had come to try and talk to him about Beverly again. His furious anger with her for dying had cooled somewhat, but he was not ready to let her back inside his mind, the ache was still too great. "How are you Captain?" she began. Deanna could sense his reluctance to talk, but the matter she had come to discuss could not be put off. "I am fine Counselor," he answered tersely, noticing for the first time her haggard appearance. He felt a small pang of regret for his abruptness. She had been very close to Beverly, and now in obvious pain. Deanna was like a little sister to him, but he could not offer her brotherly comfort and advice. Not today. Not about this. "Sir, I have come to discuss the arrangements," she continued, ignoring his coldness. "Arrangements?" "Yes, for Beverly's funeral. I wanted to know where and when you would like to have it." Picard felt the bottom drop out from under him at the mention of the word funeral in the same breath as Beverly's name. That was just too real. He sat there, silent. Deanna felt sorry that she had brought the topic up, but there was no choice in the matter. People aboard this ship needed an opportunity to grieve so that they could move on, one step into the tomb Sickbay had become was evidence enough of that, and besides, Beverly deserved to be remembered and honored by her colleagues and her friends. "Sir, this needs to be taken care of," she prodded. "I am willing to plan the service, but I need to know if you had anything special in mind, since you will be giving the eulogy." Picard snapped to attention. He had no intention of speaking at Beverly's funeral. He wasn't even sure he wanted to go. "Deanna, I don't think I would be a good candidate to speak at the funeral. Besides, shouldn't we wait and see what Wesley and the rest of Beverly's family want," he offered, playing his avoidance trump card. "Sir, besides Wesley, Beverly had no close family. We were her family. And we don't know when, or even if Wesley will come back. If he does, we can have a smaller ceremony then, if he wants it." Picard shrugged. He had no argument. He knew she was right, but he had to at least try. Deanna forged ahead. "I was thinking of a quiet reception in Ten Forward tomorrow. You could say a few words, and then we could just have some music and refreshments. Very simple. Beverly would have hated a lot of fuss." "Plan whatever you like Counselor, but I am afraid I won't be able to participate." "What? But Sir, you were her closest friend and her commanding officer." Deanna knew that what she was asking of her captain was not easy, but he had to deliver the eulogy, if for no other reason than out of respect for a senior member of his crew. "I am sorry Deanna, you will have to find someone else." Jean-Luc stood up and headed for his replicator. He stood there drinking his tea, trying to hide from her gaze in the corner, doing his best to ignore her without being totally obvious about it. She had to understand that he simply could not trust himself to remain in control in front of all those people, to conceal those naked emotions as he said good-bye to Beverly. Deanna could actually feel an ache in her head from banging it against the wall her captain had built around himself. "Very well Sir. I will inform you of the funeral arrangements once they have been planned." She turned on her heel and marched out of Picard's ready room, too exhausted to battle his disconsolate stubbornness any further. Jean-Luc forced down the last mouthful of his dinner. He was not particularly hungry, but he knew he had to eat sometime, a diet of hot tea could only sustain him for so long. He looked about his quarters, dissatisfied with what he saw. Funny how this room had looked so spacious and comfortable to him only yesterday at breakfast. He admonished himself for thinking about breakfast. It would help nothing to focus on all the promise that the morning had held. Believing that Beverly had wanted a future with him would not make that future happen. She was dead. They would never be together. It didn't matter that it was what she wanted. She couldn't love him from a grave. Jean-Luc knew rationally that this was why he was so angry with her for letting go of Riker, for letting herself die. She had decided not to fight to stay here with him. He didn't care that it was a losing battle. He didn't care that what she had done was selfless and heroic, that what she had done had spared the life of someone he cared for very deeply. In his heart, it only mattered that she had let go. It only mattered that now he could never tell her how much he loved her. 'I should have never let her go on that mission,' he argued. 'I never should have put her in danger.' Jean-Luc immediately scolded himself. Beverly had been a Starfleet officer of the highest caliber, smart and capable. She had belonged on that away team. He would not patronize her just because he missed her. The risks of being in Starfleet had simply caught up with her, like they could with any officer at any time. Like Tasha. Like Jack. No, he didn't want to think about that. The emotions began to well inside him, their tide growing more intense. He refused to allow them to overwhelm him. The rage may have passed, but he would not let the loneliness and the regret conquer him. He would not surrender. Jean-Luc reigned his emotions in, snuffing out their threat. He stood up from the table, in command once again, his armor of self- control impenetrable. It was then that he noticed that a message had arrived for him while he had been eating. It was from Deanna: >To: Captain Jean-Luc Picard From: Counselor Deanna Troi Please be advised that a memorial service for Doctor Beverly Crusher has been scheduled for 1400 hours tomorrow in the Ten Forward Lounge. Refreshments will follow. Dress uniform optional.< The cold formality of the notice made Jean-Luc very ashamed of his earlier behavior towards the counselor. He still could not trust himself to speak at the memorial service, but he had to attend. It would be a terrible insult for the captain of the Enterprise not to at least make an appearance at the funeral of his chief medical officer. He would not shirk his duty. At exactly 1400 hours, the doors of Ten Forward parted to reveal Captain Jean-Luc Picard. The lounge was already packed with people, and they all turned to watch Picard walk slowly towards the front row of chairs that had been set up for the senior officers. Jean-Luc, for once in his life, was happy for the stiff, uncomfortable collar of his dress uniform. The annoying tug he felt at his throat helped to keep him tightly focused on something other than what he was doing, which was coming to acknowledge the death of the woman he loved. Unresponsive to the stares of his officers, he took the end seat at the front, which had been optimistically left vacant for him. The service began. With spine straight, shoulders square, and head erect, Jean- Luc looked on, watching, but hearing nothing. He was like a statue. His figure strong and imposing, perfectly composed. His presence an inspiration to those who admired his form. And yet, like a statue, he was immovable. As the speeches ended and the crowd took to their feet preparing to mingle and remember their friend together, the captain turned and marched out of the room. He had done his duty. TO BE CONTINUED... From mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user Mon Sep 18 00:06:23 1995 Path: mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user From: A.Martens@mail.utexas.edu (Allison M. Martens) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: NEW STORY: MOURNING (REPRISE) 4/6 (TNG,P/C) Date: Sun, 17 Sep 1995 20:09:03 -0600 Organization: The University of Texas at Austin Lines: 539 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu Part 4 MOURNING (REPRISE) by Allison Martens See Part 1 for disclaimer By the grace of Paramount go I :-) **** **13** Time froze as she looked up at the face of her friend, her fingers still warm with the feel of his flesh. 'I am sorry Will,' was the thought that flashed through her mind, as she watched his face contort in horror. That thought was accompanied by a resolute belief that what she had done was not only right and honorable, but also the only option she had. Will would live and she would die. But it would be with dignity. Suddenly, Beverly felt the cold tentacles of gravity wrap around her legs, moving up her body like a fast spreading cancer, only to wrench her quickly downward. A prize captured. Hurtling away, she felt her stomach leap into her throat. Nothing, not even her stubborn courage, could suppress the terrified scream that clawed its way out from deep inside her. The air rushed past, as Beverly felt the clouds groping at her, a curtain of mist drawing shut above her. The realization suddenly hit with a force surely as violent as the impact that was only moments away. She was really going to die. Beverly began to fade into unconsciousness, taking small comfort in the idea that she would not feel herself smashing into the ground, or hear her own body shatter. One last thought of him passed through the haze of her mind before the welcome darkness enveloped her. Something was wrong. Beverly faded back into consciousness. All was quiet and dark. Yet she could feel a heat upon her face, warm and gentle, and there were sounds, a quiet, rhythmic pounding nearby, and was that the rustle of leaves. Beverly called upon her body, and to her surprise, it responded. Her fists unclenched, and she ran her hands lengthwise up her body. Solid. Keeping her eyes tightly pressed shut in a mixture of fear and wonder, Beverly gently pressed two fingers to her neck. She found her pulse there, strong and steady. 