Discontinuity

Thanks go out to Sandra Guzdek, without whom this thing would never have been 
properly edited.

Paramount owns the universe and all things within it.  Anything that
Paramount does not own is Amy's.  Feel free to pass this along, so
long as you remember that and keep this header attached.  So to
speak.

Discontinuity (part 1)
by Amy deKanter
Copyright 1995

        It had been far too long since Picard had roamed the
corridors of his ship, but following his very recent experience with
Q and having seen the _Enterprise_ blown up three times, this was
something the captain now felt a need to do.  He began his journey
on deck twenty-four and worked his way up.  By the time he
reached deck ten he had already covered several kilometers within
the ship, but the energy had not yet left his step and his spirits were
stronger than ever.  He was currently on his way to feast on the
dominating panorama from the Ten-Forward windows, then he
planned to cover every remaining inch of his territory, crowning it
off with the Main Bridge.
        It was no secret that interests among his crew were varied
and, at times, unusual, but Picard believed what they chose to do on
their own time was their business.  Keeping this in mind, he was
able to walk past LaForge and Riker, both of them weak with
laughter, leaning against the corridor walls.  He merely nodded at
them, captain-like, and pretended to ignore their painfully feeble
attempts to return his salute.   What did, however, manage to stop
him in his tracks was the disembodied voice of the woman who not
long ago (albeit in a different reality) had tenderly assured him that
a lot of things could happen in twenty-five years.
        "Worf, I ORDER you to kiss me!"
        Apparently a lot of things could happen in a much shorter
time than that.
        Will and Geordi nearly strangled themselves trying to keep
some semblance of dignity, and Picard saw it would be useless to
ask them for an explanation.  Instead he decided to investigate at the
source.
        Ten-Forward was a place where crew and civilians on the
_Enterprise_ could relax at any time of the day or night.  In theory.
On nights when Beverly's drama group met, the place was as empty
as a chlorine-atmosphere planet.  It had quickly become common
knowledge that on rehearsal nights, Dr. Crusher considered anyone
in the vicinity a volunteer.  Like most of his staff, Picard gave this
area a wide berth on such occasions.
        There were even fewer people here than usual, only three
that Picard could see, and Deanna seemed to be merely a spectator,
perched on a bar stool, face strained, eyes inordinately bright.  On
the makeshift stage, Beverly had hung herself around the neck of the
massive Security Chief, and was unsuccessfully trying to bring his
face down to hers.  Picard could not be certain, but it appeared that
she had actually lifted her feet off the ground.  He observed with
interest the pained expression on Worf's face as he bore the doctor
like a giant albatross, obviously less than delighted by the attentions
he was receiving.
        Deanna was the first to notice Picard standing there and her
eyes gleamed with wicked anticipation.  She did not seem bothered
by the fact that her own love interest was being ferociously preyed
upon by another woman.  Picard cleared his throat and approached
the embracing couple.
        "Monogamy becoming tiresome, Lieutenant?"
        "Sir!"  Worf's head whipped up as he immediately stood to
attention.  Beverly was flung back by the movement, recovering
with a less-than-graceful spin to face Picard.  He smiled at her.
        "May I be of service?" he asked.
        Beverly shook her hair out of her eyes and glared at him.
        "Yes!" she fumed. "Captain, please kiss your Chief of
Security."
        Picard nodded as he looked up at the officer in question.
        "Mr. Worf," he said pleasantly.
        The look of sheer horror on Worf's face seemed to be the
last straw for Troi.
        "Deanna!" Beverly exploded over the counselor's peals of
laughter.  "You're supposed to be helping!"
        Deanna held up her hand in apology.  Only one, for the other
one was clapped over her mouth and her sides were still shaking.
        Beverly pushed Worf away.
        "Get out of here, both of you," she said.  "I want you to take
a five minute walk and return ready for some serious work.  Got it?"
        Worf obligingly made a hasty exit, dragging Deanna along
with him.
        Beverly stood staring at the door for a few minutes, then
threw an apologetic glance at the captain.  She claimed the stool
Troi had been sitting on and Picard watched sympathetically as she
buried her head in her arms.
        "My ego is undergoing serious damage, Jean-Luc."
        He sat down next to her.
        "Come now, Doctor, I'm sure there are one or two people
who would be willing to kiss you... without the threats."
        Despite, or perhaps because of, their experience on Kesprytt,
Picard had found himself more comfortable with Beverly than he
had ever been before.  While it was true that she had suggested they
not explore their feelings for now, merely being able to
acknowledge to her and to himself that he had such feelings had
freed him from a long-borne weight.  Liberating too had been the
temporary limits she had set for them.  Caring for each other the
way they did, they were now better able to accept one another's
affectionate teasing, knowing that boundaries would be respected.
        Beverly delighted in this warmer friendship as much as
Picard did.  With his comment, she raised her head just enough for
him to see her smile.
        "I meant my director's ego, but thank you."  She stretched
her arms over her head and heaved an exaggerated sigh.  She gazed
at him in disappointment.  "Well, I see my plan to drive you into a
jealous rage has failed miserably."
        "If you ever kiss someone smaller than me I'd be glad to
oblige," he said.  Beverly grinned at him and Picard could
practically see her bite back a comment about the unimportance of
size.  Kesprytt had also taught him a thing or two about the way her
mind worked.
        "You're in a jovial mood tonight," she observed instead.
        "It would appear the same is true for my entire senior staff."
        "Meet the primal side of your crew, Captain.  Usually, at the
end of a rough assignment, the lot of us unwind with a poker game
or some sort of Holodeck excursion.  Unfortunately, tonight there is
still work to do."  She grimaced.  "You can probably see that some
of us are having less fun than others."
        "Shall I ask why you cast Worf in one of your plays?"
        "I didn't cast him and it's not my play."  Beverly said darkly,
"Poker can get dangerous when we get bored with the chips.
Last week Worf lost, Deanna won, so now he is playing the part of
Men-yan Zhuk for the schoolchildren."
        "Ah, the legend of Empress Timla."
        Twice a year the children aboard the Enterprise were treated
to some sort of a production of a fairy tale.  He knew most of his
senior staff had been grudgingly involved for at least one of them,
but it wasn't until now that it occurred to him that their involvement
may have been the result of something other than munificence.
        "Where do you fit in?" he asked Beverly.
        "As the personal physician of Empress Timla.  I think we
were all too busy being amused by Worf's discomfort to notice
anyone else's.  The Empress, Ensign Kinte, is terrified of Worf.
And it's no wonder; when he looks at her, it's as if she were his dinner
rather than his beloved.  I'm here to ensure that we don't see our
first Federation heart attack in over two hundred years."
        Beverly slid off the stool and strode back onto the stage.  On
her face was the same look of grim concentration that came over her
when she examined her bioscreens.  Picard just sat where he was
and watched.  Rarely did he have the opportunity to see one of
Beverly's masterpieces on the making, although he seldom missed
the end result.  In fact, ever since she had started the drama group
aboard the _Enterprise_, he had only missed one of her productions,
and that was for very personal reasons regarding her choice of
material.  Picard had always felt a kind of commiseration for the
character of Cyrano de Bergerac; a man of deep passion and plain
looks who suffered from an unrequited love.  That Beverly had cast
herself as Roxanne, a woman completely unaware of Cyrano's
adoration, was a merry irony in itself.  Added to that the fact that
Cyrano was, for all intents and purposes, her lover's commanding
officer, and a Frenchman at that, there was no way he could face the
satire of his own existence.
        Now he could smile at memory.  They had grown enough
that he could humorously observe the starship captain who had once
felt himself tortured by a mere play.  He had seen Beverly after the
performance in full costume, as she headed towards the cast party
on Will Riker's arm.  She had smiled at Picard in much the same
way he imagined Roxanne had smiled at Cyrano, affectionate, but
unaware that she was being loved from a distance.
        Tonight she looked very different from the way she had
looked in Roxanne's brocaded gown.  Gone was the careful
hairstyling of the period, replaced by her more practical
arrangement, still not quite recovered from her earlier pirouette.
The casual blue sweater she favored, an innocent gift from her son,
fell slightly off her shoulder but as always she didn't seem to notice
or care.  Picard was certain Wesley had no idea how distracting the
bare-shouldered effect could be, for parents tended to appear sexless
to their children, if not to their commanding officers.  As Picard
watched Beverly pace around Ten-Forward he thought she had never
looked more beautiful.  Then, of course, she never seemed to look
quite so beautiful as the moment he happened to be looking at her.
        "The empress was once merely his sovereign, but over time
he has grown to respect, care for and finally fall in love with her,"
Beverly was saying.  Picard could not tell whether she was talking
to herself or whether she was trying to make him understand the
gravity of the situation.  "Worf should not even have to act too
much.  The empress is a woman of great strength, courage, *honor*.
If I can make him see not me, not Ensign Kinte, but the Empress
herself, then perhaps he could look at her a little more..."  searching
for inspiration, Beverly let her eyes wander around the room.  They
stopped as they met Picard's.  He knew what she saw, and
automatically tried to cover it.  Then he changed his mind.
        Beverly's gaze faltered and an unusual flush touched her
cheeks.
        "Yes," she said softly, "perhaps a little more... "
        With the forever impeccable (and occasionally damnable)
timing that seemed to govern their relationship, whatever might have
followed was interrupted by the doors of Ten-Forward sliding open.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Data enter the room.  Data must
have caught his own glimpse of Picard's look, because he said:
        "Captain, are you assisting Doctor Crusher in her rehearsal?"
        Beverly recovered, seeming overly relieved to see Data.
        "No, Data, come in.  We are simply trying to reevaluate our
approach to this whole situation."
        "Hmmmm," Data processed this away for future reference.
"Doctor, I apologize for being late.  I have been asked to make a
plea for Commander Riker and Lieutenant Commander LaForge.
They have promised to behave themselves."
        Behind Data, Picard could see his whole band of senior
officers looking like chastened schoolchildren.  Worf reluctantly
brought up the rear.
        Beverly shook her head doubtfully.
        "I don't know... " she started.
        "Sorry, Doc, we were just trying to break the ice," Geordi
said, not looking the least repentant.  "You did say it would be
helpful if Worf got some practice in front of an audience."
        Picard noticed Worf curl his lip.
        "What Mr. LaForge means is: laughter is the best medicine,"
Will said.  He threw a sly glance at Picard.  "If I were Captain of
this ship I'd order everyone to laugh more frequently."
        "If you were Captain you wouldn't *have* to order them,"
Geordi pointed out cheerfully.
        "I would also make sure the Chief Engineer actually had
some work to keep him busy once in a while," Riker added,
ignoring him.
        "Hey, not all of us have the physical prowess required to sit
on the Bridge all day," said Geordi.
        Picard enjoyed listening to this good-natured banter.  He
supposed everyone appreciated the release of tension after their
experience with the Maquis, but after his trip to the future, it was
especially good to see them this way -- close and comfortable with
each other.  This was what was right, not the future Q had shown
him.  Although the timeline had obviously already changed, he
could not help wondering whether they would still all drift apart
eventually.
        He glanced back at Beverly.  She appeared to be deep in
thought, gazing at her novice actor.  Finally, she smiled.
        "Lieutenant Worf is doing a very fine job without your help.
It is really up to him who goes and who stays."
        Worf seemed surprised by this turn of events, but recovered
like the warrior he was.  Earlier signs of misery left him as he drew
himself up.  The time for games was over.  Beverly had given him
complete control of the situation and all eyes now turned to him,
waiting for his decision.  Suddenly, Worf could afford to be
magnanimous.
        "It is unnecessary for you to leave, but silence will be
required," he said grandly.  Then his eyes met Picard's.
        "Sir," he said uncomfortably.
        "I was just leaving, Mr. Worf," Picard assured him.  "I do
have some work to do on the Bridge."
        He smiled at his officers and left Ten-Forward with a feeling
of warmth and camaraderie he had not felt in years.  Here were
some people who truly cared about each other.  Like all captains
who were so lucky, Picard realized the advantages of a harmonious
crew, but this particular crew, especially its senior officers, seemed
more a part of a very close family.
        Picard's pace began to slow.  He had, of course told them
about his trip to the past, about Tasha and about the differences in
the timelines, then had filled them in with the present.  For the
future, he had simply told them that he had managed to get help
from the _Enterprise_, again to seal off the anomaly.  Used to being
lectured on the Prime Directive, not one of them had asked about
his or her own personal life in the future.
        He himself planned to do whatever was in his power to keep
them close to one another, to keep stupid mistakes from being made.
Now he doubted he could do it alone, especially once they all went
their separate ways.  The present was altered, therefore the future
might be as well, but he could not ignore the memories of what he
had seen.
        The turbolift door opened but Picard did not go in.  The life
force of the _Enterprise_ was not in the engine room or on the Main
Bridge; it was with the officers who for seven years had pieced
together her soul from their own.  The _Enterprise_ had become
both home and parent to them, and he could see now she was a vital
link holding them all together -- their powerful common ground.
One should not interfere with the timestream, but he was not from
the future, he was in the present, and damned if he wasn't going to
live that way.  He owed that much to the crew... and to his ship.
Ignoring the looks from the passengers already in the 'lift, Picard
turned around and headed back to Ten-Forward.
        He hardly received a glance as he walked in.  There was no
laughter now, only Beverly's voice, soft and regal as she faced Worf
once more.
        "I am still your empress," Beverly said, obviously the
dominant party, even as he towered over her.
        Worf's baritone rolled in like faraway thunder.
        "Then I will ask: may I kiss you?"
        The empress considered him for a moment, then she laid her
hand on his shoulder.
        "You may," she said, lifting her face.
        Picard watched as, with infinite tenderness, Men-yan Zhuk
took his first step from mere devotion to passionate love.  Even as
they moved apart, Worf's fiery gaze remained gentler than Picard
would have imagined was possible.  It was not until Beverly herself
started the applause that Picard remembered there were other people
in the room.
        He took his turn to clap the officer on the back.
        "Well done, Mr. Worf," he said warmly.  Worf looked
pleased with the praise, and seemed to forget for the moment that
the captain was not supposed to be a part of the audience.
        "Well, it seems we'll be wrapping up early tonight," Beverly
said, unable to keep the pride from her voice.
        Naturally, it was Data who really noticed Picard first.
        "Captain, is there something you need?"
        The effusive congratulatory sounds died down as everyone
faced him.  Picard felt a little guilty for interrupting Worf's moment.
He cleared his throat.
        "I was going to call a meeting for tomorrow morning, but if
indeed your business here is concluded, perhaps we could take care
of things right now."
        The relaxed atmosphere tightened at once into one of crisp
efficiency.
        "Yes, sir."  Riker clipped.  "Shall we reconvene in the
observation lounge?"
        "No need, Number One.  Since we are already all here, this
is as good a place as any."
        His officers looked taken aback by the irregular request, but
only slightly so --- just one more sign of their trust.
        "Of course, sir," Riker said.
        Picard further surprised his officers by taking a seat on the
floor.  Slowly, they all followed suit.  Picard looked at each of them
in turn, trying to memorize the way they looked now... *before* the
knowledge.  There was no way these revelations would not affect
them, but would it change their lives forever?  Was he interfering
too much with the timeline, making decisions that were not his to
make?  He knew soon it would be too late for these doubts.
        "There are some things I did not tell you about the future I
visited," he began.  "It is a decision I have reconsidered.  I can only
hope this is a part of what I was meant to tell you... "