'Impossible. I'm dead. I have to be.' Beverly shook off her confused thoughts and cautiously opened her eyes, preparing herself to accept this death, even if the form it had come in was unexpected. She was greeted by the sight of a warm sun beating down on her, its light blinding her with its mid-day intensity. Shading her eyes, Beverly stood up and examined her surroundings. Much to her surprise, she was standing on a beach. Spread out before her was an azure sea, flat and calm as it stretched undisturbed to the horizon, its gentle surf pounding on the shore. Behind her was something reminiscent of a tropical paradise. Beverly had never been a very pious person. Very few humans practiced any sort of organized religion anymore, and she was no exception. But Nana had always been a very spiritual individual, and she had instilled in her a sense of faith, and a belief in something more than what science could explain. Consequently, Beverly found herself willing to accept that there could be an afterlife, that there could be something beyond the corporeal self. But this? She called out several times, hoping for some kind of response, hoping for someone or something to reveal itself and explain just what the hell was going on. Nobody answered. Beverly moved down the beach, heading towards a small structure she had noticed. The shelter was a tent with an open front and a canvas spread over four poles. Inside there was a large trunk, filled with various useful utensils designed for island living, and a comfortable hammock hung across the center of the tent. Oddly, everything appeared new and undisturbed. Clearly, nobody had ever lived here. The shelter was just there, as if it had been simply waiting for somebody to appear and take up residence. Beverly began to grow angry, as her confusion intensified. Uncertainty never sat well with this particular redhead. She began to explore her surroundings more thoroughly, combing the island with purposeful concentration. It was a tiny peak rising from an endless sea, apparently uninhabited, and totally isolated from any other land. There was an ample supply of edible fruit, fish and fresh water. Apparently in this 'afterlife' you still had to be concerned with all the necessities of living. Beverly narrowed her explanations down to two competing theories. Either she was indeed dead and this was just what happens when you go, or she was still alive, and she had been sucked into some sort of bizarre dimensional anomaly. Stranger things had been known to happen to people who served aboard the USS Enterprise. In any event, there did seem to be something intentional about her predicament. The shelter was evidence that her presence had somehow been expected. But why? And if this was some sort of eternal resting place, then why here? 'I don't even like the beach,' she thought, as she dejectedly flung herself into the hammock, hoping that the entire experience was just a bad dream. Perhaps this whole mess was nothing more than a bit of undigested plomeek from that Vulcan dish she had finally sprung on Jean-Luc at breakfast this morning. Beverly closed her eyes, wistfully hoping to awaken in her own bed. **14** The sun dipped below the horizon at last, taking the remainder of daylight with it. Beverly turned her attention to the rising moon. She noticed the stars brightening around the orb. She just shook her head in disgust. All the constellations were familiar. She had learned to chart them in primary school. This was the night sky of Earth. The same scene had played itself out for each of the last five sunsets. Beverly sat on the highest point of her isle, waiting for the night sky to be revealed. Each time hoping that the stars would be different, but they never were. Each night brought the same conclusion. She was on Earth. But there were no longer desert islands on Earth, of that she was sure. Every inch of land had been scrupulously mapped long ago, no space left uninhabited. That only meant one thing. She had to be dead and, for whatever reason, she had been transported to this replica of her home planet to continue existing in this life-like state. Alone. The frustration built inside Beverly again. It was torture to think and feel exactly as she always had, and yet believe that she was no longer what she once was. It was torture to realize that there was nothing she could do to tie up all the loose ends in her life, essentially because she apparently no longer had a life, or at least not the one she was accustomed to, the one she wanted back. In the past few days, Beverly had become a true believer in the concept of Hell. Eventually her thoughts drifted, as they always did, to an even more agonizing topic, Jean-Luc. Beverly cursed herself again for never telling him how she really felt. She had come close so many times. On Rutia when the terrorists had captured them, after Kesprit when he had given her a virtual engraved invitation to open her heart, and worst of all that night in Labarre. Beverly swore at herself again. She had gone to him, fully resolved to tell him that she loved him, that she wanted to be with him forever. But all her conviction evaporated when he was so cold and distant, so seemingly uninterested. Blinded by her own disappointment, she had left. "Fool," she yelled, just to be sure that the rocks and the trees knew what an idiot she considered herself to be. Underneath his pain he had loved and wanted her. She knew that now. His look and his touch at that last breakfast had been proof enough for her. She replayed the night again in her mind. Beverly knocked at the front door of the Picard home. She repeated over and over to herself that she had done the right thing in coming. When Jean-Luc had left Starfleet Headquarters yesterday at the conclusion of the hearings on the crash of the 1701-D, he had been obviously despondent. It seemed irrelevant to him that he, and his entire crew, had been cleared of any dereliction of duty in the destruction of the ship. It seemed irrelevant that he had been promised the new and improved Enterprise-E, which was already on the drawing boards. Now, he had left for the difficult task of paying his last respects to his brother and nephew. Beverly had wanted to give him a few days to be at home alone, to say his farewells privately. Then she had planned to come and visit, and give him her support, and perhaps something more. But now she could not wait. This morning she had been offered a position on the Hector, which would leave within the week for a 15 month mission to Donarus. While there, the crew of the Hector would construct a new, state-of- the-art Federation outpost, which would include one of the best medical facilities in the quadrant. It was a great opportunity for her, but Beverly would much prefer to remain here on Earth, or more to the point, remain here with Jean-Luc. Nearly dying on Veridian 3 had convinced Beverly that it was time to let go of the fear and tell Jean-Luc she loved him. She only hoped he still wanted her. The door opened. Beverly recognized the woman who answered as Marie Picard. She had seen photographs of her before. But unlike those pictures, her face now carried a look of sadness. Beverly recognized that look, for she had seen it in the mirror so many times after Jack died. "Yes?" the woman asked. "Hello Madame Picard. My name is Beverly Crusher. I am a friend of Jean-Luc's." "Ah, Dr. Crusher," Marie answered, her visage brightening a bit, "Jean-Luc has mentioned you often. Please come in." Beverly stepped in, immediately noticing the grand, old-fashioned style of the Picard home. "I am sorry to come unannounced, but I needed to see Jean-Luc tonight." "Of course. He is out in the back. I am glad you are here Doctor. I think a friendly face might do him some good." Marie pointed towards the back door. "I'll try my best," Beverly replied, deeply concerned. Before she headed out, she turned back to Marie. "I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Robert and Rene. I realize that nothing anyone can say right now can ease the pain you must be feeling, but I wanted you to know that you had my condolences all the same. "Thank you Doctor." Marie gave a half-smile before turning and heading towards the staircase. "I hope I will see you in the morning. You are welcome to stay. We have plenty of room," Marie offered before climbing the stairs. Beverly stepped out the back door. She saw the outline of a man's figure in the moonlight. Jean-Luc was sitting on a bench, his back to her, staring out at the vineyards. She took one last moment to gather up her courage. 'I just hope he wants this still. Please don't let it be too late. No, just tell him Beverly. Don't be afraid. Just open your mouth and say the words.' Beverly took a few more steps forward. "Jean-Luc." He slowly turned his head in response to his name, but his countenance did not change as he saw her. "Beverly?" "Jean-Luc, I needed to see you. I didn't want to disturb you, but it was important." Beverly slowly moved towards the bench to join him. 'Why doesn't he say anything. Damn, I shouldn't have come. He doesn't even look happy to see me. Could I have been this wrong?' Jean-Luc still said nothing as Beverly sat down beside him. He turned his gaze back to the vineyards. Frightened out of her wits, Beverly still thought she would give her declaration of love a try, but now she would not be so direct. She wanted a way out if things got worse. 'Remember Beverly, he just lost his family. Give him a chance.' "How are you Jean-Luc? I have been worried. I know how difficult coming back to Labarre must be after everything that happened." A neutral ice-breaker. "You should not worry," he answered tersely, never even turning to look into her eyes. His blank stare remaining focused on the distant vines. Beverly felt a coldness grip her. Those few words were the equivalent of no answer at all. 'One last try Beverly.' "Well I do worry about you Jean-Luc. You mean a great deal to me. More than anyone else. More than you realize." Beverly's voice was thick with emotion as she uttered those carefully measured words. She tentatively reached out a hand and let it rest on his thigh as she finished. Jean-Luc made no response to her words, but he grimaced slightly at her touch. Beverly was horrified. That grimace made everything clear to her. 'He doesn't want me here. He doesn't want me at all. I had my chances before, but now it is too late.' The rejection she felt overwhelmed her, as she quickly removed her offending hand. 'Damn! Get out of here Beverly. Take what is left of your dignity and leave him in peace.' Struggling for a few seconds, Beverly finally found the strength to speak. "I just came to offer you my condolences Jean-Luc before I left." "Where are you going?" he asked, never taking his eyes off the vineyards. His words sounded hollow, somehow disinterested. "I have been offered a position on the Hector for the Donarus Mission. It is a good assignment, and I'm going to take it." Beverly breathed deeply. No reason not to take it now. Besides, she wanted to get as far away from this heartbreak as was possible. Believing desperately that running across the galaxy would actually put some distance between herself and her pain. "I'll be back by the time the new Enterprise is ready for launch. According to Geordi and Data, she is going to be quite a ship. I'd like to serve aboard her, if that is agreeable to you Captain." Jean-Luc nodded, still silent, still focused on the vines. "Well, good-bye Jean-Luc. I will see you when I return." Beverly stood quickly, awkwardly stepping away from the bench. Jean-Luc stood also. His eyes flashed something, but Beverly ignored it, too overcome with disappointment. "Good-bye Beverly. Good luck on your mission." He sounded so formal. Beverly walked quickly into the house. She raced through its interior and out the front door. Never looking back. Beverly leapt to her feet as the flashback ended. She paced around in circles. Irate. 'Beverly, you proud, moronic fool. How could you give up so easily? He wanted you to stay. His eyes told you that much. But no, you got scared. Coward! You wouldn't stay and fight for him. You ignored his pain and you left him. Like always. So what if he didn't speak first. So what if he was distant. He had just lost his ship and his family. And what did you do? You left. You LEFT! Well, now it is too late. Now he'll never know love him. You will just wander this blasted rock, alone, forever knowing you never told him the truth.' At that last thought, Beverly looked up at the stars and let out a long, feral scream. Every fear, every regret wrapping itself in that cry. The echoes sounded around her. Intense. Plaintive. Unheard. Beverly dropped to the ground sobbing. There would never be anyone to listen. **15** Geordi La Forge stared out the windows of Ten Forward. He sat alone, nursing a drink. Shaking his head, he reached up for about the twentieth time since he had entered and rubbed his temples. A voice interrupted from behind. "Mind if I join you?" "Guinan. Hi. Be my guest," Geordi offered, pointing at the chair opposite him, "but be warned, I don't think I'd make very good company at the moment." "I can't imagine why," she replied with a smile, gesturing with her eyes at the one hand that continued to massage his head. "Oh, I'm all right. Just my visor acting up again. I'm used to it," the engineer laughed, nervously dropping his hand to his lap. "Maybe you should go to Sickbay." "No," Geordi answered forcefully, then, relenting a bit, he smiled and picked up his drink. "It'll go away." "Well, it seems to me that I saw someone in here yesterday, who looked an awful lot like you, rubbing his head and looking quite uncomfortable." Guinan paused a few moments before speaking again. "Geordi, why haven't you been to Sickbay?" Geordi shook his head as he traced the rim of his drink. "It sounds silly, but I feel like going there would be, I don't know, somehow ..." "Disloyal?" Guinan chimed in. "Yeah, I mean, Dr. Crusher always made a point of treating my condition personally. She never pawned me off on any of her staff. I feel strange now just wandering in there and having Dr. Selar, or somebody else, work on me." "And the bedside manner of a Vulcan leaves something to be desired." Geordi chuckled in response, then turned thoughtful. "Yeah, things sure are going to be different down there. Things are going to be different everywhere." He shrugged. "I guess sooner or later I'll get to Sickbay, but right now it would be such a reminder of Beverly that I don't want to be there. I really miss her." "Well, I know a certain redheaded physician who would have had a few choice words for anybody who neglected their health deliberately," Guinan pointed out. "That's for sure. All right Guinan, you made your point. I'll go get Dr. Selar to take a look at my visor." Guinan smiled. Before she stood to leave, she looked back to Geordi, her eyes darkening a bit. "You know. It is strange. I try to think about Beverly, but somehow it doesn't feel like she is really gone. It is the oddest sensation." Now it was Guinan's turn to shrug, as she got up to leave. She flashed Geordi one of her enigmatic looks and then was off, gliding across the lounge in her usual fashion. **16** Deanna entered the darkened quarters. Calling for the lights, she scanned the room. Collected in this room was all that remained of Beverly Crusher. Deanna had not been in Beverly's quarters since the day after she died, and then she had only come with the ship's botanist to rescue Beverly's prized orchids. But it had been a few days since the funeral, and Deanna felt she could now probably handle sorting things through, cataloging and storing all Beverly's possessions for Wesley, if he ever did come back. Since he hadn't even shown up to acknowledge his mother's death, it was not clear that he ever would return. Deanna thought it odd that Wesley had not come. She was sure he must be able to feel his mother's loss. Deanna shrugged that thought off. It was a mystery she couldn't solve, so why bother. The onerous task of packing up Beverly's life was now hers. Nobody else aboard was going to take care of it. That much was clear. 'It might be therapeutic for the captain to do it, but that will never happen. He won't even talk about her,' she thought sadly. 'Oh well, it is an opportunity for me to truly say good-bye.' Deanna wandered through the living area, and then the bedroom, making a mental list of everything she saw. The rooms were sparsely decorated. Most of Beverly's possessions had been destroyed in the crash of the Enterprise-D, and she had not really had much time to collect a lot of new things. Deanna's gaze settled on the throw which was draped across the back of the couch. Beverly had brought it back with her from Caldos. It had been her grandmother's favorite blanket. Beverly had told her many times how Nana would wrap herself up in it, after she had tucked her in, and tell bedtime stories. Deanna sat down on the couch, running her hand along the smooth material. She noticed the spot Beverly had mended after the crash, as she fingered the small stitches. Deanna smiled, as she recalled how appalled Beverly had been at her suggestion that she simply replicate a new piece of material and replace that entire section of the throw. Beverly had indignantly explained that Nana would turn over in her grave if she ever did that. This blanket had been passed down for generations in the Howard Clan. And every stain and every stitch represented a treasured family memory. Deanna's smile faded. There was no one left to send the blanket to. She wrapped herself in the throw. It felt warm and comforting, and it carried the scent of Beverly's perfume. Deanna considered what a very special remembrance of her it would make. She would take it with her when she was done. Besides, she rationalized, nothing this old and beautiful should ever be condemned to storage. Deanna pulled the wrap more tightly around her. She missed Beverly terribly. Not even Will, with whom she was now tentatively rekindling her romance, could fill the void left by Beverly's loss. She knew she would never have a friend like Beverly again. Deanna then did something that was probably against her better judgment. "Computer play Dr. Beverly Crusher's last personal log entry. Audio only." A bittersweet smile formed on her lips at the first sound of her friend's voice. Its sound both a comfort and a reminder of things lost. Almost instantly, Deanna's smile turned to shock, as she heard Beverly announce the time and date of her last entry. She had recorded it less than an hour before she left for the surface of Cyrus 7. Deanna concentrated on Beverly's words, pushing away the eerie feeling inside her. "... Breakfast with Jean-Luc went very well this morning. For the first time in a long time, I really believe that we might still have a chance to be together. He wants me to come to dinner, and there was something in his eyes when he asked me. It was a warmth I hadn't felt in a long time. I know now that he still loves me. Now if I could just get up the courage to tell him how I really feel. Maybe tonight. Sooner or later I've got to just do it. After all, we're not going to live forever." The awful irony of Beverly's words brought tears to Deanna's eyes. She thought of her captain sitting in his cabin, lonely and lost, ignorant of how much Beverly truly loved him. Perhaps someday she would play this for him, but for now she would leave him alone. She wasn't sure he was ready to listen. Deanna laid her head down on the couch, snuggling beneath Beverly's blanket, trying to get as close to its warmth as possible. She cried herself to sleep, as she thought about all the happiness fate had denied Jean-Luc Picard and Beverly Crusher. The sound of the door chime roused Deanna. She rubbed her eyes and smoothed her hair as she walked across the cabin. The doors opened to reveal Data standing in the corridor, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Deanna motioned him in. "I am sorry to bother you Counselor, but the computer told me you were here, and I thought this would be a good opportunity for us to talk," the android said, as he took a seat opposite Deanna at the table. Deanna reached out with her mind to get a sense of what he was feeling. She was still learning to read Data's emotions, which were very strong, but unformed and child-like. Today, they were easy to interpret. "You are having trouble coming to terms with Beverly's death?" she asked. "Yes. Counselor, I find myself consistently accessing my memories of Dr. Crusher. Even when I am consciously attempting to prevent that from happening. Since the implantation of my emotion chip, I have been learning to recognize and channel many different types of emotions, but I am finding it difficult to understand and control this particular emotion." "Data, nobody has an easy time with grief. In time, you will learn to handle these feelings as well as the others. Don't try so hard to push Beverly out of your mind. Grief is far too powerful an emotion to be controlled by ignoring it." Data nodded. "I am learning that the hard way Counselor." He paused a moment, looking thoughtful, then he continued. "I am familiar with many theories, but I have yet to find a satisfying explanation for what occurs when one dies." "Data, I am not sure how to answer that. I would hope that our loved ones remain with us in some form or fashion once they die, that their spirits continue somehow. What I do know, though, is that neither science nor logic can explain it." "Perhaps, but, Counselor, that is a very difficult concept for an artificial life form to grasp." Deanna laughed at his comment. Thankfully, Data had developed a much more subtle and sophisticated sense of humor. After a moment, she reached out and took his hand. In her most supportive voice, she reassured him. "It is all right to miss people Data." "There is one particular memory of Dr. Crusher that I find myself accessing most," he paused. "Counselor do you think it would be possible for me to take one of her belongings?" "A keepsake?" she asked, moved by the sentimentality of her android friend. It had been a rough start, but Deanna found that she much preferred Data with emotions. He had become a very good 'human.' "Yes." "Data, I think that is a lovely idea. I'm sure Beverly would want you to have