        When he finished it was quiet for a long time.  He wondered
if perhaps he should have taken each one of them aside individually
and described only what he had seen in his or her own individual
future.  But that would be far too easy --- and ineffective.  The
whole reason he'd told them was to ensure they never lose sight of
what was so important to them at this period in time.  They would
need one another to manage this.
        At this moment, however, communication seemed
impossible.  Even Data seemed to realize that now was not the best
time for questions.
        There was only one thing left for their captain to say.
        "Dismissed."
        Picard watched as they filed out slowly.  There was very
little eye contact, even less talk as each person pondered what he or
she had just heard.  Beverly was the one of the last to stand, slightly
less eager to leave.  Picard knew what she had to ask, and reassured
her.
        "Don't worry, Doctor, I'll report in for a level four brain
scan first thing tomorrow morning."
        Without meeting his eyes, she nodded.
        "I do believe you, Jean-Luc..."
        "I know you do," he said gently. He also knew she needed to
know for certain whether Irumodic Syndrome was still a threat.  He
squeezed her shoulder.  That she had kissed him was one of the few
details he had left out of his account.  It was too personal, even to
share with her.
        She offered a small smile and left him alone with Troi, who
had been standing at a discreet distance.  His counselor wasted no
time:
        "Captain, this must have been very difficult for you... "
        "Deanna," he interrupted.  "I probably will be coming to see
you, as will the others, in their own time.  Right now I would
suggest that you take some time for yourself.  The future I saw did
not spare any of us."
        She looked at him for a several moments.
        "Thank you sir," she said finally, and left.



        It was a long night.  Picard was used to keeping himself
removed from the rest of his crew, but never before had he felt so
lonely on the _Enterprise_.  Part of it, he knew, was the loneliness
the rest of his senior sta... his *friends* must be going through.  He
doubted anyone was getting much sleep tonight.  He further doubted
anyone was quite yet in the mood to seek out someone to talk to.
Still, he stared at his door, willing it to chime.
        He thought of the night, several years ago, when Beverly had
finally told him why she had returned to the _Enterprise_.
        "It wasn't just that I missed Wesley, or my work, although
those were two very strong motivators.  I don't known where along
the line I started equating bettering myself with getting promotions.
When I was offered the position as head of Starfleet Medical, I
accepted without thinking.  But later I discovered that I had done
that more because I was pushed by inertia than because it was
something I really wanted.  Once I was there I felt not only that I
was stagnating, but that I was regressing.  I worked with all sorts of
people, everyone it seems, except patients.  It was very lucky for me
that Kate Pulaski had been second on the list to head Starfleet
Medical.  I made the changes I had wanted to make, and when I
resigned, Kate was invited in and there was the opening on the
Enterprise for me."
        That night, she had also spoken of that special bond on the
_Enterprise_, although it was only now that Picard truly understood
her emotion.
        "Being here, something had just clicked," she'd said.  "The
crew, my staff, Deanna, Geordi, Tasha, Data, Worf, Will, and of
course, you -- all felt like a large family.  Something neither I nor
Wesley ever really had before.  I know I'm not the only one who
feels this way; careerwise, none of us *should* be here.  We've
stopped keeping count of how many commands Riker has turned
down.  The Academy has expressed interest in Deanna's
administrative skills.  Geordi, Worf and I have been bribed with
everything up to and including our own ships, and there are few
people still out there who believe Data's talents should be wasted as
a starship crewmember."
        She had settled alongside his couch, as at home in the
Captain's quarters as she seemed to be everywhere else.  Then she
had sat up suddenly and taken his hand.
        "Thank you for making it so easy for me to come back," she
had said.
        He had smiled at her.
        "I don't think there are many captains who would pass up a
chance to have you on their ship, Doctor.  But I will admit that
many of us missed having you here."
        "You?"
        "Particularly."
        She had smiled at him then, and again he had realized how
important she had become to him.  Not just because he was
obviously still in love with her, but because he loved *her*.  It just
came to him as naturally as breathing.
        Tonight, Picard remembered their future together -- their
marriage, their divorce -- and for the moment these details felt a lot
less important than they had been.  All he knew was that he wanted
her to always be a part of his life -- living with him or near him.
As companion, friend, fellow officer, lover, or life partner.  It did
not quite matter, as long as she was there.
        With these thoughts in mind, Picard somehow finally fell to
sleep.



        It was Beverly's voice that awoke him the next morning.
        "Crusher to Picard,"
        "Go ahead, Doctor."
        "Sir, we are ready for you in Sickbay, at your convenience."
        The call itself was unnecessary -- he had already promised to
report to her this morning.  Nor did he ever recall her worrying
about anyone's convenience when she wanted to see someone in
sickbay.  This was just her way of telling him that she would not be
joining him for breakfast this morning.
        "Understood," he said softly.  "Picard out."



        Sickbay was quiet.  Nurses and assistants were somewhere
out of sight, while Beverly was in her office... with Will Riker.
Beverly's face was tight, and she seemed to ignore Will's hand
grasping her shoulder.  As Picard entered, Will withdrew quickly,
bidding the captain a curt good-morning.
        "Call me if you need anything," he told Beverly as he
walked out.
        Just then, Worf came into Sickbay.  Picard noticed Riker and
Worf walk past each other.  Riker didn't even glance up; Worf's
look was challenging.
        When Worf saw the Captain, he stopped in mid-step.
        "I will come back," he said.
        "Are you all right, Lieutenant?" Picard asked.
        "Yes, sir.  I will come back."
        Beverly seemed unconcerned by the events.  With hardly a
word she led Picard to one of the tables.  Nurse Ogawa materialized
out of nowhere with the instruments Picard remembered from his
alternate present.
        "Hold still, this will only take a minute."
        His visit, Beverly's words and her hands as she gently turned
his head towards the blue light, were the first duplicated parallels
between this and his other reality.  Picard found the deja vu
comforting.  He was starved for something, *anything* familiar.
        The examination went by more quickly than Picard had
remembered.  Beverly seemed about to take the PADD herself, but
instead handed it to Ogawa, and they were left alone again.  If her
own personal needs had involved getting away from him, her
physician's instinct must have taken over.  She knew he'd be uneasy
sitting out here waiting for the results, and Dr. Crusher always did
what she could to make her Sickbay as comfortable as possible for
her patients.  Her eyes met his, but although her smile offered
encouragement and support, Picard did not miss the undercurrent of
uncertainty in her look.  Not knowing what to say, he accepted the
strength she extended and felt a slow calming as their eyes held.  It
might have been moments or hours later when she broke the spell
by turning away first, and Picard noticed that Ogawa had reappeared
with the PADD.
        Beverly glanced at the results and Picard saw a shadow veil
her eyes.
        "Will you come into my office, please?" she asked.
        So the defect was there.  Strangely, that fact brought Picard
some peace.  The fact that he would go mad in twenty years proved
he hadn't gone mad yet.  Now he had some evidence that his travels
to the future were real.  He hadn't known how important that was to
him.
        He wished he could reach for Beverly's hand and let her
know that everything was all right.  But he knew that she could
weather this best if he just let her do her job and give him the news.
        As they sat down with her desk between them, Beverly
looked at him, the brief moment of pain almost entirely covered up
by the professional exterior once again.  She opened her mouth to
speak, but was interrupted by the chirping of her comm badge.
        "LaForge to Crusher."
        Picard nodded in response to her questioning look and she
tapped her communicator.
        "Go ahead, Geordi."
        "Nothing important, Doc.  Just wanted to let you know I
fixed that little glitch you noticed in your holodeck program."
        Beverly's expression softened, recognizing Geordi's way of
expressing affection.  Picard wondered if it was the same program
Geordi had created for her after their first encounter with Hugh.
        "Thank you, Geordi," she said.  "I'll see you tonight."
        "Tonight?"  The air was silent with doubt, then his voice
came back, sounding a little more at ease.  "Yeah, I guess so.
LaForge out."
        It was good to see her relaxed again, but that only lasted a
second before she remembered her duty.  Taking a deep breath,
Beverly walked around her desk to sit next to him.
        "I found the structural defect, just as you described," she
said.  She seemed to wait for his reaction, but Picard had expected
this news, so she continued.  "Last night, I checked the available
databases, and there is quite a lot of encouraging research being
done, but as of now there is not much that we can do about your
situation.  From what I've read, you probably have about a thirty
percent chance of developing any type of neurological disorder, but
not at your age -- not for at least a couple of decades."
        Beverly was taking it considerably better in this reality than
she had in his other one.  Then again, in the other timeline he had
pulled her out of bed in the middle of the night to perform the
diagnostic.  Here she'd had fourteen hours to get a little more used
to the idea.  Her voice was still soft, a little strained, but her eyes
were dry and there was less evidence of shock.  The events of these
past few days left him at a loss as to what he could say to make
things easier on her.
        "Well, there are one or two things I have to do between now
and then," he said lightly.  "Thank you, Doctor."
        She didn't seem to know of anything further to say, so she
nodded and stood up.  Picard put his hand on her arm just as she
was turning away.
        "Breakfast tomorrow?" he asked.
        Beverly hesitated as Geordi had, as if wondering whether it
was all right to go back to their everyday lives.  For a long moment
she looked down at his hand, then placed her own hand on his arm
and smiled at him.
        "Breakfast tomorrow," she agreed softly.
        If he didn't leave now, he felt he would never leave.  Before
he reached the door, Beverly was already sitting behind her desk
and examining her terminal.