something to remember her by. I am taking something of hers myself." "Then I have your permission Counselor?" "Of course Data, but why ask me?" "You seemed to be the most appropriate person to ask, as you are disposing of her belongings," he explained. "Take what you like Data." Deanna watched with curiosity as he stood and walked into Beverly's bedroom. A few moments later he emerged, carrying Beverly's tap shoes in his hands. Data rejoined her at the table. Puzzled at his choice, Deanna asked, "why Beverly's dance shoes Data?" "A few years ago, Dr. Crusher taught me to dance," he explained. "We danced together from time to time after that. Those were very special times for me." He smiled at Deanna's surprise. "It was our little secret," Data offered sweetly. He looked back down at the shoes, and began to play with one of the straps. "Data, why don't you stay and help me with Beverly's things. It would be nice not to have to do this myself. We'll remember her together, and then we'll say good-bye." "I would like that Counselor." Deanna could sense that he was both pleased and relieved at her offer. Death was difficult enough to face, without it being the first time to ever face the emotions that accompanied loss. They worked well into the night, remembering their friend as they reduced her existence to a few carefully packed boxes. TO BE CONTINUED... From mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user Mon Sep 18 00:06:27 1995 Path: mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user From: A.Martens@mail.utexas.edu (Allison M. Martens) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: NEW STORY: MOURNING (REPRISE) 5/6 (TNG,P/C) Date: Sun, 17 Sep 1995 20:09:36 -0600 Organization: The University of Texas at Austin Lines: 591 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu Part 5 MOURNING (REPRISE) by Allison Martens See Part 1 for disclaimer By the grace of Paramount go I :-) **** **17** The sun began to set over the water. Beverly Crusher stood on her beach watching the golden light fade into the distance. She was fascinated by the way the light danced along the surface of the water, cutting the sea into seemingly translucent bands, which slowly retreated towards the horizon. The effect was beautiful, and the aesthete in Beverly longed to become a part of it. She stripped off her clothes and, with long, graceful strides, began to move towards the waterline. Her step shortened, as she entered the sea, moving deeper and deeper, slowly enveloping herself in the fading light. Following the light's trail to the horizon with her eyes, Beverly wondered just how far she could go. Perhaps if she made it all the way to the horizon, she would then simply fade away, like the daylight. It didn't strike her as a completely ridiculous proposition. After all, she was already dead. What could happen? The sea was so beautiful and peaceful at this moment, that Beverly moved deeper into the cool water, wanting to become a part of it. No longer able to touch the sandy bottom, she paddled further and further from the shore, slowly gaining on the distant sunset. Moments later, Beverly slipped beneath the surface, the ocean pouring over her. After only a moment, the surface was calm again, unbroken, as the light cascaded across it. Seconds later, the peace was shattered. Beverly felt something yank her to the surface, bringing her several inches above the water, and causing her to splutter for air. After a moment's disorientation, she shoved the wet strands of hair from her eyes, only to find herself staring straight into the face of her least favorite omnipotent being. "Woman what are you doing?" he exclaimed, clearly disgusted. "Q." Beverly really couldn't think of anything else to say at the moment. His presence made everything that had happened to her so clear and yet so confusing at the same time. Suddenly Beverly realized that she was both naked and apparently hovering over the water. She did not find either condition acceptable, as she quickly looked down and struggled to find some way to cover herself. Q rolled his eyes at her modesty, amused by the thought that she would even think he'd be interested. In a flash, they were standing on the beach. Beverly looked down to discover herself in a dry, Starfleet uniform. By now she had gone from shock to anger. "Q, I demand to know what is going on. Am I dead?" "What do you think?" he replied, mocking her. Beverly's face quickly turned the same shade as her hair, as she anxiously shifted from foot to foot, trying to decide whether to ask more questions or just launch herself onto him with fists flying. She opted for another question, determining that engaging an omnipotent being in fisticuffs would probably not be wise, but oh how she did want to deck him. "Did you bring me here?" "Yes," he answered shortly, apparently disinterested in offering any further explanation. "Why here?" "Why not? I had to stick you somewhere," he shrugged, "and the desert island seems to be a favorite human cliché." Beverly took several deep breaths. She could not believe Q was having some sort of twisted fun at her expense. Well, actually she could believe it, but it infuriated her nonetheless. She swallowed her rage enough to speak again. "I demand that you return me to the Enterprise immediately." Q looked towards the sky and spoke, as if he was addressing the omnipotents. "Insufferable woman. Making demands of a superior being." He shook his head at her. "You'll be off this island soon enough," he explained. "The old boy is not going to make it through another night." Q smiled at his unintelligible statement, obviously amused by whatever he had up his all-powerful sleeve. Beverly couldn't even speak at this point, her anger and confusion overwhelming her. "Just sit tight. You'll be home soon enough. And by all means don't go and try any more ridiculous stunts," Q ordered, disappearing as soon as he had finished, leaving a rather stunned Beverly Crusher in his wake. **18** Jean-Luc contemplated the book he held in his lap. It was not entirely accidental that he had decided on Vulcan philosophy for his night's reading. More than ever before, the captain was drawn to the absolute devotion to logic, the rigid self-control, and the total void of emotion present in Vulcan works. Tonight, unfortunately, Jean-Luc's concentration and control were wavering. His defenses had been strong against her for so long, but all this damnable free time, courtesy of Starfleet Command, had weakened them to the near breaking point. Now, he could barely read two consecutive pages without battling Beverly's image. Just as he tossed the book on his coffee table in disgust, the door chimed. "Come," he announced, relieved by the prospect of a new distraction. Deanna Troi entered. She carried a book of her own in her left hand. Jean-Luc's chest tightened a bit at the sight of her, fearing that she had come to counsel him. Deanna could sense this apprehension, and it saddened her. Her captain had never before tried so hard to shut her out, and his distance stung her both professionally and personally. He stood to greet her. "Counselor, is there something you needed?" "Please don't get up Captain," she replied, as she moved towards the couch. Picard waited for her to join him, before sitting once again. "I won't stay long. I am not sure," she explained, as she settled down on the couch, "if you were aware that Data and I had cleared out Beverly's cabin." The captain nodded slightly, his reaction imperceptible, except to the empath. "Data and I have put aside some of Beverly's things, some keepsakes that we feel she would want her friends to have. I selected this for you." Deanna tentatively handed the book to Picard. "I am sure," she said quietly, "that Beverly would have wanted you to have this back." Jean-Luc slowly ran one finger across the old, leather cover of the volume, tracing the faded gold-leaf imprint of the title, Rostand's 'Cyrano de Bergerac.' "Good night Sir," Deanna offered, as she stood and walked out of his quarters. Jean-Luc didn't even realize she had left until he heard the swish of the closing doors. He returned his gaze to the book, carefully opening the cover, and reading the inscription: >Beverly, Good luck with your workshop. You will make an incomparable Roxanne. Affectionately, Jean-Luc< The memory came sneaking back, pleasantly at first. Beverly had complained, much to his amusement, at breakfast after breakfast about her hopeless drama student, Lieutenant Barclay, certain that their upcoming performance of Rostand's play would be an unmitigated disaster. Jean-Luc recalled how touched she had been, when he had given her his 1937 vintage copy of the work, the morning of her first performance. It had been one of the prizes of his collection of rare, ancient books. He remembered the feel of her fingers caressing his cheek, as her lips came up to lightly brush the other. "Damn." Jean-Luc slammed the book shut, and threw it on the table next to the abandoned Vulcan work. Foolishly, he had let down his guard, allowing not only this memory, but all the memories to flood his thoughts. Beverly had finally won, forcing herself into every crevice of his beleaguered mind. A juggernaut let loose on his weakened defenses. One memory in particular came to the fore. Jean-Luc thought back on the night Beverly had visited him in Labarre. It was a memory he had successfully dodged since her death. But now he could not escape its insistence. Jean-Luc could hear the soft footfalls approaching from behind. He was sure it was Marie come to check on him. She had been terribly worried about him, that much he knew, although he had barely spoken to her since returning home. A woman's voice spoke his name, but it was not Marie. Jean-Luc knew in an instant that the voice belonged to Beverly, and he felt his stomach tie itself in a thousand knots. He did not want to face her now. He felt so frightened and alone, so guilty. So he did the only thing he knew how to protect himself. Jean-Luc retreated further within, masking every emotion to the point of almost erasing them completely. He loved Beverly utterly and completely, but he could not risk letting her in. The stakes were far too high. At best, she would try to help, only causing herself pain and worry, ultimately cursing herself, as all others seemed cursed, by loving him. He would never allow that. At worst, she would reject him again, destroying the precious little that remained of his battered ego. Jean-Luc choked out her name, as he quickly called on his cool composure to rescue him. 'Don't worry her. Don't do anything. Just let her say what she has come to say and then let her go.' He picked up on her words, well after she had begun speaking. "... been worried. I know how difficult coming back to Labarre must be," Beverly finished. It had been difficult, and a large part of him wanted to crawl into her embrace, and get lost in its comfort. But that would have been weak and indulgent, and most of all dangerous. Jean-Luc could not trust himself to control those emotions once he allowed the dam to break, and he would not put Beverly, or himself, in that kind of precarious position. He was not even sure she wanted to be in that position. He was not even sure she loved him. Tonight, he lacked the boldness and self-confidence he had felt after Kesprit. Tonight, he would err on the side of caution. "You should not worry," he forced out in a clipped tone. Beverly continued anyway, in spite of his calculated coldness. She told him she cared, even more than he realized, and then she touched him lightly on his leg. Jean-Luc knew it to be a gesture of intimacy and promise, but those were two things he could not handle, or trust in, right now, and he recoiled at her touch. Suddenly, she began to speak of leaving, not only France, but Earth altogether for a new assignment. Before he could smother out the thought, it occurred to him that his coldness might be driving her away. It did not matter. He resolved to let her go, it was easier, safer that way. He didn't deserve to love anyone at the moment anyway. Jean-Luc nodded absently. Beverly had just asked for a post on the next Enterprise. It seemed easier just to nod, play along with the notion that he would be its captain. He had no intention of telling her that he didn't deserve that, or any other post, for that revelation would only keep her here longer, arguing with him. Beverly finished quickly, "Well, good-bye Jean-Luc. I will see you when I return." She stood up from the bench. Out of courtesy, Jean-Luc stood also. As he watched her move away, he could not stop himself from weakening briefly. A voice cried out inside him to tell her that he loved her, to ask her to stay, reminding him he may never get the chance again. But his fears, his guilt, and his stubborn pride won out, silencing that part of him that still held hope for the future. "Good-bye Beverly. Good luck on your mission." He watched her walk quickly into the house, knowing that he would not see her for a long time to come, knowing that he may have irreparably damaged their friendship but, most of all, knowing that he had prevented her from telling him how she really felt. At that moment, he was so low that he welcomed the misery. It had not taken Jean-Luc long to realize what an awful mistake he had made that night, nor had it taken him long to realize the ramifications of what he had done. He had deliberately destroyed their opportunity to be happy. Yet, in the following months, he had been too proud to contact her, and perhaps too afraid, unwilling to face the possibility that she may no longer have wanted him. But that last breakfast had shown otherwise, it had given Jean-Luc hope. He began to replay the fateful morning's events in his mind, when it suddenly hit him. Beverly was dead. That night at Labarre had been his *only* chance to love her, and he had tossed it away. Jean-Luc shot off the couch, pacing, as his thoughts became frenetic. Images of Beverly poured through his mind, as he began a tortured sort of tally of all that he had lost. Her grace, her beauty, her intelligence, her kindness, and her humor were all gone now. Jean-Luc shook his head, as if to forcibly exorcise Beverly from his mind. He stalked over to his replicator. "Tea, Earl Grey, hot," he commanded. Returning to the couch, he took several deep breaths, before taking a sip from the cup. The tea did not soothe him. Nothing could stem the tide of regrets that washed over him. All the things Jean-Luc had always wanted to tell her would now have to be left unsaid. He could scream at the top of his lungs that he loved her, but now she would never hear. Picard stood up again, feeling vulnerable and very much alone. He cursed himself for letting the emotions flow freely, unchecked. He could never reason his way out of this much pain. The frustration, the hurt and the anger all converged inside him at once. "Damn," he shouted, as he hurled his Earl Grey across the cabin. Jean-Luc watched as the glass shattered, letting the brown liquid run down the wall. Suddenly, things went from bad to worse. **19** "Temper, temper, Mon Capitain," came the voice from behind. "Really now, whatever did that glass do to deserve such treatment?" Picard whirled around. He was in no mood and, more to the point, no condition to deal with anyone tonight, much less Q, the universe's most powerful spoiled brat. "Not you, not now," he barked, as he began to pace aimlessly, shaking his head, and muttering an incoherent mixture of profanities and invocations. As he circled the room, he did not dare even look Q in the face, for fear of going from partly mad to totally berserk. "What, no hello?" Q exclaimed, feigning great indignation. "We really must do something about your manners Jean-Luc." He grinned at the sight before him; the great Jean-Luc Picard pacing his cabin like some sort of caged wild animal. It was just the way Q liked to see him, all shook up. He couldn't have scripted the moment better if he had tried. Now it was time to stick the knife in. "Besides, why would I leave before I had a chance to offer my condolences." Jean-Luc stopped short at those words, and stared back at him. His icy expression carrying a warning; involve Beverly at your own risk. Undeterred, Q kept talking. "You know," he explained with great seriousness, "I never cared much for Red myself, it must have been that grating personality, but I know you liked her, shrillness and all." Picard could not believe it. This kind of insensitive behavior was outrageous, even for Q. "Get out," he screamed. He was not about to let someone insult the woman he loved, even if that someone was an omnipotent being, and even if that woman was dead and rotting on the surface of some god-forsaken moon. "Don't toy with me tonight Q," he raged, his warning now communicated in words. "I will *not* stand for it." "Toy with you, Mon Capitain. Me?" Q asked, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. Too raw and ragged to weather any more abuse, Picard snapped altogether, losing what little remained of his self-control. He lunged forward, connecting with a jarring right hook. Q sat on the floor, rubbing his jaw and looking up at his attacker, who stared back at him in quiet disbelief, astounded that this all-powerful being had actually allowed him to land his punch. "That was interesting Mon Capitain," Q remarked, rubbing his jaw as he stood. "But hardly the way one should treat a person who has brought you a surprise." "A surprise?" Picard asked indignantly, wanting no part of Q's prank. "Yes Jean-Luc, a surprise," Q retorted, in his most condescending tone. "But don't think I'm just going to give it you. You have to earn it. Prove to me that you really want it." Picard's temper blazed again. Now more than ever, he found Q's games tiresome and infuriating. Unfortunately, his rage blinded him, leading him right into Q's carefully laid trap. "And how the hell," he demanded, "am I to prove I want this surprise, if you don't tell me what it is that I am trying to *earn*?" "Ah, therein lies the challenge Mon Capitain, *and* since you have most graciously *opted* to play, I will give you a hint." Jean-Luc felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He had been so angry, that he had allowed himself to fall victim to Q's manipulations. In an instant, his fury turned to despondency. Q grinned as he drew the captain close, offering his unsolicited advice. "Now, remember all that you have learned, and be sure to, now what is that terribly trite human expression, oh yes, remember to 'follow your heart.'" Q's grin widened to a smirk, as he looked at his now hapless companion. "Good luck Mon Capitain. I know you will make this most interesting," he finished with a flourish, and then, in a blink of an eye, he was gone. 'Good riddance,' Picard thought, as his shoulders slumped a bit. The evening had drained him completely. Not only had he finally realized just how much he had lost when Beverly went over that cliff but also, to use Worf's favorite expression, he had just 'played the fool for Q's amusement,' and the night wasn't over yet. Just as he wondered exactly what it was that Q had planned for him, a familiar voice spoke from behind. He turned quickly, unable to believe what he had just heard. Sure enough, it was she. "Jean-Luc answer me. Are you all right?" **20** "Nella?" Picard was overwhelmed. He had never expected to see her again, but this was definitely Nella Darren standing opposite him. The captain tried to think clearly, wondering why Q would have brought Nella here to be his *surprise*. Of course, trying to outthink Q only resulted in one thing, a massive headache. "I have thought of you a great deal over these past few years Jean- Luc," Nella said, as she stepped forward to gently take his hand and guide him over to the couch. He followed absently, still trying to work through the shock of seeing her again. "It is good to see you again," she continued, undeterred by his silence, "I am only sorry it has to be under such sad circumstances. Beverly was a fine person, and an excellent physician. I know she will be missed." Picard finally found his voice, but "how did you get here?" was all that he could manage. "That Q being came to me and explained what had happened. He knew that I would want to be with you." Nella's tone was gentle and sincere, as she squeezed Jean-Luc's hand a bit for emphasis. The warmth in her eyes began to work their old magic on Picard, as he began to relax a bit, the shock beginning to wear away. "You wanted to be with me?" he asked tentatively, not believing anyone could love him anymore, as he stared at the hand that held his. "Yes," she answered, as she drew him close to her. Offering her condolences now with her hug. Nella gently tousled the short hairs on the back of Jean-Luc's head, as he rested against her shoulder. Her closeness convinced Jean-Luc that she was real, and not some tortured vision produced by his beleaguered mind. He began to remember the love he had felt for her in their brief, but passionate relationship, and slowly, in the safety of her embrace, all the emotion of the past week began to pour out of him. He didn't care any more why she had come, he was only glad that she had. He was too exhausted to try and foil Q's scheme. Now, he just wanted a friend. Nella only held him tighter, as his body shuddered against her. After several