        Picard had hoped that telling everyone about the future
would reassure him, but instead his emotions were running more
strongly than ever on what he had seen.  As much as he hated to
disturb her, Counselor Troi was going to get a visit.
        He had rarely been in the Counselor's office.  Usually she
came to him when he needed to talk.  He would have preferred it
that way.  As it was she seemed to be expecting him.
        "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"
she asked.
        He most definitely would have preferred to meet somewhere
else.  He felt as though he was sinking too far down into her soft
couch.
        "Would you mind making the lights brighter?"
        "Computer, increase illumination by twenty percent."
        Already that helped.  But he still did not know where to
begin.
        "Did Doctor Crusher find the defect?" she asked.
        "Yes, I knew she would."
        "I think we all did."  She stared into space for a minute
before asking.  "How did she take it?"
        Picard stared at her, suddenly remembering Worf and Will in
Sickbay, as well as Geordi's call.
        "There seems to be a lot of concern about Doctor Crusher,"
he said.
        Deanna looked startled for a minute, but then her expression
transformed into one of embarrassment.
        "You're right, sir, there is, and I apologize."
        "Apologize?"
        "Your stories of the future have started a determination in all
of us to value each other more, to treasure what we have now.  I
believe that was your intention.  At this time we are just beginning
to acknowledge that to ourselves, and the changes will come slowly.
There has been, however, one point of great frustration for all of us,
and that is the distance you have to keep.  Of course we are forced
to respect those boundaries, but we care for you -- a great deal.  It
is not our intention to punish or to isolate you for what you told us
-- I believe this is a phase, and it will pass as we learn to deal with
the newly disturbing conflict between professionalism and emotion.
We need you to be patient with us, Captain.  I am confident we will
be able to work through this."
        Picard thought about it for a few minutes.  It did make sense,
of course, but he did not want to hear he was truly being avoided.
Perhaps the distancing she referred to was not as good an idea as he
had always believed.  At least, not with this crew...
        She still had not answered his original question, so Picard
repeated it.
        "Our concern for Beverly puzzles you?" Deanna asked.
        "Perhaps," he admitted.  "Aside from the divorce, she seemed
to be the one who fared relatively well in the future."
        "How do you mean?"
        "Well, she was healthy, her career was going well, she was
on good terms with all of us, she was alive... "
        Deanna seemed unshaken by what he suggested.  She
encouraged him to proceed.
        "And the rest of us?" she asked.
        "You were dead."  He hated to say it again.
        "Continue... "
        "Riker and Worf were not speaking," Picard sighed,  "I had
advanced Irumodic Syndrome... "
        Deanna held up her hand signaling him to stop. She seemed
to wait for him to make a connection.  Picard could not begin to
imagine what it was.  Troi's eyes left his for a moment as she
examined her clasped hands.  Then she looked at him once more.
        "Captain," she said.  "Did anyone ever tell you about your
memorial service?"
        "My memorial service?"
        "On Dessica Two, when you did not return from your
archaeological dig, and we found evidence that you had been
killed."
        "No.  Strangely, I always imagined that I was still being
searched for.  It was not until I saw Commander Riker that I found
out I was supposed to be dead.  When I came returned to the
_Enterprise_, things just continued as normal."
        "Well, yes, by then word had gotten around that you were
alive, and we all had a little time to adjust to it."
        "The memorial service," he prompted.
        "It was a very emotional occasion.  Of course, many of us
cried.  Several of us were angry, or in shock.  Like I said, I think
you have some idea how important you are to us, not just as a
commanding officer.  We all feel deep respect and affection for
you."  She paused, smiling slightly.  "Data, and even Worf, who
was sure you had died with honor, both showed signs of mourning."
        Picard felt a certain voyeuristic guilt over listening to this.  It
was a very human, though perhaps a morbid fantasy to wish to be
both present and aware for one's own funeral.  For obvious reasons,
few people were ever able to live out this fancy.
        "There are not many people on this ship who do not know
you and Doctor Crusher share a special closeness.  Everyone felt
grief over your death, but people close to Beverly felt an additional
grief... for her.  I think that, consciously or unconsciously, we
treated her a like new widow.  I know that that, on top of losing
you, was very difficult for her.  Beverly is very good at cloaking
painful emotions.  Part of it comes from being a physician, but I
know that the more pain she feels, the more difficult it is for me to
sense it.  On that day I was unable to feel a thing from her."
        Picard nodded.  At Jack's funeral Beverly's stoicism was
more painful to watch than if she had wept bitterly throughout the
whole affair.
        "Did she talk to anyone?" he asked.
        Deanna smiled.
        "There, now you are concerned about her as well.  Beverly
rarely speaks to me about her pain, unless she's afraid that whatever
is going on might interfere with her work, and besides, I was as
guilty as everyone else when it came to treating her differently.  I
think she spoke to Guinan.  Mostly, though, she was able to talk to
Data."
        "Data?"
        "She must have had her reasons," Deanna said.  "Perhaps it
was simply that she needed to talk to someone who would not pity
her.  It did help.  I think that had Data not been here for her... well,
perhaps she might not have been able to handle it."
        He wondered if that were the reason why Beverly had
hesitated when he suggested they explore their feelings for one
another.  After all, he had felt her emotions for him, and could have
never imagined they ran so strong.
        "You and Beverly represent a great deal of our strength on
this ship, Captain.  When we thought we'd lost you, Beverly felt
like the final linchpin."
        "So what you're saying is that news of my impending
Irumodic Syndrome has brought out this protective streak for
Beverly?"
        "It was certainly a catalyst.  We all show it differently.  This
'protective streak' is something we all feel for each other.  It
probably is most apparent with Beverly first because she has always
been a paragon of strength.  It was a disturbing experience to see
how vulnerable she can be.  It frightened us.  Again, consciously or
unconsciously, we may be trying to protect our own sense of
consistency by trying to keep her from ever feeling that kind of pain
again."
         He knew of the urge to protect her all too well.  When she
had fallen in love with Ambassador Odan he could imagine no
greater anguish than the thought of losing her.  Until the
Ambassador had fallen ill.  Then he realized that there was nothing
he would not sacrifice to keep Beverly from the pain she was going
through.  His most intense need had become Odan's recovery... and
Beverly's happiness.
        "What I am saying, Captain, is that while we cannot protect
you the way we try to with each other, Beverly can.  Or at least, we
like to hope she can.  Beverly is sometimes perceived as our only
connection to you.  But at the same time we believe that whatever
we are going through must be twice as hard for her.  This may be
real or imagined, but it seems to be the pattern here.  What's more,
worrying about you two gives us an excuse to keep from directly
dealing with our own situations.  This is deleterious to us, and
certainly not fair to either of you, but as I said, I believe it is a
phase, and will soon pass."
        Picard sat back in the couch trying to sort through all this
new information.  He wasn't sure which he should explore first: his
feelings for his crew, theirs for him, his for Beverly, Beverly's for
him, the crew's for Beverly, or the way in which these affections
were being twisted around into injurious actions.
        "Sir, there is one more thing.  We still have not talked about
how your look to the future affected you.  Like the rest of us, you
may think and talk about it in your own time, but first, it is very
important to let go of the guilt.  Saving humanity is no small feat;
you could not have been expected to remember every detail in your
other lifetime."
        Picard felt his chest constrict.  Deanna was referring to her
own death.  If only he could remember the specifics of what had
killed her, then perhaps he could prevent it from occurring in the
future.
        "Captain, please listen.  Worf was right all along about our
relationship.  We should have talked to Will from the beginning.
He and I are connected with a force much stronger than mere love,
and he has always been courteous enough to tell me about his close
relationships because he knows his life is an important part of mine.
I admit that lately I've been trying to treat my personal life as
something that is not of his concern, but I should have known that
things are not that simple between us.  My behaviour might have
been part of what drove Will and Worf apart.
        "Since you could not tell us when or how I died, it is not
something I will let myself worry about.  What does frighten me is
the thought of dying without the people I love, or knowing that even
at my funeral they will be unable to mend their differences.  I want
to thank you, Captain.  I have a feeling now that they will both
work very hard to keep this from ever happening."
        Picard was beginning to feel the choke of emotion, but the
lack of heaviness in his heart told him he was done here.  Troi had
cleared up so many things, yet by drawing them out for him he now
had a million things to think about.  What he probably needed was a
long ride on the holodeck.
        "Thank you," he said to her.  But as he stood, he felt he
owed her just a little more.
        "Counselor."
        She tilted her head and waited.
        "I feel deep respect and affection for my crew as well."
        Deanna smiled at him.



        How long had it been since he had played poker?  This could
not possibly be accurate, but he believed it was with Jack, Walker,
Beverly and Dorian back in San Francisco.  Apparently the winning
streak from that night had lain dormant within him for twenty-five
years, and was eagerly awakened.  After only three games his pile
had grown considerably.
        Riker, who had provided most of Picard's new wealth, put
down his cards yet again.  He seemed untroubled by his defeat.
        "Always let the Captain win the first few games," he said.
"It's a good career move."
        "Are you implying that Captain Picard's success in poker
reflects our wish to improve our service records?" Data asked.
        "If that's so, we are all due for one walloping promotion,"
LaForge said dryly, and lay his cards down on the table.  "I fold."
        Picard, keeping his face benign, was delighted.  It was the
first sentence Geordi had spoken since the game had started.  Now
the only one who still seemed ill-at-ease was Worf.
        With her faultless calculation, Deanna said, "Oh, Worf, Mr.
Mot asked about you today.  He wants to know when you will be
visiting him again."
        Worf glanced at Picard.
        "I do not believe it is necessary for me to visit him at all,"
he rumbled.
        "Not necessary, but it does make the man happy," Geordi
said.
        "I've heard Klingon hair is the most luxuriant there is," Riker
added.  "A real pleasure to work with."
        "Mr. Mot has expressed disappointment that you do not
allow him to be more creative, Worf," Data put in helpfully.  "He
has often said it is a shame that you and Doctor Crusher do not
seem to realize... "
        "Thank you, Data," Beverly said quickly.
        "No wait, *I* want to hear this," Riker grinned.
        So did Picard.  Data looked doubtful for a moment, then his
look showed he'd decided to give the watered-down version -- a
compromise.
        "Mr. Mot is of the opinion that both Doctor Crusher and
Lieutenant Worf do not exercise the full potential of their looks.
Looks meaning, I presume, hair."
        "Beverly only ever goes to see Mr. Mot when she loses all
her chips early in the game and has to resort to other forms of
betting," Deanna said, presumably for the Captain's benefit.
        Picard wondered just how much of his officers' lives was
regulated by lost poker bets.
        "There *are* one or two practical guidelines," Beverly
interjected, looking as though she wished she were in some other
star system at the moment.
        "Ah yes," said Data.  "You will not spend more than a
couple of minutes making yourself presentable, and it has to be long
enough to tie back."
        "You're lucky Mr. Mot is in love with your natural color,
otherwise you might have found yourself with a green mane," Riker
said.
        "Well I heard you were once in danger of becoming a
brunette," Troi said.  "I'd love to see that."
        "Perhaps we can talk about something other than hair,"
Beverly suggested.
        "Grand idea," said Picard.
        Surprised laughter followed what was his first contribution to
this conversation and finally, Worf's lowered eyebrows relaxed.  For
a second he and Picard shared a look of understanding, an odd
kinship between two men who had no use for barbers.
        Picard glanced at Beverly, who was still chuckling over his
comment.  He realized that his eyes seemed to be straying in her
direction quite a bit tonight.
        When he'd asked to join the game tonight, Picard had said to
his officers and to himself that he should have done this long ago.
Beverly's answering smile had been tender, affectionate, and now
Picard wondered if perhaps there were not a lot of things he should
have done a long time ago.  There was a reality in which he had
asked her to marry him and she had said yes.  As he looked at her
now, Picard remembered the softness of her lips as they had touched
his in his ready room, lingering just long enough so that there would
be no doubt that this was more than the gesture of a concerned
friend.  He wished he could share that with her.  But somehow, as
their eyes held, he felt an intimacy perhaps greater even than that
kiss.  Her fond look wrapped itself around him and he felt a
connection as deep as that provided by the Prytt implants.
        "Captain, your bet."
        Startled, Picard turned suddenly to see Data receive
acrimonious looks from some of his comrades.  Once again he had
forgotten about their presence, including that of a slightly flustered-
looking empath sitting between himself and Beverly -- right in the
line of emotional fire.
        Hastily, he looked down at his cards.  Three extremely
useless aces, considering he hadn't been paying attention to this new
game.  With as much dignity as he could muster, Picard cleared his
throat and said, "No bet."
        "Hey, my luck is changing," said Riker.  "I don't suppose
you'd consider upping the stakes a little -- oh, say, to grant shore
leave when we reach Berchia, would you Captain?"
        Thankful for the change of subject, if one could call it that,
Picard answered,  "I think we are all due for some rest, Number
One.  However, Berchia is hardly the type of planet one would
*want* to visit if one had a choice."
        "No arguments there.  But it just so happens that by happy
coincidence, the Jonaro planet will be passing nearby at that time...
and I have never known them to turn away a fun-starved crew."
        Jonaro.  Now there was a place which held for him some
fond memories.
        "Commander, see if you can find out when the next full
sunset is due.  If I'm not mistaken, this is the season for them.  I
can see no objections with making the game a little more
interesting."
        The table once again became animated at the prospect of
shore leave.  No one asked Picard what their own stakes would be.
They probably all realized that this once the captain would play to
lose.