minutes, Jean-Luc quieted against her breast. Nella lifted his head, brushing away the last of his tears, with the same tenderness of a mother comforting her little boy. For the first time since Beverly's death, Jean-Luc did not feel afraid or ashamed of the emotions he had expressed. Nella's sweet smile made him feel safe, made him recall the beauty and the gentleness that had always attracted him to her. She reached forward and kissed him lightly, drawing a smile finally from his lips. "Jean-Luc," she began bravely, gripping his hands tightly in her lap, "I want to resign my commission. I want to come aboard the Enterprise as a civilian researcher, so that we can be together. I realize now what a fool I was for ever leaving you in the first place." Picard could not believe what he had heard. It seemed impossible to him that Nella could have changed so much that she would want to sacrifice her career for him. Incredulous, he questioned her offer. "You would give up your career to be with me?" "Yes," she answered with conviction. After a moment, Nella captured his eyes, staring deeply into them as she spoke again. "Jean-Luc, I love you." He had been waiting so long to hear those words uttered, to feel the warmth and the joy that their sound would bring. Jean-Luc had come to regret, more and more, the solitary life he had chosen for himself, and he coveted the moment when he could trade his life as an explorer for that of a family man. And now the words had been spoken, but they only brought pain and regret. Their sound dull and empty against Jean-Luc's ears. The wrong woman had offered her heart, and Jean-Luc no longer wanted any part of his long held dream. It might have been easy to take refuge in Nella's love. And Jean- Luc did feel the temptation as he looked into her warm eyes. He cared for Nella very deeply, and in many ways she would have made an excellent companion, somebody who could both ease his sorrow and keep him from becoming a bitter and lonely old man. But he knew that his heart belonged entirely to Beverly, and Nella's love and affection, no matter how generously given, could never eliminate his sorrow or his desire to be with the woman he truly loved, even if it could never be. The void in his life would not disappear, simply because he tried to fill it part way. And, he would not betray Beverly by replacing her with a pale imitation. Nor would he use Nella to hide from his heartache. She deserved better. Jean- Luc spoke at last, hating himself at the thought of bringing this sweet and gentle woman any pain. "Nella this isn't right. You can't give up your life for me, you would only end up resenting me." "But it is what I want Jean-Luc," she interrupted, her face so full of emotion and love, that it nearly broke Jean-Luc's resolve with its intensity. "But it is not what I want," he said quietly, feeling every bit the heel as he watched her face darken. It was destroying him to hurt her like this, but he believed absolutely that he was doing the right thing. Bolstered by his convictions, he explained himself, all the while cursing Q silently for bringing Nella here to be hurt by him. He wondered if this was some sort of twisted pay-back for being allowed to 'save' humanity. "Nella, I care for you very much, and the last thing I would ever do is bring you pain. You must understand that. If you stayed, I would only be taking advantage of your kindness." Jean-Luc took one last deep breath, it was finally time for him to say how he felt about Beverly out loud. Even on Kesprit, he had only made his confession with his mind. Now, he would use words, even if they would go unheard by the person they were meant for. "I can't be with you Nella, for I am in love with someone else." Nella searched his gaze for a long moment, trying to comprehend what he could mean. Slowly she began to understand. "Beverly? But Jean-Luc, she's gone." "I know that I can never have her, but it does not change the way I feel." It felt good to finally say he loved Beverly aloud, but he regretted that his catharsis was coming at Nella's expense. "I am sorry," he said, brushing her cheek lightly. Nella shook her head and pulled his hand away. "No, it is better that you have been honest." She was obviously hurt and disappointed, but Nella was a strong woman, and that strength also showed in her expression. Suddenly Q appeared again, shaking his head mischievously. "This has certainly gotten very interesting," he remarked to his stunned audience. Jean-Luc stood from the couch, feeling the need to do something, anything, to knock the satisfied grin off Q's face. "I did not *earn* my surprise Q, if that makes you happy," he said sadly, taking the attitude that admitting defeat straight away might just knock the wind out of Q's rather sizable sails. "I can not prove that I want Nella." "Let me get this straight Mon Capitain," Q interrupted dramatically. "You would choose to be true to your heart and mourn a dead woman for the rest of your life, rather than take comfort in the arms of someone you admittedly care for, someone who loves you very much?" What else could Jean-Luc say but the truth. "Yes, that is what I choose." He wanted to strangle Q more than ever now. How could he be so low as to drag Nella into this, and then force him to throw his rejection in her face like this. "Please, Q," he implored, "take Nella home where she belongs. She deserves better than to be made a pawn in one of your twisted games." Q snapped his fingers and Nella disappeared. "How right you are Jean-Luc. That wasn't terribly sporting of me, now was it?" Jean- Luc stared back, frightened for what Q might consider a suitable disposal of the problem. "Don't worry yourself Captain," Q offered, rolling his eyes. "She's home in her bed, sound asleep, and totally unaware of anything that happened. Satisfied?" Jean-Luc dropped his head. He was too tired to fight with Q. He wanted to be left in peace so that he could be miserable and wretched without interruption. "Please go," he begged, not caring anything for his pride. "What? Without giving you your surprise? You earned it after all." Q grinned smugly at his companion's shocked expression. He clearly was enjoying every moment of this 'game.' Confused beyond measure, the captain could only manage a stammer. "I, um, ah, don't understand." "Naturally," Q retorted. "You know Jean-Luc," he continued, drawing the captain towards him like he was explaining a problem to an old friend, "I am really rather relieved that you did earn it, because I sure as hell didn't want to get stuck with it myself!" Q stepped back and snapped his fingers again, this time with wondrous results. Beverly Crusher materialized at Q's side. Her look of disorientation paling in comparison to the expression of utter amazement on the face of Jean-Luc Picard. "Beverly," he whispered. Not trusting his own eyes, Jean-Luc begged for reassurance that she was real, "Q, please tell me this is real, and not another one of your tricks." Q simply widened his grin. He was having the most marvelous time. "I am real Jean-Luc" Beverly offered, "or at least I think I am." "Yes, yes, she's the genuine article, and no worse for wear I might add," Q said, obviously pained by the pair's imbecility. "All her current flaws and shortcomings were preexisting I assure you." Q never could forgo an opportunity to get in a little dig against the good doctor. They were both oblivious to the insult. Nothing mattered, at the moment, except that they had been reunited. Each remained frozen, somehow trying to believe that a second chance had just been given to them, an opportunity to erase all of the pain and heartache the last week had brought. "Well, while this is certainly riveting," Q remarked mockingly, "I really must be going. I certainly hope that you make the most of this moment, Mon Capitain," he advised, as he stepped back. Now out of Beverly's sight, Q looked straight at Picard, slyly offering the captain a roguish wink as he exited the stage he had carefully set. Jean-Luc looked back to Beverly, and a wide smile spread across his face, as he let out an uncontrolled laugh. "Jean-Luc what are you laughing at?" Beverly demanded, still unbalanced from the bizarre turn of events. "I never thought I'd see the day that I would actually appreciate being the butt of one of Q's jokes." He turned more serious with his next statement. "Getting you back is worth any humiliation Q has to offer." Beverly returned his smile. Incorrigible child Q might be but, at the moment, she too was glad for his 'game.' It certainly was an improvement over plummeting to one's death. "I am just glad to be alive," she said at last, wondering if she shouldn't just blurt out 'I love you.' Beverly was certain of one thing however; she would not leave this cabin tonight without telling Jean-Luc how she really felt. She would never squander an opportunity like this again. The lesson had been too painfully learned. Jean-Luc approached her, reaching out and taking her hand in his. Their touch was electric. "No one is happier than I to see you alive, my sweet," he offered, kissing her hand as he finished, tasting the final confirmation of her existence. The feel of her flesh pressed against his lips, warm and, most importantly, solid, thrilled him. Until this moment, he had feared that she was somehow unreal, an apparition come to haunt him, a sleight of Q's hand. But now he knew that she was real, alive and by his side. He would not waste this chance either. For once, he intended to follow Q's advice. Beverly shuddered at both his words and his touch. 'My sweet,' the endearment danced on her ears, a marvelous segue into the conversation they now both obviously wanted to have. Beverly arched one eyebrow inquisitively, desperate to hear more. TO BE CONTINUED... From mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user Mon Sep 18 00:06:30 1995 Path: mhv.net!news.sprintlink.net!cs.utexas.edu!