Discontinuity (part 2) 

     "Have I done something wrong, sir?"  
     "No, nothing.  It's just ... you seem very familiar.  That's all." 
     Lieutenant Yar did not seem appeased by his words, but she
returned to the viewscreen in front of her.
     Although he did not mean to make her uncomfortable, Picard
had a hard time not staring at his new chief of security.  There was
a feeling.  Not a feeling exactly ... rather the residue of a feeling. 
When he had returned to the present from his travels into the
future, Lieutenant Yar had caused a stronger reaction in him than
had any other member of his crew.  Joyful, yet tinged with grief. 
Perhaps they had been lovers?  Instinctively, Picard rejected that
idea.  Of course he would never have relations with a member of
his crew, but aside from that, the affection he had felt for this
young woman was familiar rather than sexual.  She was certainly
young enough to be his daughter.
     "There she is," Yar said proudly.
     For the first and second time, Picard looked out onto the
_U.S.S. Enterprise_.  His ship.  For the first and second time, his
breath caught in his throat as he allowed his eyes to glide over her
sleek lines, her elegant form.  In all three timelines he had felt her
power, knowing it was but a fraction of what she was capable.  If
his future was to be anything like what he had seen, she was going
to be a part of his life for a long, long time.  
     The captain knew it was over.  Humanity was safe, at least
from him, and at least for the time being.  His self and his sanity
were intact as far as he could see.  Even so, as he stepped out onto
the deck of his ship, his first glance around was for the oddly
dressed creatures, taunting him, jeering at him; creatures from a
twenty-first century nightmare, invisible to all eyes but his.
     There were none.  Only his crew lined up to greet him. 
Counselor Troi's brow was slightly furrowed with concern, but that
concern turned to bewilderment as she must have sensed the
feelings that enveloped him when he looked at her --- feelings
borrowed from his future selves.  Picard tried to smile reassuringly
at her as he read out the orders giving him command of the
_Enterprise_.  The orders were read and still he could detect
nothing out of the ordinary except for his not yet expired urge to
call for red alert.
     The reception in Ten-Forward was an uncomfortable affair. 
Picard began to feel his own antipathy for the being called Q. 
Why hadn't it dumped Picard at an earlier time so that he could
have time to ponder what had occurred, get himself together?  Or
even at a later stage so that he would not have to be given a tour
of the ship he already knew, introduced to people who already
looked familiar.  Picard burned with the frustration of this half-
information he'd inherited.  He excused himself early and headed
for his bridge.
     In the past, whenever he was given command of a new ship,
he would spend his first free hours roaming every roamable area, 
familiarizing himself with his new domain.  This time that felt
unnecessary.  Everything about the _Enterprise_ was already
familiar and his.  Picard walked slowly onto the bridge and felt
himself embraced by an old friend.  He settled himself into the
captain~s chair and gave the order to set off to Farpoint station.
     Counselor Troi sat to his left, and Picard was hard pressed to
ignore her gaze.  He wondered what her empathic sensibilities were
telling her about him right now.  Whatever they were he would
wager they were unusual --- his questions about this timeline were
making him very jumpy.  Picard tried to remember at what point
he would be contacted by Starfleet to change course.  Would they
still be called into the Neutral Zone or be allowed to continue on
to Farpoint?  What was that barrier he seemed to have been
expecting?  He remembered that in the nearer future Counselor Troi
had verified that they had indeed proceeded to Farpoint station with
no interruptions from Starfleet.  Perhaps that was the life he was
supposed to live out.
     He rubbed his temples. 
     "Are you all right, Sir?"
     "Yes, Counselor.  Just a slight headache."  Troi~s alarmed
expression made him regret his words even as he spoke them.  "It's
nothing, really."
     "We will be picking up our Chief Medical Officer at Farpoint,
but most of her staff is already on board.  Perhaps you would feel
better if you saw one of the other doc...."
     Picard heard Troi~s voice falter.  He could only imagine what
she had sensed in him now.
     Chief Medical Officer.  Doctor Beverly Crusher.  Jack's widow
and son were going to be aboard the _Enterprise_.  Before his
recent adventure, this had been the cause of countless wakeful
nights.  It had taken no less than bouncing back and forth in time
and saving humanity to get her out of his mind ... at least
temporarily.
     The futures had shown him he needn't worry about her
competence when serving with him, nor did he have to worry about
them not getting along.  Apparently Jack's widow had even learned
to like him.  Maybe a little bit too much.  If he had found himself
worried about dealing with her hatred, it was nothing in the face of
dealing with her love.
     He was beginning to see that his whole experience was far to
large for him to carry around on his own.  Counselor Troi was the
obvious choice to ask for help, but she did not know him as he
now knew her.  If he started prattling about time traveling, he
might find himself relieved from duty.  Picard knew he needed to
talk to a trusted friend.  He stood up.
     "I promise you Counselor, that is not necessary," he said. 
"Lieutenant Yar, please send a subspace message to the _U.S.S.
Horatio_.  I'd like to speak to her Captain.  Channel it into my
ready room when he responds."
     "Aye, sir." 
     A glance showed him that Troi wasn~t the only officer who
found his behavior strange.  Well, at least that much was consistent
with his other present.
     
     
     Picard experienced yet another moment of disorientation when
he entered his ready room.  Of course, his possessions had been
delivered, but he had not yet arranged them properly.  While Picard
waited for a response to his call, he looked around.  He could
remember what was still missing:  His painting, Livingston, the
model air-ship of the first _U.S.S. Enterprise_.  He sat at his desk. 
His chair felt stiff and new, but at least it was in the right place. 
He wiped his finger gently across the top of his computer terminal. 
That was in the right place too ... he remembered in the future
Beverly'd had to push it out of the way when she sat down and
leaned over to kiss him ...
     Picard leapt out of his chair as if it had caught on fire.  What
the hell had he been thinking?  Would be thinking.  How had he
allowed such a relationship to develop with Jack's wife?  What
would Jack say if he had seen what was to occur in the future? 
Picard tried to put up walls against the happy memories of the
future with assurances to himself that such things could never
happen.  Obviously the other present was not a dress rehearsal, but
a reality within itself, a reality for which he could not be held
responsible.  There was no script, only improvisation from now
onwards. The futures he had seen were no more solid than a
mirage. 
     Yet, at the time, kissing Beverly back had seemed the most
wonderful, natural, *real* thing in the world.
     He strode over to the replicator.
     "Computer, do we have Earl Grey tea on file?"
     "Affirmative."
     "Earl Grey then."
     "Specify temperature."
     "Hot.  Make that about 85 degrees Celsius."
     He took out the cup that materialized and tasted its contents. 
It wasn't bad, but he'd have to make some adjustments.  Picard
stared at the dark liquid, slowly realizing that his worries were far
too complicated to hide from any longer.
     Succumbing to the inevitable, Picard gazed out at the dim
white rainbows streaking across the sky ... and thought of her.
     In this timeline, the last time he'd seen Beverly was at her
husband's funeral.  He had barely said good-bye.  She had written
to Picard twice since then, but he never responded.  Walker had
stopped mentioning Jack's family in his letters when it became
apparent Picard was not interested.  Picard had no right to be
interested.  
     Walker had broken the silence several years ago, to ask for
Picard~s help.  The _Mathai_, the ship Beverly was serving on,
had been captured and boarded by Crallers.  Half the crew had
been killed, the rest taken prisoner.  At the time there was no way
to tell whether Jack~s widow and son were alive, save that their
bodies had not yet been found among the other ones floating along
the wreckage.  Although there were several other Federation ships
already responding to the emergency, Walker had sent a priority
message specifically to his old friend.
     Picard had engaged at once at maximum warp, knowing that
even at that speed it would take days to reach the Crall prison
camp.  During the journey, he did not sleep, rest, or even sit for
very long; he paced constantly, wishing that he could bodily push
his ship into moving more quickly.  He tried to make himself
believe that he was doing this solely for Jack, but every time he let
his guard down it was Beverly's face Picard would see.
     Just hours before he reached the Crall system, he had received
a second message from Walker, saying only that the prisoners had
been recovered and that both Beverly and Wesley were alive. 
Picard remembered Walker's ashen face delivering the news, very
little relief showing through the weariness that infused his features. 
     "Please, Jean-Luc," he had said.  "There is nothing more I can
say."
     Picard had read the reports on the incident as soon as they
were filed.  It surprised him that the reports had been made
privileged.  Even so, they were disturbingly obscure.  From them
Picard found out that five adults had been tortured.  The medical
reports said only that the methods had been primitive --- physical
rather than psychological.  No names were given, but a general
commendation praised all thirty-four prisoners, children as well as
the adults, for their exemplary courage.
     Picard probably could have filled in the gaps from other
sources, but he suspected that if Walker had not told him about it,
it was because Beverly herself had needed to keep it private.  He
did not want to impose just to minister his own sense of
inadequacy.  He could only chalk up the incident as one more
reason why children should not be allowed aboard a starship.  Or
the widows of friends. 
     "Sir, incoming message from the _Horatio_."
     "Put it through to my ready room, Lieutenant."
     Picard felt an almost forgotten pleasure as the features of
Captain Walker Keel filled the screen.
     "Jean-Luc, this is a surprise."
     "A pleasant one, I hope."
     "It always is.  What can I do for you?"
     "I wanted to talk to you about ..." he almost said 'Jack's
widow,' as he had made himself refer to her in his mind. "Beverly
Crusher."
     "Beverly?"  Walker's face became a little more guarded.  "I
sincerely hope you are not trying to enlist my help on this vile
campaign of yours.  If you had consulted me in the first place, I
could have told you that your efforts to keep her off your ship
would be useless.  She's worked hard to get where she is, and
deserves to be there more than anyone I know.  Most of Starfleet
would agree with me."
     Picard had forgotten about 'this vile campaign of his.'  He had 
been away for days, years, lifetimes, yet not at all.  To think Q had
commended him on seeing beyond what most of the human race
could ever conceptualize.  Now the most everyday comment
confused him.
     "Walker, I have been to the future."
     His friend frowned at this unexpected turn, but waited for
Picard to continue.
     "I have no proof that these events ever occurred, except my
own dimming memories.  I don't know how to document this with
Starfleet, or even in my personal log."
     "Tell me about it," Walker said.
     "I don~t know if I can put it simply.  I was on a 'mission' to
save humanity.  To save humanity from an event that I myself
caused.  The mission was guided not by Starfleet, but by a being
called Q.  With Q's help I moved back and forth between three
specific time frames --- one was what has become now, one was
maybe five, ten years from now, the other was approximately thirty
years in the future.  I don't know exactly how I knew Q, or why
he was interested in me, but he was.  The event was a spatial
anomaly that I caused, that I would have caused which would have
prevented life on earth from ever even starting.  I had to go seal off
the anomaly ... "  Picard stopped, feeling immensely foolish.  His
friend~s face, however, showed signs of nothing but serious
attention.
     "Well, it would appear you were successful," Walker said at
last.  "Having ensured the beginnings of life on Earth is quite an
accomplishment, to say the least.  Why is it then, Jean-Luc, that I
have the feeling that there is something of more immediate concern
for you?"
     For an explorer, Walker had a lot less curiosity and a lot more
patience than most Starfleet captains, yet Picard was grateful for
Walker's perception.  His trip to the futures, remarkable and as
important as it was, felt like quite a distant dream, possibly because
they had been full of people and places he did not know yet.  For
the most part.
     "She was there, Walker.  In the future."
     Walker waited in silence, but Picard noticed more than a
curious interest in his friend's expression.  He took a deep breath,
determined to get it out before he could change his mind.
     "We had gotten married sometime between the two far futures
.. Beverly and I ... to each other.  I'm not sure when, how or why,
but there was the beginnings of a romance in the closer future. 
Just years from now."  Again Picard was unsure of how to
continue.  He simply shut up and waited for Walker's face to turn
to disgust, to scorn, to anything ... except the understanding that
slowly softened his friend's rugged features.
     "How long, old friend?"  The gentleness in Walker's voice did
little to soothe Picard's tormented soul, but it did nudge him into
reason and truth.  Picard swallowed to clear his throat from bitter
self-hatred.
     "Possibly from the moment I first met her," he said.  It was the
first time he had admitted it out loud to anyone since the death of
his mother.  
     "You could have told me, Jean-Luc.  I wish you had --- it is
not something you should have carried alone.  It certainly explains
your behaviour these past years."
     "Yet one more thing I am not proud of.  But saying it out loud
would not have made it any less or any more true.  She was the
wife --- she *is* the widow of one of my best friends."
     "Jean-Luc, Jack would be the last person to blame you for
falling in love with Beverly.  His mind didn't work that way.  I
think it used to astonish him that there seemed to be mortals who
did not fall head over heels for her at first sight."  Walker smiled. 
"We never said anything about this, but Dorian and I always
thought you and Beverly would be good for each other.  We were
thrilled but surprised by Jack's interest, especially after she also fell
in love with him, but still, we always thought there was potential
for a great friendship between you two."
     They had, no, they *would* become very good friends.  Picard
had seen that as well, and that alone, after what had happened with
Jack, was extraordinary.  That Beverly Crusher could grow to love
him as much as he had loved her ... well, *that* was enough to
send his mind catapulting out of the space-time continuum.
     "So, now how do you feel about the idea of her serving on
your ship?"
     "I don~t know.  The future will probably be nothing like I
remember it.  For one thing, I have already relived the beginning,
and there are changes.  We will be reaching Farpoint in a few
hours but there have been no interruptions or transgressions." 
Inevitably, his thoughts returned briefly to Chief of Security Yar
and Counselor Troi.  Something was supposed to have happened to
them in the future, but now there was a chance it wouldn't.  Of
course, that also meant there was a chance that people he had seen
survive, himself included, to a ripe old age, could be killed any day
soon.  The return to uncertainty was comforting.  He had been
trained to deal with the unexpected. 
     "Regardless of what I've seen in that future, I keep thinking
that I will be a painful reminder of Jack, but I am also afraid I
would need to protect her, that I will stop her from going on
missions particular to the C.M.O., even when she's needed."
     Walker's face split into a grin Jean-Luc had not seen in years.
     "Jean-Luc," he said, "if you think that you would be able to
keep Beverly from going *anywhere* she feels needed, your
recollection of her has grown very dim indeed."  Walker~s grin
slowly died down to a look of wistfulness.  Picard wondered how
often Walker got to see Beverly and her son.  Walker asked: "How
did she look?  In the future, I mean."
     Wonderful.  She had looked absolutely beautiful.
     "Content," Picard said.  "I had memories of her when I was in
the far future.  She had been happy.  Happier than I'd ever seen
her."  Once more Picard felt a surge of guilt.  His friend's widow
had looked happier with him than he had ever known her to be
with Jack or otherwise.
     "Had been?"
     Picard sighed.
     "In the far future we were divorced."  
     "May I marry a Ferengi!!!" Walker exploded.  "Jean-Luc, you
know I love you like a brother, but you can be a bloody cretin at
times."
     Despite the unflattering comment, Picard felt a grin part his
own face.  Now *that* was the Walker he remembered.  Strange
how much he'd missed this sort of abuse.  Besides, Walker was
right: he didn't need to be told which Picard was mainly
responsible for the divorce, and he knew it was for reasons as
idiotic as the ones he'd conjured up to keep Beverly from serving
on the _Enterprise_.
     "Was I there?"  Walker invaded his train of thought.
     "No.  I don't know exactly where you were in the future,"
Picard said slowly, not at all sure that was the truth.  His urge to
call Walker, to see him, went beyond the need of a friend needing
to talk.
     "No, of course I wasn't there or I would have knocked some
sense into that hard plate of yours."  Walker~s grin held, but his
eyes had turned solemn.  "Well, I think now would be an
appropriate time to tell you, if anything ever happens to me, you
and Beverly had better take good care of each other."
     Picard gazed at the man he had known for most of his life, and
had to remind himself yet again that the future was uncertain.  He
could not bear to lose Walker.  Already he had lost too many of
those most dear to him.  Walker smiled again, and this time it did
reach his eyes.
     "You may not believe this, Jean-Luc, but I also suspect Jack
would have found it quite understandable that someone would fall
in love with you, especially someone as special as Beverly.  I can
definitely tell you this: Jack loved Beverly, and he loved you.  I do
not believe in ghosts or angels, but I think that if Jack could find
a way of making you two as happy as you say you were, he would
not bother himself with the illusions of propriety that you are
inventing.  He would probably appreciate it if you two didn't make
it any more difficult than it has to be.  In fact," Walker's smile
misted over, "I wouldn't be surprised if he and Dorian plotted this
whole skewed thing together."
     Picard tried to swallow the tight, stinging knot which had
formed in his throat.  Unlike loved ones, old grief never seemed to
die.
     "Just remember this, Jean-Luc," Walker continued.  "I doubt
that even spirits could make Beverly do something she didn~t want
to.  That includes falling in love with someone.  Keep in touch, old
friend, and give Beverly my love.  Yours too, if possible.  Good
luck.  Keel out."
     
          
     ***
     
     The Enterprise was currently in orbit around Farpoint, and
Picard had received reports of odd occurrences on the surface.  He
would have to look into them ... right after he welcomed his Chief
Medical Officer aboard.
     On his way to Sickbay he noticed that there seemed to be
children crawling all over his ship.  He had forgotten to talk to
Will Riker about that, but granted, he had been preoccupied. 
Hopefully, once Picard talked to Beverly he would finally feel
caught up with his present and be able to put all his energies back
into being Captain of the Federation Flagship.
     Riker had seemed a little nonplused at being handed the bridge
within moments of his arrival, but he had recovered nicely.  Picard
usually found out most of what he needed to know about his
officers by the way they handled their first unexpected order. 
Riker was young, but competent.  Picard had unwittingly sized him
up as an away-team leader after looking over Beverly~s service
record.
     Beverly was the only one of his senior officers Picard had not
selected himself.  It had been a shock to hear Beverly had been
assigned to his ship.  When Starfleet had given him the news, they
had behaved as if Picard had been presented with a special bonus,
and up until his journeys with the Q, Picard had not even glanced
at her service record.  He didn~t expect she~d be staying on his
ship for very long, for he had been certain she did not really want
this assignment either.  After his conversation with Walker, Picard
had looked over her record just to pass time until they arrived at
Farpoint.
     Despite having met Beverly already, and having heard the
numerous praises sung by Starfleet, Picard was not quite prepared
for her stunning history.  It reminded him how little he knew about
her now.  Perhaps it was the widow stigma, but somehow he had
not expected her to have led such a full life.  
     Even against the overall brilliant background, two items had
stood out glaringly to him.  The first was the 'additional expertise'
section.  This was a list of hobbies and extra-curricular interests,
usually filled in on a discovery basis by fellow officers.  One never
knew when someone would need a person who knew how to sing
or fence or ride tromnvecks or scale mountains, so Starfleet did its
best to encourage individual interests.  People with lists as long as
Beverly~s usually expected to be regularly included in away
missions, rather than send someone from their staff.  The second
item that caught his eye only reinforced this theory.
     Beverly, like many Starfleet CMOs, was elevated to the rank
of Commander automatically.  But according to her record, she
later insisted on taking the actual examination.  Picard noticed that
Beverly had applied shortly after the incident with the Crallers and
had passed the test with flying colors.  Not only was she ideal
material for away missions, she could also lead them, if necessary. 
If Picard did not feel the way he did about her, he would have been
delighted to have her as part of his crew.
     Ignoring the Tarkasian eels in his stomach, Picard entered
Sickbay.
     He recognized her at once among the flurry of activity.  She
looked very different here than she had in the futures or in his own
past --- there was something more severe about the way she carried
herself.  Her back and neck were a straight, hard line, she held her
head high and although her jaw was relaxed, her chin jutted slightly
forward; proud, efficient, exigent.  Perhaps that was only compared
to the candid friendliness he had seen before.  
     Picard was ignored when he came in, medical personnel bustled
past him with hardly a glance, until Beverly looked up.  As she
froze, movement around her slowed, then stopped, an orchestra lost
without its conductor.  When the silence seemed to become
absolute, she remembered her staff.
     "Please continue," she said to them.  She looked back at Picard
and asked, "In my office, sir?"
     Picard nodded.
     He followed her in, and when she turned around he saw the
outer shell had peeled off leaving a smile in its absence.  He
recognized some sadness in her eyes, but that was understandable. 
After all, the last time he had seen her he had brought back the
body of her husband.  More pronounced than the sadness was the
affection, and more than that, the pride.
     "Hello, Captain."
     "Doctor Crusher."  The words sounded strange to him; in his
past and futures she was simply Beverly.  Again Picard was struck
by how reserved she looked.  If he had not seen her in the futures
he might have awarded it to age.  She had not quite turned thirty
when Jack died, but now she looked older than the Beverly who
had kissed him in the future. 
     She interrupted his thoughts.  
     "We always knew you'd end up here," she said.
     The 'we,' of course, must have been herself and Jack.  Picard
searched for signs of blame or bitterness, but he found none.  He
cleared his throat.
     "It would appear you have not done too badly yourself," he
said.  "After all, you are here as well.  As Chief Medical Officer,
no less."
     "Thank you.  I almost didn't make it."
     "I know, and I came to apologize," he said.  "I should have
never tried to keep you from coming on the _Enterprise_."
     She stared at him.
     "That was you?"  With amazing swiftness the lowered shell
came back up as her eyes ignited into rage.  Her anger startled him. 
It had not occurred to Picard that Beverly might not know who it
was who had put up all the barriers.  Her head lifted slightly and
Picard could see her struggling to regain control.
     "May I ask why, Sir?" she asked finally.
     "I~m sorry," he said again.  "It was not fair of me.  I agree. 
I just didn't know if I would be able to handle the Captain's duty
to send my Chief Medical Office... *you* on dangerous missions."
     A low buzzing sound came from Sickbay.
     "Excuse me, Captain, we were in the middle of a drill."
     She turned abruptly and stalked out of her office without
waiting for his acknowledgment.
     Picard stood for just a minute, then walked to the entrance.  If
ever he had allowed himself to wonder what would happen if he
met Beverly again, it certainly had never looked like this.  After ten
years of soul-burning guilt, Beverly was now going to despise him
for the wrong reasons.  He saw Beverly examining the main
diagnostic display.  The two nurses seemed to sense her anger and
edged slightly away from her while still trying to pay attention as
she pointed at some of the readings and made comments.  Beverly
ignored him as he watched her move over to a second screen.  Her
voice and movements were strong, confident, but the vestiges of
anger were still apparent in her narrowed eyes and tense hands. 
Despite her anger and his own feelings of remorse, Picard felt a
subtle joy at the opportunity to watch her again.
     Not so long ago he'd had a memory of a very different look
for her.  Seeing her on the bridge of the _Pasteur_ in the far future,
he had recalled a certain summer afternoon soon before or soon
after their marriage.  He now retained that memory of the way her
red hair spread like sunlight over her shoulders and over the dark
green moss in that peaceful clearing.  The world around them had
seemed so quiet --- leaves above had swayed softly in the lazy
breeze and even the birds seemed to be resting their voices. 
Everything about that afternoon had been tranquil, except for the
starving need of two humans making love.  The memory had been
mostly physical, but he could also see her clearly in his head: the
arch of her neck, the shadows cast on her cheeks by her lowered
eyelashes, her lips slightly parted as she gasped ...
     "Captain."
     She stood before him again, fully clothed, of course.  Her anger
was no longer visible, replaced by concern.  "Are you all right?"
she asked.
     "Fine," he stammered, furious at the creature Q for lack of
anyone better to blame.
     "You're flushed, you may be feverish.  Counselor Troi
mentioned you had been feeling unwell.  Perhaps you should let me
take a look at you."
     "I'm fine, Doctor," Picard said curtly, knowing that his color
was only growing deeper.
     Beverly smiled at him.
     "Sit down," she said.  It was a voice that left no room for
argument.
     Mortified, he obeyed.  She opened her tricorder and proceeded
to scan.  Were memories like this one going to resurface without
warning?
     "Were you afraid of sending another Crusher to her death?" she
asked, her eyes fixed on the readings.
     It took Picard a moment to remember their earlier conversation. 
He had not even thought of that, but it was true.  Jack had died
under his command, and now Picard was being put in charge of the
person Jack had loved most.  How easy it would be to just let her
believe that was all it was.  Except, he could not expect to purge
his weaknesses with lies.  But nor could he just tell her how he felt
about her.
     Beverly rescued him from the need to make excuses.
     "We might have been able to avoid each other forever if you
had not happened to be given command of the ship I wanted to
serve on.  I requested this position for the position alone."  Beverly
spoke as she continued the physical, still not meeting his eyes.  "No
doubt both of us are at a point where a working relationship can be
developed."
     "That is not what I want," Picard said, realizing the truth of his
words only as he spoke them.  "I sincerely regret my actions. 
What I really would like is for us to be friends.  We were once."
     "Yes, we were."  The last of the anger evaporated, but was
replaced by nothing.  Just emptiness.  He wondered which future
was responsible for his aching urge to put his arms around her.  
     "If I was hurt it was *because* I thought you and I were
friends," she said.  "You were just one of many people I never
heard from again after Jack died."
     Still no bitterness.  But worse than that was her confusion. 
How could she have known why all of a sudden he seemed not to
care what happened to his friend's family?  Picard had never
imagined that his decision to break contact might have been as
painful for her as it had been for him.
     "I didn't think you would want to see me," he said.  "After all,
I was in command when Jack died."
     "Jean-... Captain, I never held you responsible for Jack's death. 
I never even held him responsible.  I am a doctor, I am a Starfleet
officer, I knew there were risks, and I know people die."  Her
voice did not even quiver, yet he remembered her breaking the
news to him about the Irumodic syndrome ... the way her eyes had
glistened with tears, the way she seemed to need to have him in her
sight at all times.
     Beverly folded up her tricorder and held it tightly to her chest. 
     "I know you would have given your life for him.  I wouldn~t
have wanted you to, but I know you tried."
     Beverly's face remained clear in his sight as the rest of the
world blurred around her.  She forgave him.  And with her words,
Jack, somehow, forgave him as well.  Picard waited for the familiar
battering at the dam holding back years of painful emotions. 
Instead, he felt a sudden surge as the torrential guilt crashed into
itself.  The dam was gone, but instead of thundering down on him,
the guilt swirled upwards and dissipated like a cloud ... until all that
was left was a vast space in which to grieve Jack and remember
him as the wonderful friend he had been.
       Picard felt a moment of faintness as if the mountain of
sorrow had been some sort of pillar which had held him up for the
past ten years.  He steadied himself and took a deep breath as he
tried to weigh the implications of his new state of being.  Not only
was he finally free to mourn Jack properly, but Beverly and
Walker, once closer than his own family, no longer had to be
avoided. 
     Picard looked at Beverly, but for once in forever, he did not
feel the searing stab to his heart, only deep fondness.  Perhaps it
*would* be possible for them to be just friends.  
     Beverly had re-opened her tricorder.  
     "It seems you have been under considerable stress lately," she
said.  "That is not unusual, considering your new command, new
responsibilities.  Is there something else, something you'd like to
tell me?"
     Picard hurriedly shook his head.  She shrugged.
     "Other than that, you are in wonderful shape.  I will prescribe
some herbal tea and some rest.  In addition, I have already heard
wonders about the holodecks.  Perhaps you can indulge in one of
their relaxation programs."
     Picard tried not to smile at her very inaccurate interpretation of
his physical signs.  This once it was probably best she didn't know.
     "Thank you, Doctor."  He stood up and, on impulse, planted a
soft kiss on her cheek.  Staring at him, she brought up her hand
and held it to the place his lips had just touched, as if needing to
hold onto that gesture of friendship.
     "Thank you," she whispered.  She closed her eyes, holding on
to the kiss just a little longer.  Picard was moved by the depth of
her feeling.  In avoiding his feelings about her, he had never
noticed she must have also cared for him a great deal.
     A splash of pink coloured her cheeks as Beverly opened her
eyes abruptly and dropped her hand.  
     "Sir, I would like to ask a favor," she said.
     "Anything."
     "My son, Wesley, is currently exploring the ship.  I know you
have rules about children on the bridge, but I told him I'd talk to
you about taking a look."
     Picard felt himself smile.  She was as direct as ever.  Her brief
shyness had left without a trace.
     "I~m sure that could be arranged," he said, turning to leave. 
He turned back.  "Perhaps you and your son would join me for
breakfast sometime."
     "Breakfast?"  Beverly looked surprised, and he couldn't say he
blamed her.  Breakfast was an unusual meal to invite friends to. 
He wasn't sure why he had chosen that particular meal; it had just
seemed like the thing to do.
      "Perhaps we could arrange for dinner instead," she said
cautiously.  "Neither Wesley nor I have much for breakfast, usually
just something light --- fruit and tea, or coffee and croissants,
something like that."
     "Of course.  Dinner then.  Thank you, Doctor."
     Picard noticed her even more mystified expression as he left. 
She was probably wondering, as he was, why her words "coffee
and croissants" had made him smile.
 