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu!user From: A.Martens@mail.utexas.edu (Allison M. Martens) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: NEW STORY: MOURNING (REPRISE) 6/6 (TNG,P/C) Date: Sun, 17 Sep 1995 20:10:11 -0600 Organization: The University of Texas at Austin Lines: 411 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: slip-16-14.ots.utexas.edu Part 6 MOURNING (REPRISE) by Allison Martens See Part 1 for disclaimer By the grace of Paramount go I :-) **** **21** "Come and sit with me," Jean-Luc said, pulling Beverly slowly towards him, as he backed up to the couch. His legs were wobbling from the weight of the moment, and he knew he had to sit soon, lest he fall down. At this point, Jean-Luc Picard had become a true believer in miracles, for Beverly's return could be attributed to nothing less. Afraid that she might disappear again if he let go, he clutched her hand. His heart soaring with every pulse he felt throb in her wrist, as if the very life-blood that moved through her now coarsed through him, reinvigorating him, making him whole, perhaps for the first time ever. Jean-Luc longed for more. He wanted so much to take Beverly in his arms, hold her, and feel her life warm every part of him. But for the moment, the touch of her hand would have to suffice. He had to find the words to reveal all that was in his heart, but the sight of her wreaked havoc with his mind. He could only stare, as he examined every line and every curve, made speechless by the beauty of this miracle. "Jean-Luc, I don't know what to say. I still can't believe I'm here, with you." Beverly brought her other hand to rest in Jean-Luc's lap, intertwining it with his free hand. She too needed the reassurance of the physical connection, thrilling at the power of the possibility it held. Jean-Luc remained silent. He wanted to savor the breathiness of her voice. The way she said his name always did drive him to distraction. And the way she held herself, the tilt of her head and the squaring of her shoulders, so graceful and sublime. He would never forget to pay attention to these subtleties again. The wonderment dancing in his eyes quickly turned to lust, and their smoldering fire burned on Beverly's cheeks, as she looked deeply into them. She could feel the desire welling inside her, and every moment of silence cruelly delayed the inevitable promise of tonight. "Jean-Luc?" she whispered in near frustration. "Forgive me," Jean-Luc replied at last. "I'm just so overwhelmed by everything that has happened, that I needed a moment to take it all in." He opened his mouth part way, as if to speak, and then closed it again quickly, obviously changing his mind. Then, almost as quickly, he shook his head, obviously banishing the doubt from his mind. He spoke again. "Truth be known," he said richly, "I needed a moment to take you in. You are so beautiful Beverly." She blushed at his remark, averting her eyes slightly, yet making no attempt to quiet him. Her heart had ached for too long to hear such flattery from this man. "No don't," he pleaded, as he brought one hand up to draw her gaze back to him. Jean-Luc marveled at Beverly's modesty. That such a divine creature could be so self- effacingly unsure of her own loveliness only enraptured him more. He would not go another moment without her. He couldn't. Peering into Beverly's eyes, Jean-Luc found his strength there. Strength enough to move mountains and, perhaps, that was what a love so complicated, so profound, and so coveted required. All the long-held doubts and fears had gone. Now it was time to act. "No more regrets," he offered simply. Beverly nodded slowly. "No more regrets," she repeated with unshakable conviction. Only a week ago she had been so frightened and uncertain, sure in her love for this man, and yet so cognizant of every ghost and goblin that time had both wrought and could bring. Now Beverly stood resolutely prepared to make her confession, amazed that, all this time, she had made something so obviously natural so difficult. "I love you." It was spoken in unison, serving as a simple seal of the silent vow pledged by each soul to the other. They sat, a single being now, separated only by the physical space that stood between them. Slowly, Jean-Luc drew Beverly towards him, chasing the inches away, but still careful not to break the connection their eyes held. She felt warm against him, and he could sense her ardor, its fervor matching his own. They kissed. And their touch was filled with all of the urgency and the yearning that years of unavowed love and attraction had brought. In this caress, they found the fulfillment of every promise made, the solution to every mystery imagined, and the granting of every wish desired. It was as if all of the heart-ache suffered and time lost had become irrelevant, washed away by the power of this timeless love now consecrated. At last their lips parted. Sadly, their kiss could not be forever. Jean-Luc drew Beverly even closer to him, wrapping his arms around her more tightly. He thought he might be content to sit like this forever, but he quickly grew dissatisfied with the embrace, for he craved a greater intimacy, one that could only be found in the ultimate melding of their souls. Jean-Luc whispered in Beverly's ear. "Stay with me tonight. Nobody knows you are here. It will be as if we are the only two people in the universe." His voice was wildly seductive. "For one night, I want you all to myself." Beverly delighted in Jean-Luc's ardent request. She had always known that this kind of passion existed in him, somewhere deep inside, hidden away, and now it thrilled her to know that her love could draw it to the surface. The idea of making love to Jean-Luc right now, while all the world believed that she was nothing more than a memory, seemed as deliciously wanton to Beverly as it did romantic. She murmured her agreement, as she searched out his lips for another kiss, hungry to express all of the love pent up inside her. Picard stood and, with surprising ease, he lifted Beverly into his arms. He carried her to his bed, ready, now with his body, to give himself over to her completely once again. The soulmates becoming lovers at last. Deanna Troi woke from her sleep. She had been jolted to consciousness by a wave of very powerful emotions. The combination of relief and ecstasy that she sensed puzzled her. It seemed incomprehensible that people could find such complete joy so soon after Beverly's death. She tuned out the sensations, and fell back to sleep, hoping to meet her best friend once again in her dreams, for that was the only place where she believed they could ever meet again. **22** Propped up on one elbow, Jean-Luc stared at the form asleep beside him. He had been watching her for hours, thinking. Perhaps in the darkest corner of his mind, he still feared that she wasn't real, that Q would come back for her and steal his very life away. For that was what Beverly had become in these last hours. She was as precious and essential to him as his own flesh and bones, and the thought of ever being severed from her again made him shudder. Her body twitched slightly under his gaze, undoubtedly in response to a dream, and Jean-Luc found himself hoping that she dreamed of him. What little sleep he had found last night had been filled with visions of her, of a future of passion and fulfillment. Images so replete with joy and contentment, that they had made him young again, filling him with hope and vigor. Qualities he had so long believed to be forever lost in him. Beverly slept on her side, her hair cascading across her face, hiding her from his view. Jean-Luc reached out and gingerly pulled back the auburn locks so that he could get a better look at her face. A small, contented smile began to form on her lips at his touch. He had not meant to wake her, for it was still quite early, but he could no longer resist the strong desire to touch her, to see more of her. Put in simple terms, he was addicted. Beverly slowly rolled over and looked up at him, the clouds of sleep that filled her eyes burning off the instant she focused on his features. "Good morning," she cooed. "Good morning indeed," Jean-Luc replied, playfully reaching down for a quick kiss that threatened to become more. But Jean-Luc pulled back, knowing that there would be an eternity for that later. "I have an idea," he said grandly, as he nestled Beverly in the crook of his arm, resting her head against his shoulder as he sat back against the pillows. "I propose that we permanently alter our breakfast ritual. Effective this morning, we will take our coffee and croissants in bed." Beverly could barely stifle a giggle, as she absently nodded her agreement, frankly a bit more caught up, at the moment, in tracing elegant patterns in the short hairs that covered his chest. Picard hopped out of bed, reddening slightly when he realized his robe was nowhere nearby. He had not had occasion to use it last night. He gave Beverly a shrug as he scurried off to his closet. She found herself amused at Jean-Luc's bashfulness. Not only was she now his lover, but she was also a physician, who had seen hundreds of naked male patients before, including him. Beverly wondered at how Jean-Luc could ever be embarrassed over his body, it was so beautiful, strong and taut, but still fluid in its lines. She thought of all the scars that she had healed for him, and she found herself never more thankful for being a doctor. Knowing that she had so many times restored that beautiful form to its original perfection, eliminating the blights that marred that flesh, filled Beverly with happiness. She finally settled on the term 'exquisite' to describe his body, thrilling in the knowledge that she could now share in its splendor. Beverly laughed again at Jean-Luc's modesty, admitting to herself that she would have probably done the same. But what was most important to her at the moment was not this stolen glance at her lover's physique, but instead Jean-Luc's little proclamation about future breakfasts. It confirmed, in the sweetest and simplest fashion, the permanence of this latest stage of their relationship. Beverly's heart soared at the thought of a life shared, at last absolutely, with Jean-Luc. And it startled her to think that only a few days ago this future seemed an impossibility and, even a few days before that, an uncertainty. Finally, Jean-Luc returned, now robed, and carefully balancing a tray of croissants in one hand and two cups of coffee in the other. He handed them off to his companion and crawled back under the covers. They ate in silence for a few moments, simply enjoying the closeness and, perhaps, forestalling the inevitable need to step outside this cabin and share Beverly's resurrection with all the universe, but before their secret paradise was to be disturbed, Picard had something serious he wanted to discuss. "Beverly ... do you really love me?" he asked abruptly, almost timidly. "Surely you must know the answer to that is yes, Jean-Luc," Beverly answered, a bit taken aback by the question. Could there be any doubts now? "I just needed to hear it out loud," he explained, "so that I know I won't be making an ass of myself now." Beverly looked back at him, not quite understanding. Jean-Luc continued. "Perhaps this is abrupt but, after all that has happened, it seems almost overdue. If we have learned anything, it should be not to waste the time that we have been given. Besides," he added with a smile, "I think