 
Discontinuity (Part 3)
 
     "Never underestimate circumstance," his brother had been fond
of saying.  "It can destroy what seems most strong."
     Picard had always hated those fatalistic words.  But he doubted
if even Robert could have predicted the sadistically ill-timed and
complex circumstances which would tear apart Jean-Luc's
marriage.
 
 
     When Beverly left to take command of the _Blackwell_ twelve
years ago, Picard could not have been prouder.  He missed her, of
course, but they had had practice at making their time together
count: they wrote and spoke often, just falling short of abusing
their captains' privileges; they sent gifts and encrypted messages
with visiting friends; they planned their shore leaves together,
turning quality time into an art.  Still, nothing could take the place
of the genuine article.  Years passed and the looming shadow of
retirement seemed just a little less dreary as Picard looked forward
to being with Beverly full-time again.
     He retired quietly on his eighty-fifth birthday, a nice round
number which would allow him to leave his ship with dignity,
while he was still one of the best damned captains in the
Federation.  He returned to his childhood home in Labarre, stalling
the Powers That Be about his ambassadorship until his wife could
join him to celebrate their reunion and to make plans for their
future.
     Beverly never made it.  On her way back to Earth, hers was
one of the unfortunate Starfleet vessels within range of the
Cardassian Explosion.  She had lost her ship, most of her crew, and
nearly her very life.  Having temporarily removed himself from
Starfleet, Picard didn't even hear about it until every available
starship, including the ones in sector 0001, had been dispatched to
deal with the disaster.  He was left stranded on Earth with his
vineyards and his helplessness.
     That was the beginning of a seemingly eternal nightmare. 
Picard had learned a long time ago to deal with the danger Beverly
had to face, in the same way she tried to accept his, but by
resigning his command, Picard was now much more vulnerable to
loss.  In his life he had loved two things beyond all else, and it
suddenly appeared he might lose them both at once.
     In midst of the crisis, Starfleet did not have time to find him
another position right away, and no ship would take passengers. 
Still, Picard was not completely without influence.  Admiral
Riker's secured channel relayed messages of Beverly's progress
whenever possible, and finally, a short message from Beverly
herself.  Picard could not prevent the tears when he saw her face. 
She looked fine and her voice was strong, but the smile in her eyes
hardly reached her lips.  He would later find out that she had
insisted on reconstructive surgery prematurely, so although she
would be discharged sooner, she was left with slight but irreparable
damage in her jaw, throat and shoulders.  She would probably
never dance again.
     As desperately as he had tried before, Picard now redoubled his
efforts to reach her.
     The immediate threat to the Federation died down, and Picard
managed to book passage on a painfully slow supply ship on its
way to Cardassia.  However, use of communications was limited
for passengers, so it was a full ten days before Picard was close
enough to contact the hospital.  
     Beverly was no longer there.  Since Picard currently held no
official position he was unable to find anyone willing to tell him
where she had gone.  He was astonished to find out how many
people he did not know in Starfleet --- for months now it seemed
he had not seen a single familiar face among all the uniforms. 
Ironically, it was the younger officers who recognized him from
their studies at the Academy.  These, unfortunately, were most
likely to treat him like an awesome but abstract legend, and were
uncomfortable with aiding him in such a personal matter.  Picard
realized the most sensible thing for him to do was to go back to
Earth and wait for Beverly, but there were still few ships headed
in that direction, so he figured it would probably be a while before
she could go home.  In addition, he could not fathom the idea of
being planet-bound again.  He continued his counter-gale search,
sending sporadic messages back home whenever possible, just in
case.
     Frustrations began to wear him thin.  Never having been one
to indulge himself in futile wishing, hardly a day went by when he
did not long for the _Enterprise_ and the days when *he* could say
where, when, how fast, and --- only if he felt like it --- why.  It
was as if now his legs had been cut off from under him.
     Of course even that could not stop him.  As trying as it was to
not only not have support but to have to fight Starfleet at every
other turn, Picard would not give up.  Using methods which he
himself would have frowned upon in his Starfleet days, Picard
found out that Beverly had left with a Federation envoy back
towards the Cardassian border.  At the time it was little more than
a vague rumor, but with no better incentive than desperation, Picard
stowed away on an old freighter said to be headed in that direction.
     It was nearly half a year after the explosion that Picard finally
located and was able to get in touch with Beverly.  She had spent
the last few months on Teihol 4.  Aftershock interference was thick
in this sector, so their subspace conversation had been brief.  She
had looked tired, but seemed overjoyed to see her husband.  She
had been sending messages to Earth ever since her discharge and
had become desperate when he hadn't answered.  It did not matter
anymore.  At last Picard knew exactly where she was and that she
was waiting for him.
     Admiral Ramprasa was also at Teihol 4, and he went to fetch
Picard personally.  Picard was beamed, not to Teihol, but to a large
shipping yard in orbit. 
     Beverly had run up to him almost before the transport was
complete.  She stopped just short of him, putting out her hands to
touch his face, as if not being able to believe he was really there. 
He knew exactly how she felt.  He embraced her and held her right
there on the transporter pad, saying what needed to be said in
elated, loving murmurs.  All he could think was about how he had
almost lost her, but they were in each other's arms now, safe.  The
ordeal of these past few months now seemed worth it all.  They
could head home and this entire nightmare would be behind them.
     Beverly had pulled back finally, telling him, "Jean-Luc, I need
to show you something."
     Caring about nothing but the fact they were together again,
Picard let himself be led by the hand to a massive dockyard where
half a dozen identical looking ships were stationed side by side. 
An equal number of a seemingly similar design were under
construction.
     "Will one of these ships take us home?"  he'd asked.
     Beverly shook her head.
     "They are Nightingale class medical ships," she said. 
"Repercussions from the explosion are being felt all over the
quadrant, and these are tailor-made to deal with the situation. 
Crews have been working around the clock to get them built.  That
one there is the _Pasteur_ ... she is my ship."
     "Your ship?"
     "I'm sorry Jean-Luc.  If you had received my letters ... "
     Understanding pushed its way heavily into his long-exhausted
system.
     "When do you leave?" he asked.
     "Less than an hour.  I was supposed to have left this morning,
but when I received your transmission I was able to delay
departure.  Six hours was all they would give me."
     She was wearing the shipping yard's dark overalls and tall
boots that accentuated her long strides.  Her hair was pulled back
in that way that took years off her life.  Seeing her this way,
combined with the happenings of the past couple of months
suddenly made Picard feel very old.  It would be decades before
Beverly even began to show his signs of aging.  Decades in which
she could continue doing what he had lived for all his life.  For
once, Beverly's touch did nothing to make him feel better.
     "I'm needed there, Jean-Luc.  I spoke to Admiral Ramprasa. 
He said he'd love to have you join him on the journey back to
Earth."
     Beverly was sending him home.  To pasture, as his father
would have said.  Now that he was no longer captain of his own
ship, he was unimportant to anyone, including his own wife.  Ever
since Jean-Luc Picard had been a child, he had known his place
was among the stars.  His whole life had been a journey with the
infinitely broad goal of cosmic exploration, a passion so deep he
would have given his life for it.  He fully expected to die as
captain of his ship.  But he didn't.  He had simply grown older. 
Shock, weariness, humiliation and hurt erased any further words or
memories of his last few minutes before watching the _Pasteur_
leave dock.
     On the journey home he remained in his quarters.  He excused
himself by saying he didn't feel well.  Then he saw, or though he
saw, the all too easy understanding on the crew and Captain's
faces.  Of course he would need rest, they seemed to say.  Men his
age needed a lot of rest.   Once the age mark hit, it stuck.  When
Picard did venture out, he was treated as a frail object, and when
he lashed out at the patronizing attitude, that too was shrugged off
as another attribute of old age.  Emotions he still had no vent for
curdled and soured within him.
     When he arrived home, he found consolation neither in the fact
that he'd had a chance to see her, nor that she had obviously been
frantic with worry.  Of course she'd been concerned --- she no
longer believed him capable of taking care of himself.  He would
show her and the rest of the Federation who had no need for
whom. 
     Beverly continued to write to him, but he soon stopped reading
her letters.  It was hard to tell whether he was most irritated by her
descriptions of daily events (non-classified, of course), or her
constant inquiries as to his well-being.  Picard wrote back just often
enough to establish that he was independently fine, that he was
taking care of things at home, and that he was keeping himself
busy.  Not once did he tell Beverly he missed her.  At the time it
was the truth.  
     Maurice Picard had always wanted one of his sons to inherit
the estate and tend the vineyards, so, that was exactly what Jean-
Luc was going to do.  He would show everyone that there was life
and dignity after Starfleet.  His strength had returned, he had
gained back all the weight he'd lost (and then some), and he was
aggressively content.  Picard developed an obsessive need to show
he was not an invalid.  He needed no one.     
     All that was left of his days as a Federation Captain was the
distance he kept between himself and everybody else.  He easily
convinced himself that now that he had retired, of course there was
no way for his marriage to survive.  It was increasingly obvious
that Beverly led a complete life without him, and he was happy
with his life on Earth, so why not formalize their content
separateness?  It was out of the question that Beverly should give
up her career in the prime of her life, but why should he become
nothing but an adornment on her ship?
     He wrote to Beverly requesting a divorce.  Letters from her
flooded in, but he only had to read the first few lines of each to
find out his request was being ignored, and deleted the rest,
simultaneously sending out a copy of his original solicitation,
attaching perfectly plausible reasons for why their marriage should
be dissolved.  Twice he received a hail for personal
communication, something rumored to be impossible between
systems nowadays.  Both times he refused to accept them. 
Beverly's pleas infuriated him.  Her letters seemed like just one
more patronizing affront, telling him he was no longer able to make
any important decisions on his own.
     Such exchanges went on for two years and became a customary
part of Picard's life; regular, expected, anticipated --- as
comfortably a part of his life as meal times.  Perhaps that was part
of why he was so unprepared to answer a rare knock on his door
one afternoon ... to see Beverly standing there.  She had aged
greatly since he'd seen her last, lines of chronic fatigue marked
over the laugh lines he had watched deepen over the years.  He
stared hard at those lines.  Life was not easy on Starfleet doctors,
but those it didn't extinguish, like Beverly, it left with few
physical marks.  What had happened to her in these past couple of
years?  
     The shock of seeing her there almost overcame him.  He
struggled for words, embarrassed that once again she was
responsible for his lack of control, i.e. dignity.  He wanted to
demand why she had not warned him of her arrival, but having
destroyed all her letters unread, that seemed like a risky path to
take.  Finally he fell onto the one topic which had become a
immutable component of their relationship.
     "I hope you brought the papers with you; all this waiting has
been a great inconvenience to me," he said.
     "Jean-Luc ... "
     He held up his hand to silence her and, with a poker face Riker
would have envied, he said: 
     "I've been seeing someone else."
      Beverly's uncertain smile froze on her face.  Somehow the
shadows on her face became more pronounced and the small light
in her eyes faded, then died.
     "I do not wish it to come to this, but perhaps we should get a
third party involved.  We might talk about it more later," he
continued smoothly, "if you'd like, to work out the agreements,
but right now is not the best time for me.  I have company."
     For years to come, Picard would wonder where that lie had
come from, as well as why it had been so coldly natural to lie to
Beverly.  But he could never question the means without
remembering the end: the way Beverly's face had the same dazed
look that Picard's must have had when she had dismissed him at
the docking yard.  Was that what he wanted, he asked himself
endlessly afterwards, to see her hurt as he had been hurt?  There
was no gratification in seeing her pain, no feeling of resolved
karma.  She had hurt him unintentionally, forced by compassion
and duty to go to the aid of millions of suffering people.  No one
needed him, so he had had to make up his own excuse to hurt her. 
The pain in her eyes was almost more than he could bear, so
without another word, he closed the door between them so he
would not have to look at it any longer.
     For several minutes Picard had stood, leaning his back against
the door he had just shut.  He was more tired then than he could
remember ever having been in his life.  The exhaustion had puzzled
him; today, like every other day, he had woken up full of energy. 
He needed a nap.  He needed it so much he was able to ignore the
automatic echoes of his pride insisting that only infants and people
who were ill needed naps.  Picard helped himself up the stairs by
using his arms to pull on the banister.  His legs were heavy, but his
intent clear.  Without seeing it, his bed was clear in his mind,
calling, offering respite.
     At the top of the stairs, Picard had to pause for breath.  Part
of
him knew what he would see as he looked out the window. 
Beverly stood under the swinging tree, looking out over the
vineyards.  Nostalgia crept into him as he remembered the evening
of their first walk, showing her how to sample the grapes,
recounting anecdotes of his failed first wine-making attempts.  He
forgot about his weary bones and wondered what she was thinking. 
>From where he stood he saw her doing something he had only seen
a few rare times in his lifetime.  Beverly was crying.  It came from
nowhere, and without her seeming to move a muscle.  Simply one
moment her eyes were dry and the next tears were streaming down
her face.  Sun shone rays off the wet trails as she stared out at the
place where she had proposed to him twenty years ago, saying
words he himself had not yet found the courage for.  The afternoon
sun moved closer to the horizon, spotlighting her grief and Picard
felt unable to move, entranced by the sight, thinking idiotic
thoughts about saltwater irrigation.  Still she wept, straight-backed,
hands folded at her waist, eyes fixed directly before her.  There
was no breeze, no movement about her except for the dancing
mirrors on her cheeks.
     All at once, Beverly's body twisted violently and she brought
one hand up to her mouth while the other one steadied her against
the tree.  As if that jolt had broken her support, she sank against
the patterned bark, bringing her face into both her hands.
     His own trance --- his two year coma to common sense --- was
broken, and suddenly he *felt*.  Strength from love was twice as
strong as strength from youth, and Picard all but ran down his
stairs.  Coming out of the front door he tripped on the walking
cane he had left there earlier, and felt pain shoot up his bones as
he crashed to the ground.  No matter.  More slowly, but just as
determined, he limped up to the front gate past the poplars, cursing
himself for his behavior these past two years, but intent on making
things right.  Picard thought of Beverly in his arms once more and
almost forgot about the pain in his legs.  He would think about that
later --- he knew a good doctor ...
     ... who was no longer anywhere to be seen.
     The hill was bare save for the lonely swinging tree, rustling in
a slight breeze.  One leaf came off, unusual for this time of year,
and floated down like a single mournful teardrop, as if aware of
what had just been lost.
 
 
     Picard's next thought was that it had become cold.  Cold and
dark.  He was still in the same stance, but somehow it had become
night-time.  He had been standing in a mental limbo for at least
five hours, until his shivering body had brought him back to an
unwelcoming present.  He returned to the house as in a dream,
every sense dulled, even his confusion was smoky, and he idly
wondered what had happened to that determined independence
which before Beverly's visit had seemed so permanent.
     He went directly to his communications terminal, to see
whether he had actually deleted Beverly's last letter; perhaps he
would find out from it where she could be reached.  He had deleted
it, but there was a new transmission from her: the shortest
document he had ever seen; a simple legal sentence freeing him. 
Division of property was left to his discretion, including her
grandmother's home on Caldos.  Even after all this she trusted
him ... or perhaps she no longer cared.  Perhaps it was that
combined with the memory of her weeping under the swinging tree,
but suddenly all the cocky self-confidence Picard had accumulated
since his return to Earth drained out of him leaving him vulnerable
to enshrined memories of their marriage.  The memories made a
doorway out of his gaping wound, salting it cruelly as they returned
to his consciousness.  For the next several years they would remain
on the surface of Picard's thoughts, relentlessly reminding him of
what he had given up.
     
 
     He felt too foolish and unworthy to not finalize the divorce. 
It would look as though he were playing games with her.  He
begged for the earlier delusion which had stopped him from
plummeting into despair, but it never returned.
     He contacted his old friend, Emissary Deanna Troi.  Deanna
had valiantly kept in touch with him throughout the years, and was
quite possibly his last remaining friend.  Never had he needed her
advice as he needed it now.  His life had been one shredded pyre
of confusion ever since he had retired.  As he had once done on the
_Enterprise_, Picard let the whole rush out onto Deanna, finally
breaking down when he reached the part about seeing Beverly cry,
and gratefully accepted Deanna's arms around him, holding him
while his anguish bled out.
     Deanna had tried to tell him it was not all his fault.  Beverly
had never properly come to terms with her decision to break off
her relationship with Odan.  Then Ronin had all but shattered
Beverly's already confused ideas about love.
     "Beverly has always had complete confidence in her mind and
in her heart," Deanna had said.  "For a scientist she has very
romantic, almost simplistic views on love.  In her eyes, whether she
admits it or not, love should be able to conquer all.  But then she
found she could not live with the uncertainty of a Trill lover.  And
although she knew that Ronin had used addictive influences to
seduce her and her family, there was always a part of her who felt
she was the betrayer, the one to blame.  It's quite amazing she was
able to give in to love again so soon.  Under any other
circumstances a divorce may not have affected her quite this
much."  Without reprehension, Deanna also mentioned that
Picard's letters had been chipping away at his wife's resolve for
the full two years.  The words "Beverly trusted you," were never
even implied, but still they rang in his brain as if Deanna had
actually pointed a finger and accused him of being negligent with
her friend's fragile feelings.  He almost wished she had.  The
burden of self-condemnation was almost as heavy as his guilt.
     Deanna had given him hope, something he didn't deserve, as
Fate found out soon enough and moved to correct its error. 
Deanna left Picard carrying a real letter on antique paper stationary,
and a promise to talk to Beverly for him.  But en route Deanna had
fallen victim to a violent attack by war-hungry Klingons.  In the
assault both message ... and messenger ... were destroyed.
 
 
     Several dozen people attended Deanna's funeral, but Picard
focused mainly on those who had once been the senior staff on the
_Enterprise_.  They stood out.  Literally.  Deanna had been one of
the few things they all still had in common, but obviously even she
was not one strong enough to bring them together.  Worf had not
approached the coffin.  Will stood with an almost tangible barrier
around him.  Data showed up just long enough to pay his respects,
then left shortly afterwards.  Beverly was also there (Deanna had
never broken a promise), and was the only one of them to go up to
the coffin and rest her hand on the glass encasement.  The coffin
was surrounded by violet Betazed lamps sent by far-away loved
ones in lieu of their presence.  Picard wondered which of them had
been sent by his former chief engineer.     
     Betazoids believed in preserving the body as it had been when
the person died so one could deduce just by looking at her what
kind of life ... and death ... she'd had.  Deanna still wore the scars
of the attack, but her face was peaceful.  Her hair had been let out
of the bun she'd adopted in her later years, and it fell in a heavy
curtain over her breasts, a seemingly modest gesture belied by her
naked corpse.
     Beverly seemed unaware of him as he moved next to her.  
     "I'm sorry for your loss," Picard said, formally.  The pain in
Beverly's eyes iced over as she looked up at him.
     "Which one?" she asked coldly.  Picard felt as though she had
struck him.  Beverly seemed to regret his words instantly.  Her
shoulders sagged.  "I'm sorry," she said tiredly.  "Thank you for
coming."
     How had he ever imagined that leaving Beverly again would
be the way it had been the first time?  How could he have even
used the same arguments as when Jack died: Jean-Luc would not
stop being in love with Beverly, but he would find happiness
occupying himself in other things.  How could he have ignored the
fact that the first time he had left her as an unattainable dream, and
had gone on to pursue the career he'd been preparing himself for
all his life.  This time he was leaving the person he had shared the
better part of his life with, before and after the actual marriage,
and
escaping *to* the very life he had run away from when he was a
youth.  He had never come close to loving anyone the way he had
loved this woman for the past fifty years.
     "It wasn't true, you know," he blurted out.  Beverly's brow
furrowed.
     "What wasn't?"
     "I was not seeing anybody else.  There hasn't been anyone
since you."
     "Oh, Jean-Luc," Beverly's smile was as sad as her eyes.  "I
knew that."
     Picard stared at her.
     "Then why....?" he faltered.
     "Because you had never lied to me before, much less to hurt
me.  That was so unlike you, I felt I no longer knew you.  I could
not fight for my marriage to a stranger.  I had to believe you were
doing what would make you most happy."
     She had not questioned that he knew what was best for himself. 
Ironically, it was her trust, blind to his bitterness and paranoia,
which had allowed him to break up the marriage.  Tears Picard had
been saving for Deanna gnawed at his lids.  He was before the two
last people who might have cared about him.  One was dead, the
other ...
     "Captain," a young woman in a blue lieutenant's uniform
materialized at Beverly's elbow.
     "Yes, Lurdian, thank you."  The lieutenant disappeared again. 
Beverly gazed up one last time at Deanna's face with a longing
that did not diminish when she turned her eyes back to Picard.
     "Good-bye, Jean-Luc," she said softly.
     He did not believe he would ever see her again.
 
 
***
 
 
     She sat in the window seat, facing the _Pasteur_ at dock. 
Her legs were half-folded beneath her and her head was tilted
back against the wall, slightly rumpling the conservative hairstyle
she'd adopted in recent years.   She held a cassiopeia goblet in
her hand, but he was willing to bet it held white wine.  She
simply preferred these glasses because they were prettier.  The
blue cloak she had shared with him nearly fifty years ago was
draped over one shoulder.  Picard had almost made himself
forget how lovely she was.
     It was only two years since they had been together at
Deanna's funeral.  He had been wrong about never seeing her
again.  They had spoken once or twice on subspace, especially
since he had found out about the Irumodic Syndrome.  They had
actually had a decent conversation less than a month ago, but it
might have been thirty years, for now she looked content.  It was
how she had looked back when they were on the _Enterprise_,
back when they had limited themselves to friendship.  In his
travels to the recent past he had seen her the way he was to see
her for many years afterwards --- radiant and happy.  Then in his
alternate future he had seen her as she'd become: sadder, more
hesitant about showing affection, perceptibly marred by pain he
had caused.  It had never before occurred to him that perhaps
she only looked that way when he was around.  As much as it
hurt to admit it now, it made sense that he would serve as an
unwelcome allusion to their last few years of marriage.
     He could not even recall whether it was fear, pride, or sheer
bullheadedness which had prevented him from calling Beverly, to
talk, to try and find out what else could be done to salvage what
they had once had.  He did remember that at the time he would
shift his arguments around, defying both love and logic,
inventing stupid, spiteful excuses aimed at a captain who still
had many years ahead of her to do what he had loved doing all
his life.
     A civilian waiter approached Beverly.  Picard felt himself
inhale sharply as she smiled at the young man and shook her
head.  The smile that could launch a thousand ships.  And still
nothing compared with the smile that used to be his alone.  He
wondered whether he would ever see that smile again.  He had
come to McKinley expressly to talk to her, but perhaps he
should just leave without letting her see him.  Just because he
was miserable without her did not mean that he had the right to
disrupt her life any further.  He owed her this one last favor.
     Picard waited too long.  She always had been able to sense
his gaze.  As she recognized him, the smile which had stayed
with her disappeared like smoke and her face became deathly
white.  Her goblet crashed to the ground.  Stunned by her
reaction, Picard stood frozen.  Slowly, she stood up and came
shakily towards him.
     "Wesley?" was all she said.
     "What?"  His heart -- artificial as it was -- broke.  Was that
all he was to her now?  The potential bearer of bad news?  Of
course he would be the one to tell her if a tragedy were to occur,
but that she could envision no other reason for his coming to see
her ...
     He put his hands on her arms, steadying himself and her at
the same time.
     "Beverly, Wesley is fine.  Everything is fine.  I just heard
you were in the area and thought I'd pay a visit."
     For a several moments she didn't seem to believe him, but
eventually the panic left her eyes.  Gently he led her to a table
and pulled out a chair for her.  She sank down, still staring at
him, as if waiting for him to state his real purpose for his visit. 
Finally she gave a self-conscious laugh.
     "I'm sorry, I guess you just took me by surprise.  How are
you?"
     "Never better," he lied.  "The paradaxon seems to be
working well for me.  On some days I am even able to forget
about that blasted Irumodic syndrome."
     "Irumodic syndrome?"
     "This past week I have hardly felt the symptoms at all."
     Beverly had reached up to brush back a loose strand of hair,
but forgot about it midway.  Slowly, she lowered her hand.
     "Jean-Luc, what are you saying?"
     He stared at her, puzzled.  He did not think he was *saying*
anything.  Just the polite small talk which had become a ritual
since their divorce.
     She elaborated:
     "Are you telling me that you have Irumodic syndrome?"
     "I told you when the first signs developed over six months
ago."
     "Jean-Luc, Irumodic syndrome is a degenerative disease.  I
would certainly remember if you'd ever told me you have it."
     "It's always the first thing you ask me about whenever we
talk.  I thought that for once I would save you the trouble."
     He did not want to believe he was having such vivid
hallucinations, but he was sure he had told her.  In fact, he
clearly remembered her expression was not so very different
from the one she had now.  It was an expression clouded with
shock, similar to the one she'd worn when he'd brought back
Jack's body all those years ago.  There was no way she would
have forgotten something like this.  If he only thought he'd told
her, then perhaps his trips to the past were also a figment of his
imagination.  Hell, for all he knew he might be on his back in
some hospital on Earth.  The onslaught of confusion made him
wonder if he was about to have another episode.  If nothing
convinced her, that would.  
     Damn!  He did not want to her to see him like that.  Not so
much because of the embarrassment it caused him, but because
he needed to talk to her and he wanted her to hear sincerity in
his voice, not the ramblings of a decrepit old man.
     "Would you mind coming up to the ship with me?  I would
like to run some tests."
     For the past months Picard had been avoiding doctors like a
plague.  He might have refused Beverly as well, but he saw she
was truly shaken by the news.  Beverly's reaction to shock had
always been to grab a tricorder and go scan something.  He
surrendered easily.
     "Of course," he said.
     