we can be allowed to substitute 25 years of friendship for a courtship." Beverly knew what Jean-Luc meant, and yet it was almost too wonderful to grasp. Slowly, knowingly, her smile began to spread out to match his own. Jean-Luc reached out and put their coffee cups aside, taking Beverly's left hand into his own. Kissing her ring finger, he lamented, "I only wish that I had a ring at my disposal to offer you." Taking delight in the feel of the excited tremor that pulsed through her body, Jean-Luc made his proposal swiftly and sincerely. "I love you Beverly Howard Crusher, and I would be honored if you would agree to become my wife." It was a suggestion, both impulsive and belated, both wild and natural. Yet, Beverly did not care to try and analyze the situation. "Yes," she answered, almost weeping with happiness and surprise. But surprise only at the ease with which this, her heart's desire, had now been realized. After decades of fear and misunderstanding, of unrequited love and passion, she might have expected some grand finale, some great coup de theatre but, instead, their great saga would climax with a quietly offered proposal, spectacular in its simplicity. Jean-Luc wiped his brow and sighed dramatically at her acceptance, allowing her a rare peek at his little seen sense of humor. Beverly grinned madly in response, realizing how much she was going to enjoy discovering all of his hidden qualities. She pulled Jean-Luc down on top of her, capturing his lips with her own. The rest of the universe could wait. **23** The senior staff sat in the Observation Lounge, impatiently waiting for their captain to arrive. Nobody seemed to have any idea why Picard had circulated a message early this morning calling this meeting. The routine mapping of a gas giant could hardly mandate a full staff meeting. Worf pointed to a possible change in their orders from Starfleet Command. His explanation really representing nothing more than a repressed desire to go and blow something up. Killing Nausicans on the holodeck could only relieve so much pent up aggression. Geordi alternatively suggested that the captain might be planning a drill. It had escaped no one's attention that the captain had been working diligently of late to create as much work for himself as possible. Selar, for her part, logically pointed out that this was all mere guesswork, and the more prudent course of action would be to await the captain's arrival before speculating further. She received several perfunctory nods in response to her advice. In addition to his nod, Riker drew in a deep breath as Selar finished. He was having an even harder time than the rest of the crew adjusting to her input. He was having a hard time adjusting to her very presence. She served as an inescapable reminder of the woman she had replaced, and although Will had made progress in getting over Beverly's death, thanks mostly to the belief that there was a future for him with Deanna, he had by no means recovered, still carrying the guilt around like a lead weight. His career and his post no longer held much interest for him, his usual enthusiasm bled dry by depression and self-doubt. Will turned his chair slightly towards the front of the room, his back now facing his comrades, treating this wait for his captain like any other chore to be gotten through. Ordinarily, Deanna would have been worried by such behavior, but this morning she had hardly noticed Riker's gloominess. The onslaught of exuberant emotions had persisted all through the night, and now into the morning, and Deanna was no closer to understanding their source. To add to her confusion was the sensation of a very familiar presence. Deanna kept dismissing the possibility, telling herself that she was simply projecting, allowing herself to be swayed by mere wishful thinking. Unsettled, she tried to shut down her empathic awareness. For now, she wanted to be ready for the captain's meeting. Unable to plow through the joyful emotions reaching out to her, she had not been able to get a sense of the captain, and his reaction to her gift of Beverly's book. It further troubled her that the captain was now late for the meeting he had called. At last, Picard entered the Observation Lounge. Deanna immediately picked up on his emotions, and she now knew the source of the feelings that had overwhelmed her. She grew nervous at his odd mood, fearing that she had pushed him too far last night, causing him to snap from the strain of losing Beverly. "Good morning everyone," he offered chipperly, unable to feign sadness. Sensing that he would be unable to carry on the charade for any length of time, Jean-Luc opted to simply let them in on his secret. "I have a wonderful surprise for all of you," he offered, moving to the entrance. The doors parted to reveal Beverly Crusher. For a moment, there was only silence, and then the room burst into a mass of confusion. Geordi tapped his visor, sure that this was some sort of malfunction. Everyone began to speak at once. Everyone except Will Riker. He had sunk back into his chair, his face a pasty white, and his eyes as big as saucers. Smiling, Beverly moved to the front of the room, as Data could finally be heard clearly over the din. "Sir, how can this be possible? The odds of Dr. Crusher surviving such a fall are virtually nonexistent. This can not be." Picard waved him off, saying the one thing that explained everything in an instant. "It was Q." Geordi could not help but remark on the omnipotent being's intervention. "Well I'll be. I never thought that character was capable of doing anything *nice*." Of course, Q's brand of altruism was the sort that shaved years off one's life, but he had rescued and returned Beverly nonetheless. Worf grumbled at Geordi's comment, but he made a mental note not to growl at Q the next time he appeared. He was far too excited to see his friend once again amongst the living. He began to rack his brain for a Klingon ceremony that would appropriately commemorate her return. Beverly laughed at Geordi's remark, as she peeled Deanna, who had tearfully thrown her arms around her, off herself, placing a kiss on her cheek. Beverly then moved over to Riker, who remained in his seat, staring at her in disbelief. Leaning over him, and staring into his eyes, Beverly reached out and touched Will's hand. "It's really me Will," she offered reassuringly, slipping her hand in his now and gripping it tightly. He looked to his hand and then back to her face, letting her words register slowly. Feelings of relief and absolution filled him at once. Leaping up, Riker hugged Beverly so tightly that he nearly crushed her. Letting go at last, he let out a whoop, and then he hugged her again, so excited now that he actually lifted her off the ground. "Number One, I have got another surprise for you," Picard interjected. "I am taking a short leave of absence, so you will be enjoying the comforts of the big chair for a few weeks." Will, along with everyone else, looked confused, staring back at the captain blankly. Beverly, in the meantime, moved back over to Jean-Luc, who affectionately placed his arm about her waist as he finished speaking. Distracted by the excitement of the doctor's return, it took the crew a few moments to notice this uncharacteristically tender gesture. Picard carried on, once he knew they had gotten everybody's attention. "Will, Beverly and I would be honored if, as your first duty as acting captain, you married us." The *acting captain's* eyes lit up, as the room was once again plunged into chaos. This time, however, the chaos was that of a flood of cheers and congratulations. Eventually, things quieted down, and Beverly proceeded to relate her story of the past week. Meanwhile, word of her return had spread quickly through the ship. Several crewmembers taking heart that they had not been a party to a mass hallucination this morning, witnessing the deceased Beverly Crusher walking arm-in-arm with the captain en route to the bridge. **24** Preparations began in earnest for the wedding of Beverly Crusher and Jean-Luc Picard. It was just as well that the Enterprise had been ordered to the Mylonian System for such a routine assignment, for it freed up the crew's time to focus on the joyous event. Equally fortuitous was the close location of the planet Seldan, a particularly beautiful planet, whose chief industry just happened to be tourism. A perfect location for a long honeymoon. The ship buzzed with energy and enthusiasm, the happiness of its senior officers having infected the entire crew in the past few days. Q surveyed the present scene secretly, watching Geordi help Guinan hang wedding decorations in Ten Forward in preparation for the next morning's ceremony. Next, he spied on Data as he brushed up on his dancing skills on the holodeck, eager for an opportunity to impress his instructor on her big day. Q then moved on to the arboretum, where he found Deanna assembling the perfect bouquet for Beverly. Later, he laughed as he watched Riker rehearse the wedding ceremony over and over in front of his mirror. And then *Microbrain* provided the most amusement of all. Q watched him as he carefully laid out his dreaded dress uniform for the morning, muttering something about having to wear a dress as he went about his task. Finally, Q peeked in on the happy couple. At the moment, they were 'discussing' Beverly's plans to redecorate the captain's quarters. Beverly carefully draped her Nana's blanket, recently returned by Deanna, across the foot of the bed, explaining to a bemused Jean-Luc how all the colors in the bedroom would have to be changed to match the pattern in the spread. Q cheered Jean-Luc on, hoping that he would stand firm on the decor of his room. It would be no fun at all to see Red get her way. But tonight Q was destined for disappointment. Jean-Luc made a simple response to his soon-to-be wife's suggestion. "Yes Dear," he replied agreeably. Q was fit to be tied. "Whatever shall I do with you Mon Capitain," he huffed, although no one could hear him. Those words gave Q a rather mischievous idea, but he resisted the temptation. Even Q knew when enough was enough, at least for now. He'd bide his time before engaging Picard in another game. Nobody played the straight man to his shenanigans better, and he reminded himself of what a shame it would have been to lose this most fascinating human to some morose depression. Especially after going to all that trouble to make sure his species survived to produce him. Q reflected on all that he had observed in the past week, uncertain of what nauseated him more; humans when they were happy, or humans when they were in mourning. Either way though, he had to admit they were interesting. THE END