     
     Sickbay 5 was the smallest, most private of Beverly's
treatment centers, but like all the other sickbays aboard the
_Pasteur_, it had collapsible walls.  In case of a large scale
emergency, the separate areas would become one enormous
hospital floor, slightly larger than Cargo Bay 4 back on the
_Enterprise_.  The design, he knew, was Beverly's own.  She
had always believed communication between her staff to be of
the essence.
     Her equipment was only slightly less advanced than what
was used back on Earth, but her touch was infinitely more
gentle.  It almost made up for how idiotic he felt sitting on his
ex-wife's examining table.
     Beverly frowned at the display on the wall.
     "Who made the diagnosis?" she asked.
     "Dr. van Eijk.  South China."
     "Marcella?"  Beverly seemed as perplexed as he was.  The
reason he had even told her about Irumodic syndrome was
because he had no doubt that she would hear anyway from Dr.
van Eijk or Head Nurse Ogawa.  Apparently she hadn't.
     Beverly put her instruments down and leaned against the
table.  
     "Jean-Luc, there is no evidence on Irumodic syndrome at all. 
You are absolutely fine," she checked her results, frowning.  "I
did find a defect in your parietal lobe, but although they used to
make a person more prone to neurological disorders, it can now
be taken care of with a simple operation.  However, I honestly
do not think you are in any danger.  According to these readings,
and at this stage in your life, Irumodic syndrome has a minimal
chance of occurring."
     Picard stared at her for a moment, caught up in a strange
paradox.  If there was nothing wrong with him, only madness
could explain his memories of the past few months, yet Beverly
herself had just assured him that there was no evidence of such a
madness.  Experience had taught him that there was one constant
answer to every impossibility.
     "Q."  
     "Q?"  Beverly's eyes widened.  "Here?  On my ship?"
     "No, a little while ... "  he was at lost as to how he should
describe Q's visit within the confines of her linear time.  "He ...
gave me something."
     "You allowed Q to give you something?"  Beverly was now
obviously growing used to the string of surprises he kept
springing on her, but not enough to ignore them.  "Perhaps we
should go into my ready room and talk."
     Numbly, Picard allowed himself to be guided out of the
sickbay.
     Beverly's ready room was as sparse as her offices had
always been, though perhaps if he had been thinking more
clearly he would have been amused to see her two theatre masks
hanging forlornly on the far wall.  She had never been one for
personal effects.
     Without asking, Beverly handed him a cup of steaming Earl
Grey tea.  Picard wondered who had programmed it into her
replicator.  She sat next to him on the couch.
     "By the way,"  Beverly smiled at him.  "I don't think I've
told you yet ... it's good to see you."
     There was still love there.  In his alternate future Beverly's
ship had been sacrificed for what everyone thought were the
delusions of a senile has-been.  She may or may not have
believed the same, but still she had risked everything.
     "There is nothing wrong with me?" Picard asked.
     "Not with your mind.  You haven't been exercising as much
as you should, but other than that, you're in perfect health." 
Beverly spoke with that same caring professionalism that so
quickly put her patients at ease, but he caught the note of hurt in
her voice.  One of the reasons he had given for leaving her was
that he said he would waste away to nothingness if he stayed on
as a passenger on her ship.  Fresh air and exercise.  He had
forgotten how difficult it had become to enjoy such things alone. 
     "Tell me about Q," she said.
     He told her.  Everything he could remember about all three
times.  Her expression shifted occasionally, but she only
interrupted once:
     "You blew up my ship?" she asked, arching her eyebrow.   
     "Sorry.  If it makes you feel any better, I blew up the
_Enterprise_ three times."
     She shook her head, but the eyebrow stayed up.  Picard
continued with his saga, all the way to the very end.
     "So you believe Q cured you and erased all references of the
disease from your medical records, from our minds but not from
yours?"
     "I can think of no other explanation.  Unless Q created the
Irumodic Syndrome illusion to challenge me in this time.  It was
nearly impossible to get people to believe me."
     "I can imagine, but illusion has never been quite Q's style. 
Not grandiose enough when he can transform the universe, time,
anything with a single thought.  Perhaps he created the Irumodic
Syndrome himself."
     "To what end?"
     "To spice things up -- it has always been far more amusing
for him when he can stack the deck against you.  This whole
situation makes no sense.  Why would he force you to leave
Earth to go stop an anomaly that would never had existed if you
had stayed at home in the first place?"
     If he fully understood it himself, he would have explained it
to her.  As it was, Picard didn't think he could even explain that
somehow he knew that Q had acted in the best interest of
humanity.  Beverly sat back and sighed.
     "It's been a while since I've been terrorized by our friend,"
she said.  "I think he's still trying to figure out what you saw in
me."
     That was certainly true.  Troi had once suggested that the
reasons for Q's hostile actions towards Beverly often bordered
on jealousy.  However, Amanda would never let Q go too far,
and Q must have also known that harming Beverly would have
pushed Picard considerably beyond the already frayed limits. 
     Picard had not missed the sad note in her voice, nor did it
escape him that she had used the past tense.  Before he could
respond to it she smiled at him.
     "So, what business brings you out to this sector?"
     "Actually, there was something I had to tell you."
     Guarded suspicion returned to her eyes.  Picard was
reminded of a Tashkaw his father had found when they took
their first trip to the Mars colony.  The animal must have come
on one of the ships, and had obviously been mistreated, for it
shrank away from even the kindest words spoken directly to it.
Beverly had had her share of pain in love affairs, but only her
failed marriage to Jean-Luc Picard had managed to make her feel
unworthy.  Failed marriage.  Even after all that had happened
those words seemed inappropriate to describe what had been the
happiest years of his life.  The words he had prepared so
carefully knotted themselves in his lungs and burnt his eyes.  He
would have given his life to regain her trust.  
     "I had hoped that ... that we could talk," he started.  "It is
something that we haven't done for a long time, and that perhaps
we should have done before making the decisions we made." 
     Picard hated the way his words delegated part of the blame
onto her.  He had never imagined that this would be easy, but
nor had he anticipated all the things, including himself, working
against him.
     "It's almost too late for that," Beverly said quietly.  Picard
nodded, trying to keep the anguish from showing.  He had
expected this.  He had come here to ask for something he didn't
deserve from someone who had no reason to trust him.  Yet the
finality of this rejection was more than he could cope with.  He
knew that if he left now, he would probably never see her again,
for going back to Earth inspired no incentive for living.  But he
also knew he *had* to leave now.  He had made himself a
promise of respecting Beverly's wishes to spare her any further
hurt.  He struggled to stand.
     "Jean-Luc."  Her touch on his arm was like a lightning bolt
through his heart.  "Please, don't go ... yet."
     Picard sank back into the couch.  Beverly's eyes were wide
and a little confused, as if she were not sure where the sudden
plea had come from.  The fear had also increased.  Not the fear
defiant of a Starfleet officer with a twentieth-century gun pointed
at her head, or captured at the Kesprytt border: this fear was
open and begging to be recognized ... and eased.  Although it
proved how much she cared and that perhaps she did still trust
him, at this moment in time Picard despised that he had such
power over her.  Why could she not put her heart somewhere
safe, with someone honorable and careful?
     "When I came into the common area tonight," he said,
"before you saw me, you were smiling.  It was good to see you
happy."
     Now that he was apparently staying a little longer, Beverly
seemed to relax.
     "I was indulging in memories," she said.  "For twenty-three
months I saw an average of one-hundred deaths a day.  But still
every day I found time to remember ... and smile.  Now that
number is finally lowered to three or four per week, but only
because the worst of the victims have all died.  I have so much
more time on my hands, and sometimes I feel I spend more time
in the past than in the present."
     Picard could relate to that.
     "Perhaps it's a happier place," he said. 
      Beverly nodded.
     "Is it for you?" she asked.
     Picard didn't have to think about that one for very long.
     "At this moment," he replied honestly.  "There is nowhere
and no time I would rather be."
     The struggle began again in Beverly's blue eyes.  Was it
simply wishful thinking that this time there seemed to be a trace
more of the love, an iota less of the fear?  She reached out
slowly, and Picard felt his heart would stop when her cool
fingers touched his cheek.
     "You shaved your beard," she said, sliding her fingers
upwards until her whole hand caressed the side of his head.  "It
suits you."
     She took her hand away suddenly as if he had burned her. 
She smiled sadly at his startled expression.
     "Jean-Luc, you have always gotten by on two assumptions,"
she said.  "Two very wrong assumptions.  The first is that you
don't need anyone."
     "And the second?" he asked.  Beverly lowered her eyes.
     "The second is that I don't need anyone.  These past few
years have been ... difficult."
     She did not look at him.  Again, he was tempted to end it
all, to leave her in peace, go live his final years in tending the
vineyards.  But he couldn't do that.  Because she had given him
too much information.  What he had done had hurt her terribly,
but who he had been before that had brought her more happiness
than she had ever known.  He remembered.  What she deserved
was that happiness, and if he had to work to prove himself up
until the last ten minutes of his life, well, he was going to make
damn sure she got those ten minutes.
     For what felt like the first time in twelve years, Picard
looked at his ex-wife.  She was just about the age he had been
when they married and her hair was beginning to streak with
grey.  The spring in her step had lessened since their divorce, but
he had not taken everything away from her: he could still see the
fire, the intelligence deepened by wisdom which only age and
experience could bring.  He had seen the way she worked the
instruments in her sickbay, better even than at her best on the
_Enterprise_, and knew that wanting her to give this up had
bordered on criminal.  Beverly did something special, and she
did it better than anyone.  She did not belong in the history
books just yet.
     "The divorce was hard, but I was able to continue with my
life," she was saying.  "Memories of my life with you are some
of my most precious treasures.  I am not sorry I married you, I
would do it all over again."
     "Now?"
     "What?"
     "Would you now?"
     "Jean-Luc, it takes a slightly longer than that for wounds to
heal."
     "Years?" he asked, examining the wrinkles on his hands.
     "Perhaps," Beverly said.  "Do you think you can manage to
live that long?"
     Picard grinned, stretching muscles he had not used in years. 
It had been a long time since she had been comfortable teasing
him about his age.  He would count that as a huge step in the
right direction.
     "I think I could," he said.  "With proper medical
supervision."
     She laughed, and for a moment, they were the friends they
had been all those years ago, when their friendship was untainted
by any other memory or emotion.
     "I'm rejoining Starfleet," he told her.
     "Really?"  Beverly seemed unsure on how to react to this. 
"Don't you think you should think about it a little more first?"
     "It's all I ever thought about,"  The words 'When I wasn't
thinking of you' remained unspoken, but there.  "You knew I
would detest living on Earth.  It was that that kept me there, that
idiotic pride that refused to show you you were right."
     Again he saw the pain, again he felt it like a throbbing echo
within himself.  The man he had been would never let her hurt
this way.  He had to let her know he was aware of the senseless
things he had done, to admit that he had behaved beyond
reproach so that she would know he was sincere about changing. 
It was time to stop fearing what she could do to him.
     "Since my retirement Riker has brought up my
ambassadorship every time we talk.  He happened to call just a
few days after my voyages with Q, and I surprised the hell out
of him by accepting.  But only for a minute.  He was already
suggesting places to send me before I told him I was coming to
see you first.  I thought I'd try my hand at relief missions."
     Beverly was blinking very quickly, trying to assimilate yet
another piece of unexpected news.
     "Relief missions?" she asked.  "That sounds like an unusual
choice.  I would have thought you would want to work more
closely with first contact or peace negotiations."
     "There is not much call for medical ships in first contact," he
said.  He waited for Beverly to understand the implications of
what he was saying; family members were not allowed on
medical ships, unless they happened to also be on the staff or
were Starfleet representatives.  Picard would have taken up
nursing if it could meant he could be with Beverly once more.
     There, behind pain which had seemed a permanent fixture in
her eyes he noticed something different.  A small ray of light. 
Hope, maybe even happiness, buried so deep under the fear that
even she perhaps was not yet aware of it.  As she knew him
better than he knew himself, he knew her.  It was still possible
for her to have the special happiness she had once had, and it
was in his power to help her find it.
     "After what I did, I do not feel I can ask you for anything,
but the rest of my life is yours, as little or as much of it as you
want.  Beverly," he reached for her hand and held it very gently
between his, as if it were something he could break.  "Beverly, I
*can* live without you.  The separation taught me that --- but it
also taught me that I don't want to."
     He had kept his voice steady for this whole time, but now
suddenly, all the pain and guilt caught in his throat and cracked
the last words he believed he could not say enough: "I'm sorry."
     The words seemed to hang in the air for an eternity, but of
course they couldn't have, because during that time he did not
draw breath once. 
     Beverly's hand was very still in his.
     Very, very slowly she lowered her head until it rested on his
shoulder.  Just as slowly, Jean-Luc Picard put his arms around
her ... and closed his eyes.
 
The End
 
Please send all comments to wilson@athena.hood.edu or
mrwilson@umr.edu.
 
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